All Blogs by camell22

The hologram above the group flashes bright red: THE BLACKENED: HEATHER METAL THE VICTIM: ROBERT FINN VERDICT: CORRECT Gasps ripple through the chamber — even though they already knew, the confirmation still feels like a punch to the chest. Emma Violet (snapping, voice breaking): “What the hell is wrong with you, Heather!?” Heather looks up slowly, her breathing erratic. Her lip trembles, but her eyes are wild — glassy with rage and exhaustion. Emma (continuing, furious): “He was one of us! He didn’t deserve that! You—you killed him like he was nothing!” Heather (hoarse, shaking): “They were in pain…” Arthur Present (stepping forward): “If Robert was hurt, you could’ve come to any of us! You should’ve looked for help!” Heather’s head jerks toward him — something in her snaps. The trembling stops. Her voice explodes, raw and venomous. Heather (screaming): “I WASN’T TALKING ABOUT NO BITCH-ASS ROBERT FINN!” The words crash through the chamber like a shockwave. Everyone recoils — stunned. Heather (screaming louder): “Robert was a piece of shit! A miserable, whiny loser who spent every day bitching about Christmas like it owed him something! He hated it — hated us — hated everything! He was nothing but a walking pity party with a cheap-ass $1.50 job and a face that couldn’t smile if it tried!” Mariah City (horrified): “Heather, stop—” Heather (yelling over her): “NO! I’m not stopping! You all keep acting like he was some goddamn saint, but he wasn’t! He complained about the lights, the trees, the snow, the fucking air! Every time someone laughed, he’d roll his eyes and mutter about how ‘the world’s fake.’ You know what? He was fake!” Her voice cracks; her breathing turns uneven. Her rage spills like poison, no filter left. Heather (continuing): “You wanna know who was in pain? It wasn’t him. It was them!” Chase Hallow (quietly): “…Them?” Heather (screaming, voice breaking): “The animals! The ones he made you all fight! The ones Harold turned into monsters! The ones that never asked to be part of this fucked-up ‘holiday roulette’ show!” Her voice echoes, full of fury and sorrow — her whole body shaking with it. Heather (continuing): “They were crying — crying, you idiots! The noises they made weren’t growls, they were screams! I heard them when Harold powered up his little mind-control bullshit! Their eyes were glowing red, but they were terrified! They were trapped in their own bodies!” The group stands frozen — the air crackling with disbelief. Aruha Suguyama (softly): “…You killed Robert because of that?” Heather (spitting the words): “I killed him because he helped it happen!” Gasps ripple again. Heather (continuing, shouting): “He was the one maintaining the damn generators! He was the one who said the animal control chips were ‘stable.’ He said they were safe — and then they turned on us! He lied!” Emma Violet (furious): “So you murdered him?!” Heather (snapping): “He was letting them suffer! He didn’t give a fuck about them — about any of us!” Her eyes dart up to the throne — to Harold Yamaki, who’s now standing tall, arms crossed, smiling faintly. Heather (pointing at him, screaming): “And you! You’re worse than him! You’re the reason they were in pain in the first place, you fucked-up neko freak!” Harold Yamaki (smiling wider): “My, my~. Such language. You wound me.” Heather (furious): “You’re goddamn right I do! You tortured them — you made them into weapons just to watch us panic! And for what? Your entertainment?!” Harold (mock gasp): “Entertainment? Oh, no, no, no~.” (his grin sharpens) “I call it… balance.” Heather (spitting): “You call it bullshit! You’re a sadistic fucking cat with a god complex!” Neely Pearl (half whisper, wide-eyed): “She’s really calling out the mayor… in front of everyone.” Nicholas Sour (quietly, chewing): “Bold move.” Heather (continuing): “I watched those animals cry, Harold! I saw what your stupid system did to them! I saw their eyes go blank right before the bear smashed through that café window! And Robert — that coward — he didn’t even flinch! He just said, ‘it’s protocol.’ Protocol!” She’s shouting through tears now — a trembling mix of rage, guilt, and grief. Heather (screaming): “They were living things! They had families! And you — you made them monsters!” Harold Yamaki (slowly stepping forward, tail flicking): “My dear Heather… you’re quite the actress. Such passion, such despair… It’s almost enough to make me believe you care.” Heather (yelling): “I DO CARE!” Harold (coldly): “No. You cared too late.” The chamber falls into suffocating silence. Heather’s sobbing now — harsh, angry gasps between every word. Heather (through tears): “They were hurting… I didn’t know what else to do… He was the only one who could stop it… and he wouldn’t.” Arthur Present (quietly, almost pleading): “You could’ve found help, Heather. You could’ve told us.” Heather (bitter laugh): “Yeah, right. Like any of you would’ve listened to the VSCO girl with the scrunchies.” Emma Violet (softly, trembling): “Maybe we would have…” Heather looks up at her — broken, defeated, furious all at once. Heather (whispering): “No. You wouldn’t have.” Harold Yamaki (clapping his paws together once): “Well, what a thrilling confession! Guilt, grief, and a splash of activism! Truly, the spirit of the holidays~.” Mariah City (snapping): “Shut up, Harold!” Harold (grinning wider): “Oh, I will~. But not before we finish the show.” He turns to Heather — eyes gleaming gold in the dim light. Harold (softly): “You know the rules, my dear. The blackened must receive their… present.” Heather’s face twists in horror as the floor beneath her begins to glow — the roulette spinning up again. Heather (screaming): “No— no, wait— I didn’t do it for me! I did it for them!” Harold (purring, voice echoing): “Oh, don’t worry, dear. You’ll be joining them soon~.” The lights explode into a shower of red and gold — a chorus of distorted Christmas bells ringing as the roulette swallows her in blinding light. Emma Violet (screaming): “Heather!!” Hue Trinity (quietly, jaw clenched): “…Good riddance.” Neely Pearl (half whisper): “Guess the holidays really bit back.” Nicholas Sour (softly, unwrapping another candy): “Peppermint flavor this time.” The roulette stops. The light fades. Heather is gone. Only silence remains — and the faint sound of snowflakes flickering through the holograms above. Harold Yamaki (smiling, stretching): “Mmm~! What a lovely trial! The perfect blend of chaos, confession, and catharsis. I feel merry already!” No one answers. Arthur Present (coldly): “You’re a monster.” Harold (grinning wider): “Oh, sweet boy… it’s the holidays. We’re all monsters.” The camera pans up — past the glowing roulette, past the flickering holographic snow — until the chamber fades into darkness, leaving only the sound of Harold’s soft, purring laughter. A blinding flash of red. The words slam onto the giant screen above the chamber in bold, neon letters that shimmer like blood-tinted glitter: HEATHER METAL HAS BEEN FOUND GUILTY. EXECUTION COMMENCING. Execution: 🍑 ⋆ 🍎 🎀 𝒮𝒜𝒱𝐸 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒱𝒮𝒞💗 𝒢𝐼𝑅𝐿❣ 🎀 🍎 ⋆ 🍑 A bright, sun-drenched beach. The sky is an impossible shade of pastel blue, the kind seen on influencer filters. The waves sparkle, almost too cheerful. The sand glitters with flecks of pink and gold. Heather Metal stands center frame — wrists and ankles bound tightly to a tall wooden pole planted in the sand. Her hair blows in the sea breeze, her scrunchies glinting like plastic halos. A faint echo of “beach day ambience” plays — seagulls, waves, distant laughter. Then — the laughter distorts. A roaring crowd fills the shore. Hundreds of angry silhouettes appear — protesters, each holding neon-painted signs that read things like: “DOWN WITH FAKE AESTHETICS!” “NO MORE FILTERS!” “VSCO IS DEAD!” “BAN SCRUNCHIES FOREVER!” The mob chants in distorted unison, voices blending into a rhythmic, mechanical roar. They start throwing scrunchies — thousands of them. Pink, blue, yellow — they pelt Heather like rubber bullets, bouncing off her arms, face, and hair. She flinches. The scrunchies keep coming — a storm of color and irony. Then the crowd changes tactics. Hydroflasks arc through the air like artillery shells. Each one crashes into the sand around her, exploding into showers of glittering water. The impact shakes the pole, rattling the ground. Heather struggles against her restraints — the pole creaking. A Hydroflask strikes the pole dead-center. Cracks crawl up the wood. The chanting reaches fever pitch — distorted, overlapping voices repeating: “Save the VSCO girl! Save the VSCO girl! Save the VSCO girl!” The rhythm twists — the tone turning demonic, mocking, echoing through the beach like an inescapable taunt. Then — The horizon darkens. The ocean’s surface ripples violently. The wind dies. The crowd freezes. A deep, low rumble begins — like thunder rolling from beneath the sea. Heather lifts her head — eyes wide in horror. The waves swell into a mountain. Water spirals upward in a colossal vortex. From the depths of the glowing ocean, a gigantic whale rises — monstrous, shimmering in silver and turquoise light, its eyes glowing like spotlights. Its size dwarfs everything — the beach, the crowd, the sky. The mob screams and scatters, their signs flying through the air like confetti. Hydroflasks roll down the shore, clattering against each other. Scrunchies swirl in the air like falling petals. Heather’s scream vanishes under the sound of the sea splitting apart. The whale’s massive body arcs high into the air — sunlight glinting off its slick, wet surface — and then it comes down in slow motion. The water crashes down in a tidal explosion. Sand, foam, and debris fly skyward in a blinding flash. The sound cuts to silence the instant the whale connects. [CUT TO BLACK.] A single, soft pop echoes — the faint sound of a Hydroflask hitting the ground. Then, Harold Yamaki’s holographic cat face flickers onto the screen, grinning wide. The chamber lights flicker dimly — the once-glowing roulette now dull and still, its festive gold drained to a faint, lifeless gray. The air feels heavy — thicker than before, suffocating in its quiet. A faint sound hums through the speakers — static and wind. No music. No commentary. Just silence. The holographic snow above them has stopped falling. It floats frozen midair — each digital snowflake flickering, as if the system itself hesitates to continue. Twenty-four people remain. No one speaks at first. No one even moves. The execution screen still glows faintly in the background — a cheerful logo of a whale and the words “Save the VSCO Girl!” shimmering mockingly across the wall. Mariah City stands closest to it, her trembling hands clutching the podium. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her mascara is smeared, tears streaking down her cheeks as she stares blankly at the screen. Mariah (whispering, trembling): “…She’s gone.” The silence swallows her words whole. Arthur Present crouches beside Nicholas Sour, who’s sitting cross-legged on the cold metal floor, his lollipop half-melted, gripped between his teeth like a pacifier. His wide eyes are locked on nothing — blank, glassy, lost. Arthur (softly, placing a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder): “Hey… breathe, okay? Just breathe…” Nicholas (muffled around his lollipop): “…It’s all wrong.” Arthur (gentle): “I know.” Nicholas doesn’t look at him. He just keeps sucking the lollipop — slower, more rhythmic — like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. A few feet away, Paris Ross is clutching his oversized cat hoodie against his chest, eyes wet, face pale. His voice comes out small and cracked. Paris (softly): “She… she didn’t deserve that…” Hue Trinity turns away sharply, jaw tight, trying to mask the conflict in his expression — anger and guilt twisting together. He mutters under his breath, his voice almost breaking: Hue (low): “She did it to herself.” No one argues. No one agrees either. Mariah City finally collapses against her podium, pressing her forehead against the cold surface. Her breath comes in sharp bursts — half-sobs, half-laughter — the kind of sound that isn’t sure what emotion it’s supposed to be. Mariah (choking out): “This is insane… we’re living in a nightmare…” Jackie Yamata kneels beside her, reaching out hesitantly. Jackie (quietly): “Hey… hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, Mariah.” Mariah (through tears): “She was right there. She was right there! And now she’s… she’s—” Her voice cracks. She can’t finish the sentence. Jackie (gently): “I know. I know.” Around the room, the others stand in stunned silence — all twenty-four of them staring at the empty spot where Heather’s podium once was. It’s been retracted into the floor — a dark, circular void in its place. Austin Sobriquet stares down at it, his glasses reflecting the faint light. His tone is cold, detached — not from lack of empathy, but from sheer burnout. Austin (flatly): “Two down. Twenty-four left.” Aruha Suguyama (softly): “Don’t say it like that.” Austin (quietly): “It’s the truth.” Chase Hallow crosses his arms, his brow furrowed, eyes shadowed. Chase (low): “The truth doesn’t make it easier.” A long pause. Even the air feels like it’s holding its breath. Will King fidgets with his gloves, muttering: Will (quietly): “She really thought she was saving something… even after everything.” Riko Hoyomisha (calm but distant): “She wasn’t wrong about Harold.” The room stills at that name. All eyes slowly turn toward the throne. Mayor Harold Yamaki sits exactly as he did at the start — cross-legged, tail swishing lazily, his golden eyes glinting through the gloom. Not a hair out of place. Not a flicker of emotion. He hasn’t moved since the execution began. Harold (purring softly): “Such long faces, my little citizens~. You look as if someone canceled Christmas.” Neely Pearl glares up at him from their seat, voice hoarse. Neely (snapping): “You’re sick. You actually enjoyed that.” Harold (smiling faintly): “I enjoy closure. It keeps things tidy.” Mariah (shouting, furious): “She was begging for her life! And you— you just— you didn’t even blink!” Harold (mock pout): “Oh, but I did~. Once. It was very emotional for me.” Paulie Mae (through clenched teeth): “You’re a monster.” Harold (purring, eyes half-lidded): “Mmm~. I’ve been called worse.” The silence that follows is unbearable — twenty-four people, twenty-four broken souls, standing in the cold glow of a machine built for despair. The camera pans slowly across each face: Hue, fists trembling at his sides. Emma, staring at the floor, guilt in her eyes. Chase, silent, his mind spinning. Neely, eyes wet but burning with rage. Nicholas, quietly sucking his lollipop, lost in himself. Paris, still hugging his hoodie like a lifeline. Mariah, frozen between grief and fury. The shot pans to the empty space where Heather once stood. The lights flicker. Her name on the podium blinks once — then fades out entirely. Harold Yamaki (calmly, tail flicking): “Now then… twenty-four merry little souls remain~.” He rises slowly, stretching, his voice smooth as silk and twice as cutting. Harold (continuing): “You’ve learned the rules, haven’t you? You live. You love. You laugh. And when someone breaks the spirit of our little holiday… we open a present~.” No one responds. The group stares at him in silent, collective loathing. Harold (mock sighing): “Oh, don’t look at me like that. There’ll be plenty of time for tears later. For now…” (he grins, teeth flashing) “…rest up. Tomorrow’s motive will make this look like a snowball fight.” He claps his paws once. The lights dim instantly, the roulette vanishing into darkness. One by one, the podiums sink into the floor, lowering the survivors out of the trial chamber — their faces illuminated by the fading red glow as the snowflakes resume falling from above. The last thing seen before total blackness is Harold’s glowing eyes, still watching, still smiling. Harold Yamaki (softly, to himself): “Ho, ho, ho~.” The trial chamber is silent now. No more lights. No more roulette. Only the faint mechanical hum of the elevator platform slowly rising back into place. The snowflake holograms have burned out — leaving faint wisps of pixel smoke drifting through the air. Mayor Harold Yamaki stretches his arms above his head and yawns, his tail flicking lazily. Harold (softly, to himself): “Well… that was fun~.” He hops off his throne with a graceful motion and lands lightly on the floor. The sound of his boots tapping against metal echoes through the empty room. He glances once toward the center — toward the space where Heather’s podium used to be — and smirks. Harold (quietly, almost purring): “Good help is so hard to find.” Then he turns and walks out through the glowing doors. They slide shut behind him, sealing the chamber in complete silence. ~Elevator~ The elevator platform reemerges — rising slowly from below, carrying the 24 survivors back up to the surface. Their faces are pale, eyes downcast, the weight of what just happened pressing down on them like a physical force. The ride feels longer than before — no festive music, no holographic snowflakes, just the steady hum of machinery and the quiet, uneven breathing of the group. Mariah City stands against the corner, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her mascara smeared from tears she refuses to let fall. Myrtle Chang leans over the railing, face pale, one hand gripping her stomach. Myrtle (hoarse, muttering): “I think… I’m gonna throw up…” Kayegama Yoshe gently places a hand on her back, looking uneasy but trying to comfort her. Kayegama (softly): “Just breathe, okay? We’re almost out…” Myrtle (whispering): “She was screaming. I can still hear it…” Kayegama (quietly): “I know.” Across from them, Nicholas Sour sits on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. His lollipop dangles loosely from his mouth — unmoving. His eyes are red, the gloss of tears he refuses to let spill. He bites down on the candy too hard, and it cracks — the sound echoing like glass breaking. Arthur Present, sitting beside him, looks over gently. Arthur (softly): “Hey… you’re allowed to cry, you know.” Nicholas (shaking his head, voice trembling): “I can’t… I can’t do it here.” Arthur says nothing more — he just sits there beside him, quiet, a steady presence in the shaking silence. Neely Pearl stands in front of the mirrored elevator wall, dabbing carefully under their eyes with a finger, trying to reapply foundation with trembling hands. Their voice is shaky but carries a kind of brittle humor. Neely (softly, to no one): “Can’t let trauma mess up my contour…” Their reflection blinks back at them — tear-streaked, mascara smudged, the faint shimmer of glitter still clinging to their cheeks. Julian Merwin lets out a low, humorless laugh from the back of the elevator. Julian (dryly): “First trial… and it already feels like we’ve lost half the city.” Austin Sobriquet, arms crossed, stares at the floor. Austin (quietly): “Two gone. Twenty-four left.” Emma Violet glares at him from across the chamber. Emma (snapping): “Stop saying it like that! They were people, not numbers!” Austin doesn’t respond. He just adjusts his glasses, the reflection hiding his eyes. Riko Hoyomisha exhales slowly through his nose, his tone quiet but firm. Riko (calm): “Emma’s right. If we start thinking like him…” (he glances up toward the ceiling, toward where Harold had been) “…then we’ve already lost.” Paulie Mae and Paulie Louis sit close together, hands clasped tightly. Neither of them speaks. Their silence says more than any words could. Mark Traverse leans against the elevator wall, staring at the mirrored reflection of the group — the survivors of a nightmare trying to pretend they can stand tall. His influencer’s grin is gone; his eyes are hollow. Mark (muttering): “How are we supposed to keep doing this…?” Jackie Yamata, standing near him, runs a hand through his hair and sighs. Jackie (quietly): “One step at a time.” Mariah (softly, whispering to herself): “She’s gone… she’s really gone…” Hue Trinity folds his arms, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed but his expression heavy. Hue (low, bitter): “She killed someone, but… I still didn’t wanna see her die like that.” No one answers him. Aruha Suguyama and Arthur Smith exchange a glance — tired, hopeless, but still silently promising each other that they’ll survive the next one. Johnathon Coffee clutches his coffee thermos so tightly his knuckles are white. He stares into it like it holds the only warmth left in the world. Johnathon (softly): “…I can’t drink this anymore.” Jessi Kowalski lets out a long breath. Jessi (quietly): “Get used to it. This city’s lost its soul.” A dull chime rings through the chamber. The elevator slows. The glow of the upper floor shines faintly through the glass — cold and sterile. Paris Ross, still clutching his hoodie, whispers softly as the elevator nears its stop. Paris (softly): “Twenty-six came down…” (his voice cracks) “Now only twenty-four go back up.” The elevator halts with a soft metallic clang. The doors slide open, revealing the dim, empty corridor leading back into the city’s quiet streets. No music. No chatter. Just the sound of the wind howling through hollow buildings wrapped in fake garland. One by one, they step out — their shadows long and unsteady under the flickering neon lights. Mariah City pauses before exiting. She glances back at the elevator — at the faint reflection of all their faces — then whispers under her breath: Mariah (quietly): “First trial down… and it doesn’t even feel like Christmas anymore.” She walks out. The doors close behind them with a soft hiss. The camera lingers on the empty elevator for a few seconds — the faint echo of their footsteps fading away — until the lights dim and the screen flickers to black. ~Episode 4 Ends~ Civilians: Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Paulie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Previous: https://kovaze.com/blog/18500 Continue: ????

