**Time: 2:07 PM**

  **Location: Abandoned Building**

  Rei stood by the shattered window of his crumbling throne room, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

  The jagged edges of the broken glass framed his view of the criminals’ hideout across the street. Shadows danced across his sharp features, but the smirk curling his lips was unmistakable, a predator savoring the hunt.

  “Ah… now for the final test,” he murmured, his voice calm—eerily so, like a storm waiting to break.

  He slipped his phone into his pocket with a deliberate motion, then closed his eyes, his mind already spinning with calculations.

  *“Let’s see what humans are like when death breathes down their necks. Let’s see the cracks…”*

  His thoughts were cold, clinical, as if the men across the street were nothing more than lab rats in his deadly experiment.

  ---

  **Scene Shift – Inside the Criminals’ Hideout**

  The air inside the hideout was suffocating, thick with tension and the metallic tang of dried blood.

  Only ten men remained, their faces pale, their breaths uneven. The floor was still stained from the last “game,” a grim reminder of the bodies that had piled up.

  Takeshi, the youngest, was shaking, his eyes red from holding back tears. “We killed them… all of them…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “And for what? To die anyway?”

  Hiroshi , still riding the high of the fight, scoffed. “Quit whining, kid. We’re alive, aren’t we? That’s what matters.” But his bravado was thin, his hands trembling as he wiped blood from his knuckles.

  Daisuke, leaning against the wall, shook his head. “Alive for now. You think this bastard’s gonna let us walk away? He’s toying with us.” His scar twitched as he spoke, his cynicism masking his fear.

  Shinji, pacing nervously, couldn’t stay still. “hiroshi’s right—we’re alive. But what’s next? Huh? What’s this guy gonna make us do now?” His voice rose, cracking with panic. “Jump off a cliff? Kill each other?”

  Ryota cut in, his voice sharp. “Shut up, Shinji. Panicking won’t help. We need a plan.” He looked to Aizawa, his eyes pleading for guidance. “Boss, you got anything?”

  Aizawa didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the bloodstained floor. He was trying to piece it together, to find a way out, but every option led to the same conclusion: mastermind was in control. “We wait,” he said finally, his voice low. “And we stay together.”

  Then it came.

  *BZZZZZ…*

  *BZZZZZZZZZ…*

  The sound of their phones vibrating in unison sliced through the silence. Every man flinched, their hearts lurching in their chests.

  Hands froze, hovering over pockets, as if touching the phones might burn them. Their eyes met, wide with dread, but no one wanted to be the first to look.

  Takeshi, the youngest of the group, barely twenty with a mop of messy hair, was trembling so badly his phone nearly slipped from his hands.

  He fumbled to open the message, his lips parting in a silent gasp as he read it. His face drained of all color, his voice barely a whisper. “…Oh… fuck.”

  One by one, the others followed, their shaking fingers unlocking their screens. The message was the same for all of them:

  > “THIS IS THE FINAL GAME.

  > THE ONE WHO IS THE CLOSEST TO THIS HOUSE DIES.

  > ONLY THE ONE WHO IS THE FARTHEST FROM THIS HOUSE STAYS ALIVE.

  > NO USING ANY CARS, CYCLES OR ANYTHING. IF YOU DO—IMMEDIATE DEATH.

  > GOOD LUCK, FILTH.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  A cold, heavy silence settled over the room, the words sinking into their minds like poison.

  The men stood frozen, their breaths shallow, as the reality of the message hit them. This was it—the final game. One would live. One would die. The rest… who knew?

  Aizawa’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening. “This… this fucking bastard is playing god…” His voice was low, a growl of rage and helplessness. For the first time, his calm exterior cracked, revealing the storm inside him.

  Daisuke, a scar-faced man with a cynical edge, scoffed, though his voice trembled. “Final game? What the hell does he think this is? Some kind of sick show?” He ran a hand over his scar, a nervous habit, his eyes darting to the door.

  Hiroshi, was already shaking his head. “He’s serious. You saw what happened to Kenta! The guy just walked out—dead in seconds!” His voice cracked, his panic spilling over. “This isn’t a bluff!”

  Ryota, a lean man with sharp eyes, turned to Aizawa, desperation in his voice. “Boss, what do we do?! We can’t just stand here!” His hands were balled into fists, his body tense like a coiled spring.

  Aizawa, usually cold and calculated, stared at the message, his jaw tight.

  He didn’t answer right away, his mind racing to find a way out, a loophole, anything. But before he could speak, the silence was shattered by the screech of a chair scraping against the floor.

  But when the phones buzzed, that fragile unity shattered. The message was a bomb, blowing apart what little trust they had left. Takeshi’s reaction was pure terror, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped his phone. “This can’t be real… farthest? How do we even know what’s far enough?!” he stammered, his voice breaking.

  Ral, always quick to act, was already moving toward the door. “Doesn’t matter, kid. Run or die. That’s the deal.” His words were harsh, but his eyes betrayed his own fear.

  tippy-tap.

  Daisuke’s scoff hid his unease. “This is insane. Running like dogs? For what? One of us lives? This mastermind sick.” But he grabbed his jacket, ready to bolt, his cynicism giving way to survival instinct.

