Zhayne blinked and found himself standing in front of the box again. The air was still and heavy. He stayed silent for a moment, letting his mind catch up to what had just happened. Then he looked down — the things the woman had given him were still in his hands: the robe, the bag, and the key.

  “I found the key,” he said quietly, turning toward the banana kid.

  Leon, Jayson, and Rafael stared from behind the cage bars, their eyes fixed on the small metal key glinting in Zhayne’s hand. Zhayne’s gaze shifted from the key to them , the space between them was too wide; the key wouldn’t reach.

  He looked at the empty bag the lady had given him, then at the glue bottles. Without a word, he began filling the bag with the bottles until it felt heavy. He dropped the key inside, sealed it tightly, and cut the long robe into two pieces with a pair of scissors. Then he tied one end of the rope securely around the bag.

  Leon’s eyes lingered on Zhayne’s movements, realization dawning. He stretched his hands through the bars, waiting. Zhayne swung the bag once, testing the weight, then threw it toward him.

  Leon barely caught it. He tried pushing the bag through the bars, but it was too full. After tossing a few glue bottles to the ground, he finally pulled the key free — then threw the bag down on the floor with a loud thud, its remaining bottles clinking as it hit. Without wasting a second, he reached his arm out, unlocking the cage door with a sharp click.

  For a moment, silence. Then Jayson broke into a grin.

  “It worked!” he said, voice bright and full of relief.

  Leon tied the robe to the cage bars and started lowering himself down carefully. Jayson followed.

  In the other cage, Rafael and Vincent watched closely. Once the first two were down, Zhayne helped toss the bag toward them next. They managed to unlock their cage as well and climbed down one after another.

  Rafael brushed the dust off his shirt and exhaled. “Finally,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

  They gathered themselves and made their way toward the door. Zhayne paused for a moment, steadying his breath before pulling it open. A flood of light poured in, forcing them to squint. When their vision cleared, they realized they were back in their room.

  “Okay,” Jayson said, looking at Zhayne while holding his stomach. “I’m starting to take this seriously now.”

  Zhayne gave him a quick glance , not quite a smile, more like a tired acknowledgment , before walking in and sitting on the edge of Leon’s bed. Everyone started talking at once. Rafael was questioning the banana kid about how long he planned to stay when Zhayne spoke up quietly.

  “Me and Leon saw a corpse yesterday,” he said in a low voice.

  No one reacted , they hadn’t heard him.

  He repeated, a little louder this time, “I said, we saw a corpse.”

  The room fell silent.

  “What?” Vincent asked.

  Leon looked at Zhayne, confusion written all over his face , why would you say that? His hand gripped the wooden edge of the bed tightly, knuckles white.

  They all sat down, faces tense. Rafael sat beside Zhayne, and Jayson moved closer to Vincent.

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  “I know I shouldn’t have said it,” Zhayne admitted, glancing at Leon with a soft, uneasy expression. “But I don’t think we should trust the people here.”

  “Why?” Jayson asked, swallowing hard. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think someone’s the killer?”

  “No, no… it’s just—something’s wrong with them,” Zhayne said, brushing his hand behind his ear. “They act like everything’s normal, killing the clown, seeing the corpse, telling us to hide it—” He spoke faster and faster, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if panic was finally catching up to him.

  “Ugh, thankfully you don’t have to scare us that way,” Jayson said, forcing a chuckle as he flopped back on the bed, feet dangling off the edge.

  “What?” Zhayne muttered under his breath.

  Rafael looked at Zhayne as he spoke. “Don’t assume things without proof,” he said, then glanced down, wiping his hands with a tissue. “It’s not like everything you see is real.”

  Zhayne opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the banana kid started rummaging through his pockets, pulling out snacks and handing them around. Everyone murmured thanks, smiling wide at the sight of food , everyone except Zhayne, who just watched them quietly.

  Zhayne caught the snack tossed his way, hesitated for a moment as he looked at them, then said quietly, “Fine… let’s go check it together.”

  He had barely finished the sentence when a scream tore through the corridor , sharp, distant, and raw.

  The room fell still. No one spoke for a few seconds. Then, one by one, they got up to go check.

