Walking down the hallway, Claude’s thoughts churned. “I didn’t take Don for that sort of coward,” he mused. “Or… is that normal?”

He recalled Don’s behavior back at the office. Don had always seemed like the accommodating type—thoughtful, considerate, the kind of person who avoided conflict and sought compromise. But perhaps his evaluation had been wrong.

Claude tried to put himself in Don’s shoes. In a state of fear, survival instincts often took precedence over morality. Don had been afraid of ending up with nothing, so he had acted to protect himself. It was human nature, after all.

“For most humans, self-preservation is paramount,” Claude thought. “Don’t let yourself get into a desperate position, and when greed tempts you, take the win. That’s what Don did. When he raised in the second game, it was fear. When he called in the third game, it was greed. Humans are ugly creatures.”

He sighed, his mind heavy with these grim reflections. The hallway was quieter now, with only about a tenth of the initial participants remaining. Most people were playing, and the timer displayed prominently at the end of the corridor showed 2 hours and 15 minutes left. Claude was wandering the hallway in search of something, or someone. 

Claude’s gaze lowered from the timer, and his attention locked onto a figure ahead.

“Oh,” he murmured, a smirk forming on his lips. He had found what he was looking for.

A rather fat man caught his attention. The man’s name was Kenneth. In his thirties, Kenneth had messy hair, glasses, and an arrogant expression that practically oozed mockery. His smug smile seemed to taunt the defeated, as though he reveled in their misery.

Kenneth sauntered toward one of the corner rooms, entering what appeared to be the men’s bathroom.

“Didn’t even realize there were bathrooms here,” Claude thought. “Well, obviously there have to be. Where else would people go? On the floor?” He entertained himself with his inner monologue as he followed Kenneth inside.

Outside the bathroom door, Claude could hear Kenneth’s laughter—loud, obnoxious, almost manic.

“AHAHAHAHA!!! Stupid… STUPID FUCKS! ALL OF YOU ARE SO STUPID! Only I am smart. It was so easy! AHAHAHA!” Kenneth’s voice echoed off the tiled walls.

Inside, Kenneth continued his tirade, unaware of Claude’s presence. He had amassed a total of 52 coins, a treasure trove he considered his ticket to unimaginable wealth.

Kenneth’s strategy was simple yet deceitful. Like Claude, he had proposed cooperative plans to other players. He pretended to have only three coins, convincing his victims to follow his strategy. But Kenneth would always hide his winnings and raise during the second game, exploiting his larger stash of coins. By forcing his victims to fold, he consistently walked away with four to six coins per game. His targets—often elderly participants—were easy prey, too frightened or demoralized to resist.

But Kenneth’s strategy succeeded not just because of his deceit. Unknown to him, the game itself was rigged. The game master deliberately ensured that the first winner in any group received consecutive unbeatable hands, like a four of a kind or straight flush. This setup guaranteed that the first victor would dominate, creating a snowball effect that crushed the losers and bred suspicion, anger, and ultimately violence. Kenneth had stumbled upon this truth after his second scam, realizing that his growing pile of coins made him nearly invincible in subsequent games.

The game master’s intention was clear: to incite chaos. By giving one player an overwhelming advantage, he sowed seeds of distrust among the participants, ensuring that any alliances formed would collapse under the weight of greed and desperation. Violence wasn’t just allowed—it was encouraged, albeit silently. The administrators turned a blind eye to any conflicts outside the playrooms, reveling in the drama that unfolded.

“I think that’s all the senile stupid fucks around here,” Kenneth muttered to himself, counting his coins. “Fifty-two coins… If each one is worth millions, then fifty-two must be billions! AHAHAHA!”

His laughter grew louder with each calculation, though his math was as cocky as it was flawed. Suddenly, the bathroom door opened, and Kenneth’s laughter stopped abruptly.

“What… what?!” Kenneth stammered as he turned to see Claude walking in.

“You sure seem happy,” Claude remarked, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of menace.

“I… I finally got three coins of different colors. I can move on!” Kenneth exclaimed, feigning excitement. Internally, he was panicking, afraid someone might discover his true hoard.

“Yeah, me too,” Claude said with feigned relief.

Kenneth’s unease grew. “Hahaha… congrats, bro.” He tried to sound casual as he edged toward the door. “Well, if you’ll excuse me…”

Claude’s hand shot out, grabbing Kenneth by the collar and pushing him back. The larger man stumbled, his confidence crumbling.

“Relax, dog. What’s the hurry?” Claude’s voice turned sharp, his cocky tone igniting anger in Kenneth.

Kenneth’s confusion deepened. “What the fuck just happened? I’m bigger than him… I’m like 110 kilos! How did he push me back with one hand? This skeleton boy?”

“What the fuck do you want? Fuck off, bro!” Kenneth spat, his irritation giving way to panic. His mind raced, plotting his escape.

“Fifty-two minus three… forty-nine. Give me forty-nine coins, and I’ll let you pass,” Claude said, his tone dripping with arrogance.

Kenneth froze. “How does he know? How the fuck does he know I have fifty-two coins?!” Fear turned to anger, and anger turned into desperation. He decided to rely on his size, planning to charge Claude and escape to the nearby stairs.

“FUCK OFF, LITTLE BRO!” Kenneth roared, barreling toward Claude.

In an instant, the bathroom floor was painted red. Kenneth’s lower body crumpled to the ground. Blood gushed from the severed torso, pooling rapidly. The upper half of his body was… gone. There were no organs, no lungs, no head—just blood and the remnants of his legs.

Claude kicked the remains aside, crouching to retrieve the coins from Kenneth’s pockets. He counted them silently, his expression unreadable. Then, he glanced at the surveillance camera mounted in the corner.

He waited. Seconds passed. No alarms. No announcements. Nothing.

“As I expected,” Claude thought, a smirk forming on his lips. “Violence is allowed anywhere… except the playroom.”