  Hiroshi’s panic was contagious. “We’re screwed! You saw what happened to the others! We can’t stay here!” He was sweating profusely, his eyes darting to the door like a trapped animal.

  **2:09 PM – Chaos Breaks Loose**

  One by one, the men surged toward the front door, shoving and elbowing each other in their desperation to escape. Some screamed, their voices raw with panic.

  Others cursed, their words a jumbled mess of fear and rage. They leaped over debris, their boots pounding against the concrete floor, driven by one primal instinct: survive.

  Outside, the air was dry and dusty, the sun beating down mercilessly. The men scattered like roaches, sprinting in different directions, their minds racing with the same frantic thoughts:

  Takeshi, his heart pounding in his ears, thought, *“How far is far enough?! What if I’m still not the farthest?!”* His legs burned as he ran, his sneakers slapping against the pavement.

  Kenta, his face twisted with determination, muttered to himself, *“No cars… no bikes… Just run! Just run!”* He didn’t care about the others—only his own survival mattered.

  Ryota’s mind was sharper, calculating. *“Everyone’s running the same direction—no! I need a different path! Split from them! That might give me distance!”* He veered left, darting into a narrow alley, hoping it would set him apart.

  Shinji, his breath ragged, kept repeating, *“I have to survive! I have to—”* His thoughts were a loop of panic, his lanky frame weaving through a half-constructed building.

  The hideout was left empty, its bloodstained floor abandoned as the men fled into the maze of streets and alleys, each one driven by the fear of being the closest—of being the one to die.

  ---

  **2:12 PM – Survival Instincts**

  As the minutes ticked by, the men’s panic began to take its toll. Their bodies weren’t built for this kind of relentless sprint, and their minds were fraying under the pressure.

  Kenta, running full tilt down a dusty street, tripped on uneven gravel. His arm scraped against the ground, blood welling up, but he didn’t even wince.

  He scrambled to his feet, his eyes wild, and kept running, his breath coming in harsh gasps. *“Can’t stop. Won’t stop,”* he thought, his heart hammering.

  Daisuke, older and heavier, was struggling. His lungs burned, his legs heavy as he lumbered down a side street. “Shit… I can’t… I can’t keep up with these kids…”

  He panted, his voice barely audible. Sweat poured down his scarred face, stinging his eyes. He leaned against a wall for a moment, gasping, but the fear of being the closest drove him forward again.

  Takeshi, younger and faster, turned into a side street, his mind racing. *“Shortcuts… that’ll save me… faster path to get farther… think, think!”*

  He dodged a pile of rubble, his sneakers skidding on the pavement. He was trying to outsmart the others, but deep down, he knew they were all thinking the same thing.

  The men weren’t just running to survive now—they were running against each other. Every step was a competition, every second a matter of life or death. The group that had fought together just minutes ago was fracturing, their loyalty replaced by raw, selfish instinct.

  ---

  **2:15 PM – Cracks Begin to Show**

  In a narrow alleyway, Ryota slammed into Shinji, shoving him hard against the wall. Shinji stumbled, his shoulder hitting the brick with a dull thud. “What the hell, man?!” he screamed, his voice cracking with fear and anger.

  Ryota snapped, his eyes blazing. “You were gonna get me killed! Move!” He didn’t wait for a response, shoving past Shinji and sprinting down the alley. Shinji cursed under his breath, scrambling to keep up, his heart pounding with betrayal.

  Further down the street, Daisuke’s strength gave out. He collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving as he gulped air. “I… I can’t…!” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

  Sweat dripped from his face, pooling on the pavement. His hands shook as he tried to push himself up, but his body refused. He was too old, too slow.

  The cracks in his mind were showing—fear was winning. *“I’m gonna die… I’m too close…”* he thought, his eyes wide with terror.

  Back at the hideout, Aizawa was the last to move. He stood in the doorway, staring at the empty house, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

  The others had run without thinking, but Aizawa was different. He was a planner, a survivor. He knew running blindly wouldn’t save him—not from mastermind .But he also knew staying still meant death.

  *“This is what he wants,”* Aizawa thought, his eyes narrowing. *“To break us. ”* He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. Then, with a slow, powerful stride, he took off running—not frantic like the others, but deliberate, like a beast stalking its survival.

  **2:20 PM – The End of the Line**

  The streets grew quieter as the men spread out, their footsteps fading into the distance. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the dusty alleys.

  Rei’s final test had done its work—the criminals were broken, their unity shattered, their minds and bodies pushed to the limit. Across the street, Rei stood in his throne room, his phone in hand, the screen glowing faintly. He didn’t need to watch them run. He already knew the outcome.

  One would live. One would die. The rest would fall somewhere in between, their fates sealed by their own desperation. Rei’s smirk returned, a quiet satisfaction settling over him. The cracks he’d wanted to see were there, laid bare in the men’s fear, their betrayal, their frantic scramble for survival.

  He turned from the window, his throne room silent once more. The game was over, and he’d won. The data was collected, the test complete. He slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped into the shadows, his laughter echoing faintly as he disappeared into the ruins.

  Across the street, the hideout stood empty, its bloodstained floor a testament to the cost of Rei’s game. In the distance, Aizawa kept running, his steps steady, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He didn’t know if he’d be the farthest, but he wasn’t giving up. Not yet. The game was over, but his fight wasn’t..

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