The tension in the room thickens like smoke. The roulette wheel glows crimson beneath the circle, slowly spinning, the soft chime of bells underscoring the uneasy quiet. The ridiculousness of the “scrunchie choke theory” has faded — replaced with something heavier, sharper. Heather Metal, Julian Merwin, and Arthur Smith stand at their podiums, their faces lit by the flickering red and green trial lights. The three names hover above them on the holographic display, glowing faintly. Austin Sobriquet (quietly, adjusting his glasses): “So… it all circles back to them. Heather. Julian. Arthur Smith.” Mariah City (folding her arms): “Great. Three suspects, zero patience.” Heather Metal (sighing, sarcastic): “Cool. Can’t wait to see how I get blamed for death-by-scrunchie. Real legacy moment.” Neely Pearl (grinning): “Oh, honey, if it was you, at least it’s fabulous. I mean— poetic irony. VSCO girl kills technician with a hair accessory? That’s showbiz.” Heather (dryly): “Please shut up before I use a scrunchie on you.” Harold Yamaki (purring): “Ooh, a sequel!” The laughter dies down as Aruha Suguyama straightens up, her calm, measured tone cutting through the noise. Aruha (firm): “Let’s start with Arthur Smith. During the body discovery announcement, I was with him and Mark Traverse. We had to clear the furniture away from the gift shop entrance. The barricade was jammed, and it took all three of us to move it.” Mark Traverse (nodding): “Yeah, she’s right. Arthur was there the whole time — sweating, cursing, and very much not committing murder.” Arthur Smith (relieved): “Thank you. Finally, some recognition.” Harold Yamaki (smirking): “Oh, how disappointing. I was hoping for a ‘Model Turned Murderer’ headline.” Arthur Smith (snapping): “Keep hoping, fuzzball.” Chase Hallow (nodding): “That clears Arthur. The timeline doesn’t fit. He couldn’t have been at the plaza — he was still helping to clear the barricades.” The holographic projection flickers — Arthur’s name fades from red to gray. Heather Metal (crossing her arms): “So we’re down to two. What now, a haircare showdown?” Julian Merwin smirks, running a hand through his styled black hair. “Hey, if it’s between you and me, sweetheart, I like my odds.” Jackie Yamata (rolling his eyes): “Julian, please.” Seth Norway leans on his podium, his usual dry tone barely masking his amusement. “Let’s be real — Julian couldn’t have used a scrunchie to kill anyone. Have you seen his arms?” Julian (grinning): “Why yes, actually. Would you like a closer look?” Seth (flat): “Not what I meant.” Jackie Yamata (chuckling): “He’s right though. Julian’s built like a dancer — strong, flexible, definitely capable of fighting, not choking people with dollar-store accessories.” Julian (flashing a playful grin): “Careful, Jackie. Keep complimenting me like that and I’ll start thinking you’re into me.” Jackie (deadpan): “I’d sooner date the scrunchie.” Neely Pearl (gasping): “Oh, the shade! The drama! Someone call wardrobe; I need popcorn!” Harold Yamaki (delighted): “Mmm, tension and flirtation — my favorite holiday pairing.” Chase Hallow (clearing his throat): “So we can rule out Julian as well. He’s physically strong — his build contradicts the weak-force theory Nicholas pointed out. The killer had to use the scrunchie because they lacked the strength for direct violence.” Julian winks at Chase. “See? My muscles saved my reputation.” Mariah City (muttering): “And my sanity’s the price.” The hologram flickers again — Julian’s name fades to gray, leaving only one still glowing in red. Heather Metal. The room grows quiet. All eyes shift toward her. Heather’s smirk fades, replaced with a look caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation. Heather (flatly): “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Chase (calm, steady): “Heather, you’re the only one left without a verified alibi. You weren’t in the café or gift shop groups, and you weren’t seen near the town hall barricades.” Heather (defensive): “I told you — I was near the equipment cases by the side gate! Ask anyone who was helping move supplies!” Austin Sobriquet (shaking his head): “I checked the equipment area during investigation. Nobody there remembers seeing you.” Heather (snapping): “Yeah, because everyone was running for their lives! Sorry for not holding a press conference while a bear trashed the lobby!” Neely Pearl (mock sympathy): “Oh, sweetie, denial doesn’t look good under neon lighting.” Heather (snapping): “Shut it, Neely!” Mariah City (grinning despite herself): “Okay, but… it is kinda sus that the only person left happens to be the one cracking up laughing over the scrunchie.” Heather (sarcastic): “Yeah, because that’s totally motive — I laugh at bad evidence, so I must be a killer!” Nicholas Sour (quietly): “You did laugh… a lot.” Heather (turning): “Nicholas, you’re sucking on a lollipop during a murder trial.” Nicholas (shrugging): “And you’re on trial during a murder trial.” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers): “Ohhh, point to Lollipop Boy!” Harold Yamaki leans forward on his throne, eyes glowing faintly gold with mischief. Harold (softly, purring): “My, my, Heather. The evidence sparkles, but your story… doesn’t. Alone, unaccounted for, and oh so defensive.” Heather (glaring up at him): “I’m not scared of you, Mayor Catnip.” Harold (grinning): “Good~. Fear is such a messy color on you.” The roulette hum deepens — a slow, heavy rhythm. The snowflake holograms above begin spinning faster, casting wild reflections across the group. Chase Hallow (low, certain): “For now, the logic points one way. Arthur has an alibi. Julian doesn’t match the killer’s profile. That leaves you, Heather.” Heather Metal (gritting her teeth): “So that’s it, huh? I’m the scapegoat of the season. Merry freaking Christmas.” Mariah City (softly): “If it’s not you, prove it.” Heather looks around the circle — at every face watching her. Her usual confidence wavers, just slightly. Heather (quietly): “I’ll prove it. Because I didn’t kill him.” Harold Yamaki (grinning): “Oh, what a bold holiday promise~! I can’t wait to see if you keep it before the clock strikes despair!” He claps once — the sound sharp as glass. The roulette beneath them speeds up, the chime turning into a mechanical jingle. Harold (cheerfully): “Let’s see how long you can hold your breath, little rockstar. The pressure’s about to tighten~!” The lights flicker between red and white, the snow swirling faster around them. Heather’s jaw clenches as the others watch — suspicion, fear, and curiosity mixing under the glow of the trial lights. The red and green lights fade into a colder, bluish tone as the roulette slows its spin — the air feels dense, frozen with accusation. Heather Metal stands straight behind her podium, her VSCO-chic hair tied in a high ponytail, hands gripping the edge of the console. Her scrunchie-stacked wrists glint under the trial lights. Her usual confident smirk is gone; in its place — sharp determination. Heather Metal (flatly): “You all really think I did it?” A few glances shift away from her; no one answers. Heather (louder): “Seriously? Me? The Ultimate VSCO Girl? I’m supposed to believe I went full Mission Impossible with a rope and a Christmas tree?” Neely Pearl (half-smirking): “Well, the aesthetic does fit.” Heather (snapping): “Neely, not now!” Harold Yamaki chuckles lowly from his throne, tail flicking like a metronome. Harold (purring): “Oh, please. Continue your influencer defense, darling. I’m dying to hear how you’ll hashtag your innocence.” Heather rolls her eyes. Heather (mocking): “#I’mNotTheKiller. There — happy?” Mariah City (crossing her arms): “Words aren’t proof, Heather.” Heather (exasperated): “Fine! You want proof? Let’s walk through this ridiculous theory step by step.” She leans forward, fire in her voice now. Heather: “First off — motive. What possible reason would I have to kill Robert? He barely even talked to me! The most we ever said to each other was, ‘hey, can you hand me that charger.’” Austin Sobriquet (quietly): “She’s not wrong. They weren’t close.” Heather (counting on her fingers): “Second, the timeline. For me to have done this, I’d need to: Sneak into the café while a bear was inside — y’know, minor detail. Steal a rope and a box without dying. Barricade both doors from the café to the gift shop — while the bear’s still trashing tables! Then run to the outside of the gift shop, barricade that door with more furniture somehow. Lasso a freaking tree branch while Robert’s sitting on it. Pull the rope hard enough to snap the branch — oh, and let’s not forget—” (she spreads her arms theatrically) “—I apparently did all this with zero upper body strength because I’m, what, too busy saving the turtles?” Neely Pearl bursts out laughing. “Honestly? The visual’s killing me. You, mid-crisis, with a Hydro Flask in one hand and a rope in the other!” Heather (pointing at Neely): “Exactly! How is that the face of calculated murder?” Chase Hallow (calmly): “So you’re saying it’s physically impossible for you to have done all that alone.” Heather (nodding): “Not just physically — logistically. Think about it. There’s a bear, a snake incident, barricaded doors, and chaos everywhere. You think I had time to set up a tree trap in between posting selfies?” Mariah City (snickering): “To be fair, you’d probably livestream it if you did.” Heather (grinning for a second): “Yeah, but at least I’d use good lighting.” The crowd chuckles, tension breaking slightly. Heather (serious again): “And about the snakes? I wasn’t anywhere near them. You can ask Hue or Emma — they were the ones stuck fighting off reptiles while I was hiding in the back corridor near the generator storage.” Hue Trinity (nodding reluctantly): “She’s right. I didn’t see her anywhere near the house.” Austin Sobriquet (cross-checking his notes): “The surveillance logs from the town hall corridor picked up movement near that area around the same time. Could match her position.” Heather (snapping her fingers): “Thank you! Finally, some common sense!” Harold Yamaki (teasing, clapping slowly): “Ooh, a passionate rebuttal! I adore it. You’re like a snowflake in a blizzard of denial.” Heather (glaring): “Denial? You think I’d waste my time choking a man with a scrunchie? Please. If I wanted to kill someone, I’d do it with style — and probably lip gloss.” Neely Pearl (snapping): “Yesss! That’s the VSCO spirit!” Mariah City (shaking her head, half-laughing): “She’s not wrong. If it was Heather, the crime scene would’ve had a filter and a caption.” Heather (sighing, rubbing her temples): “Finally, people are using their brains. Look, I know I’m loud, I know I joke too much — but I’m not stupid, and I’m not a killer. Everything about this screams ‘overcomplicated,’ and that’s not me.” Chase Hallow (considering): “She makes a solid point. The setup took strength, time, and patience. Heather doesn’t fit that profile.” Riko Hoyomisha (nodding): “Not to mention, there’s still no evidence connecting her directly to the scrunchie. It came from the girls’ house, yes, but anyone could’ve taken it.” Heather (crossing her arms triumphantly): “Exactly. Thank you, Riko. So unless the killer was secretly me with ten extra hours and a gym membership, I think you all need to look somewhere else.” Harold Yamaki (leaning forward, tail curling): “Oooh, feisty! I like that spirit~! A holiday miracle of sass and survival.” Neely Pearl (clapping): “She cleared her name and gave a TED Talk.” Mariah City (muttering): “At this point, we should just rename this ‘The Roast of Heather Metal.’” Heather (smirking): “Good. Because I’m not dying for someone else’s crime.” The roulette hum deepens again, glowing with faint gold light instead of red. The audience feels it — the shift in suspicion, the flicker of doubt turning away from her. Chase Hallow (quietly, thoughtful): “She’s right. The timeline doesn’t fit. And if she was near the generator hall, that puts her on the opposite side of the plaza when Robert died.” Harold Yamaki (purring): “My, my~! It seems our VSCO vixen has wriggled out of the snowdrift… for now.” He leans back, crossing his legs with a feline grin. Harold: “But if it wasn’t Heather… who among you has the strength — and the sparkle — to finish the job?” The snowflake holograms above shimmer faintly red again, spinning faster. Heather exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing just a little as the spotlight drifts away from her podium. Heather (quietly, under her breath): “Thank God for receipts.” The roulette has slowed again, casting a pale glow that ripples like snowfall across the room. The hum of tension lingers — everyone still processing Heather’s fiery defense. Then, a single voice breaks the quiet. Jessi Kowalski (coolly): “I’m not buying it.” All heads turn toward her. Jessi’s arms are crossed, her tarot-shaped earrings swaying as she steps forward. Her eyes narrow in that mix of cynicism and intuition that’s earned her the title of Ultimate Tarot Card Reader. Heather Metal (snapping): “Oh, what now? You wanna pull the Tower card for me too?” Jessi (unamused): “No. I’m gonna pull something else.” From inside her coat, Jessi produces a small folded piece of paper sealed in a plastic sleeve. The paper’s edges are torn, smudged with faint dirt. She lays it flat on her podium under the lights. Jessi (calmly): “During the investigation, I found this. Outside the gift shop — half-buried near the wall.” Chase Hallow (focused): “What is it?” Jessi: “Looks like a list. With everyone’s names on it… and animals written next to each one.” The crowd murmurs. Neely Pearl (curious): “Oooh, mystery fan mail?” Harold Yamaki’s ears perk up, and he leans forward from his throne with a curious grin. Harold (cheerful): “Oh, that old thing! I must’ve dropped it.” Mariah City (blinking): “Wait— you wrote it?” Harold (purring): “Accidentally~! I was compiling my little ‘Naughty or Wild’ list. Had to pair everyone with their perfect spirit animal before the trial, you know, for dramatic flair!” Neely Pearl (snapping): “Oh my god, we’re literally in a murder trial, and you’re out here doing horoscopes for zoo animals?” Harold (smiling): “It’s called presentation, darling.” Heather Metal (rolling her eyes): “Unbelievable.” Jessi (continuing): “Yeah, well, the list might be more than presentation. There’s something weird about it. Some of the writing’s been smeared — like someone handled it before I found it.” Austin Sobriquet (leaning closer): “What kind of animals were listed?” Jessi flips the paper open, reading aloud carefully: “Emma — bear. Austin — squirrel. Mariah — raccoon. Julian — fox. Arthur Present — deer. Neely — peacock—” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers): “Obviously.” Jessi (continuing, unfazed): “—Robert — wolves.” The group murmurs again. Riko Hoyomisha (frowning): “Wolves?” Jessi nods, tapping the name with a gloved finger. “Yeah. Plural. Wolves, not one.” Austin Sobriquet (pensive): “Wolves aren’t exactly known for climbing trees. But they’re pack hunters — coordinated, fast, aggressive. So Robert climbing a tree… might’ve been a logical survival move.” Chase Hallow (nodding): “If he saw wolves, he’d naturally seek higher ground. The broken branch could’ve been his attempt to get away — or what the killer used against him while he was up there.” Heather Metal (folding her arms): “So… you’re saying the list tells us what animals attacked who?” Jessi (flatly): “Not exactly. I think it’s more like a pattern — maybe what the mayor planned to release after the announcement.” Harold Yamaki (mock gasp): “You make it sound like I don’t know how to organize chaos!” Jessi (snapping): “Clearly, you don’t! Because here’s the weird part—” She holds up the paper closer to the light. The ink shines faintly under the glow, some parts smudged into unreadable blotches. Jessi: “Some names are perfectly clear. But a few? Completely smeared. Almost on purpose.” Chase (leaning in): “Which names?” Jessi’s eyes move down the list, her tone tightening. “Hue. Emma. And… Heather.” Everyone turns toward Heather again. Heather Metal (groaning): “Oh, come on! What is this, round two?” Jessi (firm): “Someone smeared their animals out — not random ink, deliberate. Maybe to hide what was planned for them… or what they were supposed to face.” Austin Sobriquet (thoughtful): “If the animals next to their names were erased, then maybe whoever did it wanted to change or cover their fate.” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers): “Ooh, mystery sabotage! Someone editing the mayor’s murder itinerary!” Harold Yamaki (grinning): “I do love fan participation~.” Heather (pointing at him): “Shut up, Harold. You ‘accidentally’ dropped this list right before someone got murdered!” Harold (mock offended): “I’m merely a festive observer. My paws are clean — and moisturized.” Riko Hoyomisha (serious): “Still… it makes sense. If someone tampered with that list, it means they knew the attack order. They could’ve changed which animals were released — or when.” Chase Hallow (quietly): “And if Robert’s name was tied to wolves, maybe whoever edited the list made sure his attack wasn’t random.” Heather Metal (snapping): “So you’re saying someone literally rewrote his death sentence?” Jessi (grimly): “Looks like it.” Mariah City (softly): “Then whoever smeared those names… knew what was coming.” A low hum fills the air again — the roulette beginning to spin faster, the snowflake holograms above flashing erratically. Harold Yamaki (grinning like a cat that caught a mouse): “Ohhh~! Tampered fate, twisted intention, and smeared ink on the page of destiny! Don’t you just love the holiday suspense?” Heather (growling): “I swear, one more pun and I’ll throw a Hydro Flask at you.” Harold (amused): “Temper, temper~. You wouldn’t want to end up on the naughty list again.” The camera zooms in on the list, the smeared names glistening faintly like wet paint — Hue. Emma. Heather. Three names. Three missing beasts. And one murdered technician who climbed too high. The roulette slows to a stop, the chime echoing like a clock strike. Chase Hallow (quietly): “If someone rewrote that list… they might’ve rewritten the entire plan.” The courtroom lights flicker again — blue and red flashes painting everyone in restless, feverish color. The list of beasts lies flat on Jessi’s podium, the ink shimmering faintly under the neon glare. Austin Sobriquet steps forward, holding out his hand. Austin (calmly): “Jessi, can you pass that down?” Jessi Kowalski nods and slides the plastic-sealed sheet down the line of podiums. The paper travels through several pairs of hands — cautious, uneasy — until it reaches Austin. He adjusts his glasses, the lenses flashing white for a second as the smart optics scan the surface. Austin (quietly): “There’s still faint residue from the ink. If I magnify it enough, I might make out what was under the smears.” Everyone watches — the hum of his glasses is the only sound for a moment. The faint letters slowly reappear on the cracked paper, ghostly and wet-looking in the glow. Austin (reading carefully): “Hue… Emma… and Heather. All three smeared, but…” (he squints) “…the one next to Heather starts with an ‘S’… and ends with an ‘S.’” The room stiffens. Neely Pearl (raising an eyebrow): “Ooh, suspense~! Snake? Shark? Sasquatch?” Before anyone else can speak, Hue Trinity slams both hands against his podium. Hue (furious): “Snakes. It’s snakes, isn’t it?” Austin (hesitating): “…It could be.” Hue’s voice cracks like a whip. Hue (explosive): “Are you kidding me?! You— you fucking bitch!” Heather Metal (snapping back): “Excuse me?!” Hue (shouting over her): “You smeared it on purpose, didn’t you?! You switched it! You made the snakes come for us!” Heather (furious): “Oh, give me a break, Trinity! I was nowhere near your snake-filled nightmare!” Hue (slamming his fist again): “Bullshit! You erased your name so you wouldn’t get attacked and dumped those snakes into our house! You almost got Emma killed!” Heather (yelling): “I didn’t even know where your stupid house was!” Hue (spitting out the words): “You’re full of shit! You were never where you said you were! Generator storage, my ass!” Heather (snapping): “Oh, what, now I’m supposed to have superpowers too? I’m a VSCO girl, not a snake charmer!” Hue (screaming): “Don’t fucking play dumb with me!” Heather (screaming back): “I’m not playing anything, asshole!” Their voices echo through the trial chamber, bouncing off the metal and glass walls. The roulette below them pulses in bright red light, matching the rising volume. Mariah City (wincing): “Oh my God, it’s like Christmas karaoke with violence.” Arthur Present (quietly, to Chase): “This is getting out of control.” Chase Hallow doesn’t even flinch — his eyes dart between the two, analyzing every word. Heather (furious, pointing): “You think I’d risk my life just to sic some reptiles on you?! You’re not even that important!” Hue (snapping back): “Oh yeah? Then why’s your name smeared next to the snakes, huh? You’re the only one who had a reason to hide it!” Heather (sarcastic, yelling): “Oh right, because I knew the mayor was making a murder safari in his free time!” Harold Yamaki (gleefully, clapping his paws): “Oh, don’t drag me into your lover’s quarrel~!” Hue (furious, glaring at Harold): “Shut the fuck up, cat!” Harold (grinning wider): “Me-ow! Such language~! I’m blushing!” Neely Pearl (leaning against their podium, sipping a juice pouch they somehow produced): “Mmm, this drama’s juicier than my lip gloss. Ten out of ten.” Next to them, Nicholas Sour quietly opens a candy bag and extends it toward Neely without breaking eye contact with the chaos. Nicholas (flatly): “Caramel?” Neely (smiling, taking one): “Sweet, spicy, and just enough chaos. Perfect snack for murder trials.” They clink candies like champagne glasses while Hue and Heather continue yelling in the background. Hue (shouting): “You knew what was going to happen! You changed it! You erased your name so we’d get the snakes instead!” Heather (yelling back): “If I did, don’t you think I’d at least have brought bug spray, you idiot?!” Hue (mocking): “Oh, so what — you were too busy painting your nails while people were dying?!” Heather (snapping, red-faced): “Better than flexing your yo-yo skills while the rest of us were fighting for our lives!” Hue (fuming): “Don’t fucking start with me, glitter Barbie!” Heather (firing back): “At least I don’t use a yo-yo as a personality!” Neely (sipping their drink, whispering to Nicholas): “God, I love this show.” Nicholas (deadpan): “Better than TV.” The shouting continues, fast and fiery — overlapping words, insults, pure chaos. Voices overlap until Harold finally rises from his throne, stretching like a cat and snapping his claws together. The sound echoes like thunder. The lights flicker, then stabilize. Harold Yamaki (cheerful): “Now, now~! Let’s not get our tails in a twist! Such passion, such energy! It warms my cold little mayor heart~!” Heather (furious): “He started it!” Hue (snapping): “She fucking deserves it!” Harold (grinning): “And I deserve entertainment! So by all means — continue!” Riko Hoyomisha (sternly): “Enough. Both of you.” Riko’s calm, icy tone cuts through the noise. Slowly, the shouting dies down — though Heather and Hue are still breathing hard, glaring daggers across the circle. Austin Sobriquet (quietly, reviewing the scanned image): “For what it’s worth… Hue might be right about one thing.” All eyes turn to him. Austin (continuing): “The smeared pattern around Heather’s name was deliberate — not accidental. Whoever did it pressed hard enough to distort the ink. That’s intent, not coincidence.” Heather (gritting her teeth): “So someone framed me.” Hue (snapping): “Or you framed yourself and screwed it up.” Heather (snarling): “You really wanna test me right now?” Neely Pearl (leaning on Nicholas’s shoulder, popping candy): “God, they’re so cute when they’re homicidal.” Nicholas (munching calmly): “Mhm.” Harold Yamaki (purring, eyes glowing faint gold): “Oh, this is getting good~. Smeared truths, sharp tongues, and a snake between them all. How festively venomous!” The camera pans out — Heather and Hue still locked in a glare that could ignite fireworks, Neely and Nicholas calmly sharing sweets, and Harold’s grin stretching wider by the second. The roulette beneath them glows crimson once again, pulsing like a heartbeat. The room feels suffocating now. The roulette wheel spins faster, the glow beneath them pulsing blood red. Everyone’s nerves are shredded thin — voices sharp, tension boiling. Heather Metal glares across the circle at Hue, breathing heavy, jaw tight. Hue’s just as ready to snap — fists clenched, eyes burning with accusation. Then Julian Merwin leans forward, breaking the silence with that lazy, confident tone that somehow cuts through everything. Julian (smoothly): “You know… there’s something that doesn’t add up.” Everyone turns toward him. He runs a hand through his blond hair, his usual smirk fading into something colder — more calculating. Julian (continuing): “If Emma had the bear next to her name, then the bear wasn’t random. It was assigned. Meaning it would’ve gone looking for her, not anyone else.” Chase Hallow (nodding slightly): “Which checks out. The bear broke through the café window after chasing her.” Julian (snapping his fingers): “Exactly. So when that happened — when the bear left the café — whoever was supposed to have the snakes? They were completely free. No animals chasing them, no chaos in their area.” The crowd murmurs as the logic clicks. Julian (leaning back, arms folded): “Meaning that person would’ve had all the time in the world to sneak into the café storage closet and barricade the doors while everyone else was busy screaming about bears. So…” (he tilts his head) “Guess whose earlier story just got shredded?” All eyes turn — again — to Heather Metal. The glow beneath her podium flickers like fire. Heather Metal (stiffly): “What the hell are you trying to say?” Julian (smirking faintly): “I’m saying your alibi doesn’t hold up. You said you couldn’t have barricaded those doors because the bear was inside the café. But if the bear was chasing Emma outside, then… what was stopping you?” Heather (snapping): “Oh, go to hell, Julian! That doesn’t prove shit!” Hue Trinity (grinning viciously): “Sounds like a confession to me.” Heather (screaming): “Fuck you! There’s no evidence! None! You all just keep throwing bullshit theories because you can’t handle the truth — that this entire situation’s insane!” Mariah City (under her breath): “She’s losing it.” Heather (continuing, voice cracking): “If I was near the snakes, you’d have proof! There’d be a trail, venom residue, a shed skin, something! But you’ve got nothing!” Her voice grows raw, the veins in her neck showing as she screams. Tears of fury — not guilt — burn in her eyes. Heather (shouting): “You think I’d cover up some list?! You think I’d go play Indiana Jones with reptiles? I didn’t kill anyone!” Hue (yelling back): “Yeah? Funny how the person screaming the loudest always turns out guilty as fuck!” Heather (snarling): “Shut your fucking mouth, you overgrown yo-yo clown!” Hue (slamming his fist): “Make me, bitch!” Heather (screaming): “Oh, I will!” Neely Pearl (chewing candy, whispering to Nicholas): “God, I love reality TV.” Nicholas Sour (deadpan): “This isn’t TV.” (He unwraps another caramel and offers it to Neely.) “Want one?” Neely (grinning): “Always.” They clink candies again as the argument escalates. Hue (furious): “You’ve been sketchy since the start! You were the first one to accuse me and Emma — trying to deflect, huh? You thought if you shouted loud enough, we’d stop looking at you!” Heather (snapping): “Yeah, because you were suspicious, dumbass! You and Emma were the only ones near the snakes!” Hue (leaning forward): “And yet, you’re the only one screaming like a guilty coward right now!” Heather (furious, trembling): “You wanna see guilty?! I’ll show you guilty, you smug piece of shit!” Harold Yamaki is practically beaming on his throne, tail swishing gleefully. Harold (purring): “Ohhh, the claws are out~! Such venom! Such passion! Keep going, my little drama vipers~!” Riko Hoyomisha (firm, stepping forward): “Harold. Enough.” Harold (mock gasp): “Oh, don’t spoil my fun, swordsman. I’m enjoying the fireworks!” Riko (snapping): “This isn’t entertainment!” Harold (grinning): “Then why does it feel so good?” The red glow intensifies beneath them — the roulette spinning so fast now it’s a blur. Hue (snarling): “You’re full of shit, Heather! You’re lying through your teeth!” Heather (screaming back): “I’M NOT FUCKING LYING!” Hue (slamming his hands down, stepping away from his podium): “Fuck this.” He marches straight toward her. Arthur Present (alarmed): “Hue, stop—!” Heather (shouting): “Get the fuck away from me!” Hue (furious, standing right in front of her): “Not until you tell me the truth, you snake-bitten liar!” He grabs her wrist before anyone can react. Heather (yelling): “Get your fucking hands off me!” But Hue yanks down her sleeve — and the room falls dead silent. There, across Heather’s forearm, are two deep puncture scars — purple and faded, ringed with faint swelling. Snake bites. The silence stretches. The roulette slows to a stop — the hum replaced by the faint sound of Heather’s ragged breathing. Heather (voice breaking): “…No.” Mariah City (softly): “Oh my God…” Neely Pearl (low whistle): “Well, shit.” Nicholas Sour (flatly): “Told you the candy helps. Calms the nerves.” Hue (breathing hard, eyes wide with fury): “I fucking knew it.” Heather (stumbling back, voice shaking): “It’s not— it’s not what it looks like!” Hue (screaming): “Oh really?! Then what is it, huh?! You just tripped and fell on a fucking viper?” Heather (yelling through tears): “They attacked me too! I didn’t send them after anyone!” Hue (furious): “Bullshit!” Heather (screaming): “Why would I lie?!” Riko Hoyomisha (stepping forward, sharp): “Enough!” The entire room freezes. Riko’s voice cuts like a blade — cold, commanding. Riko (stern): “No more shouting. No more guessing. The bite marks are proof that she was near the snakes — whether she sent them or not.” Chase Hallow (quietly): “Which means her alibi is gone.” Heather looks around — eyes wide, breath uneven, shaking her head in disbelief. Heather (hoarse): “No… no, you don’t understand…” Harold Yamaki (purring softly, tail curling): “Oh, but I think we do~.” He stands slowly from his throne, the lights dimming to a deep crimson glow as his grin widens. Harold: “The truth slithers out, no matter how many sleeves it hides beneath. Oh, Heather, dear — it seems your holiday just got bitten.” The roulette starts again — spinning fast, the chime now distorted and metallic, echoing through the chamber like a broken carol. Neely Pearl (quietly to Nicholas, half-smiling): “Called it. Snake drama always delivers.” Nicholas (munching calmly): “Mhm.” Heather drops to her knees, clutching her bitten arm, eyes burning with tears and rage as the lights swirl around her — red, gold, white — like a warped snowstorm. Heather (screaming): “I DIDN’T DO IT!” Hue (furious): “Then prove it!” Harold Yamaki (laughing, voice echoing through the chamber): “Oh, I do love a cliffhanger!” The roulette slows to a crawl. The blood-red glow softens into a low, pulsing heartbeat beneath the floor. No one speaks. The sound of Heather’s ragged breathing fills the silence. She’s still on her knees, clutching her bitten arm, eyes wide and glassy — trembling with fury and disbelief. Aruha Suguyama steps forward slowly. Calm. Composed. Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through the air like a razor. Aruha (softly): “You dug your own grave, Heather.” Heather looks up sharply, her lips trembling. Aruha (continuing): “All that yelling, all that anger — it only made you dig deeper. You made everyone think the bear stayed in the café the whole time. But it didn’t. It chased Emma out. You knew that.” The words hang heavy in the chamber. Heather’s breath catches — her defenses cracking under the weight of logic. Arthur Present finally speaks, stepping out from his podium, his voice calm but edged with disbelief. Arthur (firmly): “Why, Heather? Why would you kill Robert? What could you possibly gain from it?” Heather flinches at his tone, eyes flickering between them, searching for a foothold — a lifeline. Mariah City (coldly): “She used the chaos. That’s what she gained.” Austin Sobriquet pulls up his notes again, the flickering data from the investigation illuminating his glasses. Austin (steady, piecing it together): “It makes sense. Everything lines up now. Heather found the mayor’s animal list before the meeting. That’s why her name — and Hue’s and Emma’s — were smeared.” Jessi Kowalski (nodding): “She changed the order of the attacks.” Austin: “She waited until the bear left the café with Emma. Then, while everyone was panicking or fleeing, she snuck inside.” The holographic screen above the roulette begins projecting the evidence as Austin speaks — the visuals flashing one by one: The storage closet with the missing rope and box. The barricaded café doors. The trail of blood in the snow near the tree. The scrunchie in the bag under glass. Austin (narrating): “She took the rope and box from the closet. Then, she blocked the café and gift shop doors — not to protect anyone, but to trap them. That bought her time.” Heather (weakly, shaking her head): “No…” Aruha Suguyama (continuing): “And with that time, she went to the guy’s house.” Hue Trinity (gritting his teeth): “The snakes.” Aruha (nodding): “She poured them through the broken kitchen window. That’s why your marks are on your arm, Heather. You weren’t attacked by accident — you were the one handling them.” Heather (hoarse, trembling): “Stop it…” Riko Hoyomisha (quiet, relentless): “Then she went to the plaza. The bear had already been lured away. No one was there to see her.” Austin Sobriquet (continuing the sequence): “She tied the rope around the low-hanging branch — the one over the bench. She must’ve seen Robert climbing up, trying to get away from the wolves.” Neely Pearl (softly, intrigued): “So she waited… pulled the rope…” Austin (nodding grimly): “Snapped the branch. Sent him falling.” Julian Merwin (leaning on his podium, voice quieter now): “And the impact didn’t kill him. That’s why his body looked staged — that’s why the scrunchie was in his mouth.” Jessi Kowalski (grim): “She choked him with it.” Heather (voice rising, desperate): “Stop it! You’re twisting everything!” Arthur Present (quietly, almost pitying): “You used the chaos to cover it all. Every animal, every scream — it was all noise to hide what you were doing.” Riko Hoyomisha (lowering his voice): “And once it was over… you sat back and watched everyone turn on each other.” Heather’s breathing quickens, eyes darting from one face to another. The crowd’s silence feels suffocating — judgment heavy in the air. Mariah City (cold, shaking her head): “You even tried to pin it on Hue and Emma at the start. Smart move, but… not smart enough.” Hue Trinity (furious): “You fucking used us.” Heather (screaming): “I DIDN’T USE ANYONE!” Harold Yamaki finally stands, purring with sick delight, his voice echoing through the glowing chamber. Harold (soft, dramatic): “Ohhh~ I love it when the wrapping paper comes off. Such a gift of clarity~!” He lifts his paw, and the holographic projection flickers — displaying the entire chain of events like a twisted timeline: Heather sneaking through the café, blocking the doorways, carrying the snake box, tying the rope, the scrunchie glinting in the snowlight. Harold (mock cheerfully): “So much effort for one little technician. Makes you wonder what he did to earn such a festive fate~!” Arthur Present (sternly): “Answer him, Heather.” Heather (voice trembling): “I don’t— I didn’t—” Aruha Suguyama (cutting in): “Save it. Every step, every piece of evidence — it all leads to you.” Riko Hoyomisha (soft but merciless): “You made everyone think the bear was still inside so you could take advantage of the quiet. You waited for the perfect moment.” Austin Sobriquet (pointing at the projection): “The timeline fits perfectly. Every alibi you gave collapses under it.” Heather (screaming): “THERE’S NO PROOF I KILLED HIM!” Mariah City (snapping): “Bitch, you’ve got snake bites!” The room erupts — overlapping voices, half the group shouting, others gasping, the chaos rising again. Harold Yamaki (laughing, tail swishing): “Oh, the crescendo! The climax! The perfect holiday meltdown!” Heather slams her fist into her podium, voice shaking with fury and grief. Heather (screaming): “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t mean—” She stops herself — the words catching in her throat. Everyone freezes. Her breathing stutters. Even Harold stops smiling. Hue (low, venomous): “…Didn’t mean what, Heather?” Heather’s eyes dart toward him — terrified. Harold Yamaki (whispering, almost giddy): “Oh, don’t stop now, dear. You were so close to a confession~.” The roulette begins to spin again, glowing with a soft, poisonous green — like the eyes of a serpent. Heather grips her podium tightly, shaking, caught between rage and despair. Aruha (cold): “You used the chaos, the fear, the confusion — to kill one of us.” Arthur Present (quietly, to himself): “She turned the whole city into her weapon.” Heather looks up, eyes wide, her face streaked with tears, voice trembling with both fury and heartbreak. Heather (whispering): “I didn’t mean for it to go that far…” Gasps fill the chamber. Mariah (breathless): “…Oh my God.” Hue (furious): “You admit it!” Heather (snapping): “I SAID I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Her voice echoes across the chamber — raw, cracked, broken. Harold Yamaki (smiling softly, satisfied): “And there it is~.” The roulette glows blindingly bright — scarlet and gold blending like spilled blood and melted light. The sound of distant bells rings out, cheerful and haunting all at once. Heather stands in the center of it all — shaking, defeated, surrounded by her own chaos. Harold (purring): “Such a tragic holiday performance… I could almost cry~.” The lights dim to pitch black. Only the roulette beneath their feet glows — crimson and gold, spinning faster and faster, its hum swelling into a mechanical roar that shakes the room. Everyone stands silent, the weight of the moment pressing on their shoulders like frost. Then — A single voice cuts through the sound. Harold Yamaki (loud, sharp, his voice amplified through the chamber): “Enough~!” The spinning stops. The roulette halts mid-glow, flickering once before settling into a bright, blinding white light beneath them. Harold (purring, voice echoing): “My lovely citizens… we’ve played our little guessing game long enough. Now—” (he raises one paw dramatically) “—it’s time to wrap this gift of truth!” The holographic display flickers to life above them — twenty-five glowing screens arranged in a circle, each one showing the face of a player and a small voting pad below their podium. Harold (grinning): “Everyone, take your pick! Tap the name of the one you believe to be our precious blackened~. The killer hiding among the tinsel and tears.” Mariah City (through gritted teeth): “This isn’t a damn game…” Harold (snapping his fingers): “Oh, but it is! And I do love a unanimous ending.” The group exchanges weary looks. One by one, their hands move toward their screens. Heather Metal stands frozen, her bitten arm trembling, eyes wide. Her voice breaks into a whisper. Heather (weakly): “Don’t do this…” No one responds. Jessi Kowalski presses her pad. Heather Metal. Austin Sobriquet — Heather Metal. Hue Trinity slams his vote with fury — Heather Metal. Emma Violet, shaking but resolute — Heather Metal. Arthur Present presses his with a slow, heavy breath — Heather Metal. One after another — Mariah, Neely, Julian, Riko, Chase, Paulie Mae, Seth, Kayegama, Aruha, Will, Mark, Arthur Smith, Jackie, Paris, Nicholas, Johnathan, Myrtle, Jake, Paulie Louis — Each screen flashes the same name. Heather Metal. The final light flickers and locks. The roulette stops spinning. The lights fade to a deep, chilling blue. Harold Yamaki (smiling, almost softly): “Ohhh~! Would you look at that! A perfect score.” (he purrs) “You’ve all outdone yourselves. A unanimous holiday miracle~.” Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Paulie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Previous: https://kovaze.com/blog/18493 Continue: https://kovaze.com/blog/18502

The lights flicker uneasily across the courtroom floor, painting everyone in swirls of red and green. The roulette beneath their feet spins lazily, humming like a heartbeat muffled under snow. Everyone’s quiet — thinking, or pretending to. Then— Mariah City slams her hand on the podium so hard the echo reverberates through the room. Mariah (furious, her voice trembling): “This is going nowhere! Nowhere! We’ve been talking about snakes, bears, and barricades for what— hours? And we still have no damn clue who actually killed him!” Her words slice through the silence. Everyone freezes. Heather Metal blinks, startled by the outburst. “Mariah, take it easy—” Mariah (snapping): “No! I won’t! Because we’re spinning in circles while some psycho gets away with murder!” She grips the podium, knuckles white. Her breathing quickens, eyes flicking between everyone. “Robert’s gone. We’re wasting time talking about furniture and doors and— and nothing that matters!” Jackie Yamata steps forward from her podium, voice gentle. Jackie (softly): “Hey, hey— it’s okay. You’ve been under pressure like all of us. Let’s just— breathe for a second.” Mariah (cutting her off): “Don’t tell me to breathe, Jackie! You didn’t see what I saw— the body, the blood, the look on his face!” (her voice cracks) “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to keep it together but nobody’s saying anything that helps!” Jackie moves a little closer, keeping her tone calm, maternal almost. “Mariah… we are getting somewhere. Every small thing connects to something else. We just have to keep pulling the threads.” Mariah shakes her head, trembling with frustration. “It’s not enough! We’re still blind!” A long silence falls — only the faint hum of Harold’s throne platform fills the air. Even Harold Yamaki doesn’t interrupt this time; his tail sways slowly, watching the humans unravel like tinsel. Then, softly— Paulie Mae speaks up from across the circle. Paulie Mae (quiet, careful): “The gift shop didn’t have windows, you know.” The statement hangs oddly in the air. Everyone turns toward her. Paulie Mae (continuing): “There weren’t any windows in there. But… we did hear something. A strange, loud noise — like something heavy snapping or cracking outside.” Austin Sobriquet (curious): “A structural collapse, maybe? Or an animal breaking something?” Paulie Mae: “Could be. But it sounded like it came from the direction of the plaza… near the trees.” The moment she says it, Paris Ross’s catlike eyes light up — he straightens, a spark of thought behind them. Paris Ross (softly at first): “...Wait. The trees.” Neely Pearl (leaning in dramatically): “Oh? We’ve got a thought bubble brewing! Give it to us, pretty boy.” Paris ignores the tease, his voice gaining confidence. Paris: “When we were investigating near Robert’s body, I noticed something odd. There was a broken tree branch — thick, heavy, and lying at an angle. Like it fell from above recently.” Kayegama Yoshe (blinking): “You mean that one near the bench?” Paris: “Exactly. The one by the bench. And the bark was torn where the branch snapped — like something slammed into it.” Mariah City rubs her temples, exasperated. Mariah (snapping): “What does that have to do with anything?! We’re talking about a murder, not landscaping!” Paris (firmly, not backing down): “Just listen! What if that sound Paulie Mae heard — that loud crack — wasn’t an animal or something collapsing inside? What if it was the tree branch breaking?” Mariah (shaking her head): “So what? Trees break. It’s winter.” Paris (continuing): “But the timing lines up. Think about it — the noise happens during the chaos, and Robert’s body ends up beaten and bruised. There was no sign of claw marks or bites, right? Just blunt-force trauma. That branch was huge. If something — or someone — made it fall, it could’ve hit him before he collapsed onto the bench.” Seth Norway (nodding slowly): “He’s not wrong. The body report said the injuries were consistent with impact, not laceration. A fall like that could’ve crushed him.” Riko Hoyomisha (thinking aloud): “Then maybe the branch didn’t just fall. Maybe it was pushed.” A ripple of realization moves through the room. Heather Metal: “Pushed… from where? The town hall roof? The second-floor balcony?” Austin Sobriquet (analyzing): “The angle of the branch would have to match the direction of the fall. That branch was hanging right above the town square bench where Robert’s body was found.” Paris Ross (nodding): “Exactly. The impact spot was right beside the bench. And if you look at where Robert was lying, his body was tilted slightly to the side — like he rolled off something, not just collapsed.” Mariah City bites her lip, clearly thinking but not ready to yield. Mariah: “Okay, fine. It could explain the sound. But Robert was on the bench, not under the tree. If he fell, or got hit by the branch, he’d be on the ground, not neatly sitting there!” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers, enjoying the debate): “Ooh, contradiction! The diva makes a valid point!” Paris (patiently): “Right — and that’s what’s weird. The bench was a few inches away from the tree trunk. Someone could’ve moved him. Maybe even propped him up there after the fact.” The temperature in the room seems to drop a degree. Jackie Yamata (hesitant): “You’re saying someone staged the scene?” Paris (nodding): “Yes. Whoever killed him didn’t just leave him where he fell. They made it look peaceful — or at least… deliberate.” Mariah (shaking her head in disbelief): “So what, we’re saying someone killed him and played decorator afterward? This isn’t a damn art exhibit!” Neely Pearl (mock gasp): “Holiday staging! The tragic aesthetic of crime! I love it!” Heather Metal (snapping at Neely): “Neely, for once, please!” Harold Yamaki, who’s been quiet, suddenly claps his hands once — the sharp sound echoing through the chamber like a judge’s gavel. Harold (grinning): “My, my~! A fallen tree, a bruised technician, and a neatly seated body! I do love a touch of seasonal symmetry. You’re all so delightfully dramatic.” He leans forward, chin resting on his paw. Harold (continuing): “But now the question becomes…” (his grin widens) “Was that tree branch a happy accident of nature — or someone’s carefully wrapped murder weapon?” The citizens exchange wary looks. Even Mariah, breathing hard, can’t find words. The roulette begins spinning again — faster this time, colors flashing violently across their faces. Austin Sobriquet (murmuring): “If the branch was used… then someone had to be near the plaza when it fell.” Riko Hoyomisha (grimly): “And Robert was the only one found outside.” Paulie Louis (quietly): “Which means whoever did this… led him there.” The lights flicker once — then dim, leaving everyone illuminated by the pulsing roulette glow beneath them. Mariah City (softly, exhausted): “I just… want to know why.” Harold Yamaki (purring): “Oh, darling, you’ll get your answer soon enough. The truth always finds its way under the tree~” His laughter echoes — eerie, mechanical, playful — as the scene slowly fades to darkness. The trial chamber has gone quiet again. Frost creeps farther up the podiums. The roulette wheel has slowed to a tired hum, as if even it is getting dizzy from the back-and-forth. The civilians look drained — tired eyes, slouched shoulders, more sighs than words. It’s been hours of theories, contradictions, and bickering. Will King rubs his face. “Okay, I’ll say it — I’m lost. Completely. My brain’s doing Windows updates.” Neely Pearl (fanning themselves): “Same, sweetie. If confusion were calories, I’d fit in my pageant gown again.” Heather Metal sighs, glaring at the glowing snowflake floor. “So many theories, so many holes. We’re like a block of Swiss cheese with trauma.” Mariah City lets out a groan loud enough to echo. Mariah: “Ughhhhhh! I can’t do this anymore! My brain is melting faster than a snowman in a sauna!” She grabs her hair dramatically. “Nothing makes sense! Bears, snakes, ropes, branches — what is this, National Geographic: Despair Edition?!” Jackie Yamata (trying to soothe her): “Mariah, just breathe—” Mariah (interrupting): “No! Don’t tell me to breathe! Last time you said that, someone died! We’re cursed!” Neely Pearl (grinning, stage-whisper): “Iconic meltdown, 10/10, would stream live if we had Wi-Fi.” Mariah points at them, wild-eyed. “You shut your glitter-covered mouth, Neely! You’re enjoying this like it’s a drag brunch with a body count!” Neely (hand on chest): “Guilty and gorgeous!” Mariah starts pacing in frantic little circles, muttering. “I swear, if one more person says ‘maybe it was the snakes,’ I’m feeding myself to them!” Austin Sobriquet (deadpan): “Noted for the transcript.” The laughter that ripples through the group is strained but real. Even Harold Yamaki chuckles softly from his throne. Harold Yamaki (purring): “Oh, the despair, the drama! It’s like watching a snow globe crack in slow motion.” Mariah glares upward. “Glad we could entertain your nine lives, Mayor Menace!” Harold wiggles his paw in mock applause. “Me-ow-velous performance~.” Before Mariah can throw her podium, Chase Hallow clears his throat quietly. The sound slices through the chaos like paper against glass. Chase Hallow (calmly): “…Actually, maybe we’re missing something small. Something… that’s been dangling right in front of us.” The others look up. Heather Metal: “If this is a pun about the rope, I swear—” Chase (smirking faintly): “Exactly that.” A flicker of attention snaps back into the room. Chase (continuing): “We’ve been treating the missing rope like it was only connected to the snake attack. But think about it — when we investigated the guy’s house, we found the empty box, not the rope. There wasn’t a single strand left behind.” Neely Pearl (nodding, intrigued): “Ooh, you’re right. No rope residue, no cuts, no fibers. Just the sad little box of nope.” Chase: “Exactly. So that means the killer didn’t use the rope for the snakes — otherwise it would’ve stayed in the house, or gotten tangled, or at least been visible. Which means…” Jake Belle raises an eyebrow. “Which means the rope got used for something else.” Chase: “Right. Something outside.” Jake (thinking): “Like… the tree branch?” Chase (snapping his fingers): “Bingo.” The roulette flickers bright white, reacting to the shift in tone. Heather Metal (leaning forward): “You’re saying the rope connects to the branch?” Chase (nodding): “Yes. When I checked the plaza during the investigation, I noticed something small — blood spatter near the base of the tree. Not just random drops. A small trail leading from the bench to the trunk, and one long smear under the lowest branch.” Riko Hoyomisha (serious): “You think the rope and blood connect somehow?” Chase: “Exactly. My theory — Robert wasn’t hit by the branch from above. He was already on it. Either sitting or lying across it.” A few gasps ripple through the group. Mariah City (baffled): “Hold on, hold on. You’re saying Robert climbed a tree? What is this, ‘Technician Tarzan’?” Neely Pearl (snickering): “I’d watch that movie.” Chase (ignoring them, continuing): “The killer could’ve used the rope to pull down the branch while Robert was on it — adding pressure until it cracked. The moment it snapped, Robert fell and hit the ground hard. That explains the blunt trauma.” Austin Sobriquet (adjusting his glasses): “And the blood on the snow beneath the tree.” Chase: “Right. The killer then could’ve dragged or moved his body onto the bench afterward to stage it — make it look peaceful.” Heather Metal (thinking aloud): “So… the rope was used like a lever. Pressure from below until the branch broke.” Chase (nodding): “Yes. The killer didn’t need to climb or get close. They just had to pull.” Paris Ross (snapping his fingers): “That would match the marks near the tree trunk! There were small grooves in the bark — something tight pressed against it. Rope could’ve done that.” Kayegama Yoshe (eyes wide): “And if the rope snapped after the branch fell, that explains why it’s missing — the killer took it back or burned it to hide evidence.” Neely Pearl (raising a hand dramatically): “Or maybe they used it for festive holiday bondage. Who can say?” Heather Metal (deadpan): “Neely, I swear—” Neely: “What? I’m just exploring possibilities, darling!” The group groans collectively. Mariah City (still half-panicked, half-sarcastic): “So now the theory is that someone lassoed a tree to kill Robert? Great. We’re one step away from blaming Frosty the Snowman for tax fraud.” Jackie Yamata (calmly): “It sounds ridiculous, but… it fits the evidence. The rope’s missing, the branch broke under pressure, and the blood trail matches a fall.” Riko Hoyomisha (nodding): “And that also means Robert was alive when the rope was used — he might’ve been forced up there.” Austin Sobriquet (quietly): “Which adds intent. Not an accident — deliberate setup.” Heather Metal (grim): “Someone tied the knot, literally.” Harold Yamaki (clapping slowly, amused): “Ohhh, magnificent! A tree, a rope, a drop of blood — so simple, so sinister, so seasonally tragic! You’ve outdone yourselves, my little detectives.” He stretches like a lazy cat on his throne, tail flicking in delight. Harold: “But I must say… if someone truly went through all that trouble, then this killer has the flair of a decorator and the precision of a puppeteer~.” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers): “Puppet show murder! Love it. Horrifying, fabulous, I’m obsessed.” Mariah City (exasperated but starting to laugh): “Oh my god, Neely, you’d ‘love’ a paper cut if it had good lighting.” Neely (winking): “Details matter, sweetheart.” Chase Hallow (serious again): “So the key now is figuring out who could’ve done it — who had the strength, the timing, and the access to both the rope and the plaza before anyone else got there.” The room quiets, the levity fading into unease again. The roulette wheel starts spinning once more, its glow deepening to crimson. Harold Yamaki (grinning): “And so, the noose tightens~! What a charming metaphor, don’t you think?” Heather Metal (gritting her teeth): “Enough wordplay, furball. We’ve got a killer to find.” Harold (purring): “Oh, but wordplay is my guilty pleasure.” (beat) “Speaking of which… one of you must be feeling very guilty right about now.” The lights dim to blood-red, the hum swelling like a heartbeat as the camera pans slowly across every face — suspicion, fatigue, dread, and faint, morbid amusement all at once. The roulette glows faintly red beneath their feet. The mood is tense — everyone’s on edge after Chase’s rope theory. The air feels heavy, but Chase’s quiet focus cuts through it. He flips open his digital notepad again, his voice steady but carrying a hint of anticipation. Chase Hallow: “There’s… one more thing I didn’t mention earlier.” Everyone looks at him. Heather Metal: “Oh, what now? Don’t tell me you found Santa’s sleigh key in the guy’s mouth.” Chase doesn’t react. He reaches into his coat pocket and takes out a small, sealed plastic evidence baggie. Something fuzzy and brightly colored sits inside. He holds it up to the light. Chase: “During the investigation, I found this— dangling from Robert’s mouth.” He sets it gently on the podium. Inside the bag… is a scrunchie. Pink, soft, and glittery. There’s dead silence. Hue Trinity squints. “...Is that a scrunchie?” Chase (calmly): “Yes.” Heather Metal (blinking, then snorting): “I— I’m sorry— did you just say this man died with a scrunchie in his mouth?!” Chase: “Correct.” A pause. Then— Heather bursts out laughing. Heather (laughing uncontrollably): “Oh my God! This is the most unserious murder in history! What— was the killer accessorizing him postmortem?!” Mariah City (staring, deadpan): “What the hell—” Hue Trinity (genuinely baffled): “Is this… a joke? Are we getting pranked right now?” Riko Hoyomisha (pinching the bridge of his nose): “This is not funny.” Heather is on the floor at this point, tears in her eyes. Heather (through laughter): “I can’t— he went out fashionably! Like— ‘Forget the will, I die fabulous!’” Neely Pearl (grinning): “Honestly? Camp.” Jessie Kowalski buries her face in her hands, groaning. “Oh my God, what are we even doing anymore…” Mark Traverse (rubbing his temples): “Okay but— a scrunchie? Out of everything?” Will King (deadpan): “I dropped out of college for this.” Harold Yamaki looks absolutely delighted, tail swishing like a metronome. Harold (gleefully): “A scrunchie of despair! Oh, how delightfully petty! Nothing says festive homicide like fashion-based evidence!” Nicholas Sour stands quietly in his corner, sucking a lollipop, completely unfazed by the chaos. Nicholas (flatly): “Tastes like strawberry.” Heather (still wheezing): “You can’t just— put a scrunchie in a man’s mouth and call it a clue!” Chase (calm, unamused): “I didn’t put it there. I found it there.” Riko Hoyomisha (serious): “Does it have any blood or saliva on it?” Chase: “Both. It was lodged between his teeth. Which means it was placed there before his death was staged on the bench.” The laughter dies down. Slowly, the absurdity fades into realization. Heather (catching her breath): “...Wait, you’re serious?” Chase (nodding): “I’m dead serious.” Austin Sobriquet (tapping his chin): “Then that means it’s not random. It’s deliberate.” Chase: “Yes. And it’s not just any scrunchie — it’s a type only found in the girls’ dorm supply boxes. The same kind given to the women in the town group when we arrived.” Paulie Mae (frowning): “You mean from the girl’s house?” Chase: “Exactly. Which means whoever put it there had access to that house — and to Robert after he was killed.” Heather Metal (wiping her eyes, still chuckling a bit): “So you’re saying… our killer is fashionable and organized. Got it.” Neely Pearl (smirking): “Honestly, if I ever die, I hope someone shoves a scrunchie in my mouth. At least I’d leave a statement.” Mariah City (glaring): “Neely, please!” Neely: “What? I’m serious! It’s avant-garde!” Will King (muttering): “I’m gonna lose brain cells before we finish this trial.” Harold Yamaki (purring contentedly): “Oh, don’t say that, my little gamer elf. You’ll need every brain cell you can spare — after all, we’ve still got to find out who owns that fabulous accessory.” He gestures at the scrunchie bag like he’s presenting a trophy. Harold (dramatically): “So~! Whose style statement turned into a silent scream?” Heather (snickering again): “I swear, if it’s Neely’s, I’m gonna die.” Neely Pearl (mock gasp): “Sweetheart, please. I only wear silk, not murder evidence.” Chase (ignoring them all, focused): “The scrunchie might look ridiculous, but it could be the most important clue we’ve found yet. It ties Robert’s death to someone who had access to the girls’ house — meaning we can finally narrow down suspects.” The camera zooms slowly on the scrunchie as it sparkles faintly under the trial lights — a ridiculous, glittery symbol of tension and absurdity. Heather (softly, finally calming): “Can’t believe it. A scrunchie might actually solve a murder.” Neely Pearl (grinning): “The true meaning of Christmas.” Harold Yamaki (smiling wide): “Oh-ho-ho~! Now that’s the spirit!” Nicholas (still sucking on his lollipop, deadpan): “Peppermint flavor.” Everyone groans in unison. The glowing roulette spins lazily again, casting soft reflections across the floor. The once ridiculous energy of the “scrunchie reveal” lingers in the air — half laughter, half tension. Chase still stands at his podium, the glittery scrunchie sealed in its plastic baggie under the spotlight. Jake Belle leans forward, resting his elbow on his podium, eyes sharp and calculating. He smirks faintly, his voice casual but deliberate. Jake: “Alright, if we’re talking suspects based on who owns scrunchies, then we can narrow this down a little.” Heather Metal (raising an eyebrow): “Oh boy, the fashion police are on the case.” Jake (ignoring her): “From what I’ve seen around town, there are six people who wear scrunchies regularly.” (he counts on his fingers) “Myrtle, Mariah, and Heather — the obvious ones. But also Julian, Arthur Smith, and Neely.” A few surprised looks ripple around the circle. Arthur Smith (offended): “Excuse me? I wear hair ties, not scrunchies.” Jake (grinning): “Yeah, but last week you were using a pink one with rhinestones. Don’t try me, model boy.” Arthur Smith (defensive): “It was functional! My hair needed volume!” Neely Pearl raises a manicured finger dramatically. Neely (gasps, offended): “Hold up, me? Sweetheart, if that basic elastic tragedy was mine, I’d resign from the queer community immediately!” Mariah City crosses her arms, smirking despite herself. “Oh, so we’re too unstylish for you now?” Neely (snapping their fingers): “Facts are facts, darling. If I owned that scrunchie, it would sparkle so hard you’d need sunglasses. Look at it! No shimmer, no personality, no drama. I’d never.” Heather Metal (snickering): “Neely’s right. That thing looks like it came from the dollar bin at a gas station.” Harold Yamaki (mock gasp): “Oh no! Not the budget accessory shade!” Neely (smiling smugly): “Mayor Meow-Meow, please — I have standards.” Chase Hallow finally steps back into the discussion, cutting through the laughter with his calm, even tone. Chase: “Actually, Neely’s telling the truth.” Heather (mock gasp): “What, you checked the ‘glitter-to-mouth’ ratio?” Chase (flat): “Yes. And there wasn’t a single trace of glitter residue around Robert’s lips or teeth. No shimmer, no particles.” Neely Pearl (dramatically flicking their hair): “See? Exonerated by my own fabulousness.” Austin Sobriquet (muttering): “First time a fashion statement’s been used as a legal defense.” Chase: “So Neely’s out. Which means the scrunchie belonged to someone else.” (He looks across the room, steady and methodical.) “Myrtle, Mariah, and Neely were all trapped in the café and gift shop area during the chaos. They couldn’t have interacted with Robert at all.” Paulie Louis (nodding): “That’s true. They were sealed in with us — barricades and all.” Chase: “Then that leaves three.” (He clicks the notepad, pulling up the names on a glowing list projected into the air.) “Heather Metal. Julian Merwin. Arthur Smith.” The air thickens. The three names hover in glowing red letters above the roulette floor. Heather Metal (mock offended): “Of course I’m on the list. Because I laughed at the evidence. That’s how it always goes.” Julian Merwin smirks, his tone teasing but cautious. “Hey, don’t look at me. I wear scrunchies, yeah, but mostly on stage. Plus, mine are silk — not whatever that glitterless horror is.” Arthur Smith (folding his arms): “And mine was rhinestone-studded, not… that.” Neely Pearl (sassy whisper): “Oh, now everyone’s a material expert.” Heather (rolling her eyes): “You all keep saying ‘mine’s too fancy, mine’s too stylish.’ It’s literally a piece of elastic, people. No one’s winning Project Runway: Crime Scene Edition.” Mariah City (snapping): “Yeah, but it is proof, Heather. You said it yourself — only certain people even had scrunchies.” Heather (sarcastic): “Oh great. I’m being framed by a hair accessory. This is what rock bottom looks like.” Chase (unbothered): “Actually, it’s not ridiculous. The killer could’ve dropped it accidentally while staging the body — or Robert bit it trying to fight back.” Riko Hoyomisha (cool and calm): “Then it’s physical contact. Whoever owned it was there when Robert died.” Julian Merwin (quietly): “Damn…” Heather Metal (defensive): “I didn’t even see Robert that night! I was helping secure the instruments near the town hall when everything went to hell!” Arthur Smith: “I was with the same group — the ones near the hall entrance. If anyone saw me, speak up.” Aruha: “You were. You helped shut one of the side gates.” Heather: “Thank you! See? I wasn’t even near that bench.” Chase Hallow taps his pad again, crossing out Neely, Mariah, and Myrtle’s names, the holographic list shrinking to three. Chase: “So for now, the circle narrows. Heather Metal, Julian Merwin, and Arthur Smith are the most likely to have dropped or placed the scrunchie.” Neely Pearl (mock serious): “Oooh, the tension! The suspects are stylish, the stakes are high, and the accessories are cheap!” Heather (snapping): “Neely, I swear—!” Harold Yamaki (delighted, tail swishing): “Oh, I adore this energy! It’s like a holiday soap opera meets a thrift store commercial! Keep going~!” Riko Hoyomisha (flat): “Mayor, please.” Harold (mock offense): “What? I’m invested!” The roulette pulses red, illuminating the three highlighted names still floating midair — Heather, Julian, Arthur. Chase (quietly): “The scrunchie might look ridiculous, but it’s a lead that connects the victim to one of them. And we all know what that means…” Heather Metal (crossing her arms, glaring): “Yeah. One of us needs better taste in hair accessories.” Neely Pearl (dramatically): “And the award for ‘Best Supporting Scrunchie in a Tragic Holiday Murder’ goes to—” Harold Yamaki (interrupting, grinning): “Don’t spoil it yet! We still have to unwrap the finale~!” The camera pans upward as laughter, tension, and suspicion mingle in the air — the faint chime of sleigh bells echoing under the growing unease. The holographic projection of the scrunchie still spins lazily above the roulette floor — absurdly glittery, softly pink, and now the single strangest piece of evidence in the entire trial. The air buzzes with murmurs, half disbelief, half curiosity. Chase Hallow stands with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the bagged scrunchie under the spotlight. The faint hum of the courtroom dies down as he speaks. Chase (calmly): “When I examined this… scrunchie, I noticed something else. It wasn’t just in his mouth — it was soaked. Completely.” The crowd murmurs. Heather Metal (raising a brow): “Soaked in what? Don’t say eggnog.” Chase (ignoring her): “It was wet — with saliva, and a trace of blood. Which means it wasn’t simply dropped in his mouth.” (He looks up, meeting everyone’s eyes.) “What if the killer didn’t drop it at all? What if they… shoved it down his throat?” The room falls dead silent. Mariah City (blinking): “…I’m sorry, what?” Chase (steady): “If the killer used the scrunchie to choke him, that would explain both the position it was found in and the moisture. It wasn’t decoration — it was the weapon.” There’s a long pause — then Mariah bursts out laughing so loud it echoes through the entire chamber. Mariah (gasping for air): “Oh my God! You’re telling me the big, scary murder we’ve been losing sleep over — wasn’t a bear, wasn’t a branch, wasn’t a snake — it was a scrunchie strangling?” She doubles over laughing, hitting her podium for balance. Mariah (through tears): “Death by fashion accessory! He died choking on a hair tie! Someone call Vogue, we’ve got a new trend!” Heather Metal starts snickering again. “Oh no — not the killer couture!” Neely Pearl (dramatic): “I can’t. This is too iconic. Imagine being killed by something that costs $1.25 at Dollar Tree.” Riko Hoyomisha lets out a long, weary sigh, rubbing his temples. “This is not funny. A man died.” Neely (snapping their fingers): “And he died fabulous!” Jackie Yamata groans softly. “Please, Neely—” Mariah (still laughing): “No, you don’t get it! Imagine the killer’s face! Just— ‘TAKE THAT!’ shoves scrunchie!” She dissolves into another laughing fit, practically crying now. Harold Yamaki leans back on his throne, absolutely glowing with amusement. His tail swishes like a metronome, his grin wide. Harold (purring): “Oh, this is divine~! Tragedy and comedy wrapped in one pastel bow! Truly, the gift that keeps on giving!” Heather Metal (snorting): “Literally! He choked on the gift!” Austin Sobriquet (deadpan): “We’ve officially crossed from trial to circus.” Nicholas Sour, calm as ever, continues to suck on his lollipop while the chaos unfolds. He waits for the laughter to fade — or at least mostly fade — before speaking quietly, but firmly. Nicholas (flatly): “If that’s true… then the killer doesn’t have any upper body strength.” Everyone turns toward him. Heather Metal (half laughing, half curious): “What?” Nicholas (shrugs): “Think about it. If they had to choke him with a scrunchie, that means they couldn’t overpower him physically. Robert was strong — muscular arms, heavy build. You don’t take someone like that down with brute force unless you can actually fight.” Austin Sobriquet (nodding): “He’s right. Robert’s autopsy showed blunt trauma but no restraint marks. If the scrunchie was used to suffocate him instead, then maybe the killer relied on surprise — or caught him while he was already weak.” Chase (quietly, impressed): “Good catch, Nicholas.” Nicholas (still sucking his lollipop): “Not hard to figure out. The candy helps me think.” Neely Pearl (grinning): “Sweetie, if you solve this with sugar, I’m buying you a whole candy store.” Heather Metal (smirking): “So we’re looking for someone with noodle arms?” Mariah (wheezing): “I can’t breathe— not from the scrunchie, from the laughter—” Riko Hoyomisha (stern): “Focus, please.” Chase (continuing): “So, following Nicholas’s logic, that rules out anyone known for physical strength — Robert would’ve fought back. Which means the killer’s method was control, not confrontation. A distraction, followed by suffocation.” Arthur Present (grimly): “And since the scrunchie came from the girls’ house, that means whoever did it used both opportunity and subtlety.” Heather Metal: “Or someone who just panicked and grabbed whatever was nearby.” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers): “A panic choke! Fashion and fear in one breath!” Harold Yamaki (laughing): “Brilliant! The holidays are full of surprises, aren’t they? Sometimes the presents bite back~!” Mariah City (still half laughing, half serious): “So, let me get this straight — Robert might’ve been choked out by a scrunchie from the girls’ house, by someone too weak to fight him head-on?” Chase (nodding): “Yes. That’s the working theory.” Mariah (snorting): “God, this city’s going to make me lose it.” Heather Metal (still giggling): “Gonna?” Neely Pearl (dramatic flourish): “Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone beyond, we have ourselves a fashion felony!” Harold Yamaki (purring with delight): “And so the plot tightens~ just like that poor scrunchie around dear Robert’s throat!” Austin Sobriquet (under his breath): “I miss the part of my life when things made sense.” Nicholas Sour (deadpan, still licking his lollipop): “Peppermint helps.” The camera pans out as the laughter and mutters mix again — the absurdity and horror swirling together in a bizarre symphony of chaos. The scrunchie glints faintly under the lights — harmless, ridiculous, and now deadly. Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Paulie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Previous: https://kovaze.com/blog/18488 Continue: https://kovaze.com/blog/18500

The elevator doors open with a slow, metallic sigh — steam hissing out as twenty-five citizens step into the blinding white light. The ground beneath them shimmers like frosted glass, reflecting the glowing red-and-green decor of the chamber. Twinkling holographic wreaths spin above their heads, candy cane lights line the walls, and a towering Christmas tree of cold metal ornaments dominates the center — its star flickering with an eerie, artificial glow. A grand voice cuts through the silence. Harold Yamaki (The Neko Mayor) (purring cheerfully from above) 🎵 “Ho-ho-ho! Citizens of City Roulette, welcome to your very first Holiday Class Trial! 🎵 He lounges on a silver throne perched atop a snow-covered platform, his white fur coat draped like a regal cape. His feline tail flicks lazily, tapping the armrest in rhythm with the faint jingles echoing through the hall. The group spreads out, awed and uneasy. Heather Metal (crossing her arms, half-smirking): “If Robert were here… he’d have a mental breakdown. He’d probably call this a crime against interior design.” A few nervous chuckles ripple through the crowd, but the mood remains heavy. The massive chamber glows brighter as twenty-six podiums rise slowly from the ground, forming a perfect circle around the metal Christmas tree. Each podium lights up with a soft golden glow — all except one. The unlit podium bears Robert Finn’s holographic photo — grayscale, motionless, eyes half-lidded. Paulie Louis (hesitant): “...Why is his picture on the podium? He’s… gone.” Harold Yamaki (grinning slyly): “Oh, dear Paulie~! We wouldn’t want our dearly departed to miss out on the holiday spirits, would we?” He gestures dramatically, and Robert’s hologram flickers with faint static snow. “After all, every ghost deserves a front-row seat to justice!” Heather (quietly): “That’s… morbid. Even for you.” Harold (snapping his fingers): “Correction — festively morbid! Now! To your places, my merry suspects!” The floor glows with a spiraling snowflake pattern as each civilian steps toward their podium. Their names appear in glowing text above each station: Heather Metal, Kayegama Yoshe, Riko Hoyomisha, Johnathon Coffee, Aruha Suguyama, Arthur Smith, Jessie Kowalski, Jake Belle, Will King, Mark Traverse, Mariah City, Myrtle Chang, Neely Pearl, Julian Merwin, Austin Sobriquet, Chase Hallow, Jackie Yamata, Emma Violet, Paulie Mae, Seth Norway, Arthur Present, Hue Trinity, Paris Ross, Nicholas Sour, and Paulie Louis. The faint hum of the elevator fades behind them as the circle closes. Harold Yamaki (leaning forward on his throne): “Now that everyone’s settled — it’s time for the merriest bloodbath of them all!” He claps once. The roulette wheel pattern beneath them begins to spin slowly, emitting faint chimes with every rotation. Harold (continuing): “Here are the rules, my joyful jurors: debate like it’s your last holiday dinner! When the time limit is up, everyone must cast their vote. The person you choose will be judged as the possible blackened!” He pauses — grin widening. “If your votes are correct, the guilty will face the punishment of a lifetime — and the rest of you can go back to decking your halls in peace!” He raises a paw dramatically. “But if you guess wrong…” The lights dim to red. The roulette wheel stops spinning, the sound of cracking ice filling the chamber. Harold’s eyes glint mischievously. “Then it’s everyone but the blackened who’ll be meeting a very… un-jolly ending.” The group goes silent. The sound of the spinning wheel resumes — louder, heavier — like a ticking clock made of bells. Harold Yamaki (smiling): “So! Citizens… shall we begin the Despair Before Christmas?” The roulette wheel slows, humming like a heartbeat. Frost creeps along the outer walls as the air grows still. No one speaks. Then— Heather Metal throws her hands in the air. (frustrated) “Okay—someone tell me how we’re supposed to start this thing! Do we just—what—yell theories into the void until someone cries?!” A few nervous chuckles ripple through the circle. Paulie Louis (softly but firm): “Hey, hey—breathe, everyone. We can’t lose it already.” She places her hands on the podium, looking around the group. “Let’s just… remember everything that’s happened. Piece it together like we always do, okay?” Her calm tone cuts through the tension. Slowly, the group settles. Paulie Louis glances up toward Harold’s throne. “Mayor Harold, maybe we can start with you. Why did you release the animals so fast that night?” The neko mayor lounges on his silver throne, chin resting on one paw. His tail flicks lazily. Harold Yamaki (mock-innocent): “Oh, that. I simply couldn’t resist, darling. The suspense was melting faster than the fake snow!” Heather Metal slams her hands on her podium, voice sharp and furious. “You promised us time! You said you’d wait before letting those poor things loose!” The neko mayor smiles faintly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. Harold (purring): “I did, didn’t I? But promises are so fragile this time of year. Like ornaments. You drop them once, and—” (he makes a cracking motion with his paw) “—they shatter. Besides, I was bored.” Neely Pearl leans forward, elbows on her podium, smirking. “Ooooh, so that’s it! Mister Mayor got bored of playing Santa before the sleigh even left the driveway!” Harold (grinning wider): “Guilty as charged~.” Neely (teasing sing-song): “Admit it—you didn’t care about waiting. You just wanted to watch chaos with a cup of cocoa.” Harold tilts his head, feigning thought. “Mm… marshmallows make despair taste sweeter.” The group groans collectively. Mariah City (rolling her eyes): “Unbelievable. We’re stuck in a murder trial run by a Hallmark villain.” Seth Norway (muttering): “More like a cat who watched too many Christmas specials.” Harold (snapping his fingers cheerfully): “Oh, come now—don’t be Grinches! We’re only getting started!” He leans forward, his voice lowering into a playful purr. “Now that we’ve covered my alleged impatience, how about we move on to something a little juicier?” He gestures toward the glowing hologram of Robert Finn’s face. “Let’s talk about why one of you decided to give dear Robert the shock of his life~.” The lights dim slightly. A cold chime echoes through the chamber. Heather Metal clenches her fists. “Then let’s do it right this time.” Paulie Louis nods. “No distractions. No chaos. Let’s find out who really killed him.” The roulette wheel begins to spin again — slower, deliberate, each tick echoing through the frozen chamber like a heartbeat. The roulette floor glows a deep crimson as it slows to a stop. A faint jingle plays from nowhere — distorted, as if the melody itself were freezing in midair. The air feels tight, the festive lights flickering faintly above the podiums. Heather Metal slams her hands on her podium, voice sharp and clear. Heather: “Alright, let’s stop dancing around the snow globe and get real. I think the most suspicious people here are Emma and Hue.” The room stills. Eyes turn toward the two mentioned. Hue Trinity (frowning): “...Excuse me?” Emma Violet (tilting her head, arms crossed): “Wait, what are you talking about, Heather?” Heather (leaning forward): “Think about it. When the animals went berserk in the town hall, the two of you vanished! Nobody knew where you were, nobody saw you until after the chaos settled. If that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is.” Riko Hoyomisha (coolly): “She has a point. Timing matters.” Myrtle Chang (raising her hand): “Hold up—” (she glances around) “Could there even be, like… an accomplice? I mean, in a murder like this?” The neko mayor lounges back in his silver throne, one leg crossed over the other, tail flicking lazily. Mayor Harold Yamaki (smirking, sing-song): “Ooooh, splendid question, my aquatic darling! The answer is yes~!” (he taps the side of his throne, the sound echoing like a bell) “There can be an accomplice. But only one gets the sweet reward of freedom. The other?” (he grins, eyes glowing faintly red) “Well… let’s just say coal in the stocking doesn’t begin to cover it.” Nicholas Sour (grimacing): “So… the accomplice helps but still dies if we get it right? That’s— that’s pointless!” Harold (snapping his fingers, delighted): “Exactly! Isn’t that deliciously tragic? Helping the guilty only to share their downfall! Ah, the true meaning of the holidays~—sacrifice!” Neely Pearl (groaning): “Okay, I’m starting to think you’ve never seen an actual Christmas movie, dude.” Harold (grinning wide, leaning down): “I prefer thrillers.” The group collectively sighs. Heather rolls her eyes, bringing the focus back. Heather: “Anyway! Point is, Emma and Hue were both gone. If we’re narrowing suspects, that’s where we start.” Emma Violet exhales, steadying herself. Her voice is clear, almost defensive, but not panicked. Emma: “Fine. You want my side? When Harold—” (glares upward at the neko mayor) “—decided to release those poor animals early, I was still outside the town hall. I barely made it across the square before a freaking bear came charging straight for me!” Gasps echo around the circle. Emma (continuing): “I tried to get into Latoya’s Café, but the doors were locked. I screamed, pounded on the glass, but before I could even move— the bear smashed through the front window!” Neely Pearl (wide-eyed): “Like, full-on action-movie style?!” Emma (dry): “Do I look like I had popcorn for it?” Will King (muttering): “I would’ve streamed that…” Mariah City (cutting in, furious): “Oh my God! THAT WAS YOU?! Do you realize what kind of hell broke loose after that window shattered?!” (she slams her hand on her podium) “I was right there in the café! You basically launched a grizzly missile into our safe zone!” Emma (defensive): “Excuse me for not wanting to get mauled! I didn’t make it crash through the window— I dodged for my life!” Johnathon Coffee (groaning): “And I lost my favorite coffee pot because of it! Jessie yeeted that thing like it was an Olympic sport!” Jessie Kowalski (snapping): “I threw it to survive, not for your barista drama!” Johnathon (dramatic): “You could’ve at least used a decaf pot! I was attached to that one!” Kayegama Yoshe (chuckling, remembering): “Yeah, that bear flew in like a wrecking ball! I swear, it took out three tables before Riko and I tried to tag-team it WWE style.” Riko Hoyomisha (flatly): “We don’t talk about that.” Kayegama (grinning): “I swung a chair! You swung a chair! That’s teamwork, baby!” Paulie Mae (trying not to laugh): “Y’all really thought you could wrestle a bear?” Mariah (still fuming): “We were in a café, not a ring! It was chaos!” Heather Metal (pointing accusingly at Emma): “See? You caused that chaos. You were right there when it all started.” Emma (cutting in quickly): “Not on purpose! The bear came for me. I dodged. It went through the window— end of story! After that, I ran straight into the guy’s house to hide.” Harold Yamaki (mock gasp): “Oh, how romantic! Two fugitives from a furry apocalypse, hiding together under one humble roof!” Hue Trinity (annoyed): “Could you not make it sound like a holiday rom-com?” Neely Pearl (smirking): “‘Hue and Emma’s Christmas Hideaway’— streaming never!” Emma (ignoring them, continuing): “Inside the guy’s house, Hue was already there, trying to barricade the door with furniture. We stayed quiet till morning. That’s it. We didn’t go anywhere near Robert or the generator room.” Kayegama Yoshe (nodding): “She’s telling the truth about the bear, at least. Around that time, I was in the café with Paulie Mae, Paulie Louis, Jessie, Johnathon, Riko, and Mariah. The bear did crash through the window out of nowhere. It was like— instant chaos.” Paulie Louis (softly): “I remember the sound. It was loud enough to make the walls shake.” Mariah (gritting her teeth): “Yeah, and my sanity shattered with the glass.” Johnathon (sighing dramatically): “And my poor, innocent coffee pot…” Arthur Present (firmly, cutting through the noise): “Enough. We’re getting sidetracked.” (his voice steadies the group) “Emma, continue. After the bear incident and hiding with Hue… did either of you see anyone else that night?” Emma looks down for a moment, her reflection glimmering in the frosted floor. Emma: “No. Just… the two of us. And the sound of the generator… buzzing somewhere outside.” The hum of the roulette wheel fades into that same electric buzz — the memory filling the silence like static. Heather (narrowing her eyes): “...So the last thing you heard that night was the generator.” Emma: “Yes.” Harold Yamaki (grinning wickedly): “Ohoho~ then we’re back on track! A shocking development, wouldn’t you say?” He laughs — the sound echoing like sleigh bells in a crypt. Heather Metal exhales, glancing toward the others. “This is going to be one long night.” The holographic snowflakes drift lazily above the courtroom as silence stretches like ice. The roulette floor hums low beneath the circle of podiums, glowing faint blue — the “truth color,” flickering under tension. Hue Trinity clears his throat, his posture straightening. His normally calm eyes harden under the neon glow. Hue (steady, composed): “Alright, since everyone wants the full story — I’ll take it from here.” He glances toward Emma, who gives a small nod. Hue (continuing): “After the bear incident, Emma and I stayed in the guy’s house. We were in the living room for maybe an hour, maybe more — it was hard to tell. The whole city was silent except for distant roars and the generator buzzing outside.” He pauses, voice darkening. “Then we heard glass breaking — from the kitchen.” Mariah City (wide-eyed): “Oh, don’t tell me—” Hue: “Yeah. The window shattered — and before we could even react, snakes started pouring in.” A murmur breaks through the group. Even Harold leans forward slightly, tail flicking with interest. Neely Pearl (grinning wide): “Yesss, drama! Keep it coming, Hue-Hue! Venom and violence, my favorite cocktail~!” Heather Metal (snapping): “Neely, shut it—! Hue, you’re seriously saying snakes just appeared inside the house?” Hue (narrowing his eyes): “You think I’d make that up? Go check the place yourself. The kitchen floor’s probably still a reptile rave.” Heather: “Oh, please. That sounds way too convenient. Bears, snakes, next you’ll say penguins parachuted through the ceiling.” Hue (sharp, irritated): “You asked for details, I’m giving them! The snakes came through the window — I saw it with my own eyes!” Heather: “And we’re