Damn these game rules. Damn this so-called "cherish life" crap.
Everyone just wanted to find whoever designed this nightmare and smash their face into the floor until they understood why flowers bloom red.
But the deadly game wasn't over. What now? Would anyone dare step up again? Obviously not. Everyone kept eyeing each other with suspicion. Even the injured ones like the Joker and Harry were being stared down—because every extra volunteer meant one less personal risk.
No way were they gonna exclude the wounded. The selfish ones had already made up their minds.
"I'd rather die than stick my hands in those bottles," the guy with the colored hair spat. "Wait, why don't we just smash the bottles instead?"
Oh. Everyone froze. Not a single one of them had thought of that. It took a street thug to come up with something smart? What a joke.
The lawyer immediately stepped forward. "He's right. If we break the bottles, we can just grab the keys."
The Joker kept watching the show and even offered another 'helpful' reminder: "Careful with the game rules."
The sudden excitement in the room disappeared like a popped balloon. Right. The game rules. The explosives around their necks. If they broke the rules and pissed off the mastermind, would their heads be blown off?
Damn it. Damn that Joker for reminding them.
All ten people fell into silence again. The choice was now clear: either reach into a bottle full of acid, or take the risk and smash one open.
"How about we pick someone to break one bottle and see what happens? Maybe nothing will go wrong."
"Why don't you smash the damn thing?"
Of course, no one wanted to die. Back to square one.
Harry felt like the room was getting colder. Though it might've just been from the pain in his hands. Human nature… you could never fully understand it. Even here, in a life-and-death situation, they still couldn't come together.
"Stop wasting time. If we keep this up, we're all gonna die." One guy finally spoke. "Screw it. I'll smash these sons of bitches."
The curses were flying now. It showed just how much pressure they were under.
No one stopped him. Instead, everyone quietly backed away into the corners. Who knew how strong the bombs were? No one wanted to get caught in the blast.
The man who'd stepped forward was already starting to regret it. If he'd known, he would've kept his mouth shut. What if it did blow up? He even regretted not stepping up in the last room. But he'd hesitated—and now he was stuck. A tall, strong middle-aged man, shoved to the front by fear and timing. He had no choice now.
"You got this. It's just breaking glass," he muttered to himself. Psyching up, he grabbed an old wooden chair nearby and raised it high. "F**K YOU!"
Crash! Glass exploded across the floor. The acid spilled and started bubbling on the ground, eating into it with a nasty hiss.
"Screw your game rules. You psychos don't get to talk about rules!" He shouted, swinging wildly like a madman on stage. One after another, bottles shattered. Within seconds, half of them were smashed to pieces.
"Hahaha! I'm gonna smash every last one of these damn bottles!"
The others watched the scene unfold, secretly thrilled. 'Keep going,' they thought. 'Smash them all.'
Boom!
Right then, an explosion erupted.
It wasn't a huge blast—just big enough to blow a man's head clean off.
Flesh and blood splattered onto everyone nearby, triggering a wave of nausea.
"Oh my God!"
Someone wet themselves on the spot.
Harry's heart pounded. He could hardly believe his eyes. A living, breathing person had just died like that. God… why?
No one dared break the rules now.
Damn it all—why did it have to turn out like this?
The first casualty finally shattered the false hopes some still held. This death game was real.
Cursing and shouting didn't help. The headless body lay in a pool of acid, releasing a stench so foul it made people gag.
Harry felt like throwing up again. He had a flash of regret—if he'd summoned his Stand earlier, the locks could've been easily broken. Maybe that man wouldn't have died. But the regret vanished in an instant. Raised by a father who treated the business world like a battlefield, Harry had never been soft. He wasn't some delicate pushover. He was the heir to a powerful business empire.
Disgusted by the corpse, maybe. But full of sympathy? Not a chance. His goal here was to toughen up. This was all part of the trial. No guilt.
"We're out of time. Grab the keys from the floor," the lawyer said.
The acid had mixed with blood and soaked into the ground. Whatever lay there definitely wasn't pleasant. But if they wanted to live, they had no choice but to pick up the keys—hopefully the right one had already dropped.
Wrapping their hands in cloth, they started collecting.
They gathered five keys.
"Quick, quick! Try them! See if one opens the door. God, we don't have much time left." Another hour had already passed without anyone noticing.
But no divine intervention came.
All five keys failed. Useless.
Everyone slumped back into silence, staring at each other in a mix of dread and defeat. No one wanted to step up again. That acid wasn't a joke—it could melt flesh to bone. Just look at the corpse. It was unrecognizable. If someone reached their hand into those bottles, who knew what would be left when it came back out? Maybe just bone.
God… why was this happening?
Was it really divine punishment for the sins they'd committed?
"Maybe you don't need to worry so much," said the Joker suddenly.
All eyes turned to him.
"I think there's still one more key," the Joker said, like he was just stating a fact. "Probably under the body. The sixth key."
They looked around.
"I mean, count the bottles. He smashed six," the Joker said with an innocent shrug.
He was right.
Thank God. Hope sparked again. Even if the chances were only one in eleven, it was still something.
But the key was under the corpse. And no one wanted to touch that.
"Let's go. No time," said the lawyer, calling over two men to flip the body.
The side of the corpse that had been lying in the acid was already halfway dissolved. Ribs were exposed. As they turned it over, some people gasped out loud.
"Look for the key!" the lawyer barked. No one wanted to look. "Open your eyes and find it! Otherwise, you'll be the ones sticking your hands into those acid bottles!"
That got them moving.
Compared to that, a corpse wasn't so bad. Everyone started scanning it with wide eyes.
"There! On the body!"
The key was stuck to the corpse—embedded in the flesh, glued there with blood.
Someone gagged again. It was disgusting.
Peeling that key out of raw meat made horror movies look tame. The smell didn't help either. It was torture on every sense.
'Might as well die now,' someone thought.
But no one said it. They had a key.
Time to open the door. Everyone prayed together. Please, just let it work. They couldn't take another acid test.
Click.
The lock opened.
Relief flooded their faces.
They'd done it. The door was open.
And they still had two hours left.