  Saymon had been there moments before, creeping quietly toward it. His footsteps were soundless as he crouched beside the lock, pulling a screwdriver from his pocket. The faint scrape of metal echoed through the hall as he twisted it into place, forcing it open. The lock snapped with a metallic click. He hesitated — then pushed the door open slowly.

  A second later, his scream ripped through the air.

  Ron turned, brows furrowed. “Saymon?” he called out.

  Saymon didn’t answer. His breathing was rough, uneven. He stepped back, eyes locked on what lay inside the room. Then, suddenly, he grabbed Ron by the collar and yanked him forward.

  “What’s that?!” Saymon shouted, voice trembling with anger. “What is that?!”

  Ron exhaled through his nose, trying to keep his tone calm. “It’s not the first time you’ve seen blood, is it? Your friends died too.”

  “That’s not it!” Saymon snapped, his eyes wide.“I thought it was a game , that everything would go back to how it was once we finished!.

  Ron stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and looked toward the open door. “I guess it really is your first time here,” he muttered.

  Footsteps echoed faintly behind them. Clara had followed the sound of the scream. When she saw what was inside the room, her face went pale — she dropped to her knees, trembling, hands pressed against her mouth.

  Victoria glanced at her, her expression unreadable. She clicked her tongue and muttered, “I was right. They’re amateurs.” Then, with a low sigh, “So, what’s the plan now?”

  Saymon turned his gaze toward her , sharp, cold. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and pressed it against Ron’s neck.

  “The plan,” he said, his voice steady but low, “is that you tell me how to get out of here.”

  Victoria froze, raising her hands in a calming gesture. She tried to grab his arm, but Saymon shoved her back, eyes wide and wild.

  “Speak,” he hissed.

  Victoria’s breath hitched. She raised her hands slowly, trying to calm him. “Wait—wait,” she said quickly, panting. “You weren’t entirely wrong. In fact, you’re right. All you have to do is defeat the boss , that’s it.”

  Saymon stared at her for a long moment, then shoved Ron toward her and slid the knife away. His expression stayed hard, unreadable.

  “Then show me the boss,” he said flatly.

  Victoria nodded once and started walking. Saymon pushed Ron forward, forcing him to lead beside her. The rest followed — Zhayne, Jayson, Rafael, Vincent, and Leon. Their eyes darted around as they walked down the narrow corridor, the smell of decay clinging thickly to the air. None of them spoke.

  That smell was proof of what Zhayne had been saying all along. His friends exchanged uneasy glances, realization dawning on their faces

  They stopped at the large room ahead , the same one where the “show” always began. Rows of empty chairs faced the stage under a pale, flickering light.

  “Where?” Saymon demanded, snapping his head toward her, the blade still in his hand.

  Before she could reply, Zhayne rushed forward, ignoring the others’ calls to stop. He pulled the picture from his pocket and held it up right in front of Saymon’s face.

  Saymon snatched it from his hand, his brows knitting. “That’s the boss?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

  Jayson leaned over from behind Zhayne, voice mocking. “Why? Were you expecting a monster?”

  Before Saymon could respond, the stage lights flared to life, cutting through the dimness. The speakers crackled.

  “Welcome, welcome!” the clown’s voice blared, cheerful and warped, its wide grin frozen on the painted face.

  Saymon’s expression darkened. Without hesitation, he stormed toward the stage, boots slamming against the floor.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Zhayne shouted after him, but Saymon didn’t answer.

  He climbed the stairs in three heavy strides, grabbed the clown by the hair, and drove the knife into its face —once, twice, over and over. Blood sprayed across the stage, staining the faded curtains and pooling under the clown’s shoes.

  The grin didn’t fade , it cracked, splitting wider as the knife tore through.

  With one final strike, the head came loose and dropped to the floor with a wet, heavy thud.

  The room went dead silent. Zhayne’s breath hitched as he stepped in front of the others, shielding them instinctively.

  Saymon stood above the mess, breathing hard, his face half-lit by the spotlight and speckled with blood.

  Then, slowly, he turned toward them , a wide, chilling smile spreading across his blood-streaked face

  “So,” he said, voice calm and disturbingly steady, “what’s the next step?”

  December for personal reasons. See you soon!