just supposed to take your word for it?” Hue (snapping): “You got something better, Metal Mouth?!” The tension explodes instantly. Heather slams her hand on the podium, leaning forward. Heather: “Don’t start with me, Trinity. You vanish during the attack, show up with a half-assed snake story, and expect everyone to believe you? You sound like a bad cover for a murderer!” Hue (shouting): “And you sound like someone who doesn’t know when to shut the hell up!” Heather (furious): “Why don’t you come down here and make me?!” Neely Pearl (delighted, fanning themselves): “Oh my stars and stilettos! It’s giving holiday cage match! I need popcorn and a front-row seat!” Austin Sobriquet (sighing, rubbing his temples): “This is rapidly devolving into chaos.” Seth Norway (muttering dryly): “Rapidly? We’ve been there since the bear.” Heather and Hue are still shouting, voices overlapping — full of raw emotion. Hue (angrily): “Why the hell would I make up a snake attack?!” Heather (snapping): “To make yourself look innocent!” Hue: “I’ve got proof!” The word slices through the noise. The entire room freezes. Even Neely, who was halfway through miming a dramatic faint, pauses mid-gesture. Heather (skeptical): “...Proof?” Hue Trinity reaches into the pouch on his belt and pulls out his metallic yo-yo — the signature weapon that gleams faintly under the trial lights. Its string, once pristine, now frayed and darkly discolored in several places. He holds it up for everyone to see. Hue (firm): “See these marks? Two deep punctures, spaced apart. That’s where one of the snakes bit my yo-yo when I swung it.” (he spins it once, the faint scratching audible) “I threw it as the snake launched at Emma. It wrapped around it for a second before recoiling. We barely made it out.” Emma Violet nods, arms crossed tightly. Emma: “It’s true. That snake was huge. It leaped straight toward my face. Hue’s yo-yo hit it mid-air. It… it saved me.” Neely Pearl (dramatic gasp): “A hero moment! Love and venom! The tension! The stakes!” (fans themself again) “This is my new favorite episode.” Mariah City (glaring): “Neely, if you don’t stop narrating like this is reality TV—” Neely (grinning): “Sweetheart, it is reality TV, we just don’t get paid.” Heather glares back at Hue, not convinced. “So what, you expect us to just call that ‘proof’? A broken toy and a story about snakes?” Hue (sharply): “It’s not a toy. And those ‘marks’ are from teeth. You want me to throw a snake in here to prove it?” Arthur Smith (raising an eyebrow): “Please don’t.” Arthur Present (firmly, intervening): “Alright, enough! Keep this focused. Hue — what happened after the snake attack?” Hue takes a breath, grounding himself. His voice steadies again, though it still carries a sharp edge from the argument. Hue: “After the kitchen turned into a snake pit, we bolted upstairs. We locked ourselves in the bathroom. The snakes couldn’t get through the door gap, but we could hear them downstairs — sliding around, knocking things over. So we blocked the lower part of the door with towels, just in case.” Emma: “We stayed there the whole night. No sleep, no sound except the generator humming and the snakes slithering. Then… we heard the announcement. The body discovery chime.” Julian Merwin (grim): “So you’re saying you were trapped up there while Robert died?” Hue (nodding): “Exactly.” Heather folds her arms, still skeptical but quieter now. “Convenient. You hide in a bathroom and conveniently miss the murder.” Hue (snapping): “You want me to have fought a bear and a nest of snakes in one night? You’re out of your damn mind!” Neely Pearl (clapping their hands like a host ending a game show): “And the award for Most Unhinged Trial Moment goes to—drumroll please—Hue and Heather’s festive meltdown!” Harold Yamaki (purring with amusement, tapping the arm of his throne): “Oh, I love this energy! The fury! The accusations! Truly, the spirit of the holidays is alive and biting!” Kayegama Yoshe (muttering): “Literally.” The mayor smirks, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. Harold: “So, our Yo-Yo Hero has proof, our punk rock critic has doubt, and I—” (he gestures dramatically toward the glowing roulette floor) “—have an audience hungry for truth.” Heather Metal glares at Hue, the two locked in an unspoken challenge. The roulette wheel hums again — slow, rhythmic, like the ticking of a bomb. Neely Pearl (whispering dramatically): “I live for this tension…” The trial chamber hums with low tension — the sound of the spinning roulette fading as the lights flicker between red and green, casting the civilians in shifting hues of suspicion. Frost creeps up the base of the podiums, glinting under the neon light. Mayor Harold Yamaki lounges back on his silver throne, his tail flicking in rhythm to the soft chime of sleigh bells echoing faintly through the air. Harold (purring, mock-innocent): “Well, well~ The night grows colder, but the story gets warmer! Two snake-bitten survivors and one very skeptical rockstar… quite the performance.” (he leans forward, smiling lazily) “But tell me, my little snowflakes — do you believe their bedtime story?” A murmur runs through the room, hesitant and heavy. Then, a calm, precise voice breaks the silence. Chase Hallow (the Ultimate Mangaka): “I… actually think they might be telling the truth.” Heather Metal (snapping her head toward him): “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Chase adjusts his glasses, flipping open a small notepad that glows faintly with scanned notes. Chase: “During the investigation, I found something outside the guy’s house — right under the broken kitchen window. There was an empty box — sturdy, reinforced, like one you’d use to carry small cargo.” He taps his stylus against the pad, and a holographic image of the empty box flickers to life above the roulette floor. Chase (continuing): “No labels, but traces of straw padding inside. Definitely something used to hold animals or containers.” The crowd begins murmuring louder. Paulie Louis (speaking up, steady but thoughtful): “That matches what we noticed, too.” Harold tilts his head, interested. “Oh-ho~? Our southern sweetheart has something to add?” Paulie Louis nods, brushing her bangs aside as she leans on her podium. Paulie Louis: “During the investigation, we checked the café storage closet — and found out a box and a rope were missing. We don’t know what the rope was used for, but… it’s not hard to connect the dots.” Austin Sobriquet (quietly, analyzing): “Someone could’ve used the rope to lower or pull that box through a window. Maybe even to control when it opened.” Paulie Louis (nodding): “Exactly. Someone took those items from the café, used them to transport the snakes — and dumped them through the kitchen window of the guy’s house.” Mariah City (raising a brow): “So you’re saying someone deliberately unleashed those snakes inside?” Paulie Louis: “Sure seems like it. But it wasn’t Hue or Emma — they were running from the attack, not setting it up. None of us saw either of them near the café storage area that night.” Heather Metal folds her arms, frustration creasing her brow. Heather: “Alright, then if it wasn’t them, who? Somebody had to grab those supplies. Could’ve been one of the café group. You know, someone in that chaos could’ve easily snagged the rope and box before anyone noticed.” Her words hang heavy. Eyes flick around the circle, suspicion rising like steam. Jessie Kowalski (snapping immediately): “That’s not true!” Heather: “Oh yeah? You sure? Because everything that night was chaos incarnate.” Jessie (sharply): “I’m sure! Because we all had solid alibis once the bear broke in.” Johnathon Coffee (sarcastically): “Ah yes, the night of my coffee pot’s heroic sacrifice…” Jessie (ignoring him): “After the bear crashed through the window, all of us in the café — that’s me, Riko, Johnathon, Paulie Mae, Paulie Louis, Mariah, and Kayegama — ran through the connecting hallways. We didn’t stop to grab boxes or ropes; we were just trying to stay alive.” Kayegama Yoshe nods vigorously, flipping his rollerblades’ strap absentmindedly. Kayegama: “She’s right. We bolted straight through the café’s back door, down the hall toward the gift shop. There was no time to think. The place was shaking from all the noise.” Riko Hoyomisha (calm, arms folded): “The bear was between us and the exit for several seconds. I saw everyone’s faces. No one broke away to grab anything.” Paulie Mae (gently): “We ended up in Clarence’s Gift Shop afterward, remember? That’s where we regrouped.” Mariah City (sighing, rubbing her temples): “Yeah, and I still have glass in my hair from that damn café window.” Jessie points across the circle, voice firm now. Jessie: “When we reached the gift shop, there were already people there — Neely, Nicholas, Paris, Seth, Jackie, Austin, Arthur Present, and Myrtle.” Neely Pearl (grinning): “Ah yes, the glamorous survivors of aisle three! We had front-row seats to the world’s most depressing slumber party.” Myrtle Chang (quietly): “They’re right, though. We were all together by then. No one left. No one came back carrying boxes or ropes.” Seth Norway (dryly): “If someone did sneak back to grab those things, they’re either invisible or suicidal.” Arthur Present (nodding): “The timing doesn’t add up. Between the bear’s attack, the screams, and the noise outside, there’s no window for anyone to slip away unnoticed.” Austin Sobriquet (thoughtfully, tapping his chin): “Which means whoever took those items… did it before the bear broke in.” The group falls silent. The idea hits like a cold wind. Heather Metal (frowning): “Before the attack? That’d mean whoever it was planned the whole snake incident ahead of time.” Chase Hallow looks back at his glowing notepad. “And used the chaos of the animals to cover it up.” Harold Yamaki lets out an exaggerated, delighted gasp, clutching his chest like a theater actor. Harold (mock-cheerful): “Ooooh, delicious! A premeditated serpent spectacle! Someone’s been very naughty this season.” Neely Pearl (twirling their hair, teasing): “So what we’re saying is… someone went full ‘Home Alone’ with a box of snakes? That’s creative.” Mariah City (snapping): “Yeah, creative murder!” Nicholas Sour (uneasy): “But who’d even think to use snakes? That’s twisted!” Will King (under his breath): “Maybe someone who had access to them…” Riko Hoyomisha (looking at Will): “What do you mean?” Will: “Think about it — who knew how to open those containment boxes? Who worked near the animal pens in the town hall?” The crowd murmurs again — nervous, whispering. Heather Metal narrows her eyes, voice lowering like a growl. “You’re implying one of the technicians or helpers.” Will (shrugging): “I’m just saying… whoever grabbed that box and rope knew exactly what they were doing.” Harold Yamaki (snapping his fingers): “And what do we call someone who plays with danger for their own amusement?” He leans forward, grinning. Harold: “A snake in the stockings!” He bursts into a loud, gleeful laugh that echoes through the chamber. Heather Metal (rolling her eyes): “You’re insane.” Harold: “Oh, darling, it’s the holidays — sanity’s on vacation!” Neely Pearl (dramatically): “And so is our peace of mind.” Austin Sobriquet exhales, adjusting his glasses. “Let’s summarize. The café storage items — box and rope — were taken before the bear attack. Those were later used to release snakes into the guy’s house. Whoever did it wanted to cause more chaos.” Heather Metal (nodding reluctantly): “Which means we’ve got someone who planned this and had access to the café earlier than we thought.” Paulie Louis (firmly): “And that narrows our suspects. The only people who were near the café before the bear… were us — the ones setting up barricades and food stations earlier that evening.” Mariah City: “Oh great, so we just looped ourselves back into suspicion!” Harold Yamaki chuckles darkly, resting his chin on his palm. “Aw, isn’t that sweet? The spirit of giving — guilt, paranoia, and distrust for everyone!” The roulette floor glows brighter, the hum growing louder, almost pulsing like a heartbeat. Chase Hallow looks down at his glowing notepad, voice quiet but certain. Chase: “Whoever did this… knew that releasing those snakes would force everyone to scatter.” Heather Metal (narrowing her eyes): “And maybe— just maybe— that’s what they wanted. To isolate Robert.” The room falls silent. Harold’s grin widens. Harold Yamaki: “Oh, I love that theory. Separation through chaos — now that’s festive strategy!” The roulette wheel begins to spin again — slow, deliberate, as faint holiday chimes echo in the background. The roulette wheel’s hum softens into the background as the room simmers in heavy silence. The neon wreaths flicker faintly above, casting cold reflections across the glass floor. The citizens are divided — some glaring, some anxious, some too tired to speak. Heather Metal’s last words hang in the air like smoke. Heather: “Whoever planned all this wanted Robert isolated.” Before anyone can respond, a voice rises from the far side of the circle — bright, smooth, and theatrical. Neely Pearl (leaning forward, grinning): “Okay, let’s slow down the holiday hysteria for a second, yeah?” All eyes turn toward them. Their half-shaved silver hair glints under the trial lights; their painted nails drum lightly on the podium. Neely (continuing, voice playful but sharp): “Y’all keep pointing fingers at the café group like we were out here playing Santa’s Little Snake Wranglers, but honey— we couldn’t even leave the gift shop if we wanted to.” Mariah City (raising a brow): “What are you talking about?” Neely: “I’m talking barricades, baby! The doors connecting the café to the gift shop were blocked tighter than my corset on New Year’s Eve. Chairs, tables, maybe a shelf or two. We were locked in like reindeer in a snow globe.” A few muffled chuckles ripple through the group. Heather Metal (crossing her arms): “Convenient excuse.” Neely (grinning wider): “Convenient truth, sugarplum.” They tilt their head toward Austin Sobriquet, who’s already pushing up his glasses thoughtfully. Austin (nodding): “Actually, Neely’s right.” (he flips open a digital note pad) “During the investigation, we found both doorways between Latoya’s Café and Clarence’s Gift Shop completely barricaded. Tables and chairs stacked in a diagonal pattern — deliberate, not random. Whoever did that wanted to keep people out.” The crowd murmurs. Seth Norway (frowning): “Out? Or in?” Austin (glancing toward him): “Both, maybe. It would’ve kept the café group from escaping back once they were inside the shop — and it would’ve stopped anyone outside from entering.” Heather Metal (thinking aloud): “So the café group couldn’t have gone back for that rope or box… even if they wanted to.” Neely (smiling smugly): “Exactly. You can’t play culprit when you’re trapped in retail purgatory.” Harold Yamaki (from his throne, purring in delight): “Oooh, I love this. A barricaded boutique mystery! Confinement, claustrophobia, consumerism~ Truly the essence of the season!” Neely (snapping their fingers at him): “Sweetheart, if you start caroling, I’m hexing you with glitter.” Harold (laughing, tail swaying): “Tempting~.” Aruha Suguyama clears her throat, cutting through the laughter with her usual calm tone. Aruha: “I can back that up, too. During the body discovery announcement, when we all had to meet back at the town hall… the gift shop’s front door was barricaded as well.” Mark Traverse (surprised): “Oh yeah, I remember that! You had us move half the store just to open the door.” Aruha (nodding): “Right. I had to call you and Arthur Smith over to help push the chairs and tables aside. It took both of you to clear the main doors before anyone could get through.” Arthur Smith (frowning): “Yeah, those things were wedged in tight. Like someone didn’t just stack them — they jammed them into place.” Austin Sobriquet (analytical): “That matches the barricade at the café side. Someone wanted to seal off that entire section of the building — from both directions.” Mariah City (snapping): “Okay, but who would even think to do that? Who has time to stack furniture when everyone’s getting mauled by bears and snakes?!” Riko Hoyomisha (quietly, arms folded): “Someone who knew the attack was coming.” The words make everyone freeze. Neely Pearl (arching a brow): “Ooh, that’s chilling. Keep talking, sword queen.” Riko: “If both barricades were set up during the chaos, then whoever built them had to know where the animals would go — and where people would run. That’s strategy, not panic.” Heather Metal (grim): “And that means whoever set those barricades was planning ahead.” Paulie Louis (nodding slowly): “Then the café group couldn’t have done it. They were too busy escaping. The barricades were already in place — or got set up right after they ran through.” Kayegama Yoshe: “Which means somebody stayed behind.” Neely Pearl (clutching their chest, mock gasp): “Left alone in a café full of chaos… setting up barricades while snakes slither and bears break windows — truly, the romance of isolation!” Austin Sobriquet (deadpan): “Neely, you’re enjoying this way too much.” Neely (smiling mischievously): “Guilty as charged~ But admit it — it’s juicy!” Harold Yamaki (clapping once): “I adore the energy! Nothing like a little sleuthing to spice up the snow!” (his voice lowers, teasing) “So, my little sugar cookies… if the café group was locked away, and the barricades were already set, that means our mischievous decorator worked elsewhere.” Heather Metal (narrowing her eyes): “And probably used that time to make sure Robert ended up alone.” The room goes quiet again, the tension winding tighter like a bowstring. The roulette wheel glows softly beneath their feet — a slow, ominous pulse of light. Arthur Present (calmly, breaking the silence): “Whoever set the barricades knew exactly when to do it, and how to make it look like chaos. That’s not random. That’s intent.” Harold Yamaki leans forward, voice low and velvety. Harold: “Ah, intent~ The most dangerous ornament of all. I can almost smell the guilt in the air…” (he inhales theatrically) “Mmm. Peppermint and paranoia.” Neely Pearl (rolling their eyes): “Sweetheart, you’re a menace.” Harold (smiling): “And you’re my favorite audience member.” Austin Sobriquet (clearing his throat): “So to recap — the café and gift shop groups were both barricaded in. No one could move freely. Which means whoever orchestrated this had free range somewhere outside that zone — maybe near the generator or town hall.” Aruha Suguyama (nodding): “And by the time we got out… Robert was already gone.” The sound of the roulette wheel fades again, leaving only the soft hum of the cold air vents. Heather Metal (quietly, to herself): “So whoever did this had to be moving before any of us even realized the holiday massacre started…” Harold Yamaki snaps his fingers — and the snowflake holograms above begin to swirl faster, casting spinning shadows across everyone’s faces. Harold (grinning): “Then let us keep unwrapping, shall we? After all…” (his eyes glint like ice) “…the best gifts are the ones that come last.” Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Paulie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Previous: https://kovaze.com/blog/15938 Continue: https://kovaze.com/blog/18493

The plaza is silent except for the faint hum of the Christmas lights. The group of twenty-five stands in a rough semicircle, faces pale and eyes wide, staring at the park bench beneath the glowing trees. Robert Finn’s body sits slumped forward on the bench. His glasses hang crookedly from one ear. There are bruises on his arms and blood at the corner of his mouth — his once-calm, clever expression frozen in pain. Snow slowly collects on his shoulders and hair. No one speaks. The silence feels infinite. The soft sound of wind is the only thing filling the space between them. Mariah City, voice trembling despite her usual fire: Mariah: “This… can’t be real. I just… saw him, what, half an hour ago?” Jessie Kowalski, clutching her tarot deck tightly, stares blankly. Jessie: “The cards never said this… They never said this…” Johnathon Coffee takes a shaky step forward, his voice small. Johnathon: “He… he was just ranting about his old job. He said he hated Christmas music, remember? He was alive…” Austin Sobriquet lowers his head slightly, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Austin (quietly): “Alive. And now, very clearly, not.” Arthur Present’s fists clench at his sides. Arthur Present (furious): “We should’ve gone out sooner. We should’ve been there.” Paris Ross trembles beside Nicholas, clutching his hoodie’s sleeve. Paris: “Arthur, we didn’t know! How could we—?” Arthur (snapping): “That’s the problem. We never know until it’s too late.” The argument dies before it can spark further. No one wants to fight here. Not now. Riko Hoyomisha, quiet but firm: Riko: “We… we have to do something. We can’t just stand here.” Heather Metal wraps her arms around herself, voice barely above a whisper. Heather: “He looks so cold… we should at least cover him…” Kayegama Yoshe, usually energetic, just shakes his head, dazed. Kayegama: “It’s like… the air’s gone heavy. Even the lights feel wrong.” Snowflakes drift lazily between the neon glow — each one reflecting pink, blue, and red. Myrtle Chang stares down at the bench, her knuckles white. Myrtle: “Who could’ve done this… and why? We all knew Robert. He wasn’t—he didn’t fight with anyone.” Neely Pearl, voice soft but with an edge: Neely: “Everyone fights with someone. Especially when it’s life or death.” Mariah (snapping): “Oh, don’t start with that right now, Neely!” Neely: “I’m just saying—someone here did this. Pretending otherwise won’t change that.” A low hum interrupts the tension. The neon around the plaza brightens, forming a glowing ring around the scene. Then— Mayor Harold Yamaki’s voice echoes from above, cheerful and theatrical: 🎵 “Ding-dong~! Merry first blood, my little snow angels!” 🎵 The group collectively flinches as a holographic projection of Harold appears atop the fountain. He’s smiling — tail flicking lazily, eyes glowing with mischief under the falling snow. Harold (grinning): “Ah, what a glorious start to the holidays! I must say, the spirit of the season truly shines when someone unwraps a little surprise like this.” Mark Traverse (furious): “You sick freak!” Harold: “Flattery won’t get you out of the game, Marky. But I appreciate the passion~.” He gestures broadly toward the plaza. “Now then! Since the naughty deed has been done, it’s only fair that I reward everyone with a Christmas miracle!” The hologram’s eyes flash. A series of soft mechanical chimes echo throughout the city. Harold: “All the animals are now calm and cuddly again! No more running, no more screaming, no more tragic bear encounters. Isn’t that wonderful? I even gave them all new bows!” Emma Violet: “What’s wrong with you?! You’re acting like someone didn’t just die!” Harold (cheerful): “Oh, come now, Emma! It’s the season of giving, and someone just gave up their life for the game. How festive!” The group glares, grief morphing into rage. Chase Hallow, fists clenched: Chase: “You’re insane.” Harold: “Insane? No. I prefer entertaining.” He twirls his tail and gives a mock bow. “Now, as you all know, with every death comes a little holiday tradition! It’s time for the investigation to begin. Gather your courage, my darling players — and your wits — because one of you just made Santa’s naughty list.” The hologram flickers, static cutting through his last words: 🎵 “Happy investigating~! Don’t trip on the blood stains!” 🎵 And with that, he disappears — leaving only his laughter echoing faintly against the snowy buildings. The plaza falls silent again. Jessie (voice trembling): “He’s gone… just like that.” Paulie Louis: “So what now? We look for clues?” Austin: “We look for truth. But first—” He looks toward Robert’s body, the snow beginning to cover his lifeless face. “—we pay him respect.” Arthur Present steps forward first, kneeling beside Robert’s body. He removes his coat and drapes it gently over him. Arthur (quietly): “You didn’t deserve this.” The others lower their heads. One by one, the sound of falling snow replaces everything else. The camera pans upward — the glowing city lights reflecting off the snow — before fading to black. ~ City Plaza~ The camera pans across the plaza — the faint pink-blue neon glow reflected off fresh snow, the faint glimmer of ornaments swaying in the cold air. The scene settles on Robert Finn’s body sitting lifelessly on the bench. Around him stand Chase Hallow, Mariah City, Johnathon Coffee, Jake Belle, and Jackie Yamata. Mariah (arms crossed, furious): “This is ridiculous. We’re not detectives — we’re victims! Why the hell are we the ones doing this?” Jackie Yamata, calm but visibly disturbed, kneels near the bench. Jackie: “Because if we don’t, the real killer walks. That’s the game, isn’t it?” Mariah: “Yeah, yeah, I know, find the killer, live another day, but this is gross.” She turns away, fanning her face. “Ugh, I can’t deal with dead people before coffee. This isn’t even a latte situation, this is like… triple espresso trauma.” Chase, who’s crouched near the bench, sighs. Chase: “Then why didn’t you go with the others?” Mariah (snapping): “Because I don’t trust anyone. Everyone’s acting all calm like this is normal — like we didn’t just watch someone DIE!” Chase (firm but calm): “We need every pair of eyes. If we don’t do this right, we’re next.” Mariah stares at him — then looks away, muttering under her breath. Mariah: “Fine. But if I puke, I’m suing you in spirit.” Jake Belle, his K-pop streetwear now dusted with snow, leans over the body, gloves on. He takes a deep breath. Jake: “Okay… Robert, let’s see what you were up to before… this.” He carefully examines the body — the bruises, the torn fabric on the sleeve, the angle of Robert’s head. Jake: “These bruises… he got hit. A lot. Either he fought someone, or…” He pauses, brushing off some snow near Robert’s arm. “...he fell. Hard.” Johnathon Coffee, hovering nearby, points toward the trees behind the bench. Johnathon: “You might be right. Look.” The camera pans to show a tree just a few meters away — one of its branches cracked clean in half, hanging by bark fibers. Snow below it is streaked faintly with red. Jackie (uneasy): “Blood?” Johnathon (nodding): “Yeah. Either he fell from there, or someone fell with him. But…” He glances back toward the bench. “...how’d he end up here, sitting down like that?” Jake: “Someone could’ve moved him.” Mariah: “Okay, pause. You’re saying someone beat him up, dragged him, and then posed him on a bench like some creepy Christmas display?!” Chase (low, steady): “That’s what it looks like.” The wind picks up slightly, carrying flakes of snow through the air. The sound of sleigh bells faintly echoes from somewhere — eerily cheerful against the tension. The group moves a few steps away to discuss possibilities — voices overlapping quietly. As they talk, Chase stays crouched by Robert’s body. His eyes narrow slightly as something catches the light. Something small — faintly glinting — peeking out from between Robert’s lips. Chase (muttering under his breath): “What’s this…?” He glances over his shoulder — the others are still debating. Carefully, he pulls a small plastic baggie from his pocket, then leans closer to Robert. He gently removes the object from Robert’s mouth, careful not to let anyone see. He slips it into the baggie, sealing it quietly. He stares at it for a moment — whatever it is, his face hardens slightly, his jaw clenching. Then, just as quickly, he tucks the bag into his jacket pocket. When he turns around, Mariah is glaring at him. Mariah: “What? You find something, Detective Chill?” Chase (smoothly): “Just checking his pulse.” Mariah: “He’s dead, genius.” Chase: “Exactly. Had to be sure.” She narrows her eyes but drops it, rolling hers instead. Mariah: “You’re shady as hell.” Jackie (still examining the scene): “Shady or not, he’s right. We need to be thorough.” Johnathon: “Yeah, well, thorough doesn’t mean touching the body like it’s a latte art project.” Jake (calmly): “Enough, both of you. Let’s keep focus.” He gestures toward the broken tree. “Blood on snow, broken branch, bruised body. Either Robert fell… or someone made it look that way.” Chase (quietly, standing): “Then we’ll find out which.” The camera lingers on the group standing before Robert’s body — the snow falling heavier now, faint neon reflections glimmering in the ice. Mariah paces back and forth, muttering about how “this city’s cursed.” Johnathon