“Ehehe.” Miley grins in front of a tropical backdrop. “Welcome to the Main Game!”
The table in front of you has a spread of dishes, but you reach out for a glass of water, sipping as you watch the screen. White light, blackout, and here you are.
It’s only been a day or two, yet it feels like a lifetime. You’re almost prepared to knock out again. On a bed this time, hopefully.
Haha. If you survive the Main Game, that is.
Not a very high chance with the card you have.
But then again, there’s a saying that goes ‘I’ll rest when I’m dead.’ And honestly? That’s the closest you’ve ever related to something.
God, you need more sleep.
“-now that you know what roles there are, please place your card against the screen.” You look at the card, before pressing the back part below Miley’s face. The Doll twitches. “I meant the side with your role on it.”
It’s not a recording, then. Snickering, you flip it over.
“Alright! Now you’ll be given time in the Final Supper Room to eat or think up a plan. Use your time well, ehehe.” Her grin widens, showing a full set of sharp teeth. “When time is up, go on to the Main Game area. If not…”
With the implication left unsaid, Miley gives an exaggerated bow. “Thank you for participating in the Main Game.” She flickers on-screen, fading into darkness.
The Dolls having a flair for the dramatic seems to be a common occurrence. That’s fun, you suppose.
Downing the entire glass, you slam it onto the table with more strength than you actually feel. Great. Main Game. Death. You’re going to die a very painful death if this goes wrong.
And knowing the organisation, they’re making a special punishment for their favourite omnipotent bullshit prophet. Much worse than the wrigglers or crushing of lower intestines.
You’re this close to losing it.