5 Endzone

'Game…? Endzone?' Cyanide thought in his head while still flipping the pocket knife in his hand over and over again, hidden beneath the blanket. 'Is the new world I was promised… a game?'

Naturally, the other participants were confused as well. They rose up in riot, yelling in dissatisfaction at the figure of the hooded man behind the transparent glass panels high up on the wall.

"Oi! A game?! I was promised riches enough to last me a lifetime! You never mentioned anything about having to play some game!"

"Yeah, yeah! You took our wallets and phones as well! I never agreed to this!"

"Drugging us on the van then taking us out here… that is abduction! I will report you to the police for this!"

As the roars of complaint in all sorts of different languages got louder and louder, the hooded figure suddenly pulled a pistol out of his pocket and shot into the ceiling above him. The PA microphone caught the noise and transmitted it across the entire chamber outside, amplifying it hundredfold and silencing everyone immediately.

"If you want answers… stay quiet," he said, voice distorted like the dark warrior from a certain intergalactic war movie series.

This time, instead of shouting, murmurs began rippling through the crowd of similarly-dressed participants.

"T-That's a real gun, isn't it…?"

"Y-Yeah, I think so…"

"Who are these armed guys… some terrorist group who lured us in to hold us hostage…?"

Based on what Cyanide was eavesdropping from these people's conversations, he could infer that everyone here was approached by one of those masked men in the same way as him. However, each received a different kind of 'lure', depending on their respective needs.

Cyanide was observant — there were plenty of extremely poor people here judging from the way they composed themselves and the way they acted, who obviously came here for money. There were also young, ambitious and overly-confident souls who came here with the promise of becoming famous. There were also others who sought pure power, whether that was political influence or real, physical strength.

Each was first given an easy taste of what they would receive if they accepted the invitation, then ensnared in this trap by their human nature of greed. Or at least, that's what he thought — but the hooded man's next words managed to surprise even Cyanide.

"I am sure you all are confused," he said, spreading his arms, the gun nowhere to be seen. "Allow me to start from the beginning."

As he said this, everyone ceased their murmuring and turned to him again, skepticism and nervousness in their eyes. Despite being from different countries and speaking different languages, all seemed to understand the speaker's voice. That was intriguing to Cyanide.

"First, let me apologize for the methods we took to bring you here." The man bowed deeply, shocking all the participants. "We had to do this to prevent you from discovering this place's geographical location, due to security and privacy reasons. However, be not alarmed. We are not a terrorist group, and we will not harm you."

'So long as we do not rebel,' Cyanide thought in his head. 'That shot earlier was a warning — a symbol of threat.'

The participants, of course, appeared unconvinced. That was understandable, considering they were just knocked unconscious and brought here to this random facility without any warning.

But even so, they cannot complain too much. After all, they were the ones who had accepted the invitation. Even if they were tricked, they are at fault for being fools. That was the mindset of the assassins' guild, the Nighthawks — one that Cyanide adhered to. The hooded man seemed to know this as well — it was something he could pull out as an unbeatable argument if anyone tried to start some beef.

"In this place, you will all fairly compete in a virtual reality game titled Endzone," the hooded figure continued as the crowd slowly began understanding what was going on. "The winner will be able to claim the rewards they came here for, be it money, fame, power, or simply the thrilling experience. Your wishes are not simple requests to grant, so you must earn it — and only one among the one thousand of you here will rise on top. I believe that is quite understandable, no?"

The participants all held a somewhat uncomfortable look on their faces, unable to meet the man's gaze. It would seem they had came here thinking they would be able to just claim the reward as their own with barely effort, but in this world, nothing is free. If something is too good to be true, it probably is.

"Your words are justified, but how can we trust that you can actually grant our wishes?" One competitor asked, voicing the thoughts of several others. "For example… if I asked you to revive my dead wife, would you be able to do that?"

Despite being so far away and separated by a panel of glass, the hooded man appeared to have heard the participant's words, and snapped his fingers.

"Number 032. You wish for your wife to be back, yes? Very well — I shall use you as a demonstration."

As if on cue, a swirling mass of fog suddenly appeared in front of the participant numbered 32, and everyone around him hurriedly backed away. They watched in wonder as the figure of a woman slowly formed amidst the gas, appearing from seemingly out of nothing but thin air.

"W-Wha… this is…" Number 32's eyes widened in shock, jaw dropped, as he was the only one who could see the woman's face. Everyone else was outside the field of fog, therefore only able to see a silhouette. The man reached out to touch the woman who'd risen back from the dead, and felt his fingertips touch real, human skin.

"This... you're not an illusion..." He murmured, on the verge of tears. "C-Can you hear me? Reyna..."

The woman's lips moved as if to say something to him, but no one except for her husband was able to hear it. Still, he appeared satisfied and renewed with energy after hearing those words, and wiped his tears away with determination as the image of her wife faded away once more and the demonstration ended.

"… And that is not all," the hooded man whispered, snapping his fingers once more.

Suddenly, the room's walls, floors, and ceiling all peeled away like the layers of an onion, revealing the fact that the participants were actually in an enormous suspended glass container, hanging in the middle of an even bigger room illuminated by a massive orange lamp above them.

A room… filled with money.

All around them, stacks upon stacks of cash lay, one on top of another. There were far too many to count, and the outside room was filled to the brim with them. Calculating the total amount of money… there had to have been over a trillion USD in there.

All the participants were shocked to the bone, as this was the first time in their life witnessing so much money gathered in one place. If they had all of this, they could easily become the richest man in the world, with the entire earth in the palm of their hand.

"Around you is $1,000,000,000,000 USD. If you can surpass all the other competitors and become victor… all this can be yours," the hooded man said, baiting the contestants further.

The participants gulped and licked their lips, the greed in their hearts overtaking their brains one by one. Their minds wandered to all the things they could do with this much money, and the wonderful feeling of not even being able to spend this all in their lifetime.

"However," the hooded man then continued, grabbing everyone's attention again instantly. "Before I disclose the details of the game, for privacy reasons, I would like all of you to decide right now: will you choose to remain here, or give up on this opportunity and return to your home?"

"…?" The crowd froze in surprise at this question. 'Why would they go home?' They thought. 'It's just a video game,' they thought. 'If they lose, they lose. But if they win, they'll have their wishes of money, fame, and power granted. There was no harm in trying.'

"As I previously stated, we are not a terrorist group," the hooded figure said with emphasis. "However, if you still do not trust us and wish to go home… this is your last chance. We will return all of your belongings and transport you home safely. Of course, if you decide to do so, you will never receive another chance like this in your lifetime. Therefore… choose wisely, players."

These words caused some nervousness to spread throughout the crowd of participants. This organization was insanely shady, there was no doubt about it. The employees all wore masks, keeping their identities hidden, and they also possessed firearms.

But despite that… the truth was, this organization had the power to grant the participants' greedy wishes, no matter what they were. Even raising someone from the dead was possible, as seen from number 32's request — whose wife had now disappeared once more, leaving him in shambles.

Yes, it could all be a scam. Yes, all the money surrounding them right now could just be an illusion, or fakes. But after eyeing the piles upon piles of cash around them and witnessing number 32's wife be brought back from the dead momentarily, all the participants had a voice in their minds, telling them to 'risk it'.

As a result, no one spoke up. The hooded man, seeing this, was satisfied.

"Very well. It would seem all of you wish to embrace the chance that we have offered you. In that case… listen closely, players. I shall now begin explaining the rules of the Game."