kneels, sketching the scene on a napkin. Jackie adjusts their scarf, gaze fixed on the bench. Jake stares at the bloodstained snow, lost in thought. And Chase… quietly slips his hand into his pocket, feeling the hidden baggie against his palm — a secret clue that could change everything. ~Guy's House~ The front door creaks open. Hue Trinity and Emma Violet stand near the counter, quietly talking. Emma’s hair is messy, one sleeve torn from the earlier chaos. Hue’s yo-yo hangs from his belt, string slightly frayed. A knock, then the door swings open wider — Neely Pearl, Paris Ross, Myrtle Chang, and Kayegama Yoshe enter, their boots crunching over broken glass. Neely (snapping fingers): “Well, look what we have here. The cozy crime scene duo.” Hue (flat): “Neely, not now.” Neely (smiling sharply): “Oh, now’s exactly the time. We’re all collecting alibis, sweetie. Everyone’s got stories to tell — or lies to maintain.” Myrtle (sighing): “Can we not start with accusations right away?” Neely: “Accusations? Please, I’m just… fact-checking. So. Hue. Emma. Where were you two when everything went down?” Hue folds his arms. Emma rolls her eyes but answers first. Emma: “I was running for my life, thanks very much. A freaking bear was after me — like, full sprint. I barely made it out alive.” Kayegama (raising an eyebrow): “...Wait, hold up. You’re that person?” Emma: “What do you mean, that person?” Kayegama: “The one who made the bear crash into Latoya’s Cafe! The thing went flying through the window like a cannonball — half the group’s still traumatized!” Emma (defensive): “Oh, excuse me for not wanting to be mauled to death! I didn’t tell it to jump through the glass!” Neely (grinning): “Ah yes, the old ‘the bear did it’ defense. Classic.” Myrtle: “Can we focus? We’re supposed to be piecing together who killed Robert, not assigning bear blame.” Emma (huffing): “Fine. Anyway, after that mess, I bolted here. I ran straight inside, locked the door, and that’s where I met Hue.” Hue nods, stepping in. Hue: “She’s right. I was already hiding out here. The moment she came in, I told her to stay quiet. A few minutes later, we heard glass breaking — the kitchen window.” Paris (frowning): “So, that’s when the snakes showed up?” Hue: “Yeah. They started slithering in through the vent and window. We had to run upstairs — bathroom, second floor. We blocked the door with a towel and waited it out.” Kayegama: “How long were you stuck?” Emma (shrugging): “Long enough for me to hate tiles and hand soap.” Neely (leaning against the counter): “Convenient. Locked away while the rest of us were being hunted. No witnesses to confirm your story.” Hue (deadpan): “Yeah, because I totally orchestrated snakes to flood a kitchen just for an alibi.” Neely: “I mean, creativity gets points.” Myrtle (cutting in, firm): “Stop it, both of you. The vent’s broken, the window’s shattered — their story checks out.” Paris (quietly): “...Then what’s that?” Everyone turns. Paris points to the open window frame. Outside, half-buried in snow, lies a large, dented cardboard box. The group approaches cautiously. The box is torn along one side, faint scratch marks visible along the top flap. It’s slightly damp, like it had been sitting out for a while. Kayegama (kneeling): “Huh. This must’ve come from outside. Maybe that’s how the snakes got in?” Emma (frowning): “Snakes… in a box? What, did someone Amazon Prime a reptile nightmare?” Neely (smirking): “Sloppy killer move, though. If you’re gonna stage chaos, at least clean up your packaging.” Hue (snapping): “You think this was staged?” Neely (shrugging): “Could be. Maybe someone wanted the animals to distract everyone — make murder easier.” Myrtle: “That’s... not impossible.” Emma (gritting her teeth): “Then whoever did it almost got me and Hue killed in the process.” Neely (smiling faintly): “Well, that’s how killers work, darling. Collateral chaos. But leaving the box outside? That’s amateur hour.” They kick at the box lightly with a boot. “If you’re gonna play god, at least hide the evidence.” Paris (whispering, uneasy): “I don’t like how you said that.” Neely (grinning): “Oh, relax. I don’t kill people — I just roast them.” Myrtle (exasperated): “Enough jokes, Neely. This could be important later.” Neely (mock bow): “Duly noted, Captain Serious.” The camera pans slowly toward the broken kitchen window, showing the snow drifting in and the empty box half buried outside. The faint hum of the neon lights outside reflects through the shards of glass, painting cold blue streaks across the floor. Hue glances at Emma. Emma sighs. Neither says it aloud — but both are thinking the same thing: If someone brought that box here… they weren’t far away when Robert died. The sound of the wind fades into a low, distorted jingle — “Jingle Bells” faintly warped through the static of the distant city speakers. ~Latoya's Cafe~ Paulie Mae standing near the broken counter, gesturing animatedly as she recounts the earlier chaos. Paulie Mae: “So there we were — just trying to barricade the doors — and out of nowhere, this bear comes flying through the window like a Christmas cannonball! Glass everywhere, coffee in my hair, Mariah screaming like she was auditioning for a horror movie—” Julian Merwin leans against the counter, smirking slightly. Julian: “Can’t say I blame her. I’d scream too if a bear ruined my outfit.” Paulie Louis, near the supply closet, rolls her eyes while flipping through a clipboard. Paulie Louis: “You two can trade trauma stories later. I think I found something weird.” She holds up a laminated inventory checklist, slightly crumpled but still legible. Paulie Louis: “Looks like this place keeps track of its supplies — coffee beans, napkins, cups, sugar, the usual. But two things are missing: rope… and a box.” Aruha Suguyama, standing beside Austin Sobriquet near the doorway, looks thoughtful. Aruha: “A rope and a box…?” Her voice lowers. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence.” Austin (nodding): “Agreed. Especially considering there’s a torn-up box sitting outside the guys’ house window. The same kind that could’ve held the snakes.” Paulie Mae blinks. Paulie Mae: “So what, someone used café supplies to release the animals?” Julian (half-grinning): “Wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve seen worse customer behavior.” Paulie Louis (ignoring the joke): “If someone took the rope too, that means they planned this chaos — every animal, every diversion.” Austin: “And if they planned it, then Robert’s death wasn’t random. It was timed.” The camera pans to Austin’s reflection in a cracked café mirror. His expression sharpens — analytical, cold, calculating. The group follows him as he walks toward the narrow hallway that connects the café to Clarence’s Gift Shop. The hallway is dimly lit — flickering neon reflections from outside dance across the wall. Halfway down, Austin and Aruha stop. The door to the gift shop is completely blocked by stacked furniture: chairs, tables, even a tipped-over espresso machine jammed against it. Aruha (frowning): “This… this is where everyone said they were trapped.” Austin (nodding slowly): “Yes. They couldn’t get out through here, and when they tried the front door, that one was blocked too.” He kneels, inspecting the floor — scuff marks, drag lines, and faint trails in the dust from where the furniture was shoved hastily. Austin: “See these marks? These weren’t barricaded from inside the gift shop. Someone did this from here — the café side.” Paulie Louis (approaching): “So the killer… locked them in?” Austin: “Exactly. Both exits. They couldn’t have known, but whoever did this ensured no one could reach the plaza during the murder.” Paulie Mae (crossing her arms): “So whoever did it must’ve been outside during the lockdown. That narrows things down.” Julian: “Or someone’s pretending to be a victim. A good con’s all about timing, sugar.” Aruha (quietly): “Still… why block both doors? They didn’t need to trap that many people if they only wanted to kill one.” Austin: “Panic. Chaos. Distraction. The perfect cover for murder.” Paulie Louis: “And the rope?” Austin: “Maybe used to move or stage Robert’s body — maybe to lift him, maybe to drag him. We can’t confirm yet.” The group grows silent for a beat. The sound of dripping water from the cracked ceiling fills the silence, rhythmic and haunting. Paulie Mae (softly): “So the café… it wasn’t just collateral. It was part of the setup.” Austin: “Every mess has a reason. And every reason leaves a pattern.” He stands, brushing dust from his coat. His tone turns coldly matter-of-fact. “Whoever did this didn’t panic like the rest of us. They planned for this chaos.” The faint sound of sleigh bells echoes through the hall again — distant, distorted, mocking. Julian (muttering): “I’m starting to really hate that sound.” Paulie Louis (looking at Austin): “So what now?” Austin (walking back toward the main room): “Now, we connect dots. If the rope and box came from here, then whoever used them had access before the animals went wild.” Aruha: “Meaning the killer started setting this up hours before any of us realized we were trapped.” Austin (nodding): “Exactly. And if I’m right, this café might’ve been the real stage for the murder — not the plaza.” The group exchanges uneasy looks. Paulie Mae (quietly): “...So the murder didn’t start where it ended.” Austin glances back toward the blocked door one last time — his reflection framed against the broken café window and glowing snow outside. Austin: “No. It started here.” The camera pans up from the blocked hallway to the glowing neon sign flickering above the counter: ☕ “Latoya’s Café & Diner – Open 24/7” The “Open” light flickers twice… then dies. ~Clarence Gift Shop~ Arthur Present standing in the snow, hands clenched, staring off toward the plaza where Robert’s body still lies. His armor-like jacket is scuffed and damp, and there’s exhaustion in his eyes. Arthur Present (low, bitter): “I was supposed to protect everyone. That’s… that’s what I do. And I couldn’t even save him.” His voice trembles — more frustration than grief — as he punches the nearby railing. Snow scatters from the impact. Nicholas Sour, standing nearby in his oversized candy-themed hoodie, flinches at the sound but slowly walks closer. Nicholas (quietly): “Hey… you can’t blame yourself for that.” Arthur: “How can I not? I was there, Nick. I should’ve noticed something, heard something—” Nicholas (cutting in, firmer than usual): “You were trapped. We all were. That’s not on you.” Arthur exhales sharply, looking away. Arthur (softly): “...I couldn’t even protect the people next to me.” Nicholas hesitates, then takes a breath and steps closer, lightly tugging Arthur’s sleeve. Nicholas: “You did protect someone. You kept me calm when we were stuck inside. I… I don’t really do well with closed spaces.” He fidgets with a candy wrapper nervously. “I was losing it in there. You talking to me — that helped. So… thank you.” Arthur’s expression softens slightly, surprise cutting through the guilt. Arthur: “...You were scared?” Nicholas (sheepish): “Scared, panicking, existential crisis — take your pick.” Arthur chuckles quietly — a small, tired smile breaking through. Arthur: “Guess we helped each other, huh?” Nicholas (smiling faintly): “Yeah. Guess so.” The camera pulls back as snow drifts between them — two figures in the glow of the neon sign, their breath visible in the cold. A few paces away, Will King, Jessi Kowalski, Mark Traverse, Arthur Smith, and Riko Hoyomisha stand near the sidewalk. The snow crunches under their boots as they speak quietly. Will King (thinking aloud): “So, let’s piece this together. The café’s back hall and the gift shop’s front were blocked at almost the same time, right?” Mark Traverse: “Yeah. But that means the killer would’ve had to move between them fast — while the rest of us were panicking about the animals.” Riko Hoyomisha (arms crossed): “And without being seen. Which makes no sense. Everyone was in chaos — but there’s no way someone could’ve set that up mid-attack without getting mauled.” Arthur Smith (calmly): “Unless they did it before the animals were released.” Mark: “You’re saying this whole thing — the attack, the barricades, the timing — was planned down to the minute?” Arthur Smith: “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Will (frowning): “But we were all together before Harold dropped his little murder circus act. Nobody had time to sneak away.” Riko: “Then maybe we missed something. Maybe the killer knew where Harold was going to unleash the chaos and prepped early.” The group falls quiet for a moment — snow muffling the sound of distant wind. Jessi Kowalski, slightly apart from the others, glances down at the snow near the bench line. Something glints faintly under the thin frost — barely visible. She kneels, brushing away snow carefully. A small piece of paper, water-stained but not destroyed, sticks out. Jessi (quietly to herself): “What’s this…?” She pulls it free, eyes scanning the writing — whatever’s on it makes her expression tighten. Without missing a beat, she folds it and slips it quickly into her bag. No one sees. She stands, brushing off her gloves, and rejoins the group, her expression neutral. Will (still theorizing): “Let’s assume whoever did this had access to the café and the plaza. That narrows it to the people who were there before the bear broke in.” Mark: “Which would’ve been… Paulie Mae, Paulie Louis, Mariah, Riko, Kayegama, Johnathon, and Jessie.” Arthur Smith (glancing at Jessie): “You were there too, weren’t you?” Jessi (smiling nervously): “Yeah, lucky me. But I didn’t exactly have time to take inventory while running from a bear, thanks.” Will (nodding): “Fair. Still, it’s weird that the killer went to that much trouble. They risked being attacked just to trap everyone.” Riko (grimly): “Or they knew they wouldn’t be attacked.” The implication hangs heavy. Arthur Present, who’d been quiet for a moment, turns back to them. Arthur Present: “When we were trapped, I heard something — a crash, from outside. Nicholas did too. But we couldn’t see a thing, there are no windows in the gift shop.” Nicholas (nodding): “Yeah… it sounded big. Like something heavy fell or… someone did.” Mark Traverse: “You think that was Robert?” Arthur Present (looking toward the plaza): “Maybe. It lines up with the timeline. But until we know how he got from there to that bench…” Riko (quietly finishing the thought): “...we’re still missing the real story.” The snow falls thicker now. The neon reflections flicker across their faces — pinks, blues, faint red shadows. Arthur Smith: “We need to regroup. Compare notes before Harold decides to throw another ‘holiday surprise.’” Will: “Yeah. I’ve had enough festive trauma for one day.” Jessi (forcing a smile): “You and me both.” The camera lingers on her bag — a faint corner of the folded, damp paper visible before she zips it shut. The group begins walking back toward the town center, their footsteps fading into the snowy silence. As the camera pans up, the soft hum of the neon sign flickers behind them — and from somewhere above, faint laughter echoes through the city speakers. Harold Yamaki (distorted through static): 🎵 “The snow looks prettier when it’s stained red, don’t you think?” 🎵 ~Main plaza~ The entire cast of twenty-five stands gathered in the plaza. The faint glow from the surrounding lights reflects on their faces — a kaleidoscope of exhaustion, grief, and anxiety. Mariah City stands near the front, hands on hips, absolutely fuming. Mariah (yelling): “Y’all hear that? Investigation over?! We didn’t even solve anything yet! This furry-ass mayor better explain himself before I lose it!” Heather Metal, adjusting her scrunchie, gently pats Mariah’s shoulder. Heather (calmly): “Deep breaths, Mariah. Let’s not give him a reason to drop another bear.” Mariah (snapping): “He can drop himself!” Kayegama Yoshe (grinning awkwardly): “Honestly, I’d pay to see that.” The group chuckles weakly — a fragile laugh in the middle of tension. Behind them, Nicholas Sour and Arthur Present stand close together, quietly holding hands. Nicholas fidgets, embarrassed but comforted; Arthur looks down at him, faintly smiling. Neely Pearl (teasing): “Well, well, well — look who’s the cutest couple in town. Hand-holding in the middle of a crime scene? Romantic and suspicious.” Seth Norway (groaning): “Neely, can you not turn trauma into a dating show for once?” Neely (mock gasp): “I’m just observing! Emotional bonds in high-stress scenarios are fascinating! Besides, it’s cute.” Arthur Present (dryly): “You talk too much.” Neely (grinning): “And yet, everyone listens.” Nicholas (muttering): “I’d like to not be a subplot, thank you.” The crowd murmurs — small pockets of conversation overlapping, some nervous laughter, some arguing, some silence. Then — A low chime echoes through the plaza. The neon lights pulse once. Twice. Then flicker into a swirling array of red and gold. The snow sparkles under the shifting colors as Harold Yamaki’s voice cuts through the air — playful, proud, and a little too delighted. 🎵 “Attention, my delightful holiday guests! I hope you’ve all enjoyed your little detective playdate, because~…” 🎵 A loud snap echoes, and Harold’s holographic image appears high above the plaza — leaning casually against the giant Christmas tree like a smug host on center stage. Harold (smiling brightly): “...the investigation time is officially over! That means it’s time for my favorite part — the City Roulette Class Trial!” Mark Traverse (irritated): “Trial? What, we’re supposed to argue till we drop?” Harold (twirling his tail): “Oh, not at all! You’ll debate, deduce, and destroy each other’s lies until the truth pops out like a champagne cork on New Year’s Eve!” Jessie Kowalski (under her breath): “This guy’s definitely been dropped on his head.” Harold (snapping his fingers): “Now, now, don’t be shy! You’ve got a stage waiting!” The ground beneath the group begins to rumble. The giant Christmas tree in the plaza suddenly flickers brighter — ornaments glowing, lights spinning faster, colors blurring into a whirl of red, green, and blue. Will King (wide-eyed): “Whoa—what the hell—?!” Aruha Suguyama (staggering): “It’s moving—!” With a mechanical roar, the massive Christmas tree begins to open like a flower — ornaments and lights folding outward as the trunk splits apart vertically, revealing a cylindrical elevator shaft made of chrome and glass, glowing faintly red from within. Harold (grinning, his tail swaying): “Ta-da~! The Elevator of Truth! Isn’t it magnificent? I had it built just for you! Nothing says holiday cheer like a stylish descent into despair!” Mariah (in pure disbelief): “I’m sorry—HE TURNED A CHRISTMAS TREE INTO A DEATH ELEVATOR?!” Heather (sighing): “...of course he did.” Will King (in awe): “Okay, okay, I know this is messed up, but that’s actually kinda sick.” Mariah (turning to him): “SICK?! IT’S PSYCHOTIC! THIS IS WHY I HATE CHRISTMAS!” Harold (giggling): “Oh, Mariah~ You’re just mad because you didn’t make the Nice List.” Mariah (furious): “OH, I’LL SHOW YOU NICE WHEN I—” Before she can finish, the ground beneath her gives a jolt — she loses balance and crashes to the snowy ground, cursing in dramatic fashion. Mariah (from the floor): “Okay, that’s it! I’m suing the North Pole!” The rest of the group can’t help but laugh — the tension briefly breaking. Neely (snickering): “Can we get that on camera? Instant holiday classic.” Arthur Smith (sighing): “Focus, everyone.” Harold (stretching, satisfied): “Now that I have your undivided attention — everyone, please gather inside the elevator! The trial awaits below~.” The glowing shaft hums as its doors slide open, revealing an ornate golden interior. Snowflakes drift into the open space, melting instantly against the warmth that radiates from within. Harold (cheerful): “Step right up, my little ornaments of fate! Let’s see if you can unwrap the truth before it unwraps you!” He winks, and the hologram vanishes in a burst of confetti-like light. The group exchanges uneasy glances. Austin Sobriquet (coldly): “No more running. We face this head-on.” Julian Merwin (with a smirk): “Nothing like a courtroom under a Christmas tree to make the holidays feel alive.” Neely (to Nicholas and Arthur Present): “You two lovebirds better sit together. You’ll make the descent more aesthetic.” Nicholas (groaning): “Please stop talking.” Neely (grinning): “Never.” The group begins to file into the elevator one by one — some nervous, some determined, others quiet and pale. Will (still amazed): “I can’t believe we’re going down in a Christmas tree.” Mariah (muttering as she gets up): “I can’t believe I didn’t stay in bed.” The final shot pulls back — the massive neon plaza glowing beneath the snowfall as the Christmas Tree Elevator hums to life. Its lights shimmer, then begin to descend slowly underground, snow swirling above like falling glitter. The faint echo of Harold’s voice lingers as the tree sinks out of view: 🎵 “Ho, ho, ho~! Let’s see who’s been naughty this year!” 🎵 ~Inside the elevator~ The doors slide shut behind the last person — a soft metallic clang echoing through the chamber. The walls shimmer faintly with holographic snowflakes as the elevator begins its slow, smooth descent. For a brief moment, no one says anything. The sound of the machinery fills the silence, low and mechanical — a steady rhythm that almost feels like a heartbeat. Then— Seth Norway (dryly): “...Okay, but how the hell is this elevator holding twenty-five people without collapsing?” Will King (dead serious): “Maybe it’s powered by despair.” Mariah City (snapping): “Maybe it’s powered by my rage.” Neely Pearl (grinning): “Or maybe it’s powered by love!” Austin Sobriquet (under his breath): “I’d prefer despair.” The group lets out a tired, nervous laugh. Paris Ross, standing near the corner, looks quietly toward the glass floor beneath them — faintly seeing the glowing city lights fade as they descend. Paris (softly): “...I kinda miss him already.” Kayegama Yoshe (tilting his head): “Miss who?” Paris (sad smile): “Robert. He complained a lot — about the music, the decorations, the snow, the trees — but he still helped fix the heater when it went out in the guy’s house.” He sighs. “He acted like Christmas was a nightmare, but he still made sure we were warm.” The elevator hums softly. Heather Metal (quietly): “He didn’t deserve that. None of the animals did either.” Her voice drops, pained. “They were controlled… tortured, used as weapons. That wasn’t fair.” Riko Hoyomisha (calm, firm): “Fair doesn’t exist in this kind of game.” Heather (sighs): “Still. It feels wrong.” Johnathon Coffee groans dramatically, leaning against the wall. Johnathon: “And it also feels wrong that Jessie threw my favorite coffee pot at a bear’s skull! I could’ve brewed something with that!” Jessie Kowalski (rolling her eyes): “Excuse me for choosing survival over espresso, Johnathon.” Johnathon (dramatic): “Survival tastes better with good coffee!” Jake Belle (grinning slyly): “I dunno, I’d pay to see that again. You vs. a bear, armed with caffeine and confidence.” Mariah (snapping): “I’d pay to have my phone back so I could record all this damn nonsense!” Mark Traverse (leaning on the railing): “Honestly, I’d stream it. The Locked-In Chronicles: Coffee, Chaos, and Crying Citizens. Instant viral hit.” Neely (perking up): “Ooh, speaking of content — Mark, I have your next influencer pitch!” Mark (narrowing his eyes): “Do I even wanna ask?” Neely (excitedly clapping): “Yes, yes you do! Picture this — Arthur Present x Nicholas Sour: Love in the Time of Murder!” Nicholas (blushing furiously): “WHAT—?! Neely, no!” Neely (pretending to swoon): “The tension! The hand-holding! The forbidden tenderness amid despair!” Arthur Present (groaning): “Neely, please.” Neely: “Never. The fandom demands it.” Seth Norway (pinching the bridge of his nose): “Neely, there is no fandom.” Neely: “There will be.” Mariah (snapping her fingers): “Okay, okay — but when Mark starts that stream, I wanna co-host. That ship’s getting exclusive coverage.” Mark (laughing): “Deal — assuming we all live long enough to monetize it.” Nicholas (burying his face in his hands): “I regret everything.” Arthur Present (chuckling softly): “You’ll survive. Promise.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, wrapped lollipop, handing it to Nicholas. Arthur (gently): “Here. Helps calm the nerves.” Nicholas (surprised): “You… you just carry candy around?” Arthur: “You like sweets. I pay attention.” Nicholas blushes again — quietly unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. Neely (clutching chest): “Oh my God, they’re canon! Somebody hold me!” Seth: “I’m gonna hold your mouth shut in a second.” Neely (grinning wider): “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Seth.” Seth (flatly): “I will literally hex you.” Julian Merwin (snickering): “This is the weirdest group therapy session I’ve ever been in.” Austin (arms crossed): “At least morale’s up before the death trial.” Will King (nodding, fascinated by the elevator’s tech): “You gotta admit though… this thing’s incredible. Look at the lights, the panels, the mechanics—” He taps the glowing wall, eyes wide in admiration. “—You could fit an entire gaming PC setup in here!” Aruha Suguyama (smiling faintly): “Priorities, Will. Priorities.” Will (shrugging): “I cope through tech admiration.” Mariah (still fuming): “And I cope by yelling! And I can’t even text about it because SOMEONE—” She glares upward, yelling at the ceiling. “—took my PHONE!” Harold’s distorted voice echoes faintly through the speaker: 🎵 “Because you’re all on my Nice List!” 🎵 Mariah: “I’LL SHOW YOU NICE, YOU GLITTER-TAILED MENACE!” Jackie Yamata (laughing): “Someone get her a candy cane before she explodes.” The elevator hums louder — brighter lights spiraling through the glass floor as the descent slows. The city above fades completely from sight. The group grows quieter, the laughter dying down into a low, nervous murmur. The mood shifts — the jokes fading into unease. Heather (softly): “...This is really happening, huh?” Paulie Louis (nodding): “Yeah. No turning back now.” Julian Merwin: “Welcome to the holidays, where the only gift is existential dread.” Mariah (rolling her eyes): “I hate this city.” The hum grows deeper — like the rumble of thunder far below them. Arthur Present (quietly, to Nicholas): “No matter what happens… you’ll be fine. Okay?” Nicholas (nodding slowly): “...Okay.” The two share a brief, wordless look as the elevator gives a final metallic clunk. The glowing ornaments flicker once… twice… then dim. A low chime rings out, echoing through the space. Will (whispering): “...We’ve stopped.” The air falls silent. No one moves. Mariah (barely audible): “Oh hell no…” The last thing the audience hears before the screen fades to black— Harold Yamaki’s cheerful voice through the intercom: 🎵 “Welcome to the City Roulette Trial Chambers~! I hope you’re all ready to deck the halls… with accusations!” 🎵 ~Episode 3 ends~ Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Robert Finn/ Ultimate Technician Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Paulie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Previous: https://www.kovaze.com/blog/13295 Continue: https://kovaze.com/blog/18488

