————————————————————————— Most contestants thought that the night prior, the night the mysterious scream rung throughout the complex, was the worst. The blood-curdling shriek had pierced even the coldest of stomachs, and considering the fact that there was a mysterious hand on the table the day after, whoever had baby-blue nails and was clearly missing a hand certainly wasn't having a very fun time. But their assumption that 'the particular night of the mysterious newcomer’s dismemberment was the worst' was quickly dashed when, just as the sun began to shine through the shrouded windows in fuzzy streaks, multiple screams pierced the stuffy air that pressed against the disintegrating walls. The sound stung the silence for a good few seconds, jolting everyone awake, creating an almost immediate sense of panic. Screaming was never good, they had learned. Yelling generally meant the pain of others. The fear was only heightened as a gunshot rang from the corridor leading to the recording studio. It cut through the screams like a butter knife; and then the screams grew louder. More feverish. More desperate. At this point, everyone was up; anything that involved a gunshot wasn’t good either. Worse, arguably. Suddenly, to the victims’ dismay and alarm, another gunshot echoed from the same hallway. Then another. Three shots had reverberated through the passage, separated by intervals of deafening silence. At the end of the third shot, there was only one scream left, which grew closer and closer. And then, suddenly, Danigan came bursting out into the grand foyer. The boy who had been sentenced to a night in one of the booths. The first kidnapper came briskly walking out after him, clothing flecked with blood, racking the forearm of the gun to reload. The boy turned, starting to desperately sing between gasps for air. “-- Twenty-seven years and the end on my mind, b—” His voice cracked. The man simply stared at the college student, unfazed. “But holding to the thought of another time—” He continued frantically, falling backwards as his heel caught on the uneven concrete floor. The first kidnapper stood over him, giving him a harsh grimace. “Hate to break it to you, but the end that’s on your mind is coming a lot sooner than you’d think.” The man stated simply, before pulling the trigger. The boy's body reared back with the force of the shot, smacking against the concrete floor before going limp in a matter of seconds. Blood began to pool around his head shortly after. The kidnapper looked around once, eyeing the rest of the victims thoughtfully before walking off, rubbing blood off of his mask with his forearm. Danigan remained on the floor, motionless. ————————————————————————— The sun continued to rise, and the following hour remained eerily silent, until the other kidnappers emerged into the grand foyer at their normal time and started hustling around the rooms to unlock the victims’ doors. The all-too-recognizable voice then began to echo over the announcement system. “Good morning, everyone.” He stated simply, an almost-inaudible sigh escaping the speaker’s lips, coming off as a faint rustle into his microphone. “I hope you’ve all prepared for today. It is the competition, after all. And you all will be ecstatic to know that we have a guest judge for today. You’ll all love them.” He chimed, tone raising to an odd sense of excitement as he uttered the last line. The burst of uncharacteristic energy faded away as quick as it came however, and they were back to their usual monotone selves. “Gather on the first floor of the foyer once you’ve exited your room. Once everyone is down, we will enter the studio; it’ll be the same layout as three days ago.” They explained. Once everyone had clambered down the stairs and huddled in the middle of the room (staying away from the boy's body on the floor nearby), the three kidnappers who were there (the brooding blonde, the Hispanic woman and the short flower lover that they had all come to know and love) ushered the group along. The third kidnapper hung back a bit, fiddling with their fingers absently, before the blonde one snapped their fingers. With a jolt, they jogged to catch up, hair bouncing against the pale mask adorned with red sharpie… and faint traces of blood they never bothered to wash off. (cont.) —————————————————————————