~LATOYA CAFE BEFORE BEAR CRASH~ The café is dimly lit — Christmas lights blink lazily along the counter, and the smell of spilled coffee hangs in the air. Chairs are overturned, tables shoved against the glass doors. The sound of someone hammering nails echoes off the walls. Paulie Mae tightens a strap across the front door using a belt she ripped from one of the booths. Paulie Louis drags a table toward the window beside her, boots squeaking on the tile. Paulie Louis (grunting): “Push it harder, it’s still loose!” Paulie Mae (snapping): “You push harder — you’ve got the muscles!” Paulie Louis: “Says the pottery maker with the death grip!” Johnathon Coffee, sleeves rolled up and hair messy, slides another chair against the door and leans on it. He sighs deeply, muttering under his breath. Johnathon: “I miss the smell of espresso, not the smell of fear.” Jessie Kowalski is near the front counter, shuffling tarot cards nervously — not for reading, just for comfort. Jessie (quietly): “The cards said chaos today. I just didn’t think they meant literal zoo escape.” Mariah City (from across the room): “Girl, your cards didn’t predict they’d kidnap us, either!” Mariah stomps by, tying her hair up and pacing like she’s ready to fight. She glares out the window, arms crossed. Mariah: “You see this? Christmas lights, snow, and literal wild animals. This ain’t Hallmark — this is The Purge: Rudolph Edition!” Kayegama Yoshe, crouched near the booth, checks the corner for weak spots. His white and blue tights shimmer faintly under the flickering lights as he runs his hand along the floor molding. Kayegama: “This side’s solid. If they come through here, we’ll hear it first.” Riko Hoyomisha straightens beside him, fencing stance naturally sharp even without a blade. Riko: “Good. That means we’ll have time to react — or escape.” Johnathon (glancing up): “Escape? You mean back out into that?” He nods toward the window. Through the glass, faint red flashes pulse in the distance — animals moving through the snow. Jessie (softly): “There’s nowhere safe. The mayor made sure of that.” Mariah: “If that fluffy psycho comes on the speaker again, I swear I’ll throw this coffee pot through it.” Johnathon: “Not my coffee pot!” Mariah (snapping): “Then brew me something to calm down!” Paulie Louis rolls her eyes but can’t hide a smirk. Paulie Louis: “Mariah, if you’re still yelling, you’re fine.” Mariah: “Yelling’s my coping mechanism!” Kayegama (quiet, scanning): “Focus. The animals are getting closer.” Everyone stops. Outside, through the snow, faint movement passes under the streetlamp. A shadow — maybe foxes, maybe something bigger. The tension tightens like a drawn string. Jessie (whispering): “There’s something wrong with the lights…” The café’s neon sign outside flickers — “LAT✶YA’S CAF✶” — before going completely dark. Inside, only the Christmas tree lights remain, blinking red and green in eerie rhythm. Riko (calm, steady): “We stay quiet. They hunt by sound.” Johnathon (whisper): “You sure about that?” Riko: “No.” The wind outside howls, rattling the front door. Everyone freezes. A scraping noise follows — claws on glass. Mariah (low, terrified whisper): “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.” Paulie Mae: “Everyone—back from the window. Now.” They all shuffle backward, holding their breath. The glass trembles again — another scratch, heavier this time. Johnathon (muttering): “Oh no, oh no, oh no…” Paulie Louis: “Shut up and hold the table!” Suddenly, the door jerks. The wood creaks. A deep thump echoes through the café — like something testing the barrier. The group flinches. Another thump. The tree in the corner topples, ornaments rolling across the floor. Kayegama: “It’s strong. Too strong.” Riko: “Then we hold until it gives.” He takes a stance beside the door, ready to strike the moment it breaks. Mariah (whispering, voice trembling between fury and fear): “If I die here, tell Harold I’m haunting his stupid tail.” The camera pans slowly across the group — each one frozen in the dim glow, breaths visible in the cold air. The only sounds are the wind and the slow, deliberate creaking of the glass. A shadow looms across the door — massive, hulking, breathing. Then everything goes silent. A faint snowflake drifts through a crack in the window. Johnathon (barely audible): “…Did it leave?” CRASH! The bear explodes through the window, showering the café in glass and neon shards. Screams erupt — overlapping, chaotic, wordless — as the screen floods with movement and color. The camera shakes violently, snow and glass swirling together under the café’s flickering lights. ~LATOYAS CAFE PRESENT~ CRASH! The bear bursts through the front window, sending shards of glass and fake snow flying across the café floor. Tables flip, chairs topple, the Christmas tree collapses with a clang of ornaments. Mariah City: “OH HELL NOOOO!” The group scatters — chaos everywhere. Jessie Kowalski, hands trembling, grabs the nearest object — a coffee pot. Jessie (panicked): “BACK! BACK, DEMON BEAST!” She hurls it straight at the bear’s head. SMASH! Hot coffee splatters across the bear’s fur. The animal roars — louder, angrier, echoing through every inch of the café. Johnathon Coffee (screaming): “NOT THE POT! THAT WAS LIMITED EDITION!!” He falls to his knees in theatrical despair as the bear locks eyes with them, steam rising from its fur. Mariah (running in circles): “WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?! I’M TOO FABULOUS TO DIE LIKE THIS!” Paulie Louis (yelling): “Mariah, move your ass!” The bear growls, knocking over the counter with one massive swipe. Coffee beans scatter like marbles across the floor. Jessie slips, catching herself on a chair. The bear rears up, towering over her. Jessie (shrill): “OH GOD SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!” Paulie Louis charges forward, broom in hand, face set in full warrior mode. With a ferocious yell, she swings — SMACK! — right across the bear’s snout. The bear grunts, stumbling sideways, fur dusting with glitter and fake snow. Johnathon (still panicking): “THAT’S MY FAVORITE BROOM—!” Paulie Louis: “It’s your broom or your life!” The bear snarls, regaining balance — but before it can lunge again— Riko Hoyomisha and Kayegama Yoshe burst forward like a tag-team wrestling duo. Kayegama: “Riko, left side!” Riko: “Got it!” Kayegama slides under the bear’s legs as Riko grabs a metal chair, leaping off the counter. Together, they slam the chair down on the bear’s back in perfect sync. CLANG! The bear roars in fury, spinning around as if confused by the absurdity of it all. Mariah: “WHAT IS THIS — THE CHRISTMAS ROYAL RUMBLE?!” Jessie (pointing frantically): “Gift shop! Everyone to the gift shop, NOW!” The group bolts — tripping, shouting, slipping on spilled whipped cream. Johnathon clutches a box of coffee filters like it’s holy scripture. The bear lunges again, its massive paw slamming the floor inches from Paulie Mae, who yelps and dives over the counter. Paulie Mae (shouting): “GO, GO, GO!” The group rushes toward the door connecting the café to Clarence’s Gift Shop, shoving it open. Snowflakes drift in through the broken windows behind them as the neon sign flickers ominously. Jessie: “MOVE IT OR LOSE IT!” Kayegama: “I AM MOVING!” Johnathon (still yelling): “WHOEVER CLEANED THAT POT, I’M HAUNTING YOU!” They pile into the gift shop one after another — Paulie Mae, Paulie Louis, Riko, Kayegama, Jessie, Johnathon, and finally Mariah, still shrieking at the top of her lungs. Mariah (gasping): “I SWEAR IF THAT BEAR FOLLOWS US, I’M SWITCHING SPECIES!” Jessie slams the door shut behind them, twisting the lock, and everyone collapses in exhaustion against the counter full of snow globes and stuffed animals. For a second, silence — only their ragged breathing and the faint jingling of a Christmas bell overhead. Then— THUMP. The door shudders as the bear slams against it from the other side. Paulie Louis: “That’s not holding for long.” Kayegama (panting): “We’ll hold as long as we have to.” Mariah (still catching her breath): “Somebody remind me why I didn’t just become a librarian.” Johnathon (wheezing): “Because you can’t scream quietly.” They all shoot him a look. Johnathon (raising hands): “Too soon? Yeah, too soon.” The bear hits the door again — wood creaking, ornaments falling off the shelves. Jessie: “Okay, team meeting later. Survive first!” The group pushes a display rack of teddy bears and wrapping paper against the door, the jingling of bells punctuating their frantic effort. Mariah: “I hate this city. I hate this holiday. And I really hate bears.” Riko (smirking faintly): “At least we know who’s on the naughty list.” The camera pans slowly upward, showing the chaos they left behind in the café — broken glass glittering like snow, steam rising from spilled coffee, and the massive bear pacing in front of the door, growling. Outside, the neon city glows bright and cold — and the wind carries the faint echo of Harold’s laughter from somewhere unseen. ~CLARENCE GIFT SHOP~ THUMP. THUMP. The door shakes one last time — then silence. The group freezes. No one breathes. After a long pause, the faint sound of claws scraping pavement fades into the snow outside. Jessie Kowalski presses her ear to the door, eyes wide. Jessie (whisper): “…I think it’s gone.” Johnathon Coffee drops to the floor dramatically. Johnathon: “Oh, thank the beans.” Paulie Mae: “Don’t say beans right now.” Johnathon: “Sorry. Coping mechanism.” Mariah City collapses into a pile of stuffed reindeer, gasping for breath. Mariah: “I am done with cardio for life. Someone find me a venti peppermint mocha and a therapist.” Riko Hoyomisha, still holding a bent metal chair like a sword, glances around the dim shop. Riko: “Stay alert. It could circle back.” Paulie Louis (panting): “If it circles back, it can have the damn store.” The group collectively exhales, adrenaline draining out of their bodies. The gift shop glows faintly with broken neon; fake snow drifts in from the café’s smashed window. Jessie: “Okay, let’s just take a moment to—” She stops mid-sentence. Her eyes narrow toward the back of the shop. Movement. A shadow shifts behind a shelf of snow globes. A soft click — the sound of something metallic. Jessie (tense): “Wait… someone’s here.” Everyone stiffens. Kayegama: “Where?” Jessie (pointing): “Behind the plush display.” Mariah (groaning): “Oh hell no, not round two.” Paulie Louis steps forward cautiously, broom still in hand like a spear. She pokes at the shelf. A voice snaps out sharply: ???: “HEY—WATCH WHERE YOU SWING THAT!” Half the group jumps. From behind the shelf steps Neely Pearl, fully intact, glitter catching the flickering lights. Neely (snapping): “You almost clocked me, darling! This outfit cost more than your fear response.” Mariah (blinking): “Neely?! What the—since when were you—?!” Neely (hands on hips): “Since I hid here like a rational person instead of fighting a bear with décor.” Johnathon: “You were hiding?! You could’ve helped!” Neely: “And do what, honey? Bedazzle it into submission?” The sarcasm cuts through the tension. The others start to realize — Neely’s not alone. From behind another aisle emerge Nicholas Sour clutching a half-eaten candy cane, Myrtle Chang with a snow globe held like a weapon, Jackie Yamata brushing glass dust off his outfit, Seth Norway looking grim and calculating, Arthur Present standing protectively near the others, Paris Ross holding an armful of cat-themed sweaters, and Austin Sobriquet straightening his glasses calmly as if this was all just mildly inconvenient. Mariah: “Oh, so this is where the sequel cast’s been hiding.” Nicholas (muffled through candy): “We were here first.” Paulie Mae: “How long have you all been in here?” Austin: “Since the first alarm. The animals came out fast — this shop was the nearest shelter.” Seth (low): “We heard the glass break. That bear sounded close enough to breathe on us.” Jackie (dryly): “Yeah, well, it did more than breathe. It gave us trauma.” Myrtle: “You’re telling me. I almost fainted when that raccoon crawled up the window.” Paris (clutching a hoodie): “At least you didn’t see the dog collars blinking red. I’m keeping this hoodie. Emotional support.” Mariah throws her hands in the air. Mariah: “So while we were out there fighting for our lives, you guys were in here having a pajama party?” Neely: “It’s called self-preservation. Try it sometime.” Jessie: “You all seriously didn’t hear us fighting a bear ten feet away?!” Nicholas: “We heard it. We just didn’t want to join the sequel to Jaws.” Riko Hoyomisha exhales, tension slipping into reluctant amusement. Riko: “Well, we’re all alive. That’s what matters.” Arthur Present: “Barely.” A beat passes — the weight of what just happened settling in. Everyone’s faces shift from relief to quiet realization: the city is chaos, and they’re now split between survival and distrust. Austin (adjusting his glasses): “There are too many of us in one building. If the mayor releases another wave, this place becomes a death trap.” Paulie Louis: “And going outside is safer?” Austin (shrugs): “Statistically, no. But at least there’s more room to run.” Mariah: “Great. More cardio.” Neely: “Honey, I’ve seen you in heels. You’ll survive.” The tension cracks into a few nervous laughs — the kind born of shared exhaustion. The camera pans up the shelves: toppled plush toys, snow globes reflecting faint, distorted faces, a flickering “Merry Christmas!” sign overhead. The group settles on the floor amid the broken merchandise, catching their breath as the faint sound of distant animal roars echoes outside the building. Jessie (quietly): “So what now?” Riko: “Now… we wait. And pray that was the last thing he’s planning.” The sound of heavy breathing fills the quiet store. Glitter and snowflakes drift through the cracked ceiling. The neon outside flickers — blue, then pink, then off completely. Mariah City, arms crossed and glaring, breaks the silence. Mariah: “Okay, no offense, but I can’t be stuck in one building with twenty people breathing the same air. I need space.” Jessie Kowalski looks up from where she’s sitting by a toppled shelf. Jessie: “Mariah, you go outside, you’ll meet a bear again.” Mariah: “And? At least the bear has boundaries.” Austin Sobriquet, calm as ever, adjusts his glasses and walks toward the connecting door to Latoya’s Café. Austin: “If you really want to leave, let’s check first. We can’t assume it’s safe.” He reaches for the handle — twisted metal, glass fragments still around it — and pulls gently. CLICK. Nothing. He frowns and gives it another tug. Still nothing. Austin: “Hm.” Mariah (tapping foot): “Hm, what? That sounded like a bad ‘hm.’” Austin: “It’s not locked. There’s… no mechanism.” He crouches down, inspecting the frame. “It’s been blocked. Likely barricaded — from the other side.” Jessie: “So, wait, someone sealed us in?” Austin (straightening): “That’s one way to put it.” Mariah groans dramatically, throwing her head back. Mariah: “Of course. Trapped in the city’s tackiest mall kiosk. Merry freaking Christmas to me!” Neely Pearl flips their hair, strolling over to the main gift shop door near the front. Neely: “Alright, boys, girls, and glam divinities — let Auntie Neely handle this one.” They grab the handle with a dramatic flourish and pull — nothing. Neely: “Okay, she’s being shy. Let’s try again.” They yank harder. Still nothing. Jessie: “Let me help.” She joins in, both of them tugging with all their might. The handle doesn’t budge. Neely (pouting): “She’s not shy — she’s petty.” Jessie (panting): “Blocked from the outside too?” Austin (nodding): “Seems likely. We’re sealed in from both ends.” The group collectively groans. Nicholas Sour, sitting on the counter with his candy bag clutched like a lifeline, looks panicked. Nicholas: “No, no, no, no — I don’t have enough candy for this kind of situation! If we’re trapped, I’m rationing!” He clutches the bag tighter, glaring at everyone. Mariah: “Excuse me? Rationing candy? You better start sharing before I turn this into a mugging.” Nicholas (defensive): “I have anxiety candy! It’s medicinal!” Mariah (snapping): “So is caffeine, and I don’t see a Starbucks!” The two glare at each other, voices rising. Nicholas: “You’re just mad because you lost your phone!” Mariah: “And you’re mad because you can’t live without sugar! We all have trauma, Willy Wonka!” Paulie Louis: “Okay, that’s enough—” Mariah: “No! He called me mad!” Nicholas: “Because you are!” Mariah (furious): “SAY THAT AGAIN, CANDY BOY!” Arthur Present, calm and collected despite the chaos, steps between them with a firm but gentle hand. Arthur Present: “Enough, both of you. Fighting won’t open the doors.” He glances at Nicholas, his voice softening. “Hey. Deep breath. You’ll be fine.” Nicholas blinks, shoulders relaxing slightly. Nicholas: “…Thanks.” Neely smirks from across the room. Neely: “Aww, look at that — chivalry’s not dead. Arthur’s got a crush on our little candy prince.” Arthur Present (deadpan): “Neely.” Neely (teasing): “What? It’s cute! Big knight energy meets snack-sized sugar rush.” Nicholas (blushing): “I—WHAT?! I don’t—!?” Mariah (snorting): “Oh, now this I like. Continue.” Paulie Mae: “Can we not start a romantic subplot while we’re trapped?” Neely (grinning): “We’re multitaskers.” The argument fizzles into nervous laughter. But tension still lingers. Jackie Yamata leans against a display shelf, watching the others with narrowed eyes. Jackie: “Hold up. If the doors are blocked from the outside, that means someone was out there after we came in.” Myrtle Chang (nodding): “Yeah. Someone must’ve locked us in on purpose.” The room falls silent. The realization hits everyone at once. Seth Norway (quietly): “You think the mayor did it?” Austin: “He could have… but the precision of it? I’m not convinced.” Riko Hoyomisha: “So you’re saying someone here might’ve slipped out and sealed us in?” Paulie Louis (frowning): “That doesn’t make sense. We’ve all been together.” Seth: “Physically, yes. But not everyone’s been accounted for every second.” The air thickens. Eyes start darting around — suspicion blooming like wildfire. Mariah (folding her arms): “Perfect. We survived a bear just to play Clue: Christmas Edition.” Jessie (tired): “At least it’s not Monopoly.” The group exchanges uncertain glances as the camera slowly pans toward the blocked café door — faint scratches visible on the outside, something metallic wedged into the frame. A low hum of wind outside. The Christmas lights flicker back to life for a brief moment — red and green shadows dancing across everyone’s faces. Austin (quietly): “We’re not alone in this city.” The neon lights outside flicker faintly through the cracks under the door, casting streaks of pink and blue across the ruined floor. Snow globes glimmer in silence. The smell of coffee, fur, and ozone lingers from the chaos. Mariah City, arms crossed, glares at Austin. Mariah: “I’m telling you, this has mayor energy written all over it. He’s probably sitting in some fancy chair watching us freak out.” Austin Sobriquet: “Possible. But look at the precision—both doors blocked perfectly, from opposite ends. He couldn’t have done that remotely.” Jessie Kowalski: “So you’re saying someone’s been out there? While we’ve been in here losing our minds?” Neely Pearl (dramatically): “A third party… how scandalous. We love a plot twist.” Riko Hoyomisha, still tense, folds his arms. Riko: “Let’s not jump to conspiracies. For all we know, the mayor has someone helping him.” Paulie Mae: “You mean an accomplice?” Riko: “Yeah. Think about it. He’s too smug to get his hands dirty himself.” Seth Norway (quiet, cold): “Or it’s one of us.” The room goes still. Every face turns toward Seth. His calm, analytical tone cuts through the air like a knife. Seth: “The mayor loves games. What’s a game without a hidden piece?” Paris Ross (nervous): “Y-you’re saying one of us… did this?” Seth: “Or was told to. A mole, maybe. Someone already playing by his rules.” Mariah (snapping): “Please. None of us are that psycho.” Neely: “You sure about that, darling? You did threaten to mug the candy boy five minutes ago.” Mariah: “That was retail therapy, not murder!” The argument ripples through the room, voices overlapping. Nicholas nervously unwraps a candy cane and fumbles it, the sound of plastic crackling. His leg bounces rapidly. Nicholas (muttering): “I don’t like this. I really don’t like this.” He inches closer to Arthur Present, gripping his arm without realizing it. Arthur (glancing down, voice soft): “Hey. Deep breaths. You’re fine.” Nicholas: “B-but what if someone really—” Arthur (quietly): “Then we’ll handle it. One step at a time.” Nicholas nods faintly, clinging tighter as his nerves spike. Across the room, Neely notices — and immediately smirks. Neely (sing-song): “Aww, look at them. Our knight in shining armor and his sugar-sized damsel.” Arthur Present (flat): “Neely.” Neely (grinning wider): “What? It’s sweet. Pun absolutely intended.” Nicholas (blushing): “I—no—this isn’t—!” Mariah: “Girl, let him have his comfort. He looks like he’s about to pass out.” The tension breaks into uneasy laughter — brief, fragile. But it doesn’t last. CRASH! A deafening sound shakes the entire building. Metal bending. Glass shattering. Something heavy slamming against concrete. Everyone freezes. Jessie (alarmed): “What was that?!” Paulie Louis: “Sounded close—like, outside close.” Paris Ross: “There’s no windows in here, we can’t even see what’s happening!” Riko: “Could be an animal…” Austin: “No. The animals have been too far off since the last sighting. That was structural.” Neely (dryly): “Oh great. Maybe the roof’s next. Perfect holiday ambiance.” The silence grows unbearable. Every creak, every faint wind sound outside makes them flinch. Paris (trying to stay calm): “Okay, new question — what was that noise? A building collapsing? Another explosion?” Riko: “Or someone… breaking in.” The group stares at him. The thought lands heavy. Mariah (nervously laughing): “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.” Riko (grim): “I wish I was.” A few tense moments pass. Nobody moves. The air feels colder now — or maybe it’s just fear. Then— A scream. Loud. Human. Agonized. It echoes through the neon-lit silence from somewhere outside the gift shop. Everyone jerks upright. Jessie (shouting): “WHO WAS THAT?!” Myrtle Chang: “It came from the plaza!” Neely: “Oh no, no, no, I’m not doing horror-movie logic today—” Before anyone can speak again, the speakers in the ceiling crackle to life with a familiar chime. BEEP… BEEP… BEEP… The group stares upward, frozen. Then comes the voice. Harold Yamaki (over intercom): 🎵 “A body has been discovered! Once three or more people gather near the body, an investigation will begin. Happy Holidays, my little snowflakes~” 🎵 Mariah: “Oh, hell no!” Nicholas (shaking): “A… body? Like, a dead—?” Paulie Mae: “Don’t say it.” Jessie: “So… it’s actually started.” The faint sound of the intercom fades, replaced by silence — a silence that feels heavier than before. Austin glances at the doors again — this time, the main front door of the shop stands slightly ajar. A faint draft of cold air seeps in. Austin (quietly): “The door’s open.” Everyone turns to look. Standing in the doorway are Aruha Suguyama, Mark Traverse, and Arthur Smith. They’re pale — almost ghostly white. Snow sticks to their hair and clothes. Paulie Louis: “You three—?!” Mark (voice trembling): “We… we managed to clear the barricade.” Aruha (quiet, shaky): “But… we shouldn’t have.” Arthur Smith (barely audible): “Because… someone’s dead.” The gift shop falls dead silent. Mariah’s mouth opens — but no words come out. Nicholas grips Arthur’s sleeve tighter. Even Neely, for once, has no quip ready. The faint hum of the Christmas lights returns — distorted, warbling through the static of the broken circuits. Outside, through the half-open door, a swirl of snow drifts in — sparkling faintly under the flickering glow of neon. Austin (low, serious): “Then the killing game… has begun.” The camera pans slowly toward the open door, following the trail of footprints and faint red stains leading out into the plaza. ~Episode 2 End~ Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Robert Finn/ Ultimate Technician Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Pualie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Previous: https://www.kovaze.com/blog/13294 Continue: https://www.kovaze.com/blog/15938

The golden doors thundered shut behind them. A long echo carried across the cavernous hall — soft footsteps, faint murmurs, and the sound of Mariah City’s fury revving like a sports car. Mariah (shouting): “HELLOOO?! You got the nerve to kidnap me, drop me in a discount snow globe, and you can’t even greet me at the door?!” Her voice rang through the building. The rest of the group lingered near the entrance, watching in stunned silence. Jake Belle (whispering): “Oh boy. Here we go again.” Neely Pearl: “She’s at a 12 right now, and honestly? I respect it.” Mariah stomped forward, heels clacking against marble tiles shaped like snowflakes. She pointed toward the massive, glowing podium at the front of the hall. Mariah: “You better come out and explain yourself like a man, a woman, a whatever-the-fuck-you-are! I don’t care if you’re Santa, Satan, or the Easter Bunny in a fur coat — you don’t just take my phone and my freedom!” Her echo bounced off the crystal chandeliers. No answer. Arthur Smith stepped forward cautiously. Arthur: “Miss City, perhaps—” Mariah (cutting him off): “Uh-uh. Don’t ‘Miss City’ me. You stay over there, runway model, I’m busy starting a revolution!” She turned back toward the podium, fists planted on her hips. Mariah: “This place looks like a rejected Hallmark set! Who designed this interior — a blind elf with a Pinterest addiction?!” Johnathan Coffee snorted behind his hand. Johnathan: “I’m not saying she’s wrong…” Will King: “You’re not saying she’s safe either.” Mariah continued, voice rising: “Gold everywhere, fake-ass snow, Christmas trees taller than my patience! What kind of ‘holiday spirit’ is this supposed to be? It’s giving 3-star mall Santa energy!” The others started to chuckle despite themselves. Even Mark Traverse, arms crossed, cracked a smirk. Mark: “Low-key, she’s saying what we’re all thinking.” Mariah (pointing upward): “And you! Yeah, you, Mr. Mayor-Whatever! You got your little speakers, your big spooky voice — come out and say it to my face!” The sound system crackled to life again. A low hum filled the air — static, faintly musical. Then a voice: smooth, teasing, too composed. Harold Yamaki: “Ah… I see our most spirited guest has arrived.” Mariah froze, eyes narrowing. Mariah: “Oh, you’ve got jokes, huh?” She looked up, searching for a speaker. Mariah: “Say that to my face, Furball McMayor!” A faint chuckle echoed, warm and calm, in total contrast to her energy. Harold: “You have quite the presence, Miss City. It’s refreshing. I was beginning to think all of you had forgotten how to… express emotion.” Mariah: “Oh, I’ve got plenty of emotion, baby. You want anger? I got that. You want rage? I got options!” She pointed toward the walls. Mariah: “But I don’t got a damn phone, and that’s a federal crime in my book!” Neely Pearl: “She’s not wrong. That’s influencer manslaughter.” Paulie Louis (grinning): “Someone stop her before she commits arson.” Julian Merwin: “No, no, let her. This is art.” The voice continued, unfazed. Harold: “You’ll get your belongings back soon. For now, I simply wanted everyone to gather. I thought the Town Hall might… lift your spirits.” Mariah (sarcastic): “Yeah, nothing says ‘holiday cheer’ like imprisonment!” She started pacing in circles, arms waving. Mariah: “You expect me to celebrate while being held hostage by some neon furball overlord?! Nah, boo-boo, this ain’t it!” Will King (under his breath): “I think she broke the mayor.” Mark (smirking): “Or he’s into it.” Neely: “You say that like it’s not both.” The chandeliers above flickered faintly — a pulse of light spreading through the hall. Harold’s voice softened. Harold: “You’ll understand soon enough. But before anything else… introductions are in order. I’d like to meet my guests face to face.” Mariah (mocking tone): “Oh, how formal! You want us to curtsy too? Or maybe sing you a carol?” She started fake-singing under her breath: Mariah (singing): “On the first day of Christmas, my captor gave to me— a trauma-inducing mystery!” The others burst into laughter. Robert Finn: “Ten outta ten. Chart topper.” Heather Metal: “It’s giving Seasonal Depression: The Musical.” But before anyone could respond, the lights dimmed completely. A single spotlight illuminated the center of the stage. And there, stepping out from behind the curtain, was Mayor Harold Yamaki. Tall, confident, faintly glowing in the neon reflection — black tail swaying behind him, ears twitching, eyes shimmering gold under the soft light. He smiled faintly. Harold: “Now then... shall we begin?” Mariah (arms crossed): “Oh, we’re beginning, alright.” She stormed forward, finger pointed right at him. Mariah: “I got questions, I got complaints, and I got time—so you better start explaining before I start throwing hands and holiday decorations!” Harold (grinning): “I do love enthusiasm.” The camera slowly zoomed out as the rest of the group followed, tension simmering beneath the laughter. Snow drifted through the skylight above — silent, beautiful, and fake. All 26 stood frozen as Mayor Harold Yamaki stepped forward, his voice echoing smooth as silk, tail lazily flicking behind him. His golden eyes scanned the group like a cat watching a line of toy mice. Harold Yamaki: “Welcome, everyone. My name is Harold Yamaki — your humble mayor of Neon City. It’s a pleasure to finally meet my lovely citizens face-to-face.” The silence in the hall was thick enough to cut with a knife. Mariah City: “Oh, we’re so lucky! The guy who kidnapped us is polite. How thoughtful.” Jake Belle (muttering): “He’s got that ‘CEO who drinks milk straight from the glass’ vibe.” Julian Merwin (whispering): “Milk or blood, I can’t tell.” Harold only smiled wider, his ears twitching. Harold: “Now, before you get the wrong idea — yes, I brought you here. All twenty-six of you, each of you remarkable in your own right. The best of your fields. Ultimates, if you will.” The word hung in the air like frost. Harold: “You’ve been gathered here for a simple reason: to participate… in a little game.” Arthur Present: “A game?” Harold: “A killing game.” The room exploded. Robert Finn: “You’ve gotta be kidding me—” Heather Metal: “Excuse me WHAT?!” Mark Traverse: “You drag me here for a snuff-film social experiment?!” Neely Pearl: “That’s not the collab I signed up for, darling.” Mariah (shouting): “HELL NO! I don’t even kill bugs!” Harold raised a gloved hand; the chatter cut instantly, as though the air itself obeyed him. Harold: “Please, let’s not be dramatic. Think of it as... an opportunity. A test of humanity under the glittering lights.” Will King: “Bro. You sound like a final boss.” Harold (grinning): “How flattering.” He began pacing slowly across the marble floor, his boots echoing with soft authority. Harold: “Here are the rules, my dear citizens. You will live within this city — comfortably, freely, indefinitely. You may eat, sleep, and play as you wish. Everything you need is provided. However—” He paused, turning toward them. His smile sharpened. Harold: “If any of you wish to leave, there is only one way: commit a murder… and do not get caught.” The sound of the fountain outside seemed to stop altogether. Aruha Suguyama: “...Murder?” Harold: “Yes. End another’s life.” Emma Violet: “That’s insane.” Harold: “No, no, it’s festive! After all — what’s a game without stakes?” Riko Hoyomisha (snapping): “You expect us to kill each other like animals?!” Harold: “No, no. Like humans. With purpose.” Julian Merwin: “You’re out of your damn mind.” Harold (amused): “Perhaps. But madness and genius share a heartbeat.” Mariah: “Alright, cat-man! So let me get this straight — you lock us up in this sparkly deathtrap, tell us to murder people for your entertainment, and I’m supposed to just vibe?” Harold: “You’re free to ‘vibe,’ as you say. Or you can take initiative.” Heather Metal: “So, what, we kill someone and you just let us walk out?” Paulie Louis, who’d been silent until now, stepped forward, arms crossed. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp. Paulie Louis: “If one were to commit a murder, would they simply walk away scot-free?” Harold turned to her, clearly pleased by the question. Harold: “Ah — a logical mind. I admire that. No, my dear. It’s not quite that easy. You see, when a murder occurs, the city itself initiates an investigation phase. You’ll all be free to search for evidence, clues, or lies.” He raised a small device — a sleek remote with a glowing red paw-print emblem. Harold: “Once the investigation period ends, you’ll all gather right here… for what I call a Class Trial. During this trial, you’ll discuss, debate, and accuse.” He smiled wider, fangs flashing under the golden light. Harold: “If the group correctly identifies the culprit — the ‘blackened’ — then the killer will face execution. If the group accuses the wrong person… well… the blackened wins. They walk free. And the rest of you…” He snapped his fingers. The chandeliers dimmed, a low hum filling the air. Harold: “...will die.” A beat of pure silence. Kayegama Yoshe: “You’re serious.” Harold: “Deadly so.” Will King (quietly): “Dude, this is like a horror game I can’t quit.” Robert: “This is retail all over again.” Neely Pearl: “At least retail had bathroom breaks.” Mark Traverse: “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Harold (shrugging): “Holiday spirit, perhaps.” He leaned casually against the podium, tail flicking side to side. Harold: “Of course, you can choose not to kill. You can all coexist peacefully here — eat, talk, sing carols, celebrate eternity under these lights. That is one path.” “Or — if the urge to leave becomes too strong — you can take the other.” The group shifted uncomfortably. Some angry, others afraid. Paulie Mae (quietly): “You’re testing us.” Harold: “Exactly. Tests reveal truth.” Mariah City (gritting her teeth): “You can take your test and shove it up your neon tail, Harold!” Harold (chuckling): “Language, Miss City — this is a family-friendly event.” Mariah: “Family-friendly?! There’s nothing family-friendly about murder!” Harold’s voice softened, almost fond. Harold: “Oh, but it’s the season of giving, is it not? I’m simply giving you — a choice.” The lights slowly brightened again, washing the hall in golden glow. Harold: “So, my beloved citizens, enjoy your time here. Laugh, eat, live. For now. The next chapter of this game begins... when one of you decides it should.” He bowed elegantly, one hand over his heart, the other brushing the air like a performer taking his final curtain call. Harold: “Merry Christmas, Neon City. Let’s make this season... unforgettable.” The holographic wreath behind him shimmered blood-red for a brief moment before returning to gold. The camera lingered on the group’s faces — shock, fear, defiance. Mariah: “You’ve lost your damn mind.” Harold: “Oh, I lost that long ago.” He turned away, his tail swaying lazily as the lights dimmed again. The golden glow faded into red, and the faint echo of his laugh filled the room. Arthur Smith: “You can’t be serious! You expect us to kill each other just to leave?!” Will King: “Yeah, that’s not happening, man. I’d rather stay locked in here forever than hurt anyone.” Robert Finn: “Speak for yourself, I’ll die of secondhand stress before that happens!” Heather Metal: “You think any of us are gonna play along with your psycho game? You’re delusional!” The crowd erupted — overlapping voices filling the hall. Emma Violet: “We’re not gonna kill anyone!” Paulie Mae: “You can’t just expect people to—” Jake Belle: “You kidnapped twenty-six people for a murder game! You think that’s normal?!” Julian Merwin: “This is giving ‘mental breakdown with production value.’” Mark Traverse: “Bro, you think anyone’s dumb enough to fall for that bait?!” Harold just smiled. Unmoving. Patient. Like a cat watching chaos it started. He let them shout until the noise reached its peak — then raised one hand. Instant silence. Harold Yamaki: “Oh, my, my… you’re all so passionate. It’s adorable.” His voice dripped with playful cruelty. Harold: “You say you won’t kill. You believe that, truly. But belief is a fragile thing. You don’t know each other — not really. You know titles, not hearts.” He stepped down from the podium, boots clicking softly. His eyes glimmered under the chandelier light. Harold: “All it takes is one whisper, one secret, one motive. Then, someone you trust will become someone’s headline.” A hush fell over the room. The playful twinkle in his tone only made the words more chilling. Harold: “You may think you’re united, but desperation is the sharpest blade. A friend can kill a friend, a lover can betray a lover, and all it takes…” He snapped his fingers. Harold: “…is a reason.” Myrtle Chang: “You’re sick.” Harold (smiling): “Oh, I’ve been called worse.” Arthur Present: “You think you can break us with words?” Harold: “Oh, not with words. With truth.” He started circling them slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. His tail flicked lazily as he leaned near Paulie Louis, speaking softly. Harold: “You asked about walking away, didn’t you, dear Paulie? Tell me — are you sure everyone here would rather die than escape?” Paulie’s eyes hardened, but she didn’t answer. Mariah City: “Oh, hell no — don’t start that manipulative therapy crap with us, Mr. Cat Man!” She stepped forward, finger jabbing toward him. Mariah: “You don’t scare me! You ain’t nothing but a furry with a god complex!” A few people gasped. Neely Pearl (snickering): “She’s gonna get us all killed.” Julian Merwin: “I mean, I love the energy, though.” Harold chuckled softly. Harold: “Feisty, aren’t we? It’s that fire I admire about you, Miss City. Though I’d suggest… controlling it.” Mariah (snapping): “Oh, I got control, baby — and these hands are about to introduce themselves!” She stormed toward him, fury radiating off her like heat. Robert Finn: “Mariah, no—!” Jackie Yamata: “Girl, don’t!” Paulie Mae: “Mariah, stop!” But it was too late. Mariah lunged forward, ready to swing — and before her fist could even rise, the ceiling above let out a mechanical clunk. Everyone froze. Then — WHUMP! A gigantic bear — a real, living black bear — fell straight from the ceiling, landing right on top of Mariah. Mariah: “WHAT—?! AAAH!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” The bear let out a deep, lazy grunt. It wasn’t attacking. Just… sitting. Right on top of her. Like a living, breathing, 500-pound paperweight. Neely Pearl (gasping): “Is that… a bear?!” Will King: “Bro. He dropped a literal bear. From the ceiling.” Julian Merwin: “That’s not security — that’s animal warfare!” Robert Finn (shrieking): “WHY IS IT BREATHING?!” The bear blinked slowly, yawned, and shifted its weight slightly. Mariah groaned from underneath. Mariah (muffled): “Get this overgrown rug off me before I lose my mind!” Harold smiled, clasping his hands behind his back. Harold: “Now, now. No need to panic. He’s perfectly harmless — unless I tell him otherwise. His name’s Custard, by the way. Isn’t he adorable?” The bear let out a low, sleepy growl — like a snore. Heather Metal: “Adorable? He’s crushing her spine!” Harold: “Consider it… a gentle reminder.” He turned his gaze to the rest of the group, golden eyes glowing faintly. Harold: “Rule number one — violence toward the mayor is strictly prohibited. It disrupts the holiday cheer.” “Normally, the punishment for attacking me would be far more… permanent. But since this is our first offense, I’ll be generous.” He gestured casually. The bear slowly stood up, gave a slow huff, and wandered off the stage — straight through a set of automated double doors that opened just for it. Mariah groaned, lying flat on the marble floor, hair a mess, pride shattered. Mariah: “You did not just drop a whole bear on me.” Harold (cheerfully): “I did, yes.” Mariah: “You’re lucky I can’t sue you!” Harold: “On the contrary — I believe you just agreed to the terms and conditions by surviving.” The group tried — and failed — not to laugh. Neely Pearl (snickering): “Well, she wanted to fight him.” Jake Belle: “And she got bearly what she asked for.” Robert Finn: “You did not just make a pun right now!” Mariah (snarling): “I hate all of you.” Harold chuckled softly, clearly entertained. Harold: “Now that we’ve clarified the rules of conduct, let’s try to keep things… civilized. We wouldn’t want to spoil the festivities, would we?” He returned to his podium, tail swaying slowly. Harold: “Remember, my dear citizens — your choices define you. Every argument, every alliance, every spark of anger… they all have consequences. Even now, some of you are beginning to wonder — who can I trust?” The words settled like a fog over the room. Nobody responded. Not even Mariah. Harold (smiling): “Good. That’s exactly how it should feel.” He clapped his hands once, and the Town Hall lights flickered to festive red and green. Harold: “Now then, go enjoy your evening, everyone. Eat, drink, and be merry — while you still can.” He turned, humming faintly as he walked offstage, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly. Mariah (still glaring): “I swear to God, next time he drops something, it better be a clue.” Neely Pearl: “Or a phone.” Robert Finn: “Or therapy.” Julian Merwin: “Girl, we’re gonna need all three.” The camera slowly panned up toward the ceiling, where a faint claw mark — from the bear — scraped the marble above. Snow began falling again through the skylight. The marble floor still had a faint dusting of fur where Custard had plopped through the ceiling. Mariah City coughed and spat out a tiny snowflake of confetti that had lodged in her hair. She slid out from under the bear’s weight with an indignant squawk, hair in absolute disarray and dignity temporarily missing in action. Jackie Yamata and Seth Norway were already at her side — one helping with hair and makeup, the other more quietly assessing whether the bear had been drugged or trained. The contrast was perfect: Jackie fussing, Patrick-star-Level glam; Seth deadpan and ominous, as if the bear might be occult. Jackie (brushing Mariah’s hair back with theatrical care): “Girl, you look like a shattered snow globe, but in a good way.” Mariah (snapping): “Take. Your. Hands. Off. My. Wig.” Seth (softly): “She’ll be fine. Bear didn’t bite—just used as a reminder. Controlled.” Jackie planted a light kiss on Mariah’s forehead like a bandage, and she swatted his hand away, huffing in a way that was equal parts fury and embarrassed gratitude. Mariah (to Seth, low): “You see that? He drops animals from the ceiling like party favors. That’s unhinged.” Seth (cold): “It’s theatrical control. He’s demonstrating his ability to manipulate the environment — and to weaponize life for intimidation.” Across the auditorium the rest of the group was still buzzing — murmurs, occasional nervous laughter, forced jokes. Harold returned to the podium as if nothing had happened, tail flicking with the sort of composure that made the marquee lights seem nervous. He lifted a hand — the room quieted reflexively. He gestured, and the stage lights dimmed into a channel of red and gold that painted everyone’s faces like ornaments. Harold (smooth, relish in every syllable): “Thank you for your dramatic enthusiasm. A performance is always more memorable when the audience participates.” A murmur of nervous noise. Then Harolds’ smile widened; he turned, and two stage technicians (robotic, sterile attendants) rolled out a single gigantic present — the size of a small car — wrapped in glossy red paper trimmed with an impossibly large silver bow. It sat center-stage like a monolith of promise. Harold: “Now then. You clamor for motive, do you not? For a reason to do what you must do or to hold your ground?” He paced slowly around the box. Each step was choreographed. Harold: “You struck a curious note earlier — Miss Heather mentioned there are no animals in this city. An observation I found… intriguing.” He paused, letting the sentence hang like tinsel in wind. Harold: “So, for our first motive… I thought I’d give you something closer to home.” He tapped a small console on the podium. The huge bow shuddered. A hydraulic hiss — soft, obscene — and the present’s lid peeled back in layers like a blooming metal flower. The audience inhaled. Inside the box were dozens of cages — stacked, compartmentalized, like a surreal pet store installed inside the present. The cages weren’t cheap wire; they were bespoke glass-and-steel units, each with soft bedding, feeders, and… a collar. Bright collars, each fitted with a tiny blinking light and a small tag. Some collars had sensors visible, little plates etched with numbers. The animals poured into view: a dozen different species, not cartoonish but real — foxes with fur fluffed like winter stoles, raccoons peering with clever hands, a pair of owls blinking in the stage-light halo, a nervous bobcat pacing, a flock of caged parrots squawking in limited loops, a couple of small deer, and several more creatures — each striking and alive. They pressed against glass and bars, nostrils flaring and eyes reflecting the stage lights. A stained glass of sound rose — barks, chirps, the metallic rattle of paws against cage. Heather’s face went pale. Her earlier observation snapped into focus for everyone. The absence of animals had not been an oversight, she realized — they had been removed, contained. Now the animals were before them, with collars that blinked like countdowns. Harold (softly): “Meet the city’s erstwhile nature. Isn’t it wonderful to reunite them with society?” Harold (voice brightening): “Only — this holiday, they’re restless.” The creatures chirped and shifted. A fox skittered along its enclosure, growling low. Owls beat their wings, feather dust puffing like snow. The parrots tried to mimic the mayor’s voice and produced a broken echo that was unnerving. Harold strode to the glass and tapped one collar. The light on it switched from green to a strobe of orange; the animal screeched once and lunged against the barrier. The entire block of cages trembled with a ripple of panic. Seth (quietly, to Jackie): “Those are control collars. He can modify their behavior remotely.” Jackie (wide eyed): “You can’t do that to birds…” Seth: “He already did.” Harold turned back to them, smiling like the conductor of a very dangerous orchestra. Harold: “Now, as I promised — a motive. You were curious about what drives someone to kill, weren’t you?” “Here is motive, presented plainly: fear. Hunger. Survival. Chaos.” He tapped another button on the podium. The cage LED’s flashed; for a second eyelids went wild across animal faces — the parrots shrieked, the foxes pushed against their partitions, and a bobcat let out a sound that made blood run cold in the walls. Harold: “In just a moment, I will open the outer locks on these cages. I will not release the animals on you… yet.” (he paused, and the silence thickened) “But I will allow them to become reactive. Let them rage within their confines. Let them mark their restlessness. If you prefer not to be torn apart while the city watches, then perhaps... one of you can do what is necessary to calm them.” A ripple of speech — no, argument — arose instantly. Paulie Mae (soft, horrified): “You can’t—this is animal cruelty!” Harold (mild): “It’s a test. But more importantly, it demonstrates the pressure of need.” Mariah (voice raw): “So we hurt someone and it stops? You want us to murder to silence animals?” Harold: “You could also... not. Coexist. But when hunger and panic rise, not all loyalties hold. That is what motives are made of.” Harold raised his hand so nobody could interrupt. He smiled — but it was a smile that made marrow cold. Harold: “The collars have sensors. They monitor stress, heart rate, and external stimuli. If someone commits murder and the system records a resolution signal — the collars will register the pacification protocol and calm. The animals will quiet. The city will relax. Think of it as... a reset.” Screams of disbelief cut like glass. The parrots screamed in sympathetic rhythmic loops. The bobcat yowled. Seth (to Harold): “You can’t expect us to—” Harold: “I’m not expecting. I am presenting. The options are plain.” Paulie Louis, eyes flint-steady, stepped forward. Her voice was small but shaped in knife edges. Paulie Louis: “If someone kills, the blackened ’walks free’… and the rest of us die if we pick wrong. And the animals are the incentive.” Harold: “Precisely. Incentive. Motivation. Pressure.” Jackie (hissing under breath): “You’re sick.” Harold (sweet): “I prefer theatrical.” Slowly, the animals’ agitation heightened. The collars started flashing faster, the sensors reactive to the mayor’s commands. The parrots bit their perch ropes; the foxes circled like small, elegant whirlwinds. The bobcat’s eyes fixed on the audience with predatory patience. It was a slow, sustained crescendo of animal panic — not released, but dangerously alive and volatile in its confinement. Harold (leaning on the podium): “I will give you time. Tonight, tonight you may speak, form bonds, or form plans. Tomorrow, I will push the system further. But remember: motives arise quickly when Sanctuary becomes threatened.” Mariah (shouting): “You can’t make us feel responsible for these animals being stressed! You’re the one who brought them here!” Harold: “Indeed. I brought them here — and you are the public stage which will determine their fate.” He let the last word sit like a bell toll. Seth (quietly, through clenched teeth): “He’s engineering the moral calculus. He’s deliberately giving them an impetus to desperation.” Heather (voice small, eyes on the animals): “Why remove animals from a city in the first place?” Harold (almost playful): “Because the city was an experiment. To see how you perform when your environment is sanitized. You noticed something absent — humanity’s wildness. I thought it only fair to reintroduce it.” The crowd murmured, splitting between rage and analysis and the thin thread of panic. Many looked at one another as if tallying who they could trust. Every pair of eyes suddenly held a different weight. Harold clapped once — a polite, soft clap that rippled through the hall. Harold: “Enjoy the evening. Meaningful conversations are a great place to begin. You’ll need to know who you can rely on. Who you’d defend. Who would defend you. Motives aren’t always obvious… sometimes, they’re hunger. Sometimes, they’re petty vengeance. Sometimes, they’re necessity.” He stepped back into the shadow of the podium, letting the cages’ lights strobe ominously. Harold (final): “For now, I’ll leave the animals caged, have them press and roar into your ears, but not quite break loose. Let them remind you — nothing here is permanent, and the next decision you make may be fatal... for you, or for someone else.” The animals howled — a collective, terrifying orchestra — and the sound hit the assembled Ultimates with the force of a physical wave. Mariah (to Jackie, voice shaking): “This is bullshit. We’re not doing this.” Jackie: “No. We don’t have to. But we do have to survive the night.” Seth (quietly): “And decide who we are under pressure.” The camera pulled out as the auditorium dissolved into frantic, frightened conversations — alliances formed in whispers, accusations in a glance — everyone’s faces lit by the blinking collars and the cold stage lights. Above them, Harold watched from the podium like a conductor awaiting the first note. The cages rattled like a drumbeat. The collar lights blinked faster — orange, then red, then a feverish pink. Screams built in the background: high animal shrieks, the scrape of claws on metal, wings thudding against glass. Mariah City took a slow step backward, trembling. Mariah: “He’s bluffing. He’s gotta be bluffing.” Seth Norway (quietly): “No. He’s demonstrating escalation.” Harold Yamaki (cheerful): “Oh, I do love that word. Escalation.” He pressed another button on the podium. The ribboned stage lights dimmed to black and red stripes. The giant present split further apart — like a blooming nightmare flower — and the cages rose slowly on mechanical lifts. The room filled with the sound of locks disengaging. Julian Merwin: “Harold. Don’t you dare.” Harold: “Oh, I dare.” Click. Click. Click. Every click was a lock coming undone. The animals went silent for one long, terrible heartbeat. Then the collars flashed crimson, and the sound came — growls, shrieks, frantic clattering. Heather Metal: “Oh my god—!” Paulie Louis: “He’s actually doing it—!” Harold (pleasantly): “Ah-ah. Remember, you always have a choice.” He tapped the final switch. The cage doors burst open. A hurricane of sound filled the Town Hall. Foxes shot out like blurs of snow; birds screamed and filled the rafters in a cyclone of feathers. The bobcat vaulted from its cage, hissing. The parrots mimicked the crowd’s screams in horrible broken loops — “HELP! HELP! HELP—!” “RUN—RUN—RUN—!” Someone screamed — maybe Will, maybe Mark — as a raccoon skittered between their legs. The deer burst from the side enclosure, hooves slamming marble. Emma Violet: “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” The crowd scattered. The elegant, snow-globed Town Hall dissolved into chaos — tables overturned, chairs splintered, lights flickering. The enormous Christmas wreath snapped loose and crashed onto the floor, scattering ornaments like shrapnel. Harold just stood on his podium, hands clasped behind his back, smiling. Harold: “Marvelous, isn’t it? Panic — the purest form of self-awareness.” A fox leapt from the stage toward the crowd — Hue Trinity grabbed Nicholas Sour by the collar, dragging him backward as it hit the floor where he’d stood. Nicholas: “MY CANDY BAG—!” Hue: “SCREW YOUR CANDY BAG, RUN!” Feathers poured like snow as parrots dive-bombed the chandeliers. The lights strobed. Mariah shrieked as a raccoon scuttled over her boots; Neely Pearl kicked it gently aside, pulling her toward the doors. Neely: “Come on, diva, this is not the time for another concert!” Mariah: “Screw you—AND THE CAT-MAN—AND THIS WHOLE FAKE CITY!” Seth and Arthur Present tried to pull open the main entrance doors — the same ones that had shocked them earlier — and the mechanisms groaned. Seth: “It’s locked again—!” Arthur: “Not for long!” A hawk dove from above; Seth ducked. Arthur threw a chair at it. The impact shattered a pane of frosted glass. Cold air rushed in, whistling like a ghost. Paulie Mae: “There! The side exit!” She pointed toward a smaller corridor — the emergency hall lined with stained glass. The deer smashed into the podium, shattering the mic and the console. The mayor didn’t flinch. He raised his voice calmly above the chaos. Harold: “Run, run, run, little citizens! Isn’t it invigorating? You were all so calm before — look at you now! Alive, terrified, beautiful.” Riko Hoyomisha grabbed Kayegama Yoshe’s arm as they ran. Riko: “We need to go—!” Kayegama: “He’s enjoying this. He’s watching everything!” Riko: “Then let’s give him a show!” They vaulted over the fallen tree, narrowly avoiding a fox that darted across the room. The glass above the front door suddenly shattered completely — and for a split second, silence. Then — creak, crack, BOOM — the massive double doors blew open. The cold December wind surged through the hall. Snowflakes twisted into the strobe lights. Harold’s voice (amplified through hidden speakers): “Oh my, the door’s open! What impeccable timing.” He laughed — genuine laughter, rich and delighted — as the Ultimates poured out through the open entrance, pushing, stumbling, tripping over each other and the shattered glass. Mariah (screaming as she runs): “I’M SUING EVERYONE IN THIS CITY!” Jackie: “Good luck finding a lawyer, sis!” Robert Finn: “The animals are the lawyers now!” Neely Pearl: “Run first, joke later!” They tumbled into the neon-snowed plaza, the red and green lights of the city flickering overhead like sirens. The distant sound of growls echoed from inside the Town Hall. The camera lingered back on Harold, standing amid the wreckage, untouched. Snow and feathers drifted around him. The animals prowled the floor below the stage, but none approached him — as if he carried an invisible boundary they wouldn’t cross. He raised his hand, catching a single floating ornament that had survived the chaos. He examined his reflection in its cracked surface and smiled faintly. Harold (softly, to himself): “Perfect. Let the festivities begin.” The lights above him flickered one final time — the giant Christmas tree outside glowed blood-red for an instant — ~ Emma's POV~ The camera follows Emma Violet, sprinting through the icy street, breath fogging the air. Her skateboard dangles from her backpack, bumping against her shoulder as she runs. Behind her, something heavy thunders across the pavement — each step shaking loose snow from rooftops. A low, guttural roar splits the silence. Emma (gasping): “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me—!” The camera whips around: a bear, massive and furious, barreling after her. The same kind of bear Harold dropped on Mariah — but this one isn’t calm. Its collar blinks an angry crimson. Emma darts around a corner, sliding on the slick road. She ducks between parked holiday floats and glowing candy-cane displays, knocking over a giant decorative reindeer. Emma (panting): “Nope. Nope. Nope. Not today, Santa!” The bear crashes through the float behind her, fake snow exploding into the air like smoke. A huge wreath spins into the street. Emma sprints across the fountain plaza, neon reflections swirling on the water’s surface. The bear’s reflection looms larger, closer, closing the gap. She grabs a fallen Christmas garland, looping it around a pole — vaulting herself forward in a desperate leap. The bear lunges — claws catching the garland — it snaps. The momentum carries the bear forward, straight toward Latoya’s Café & Diner. SMASH! The glass windows shatter in a burst of blue and red neon light. Shards fly through the snow as the bear’s massive frame crashes into the tables inside. The building erupts with screams — chaotic, overlapping, human panic mixed with the bear’s furious bellows. The camera doesn’t linger — it cuts with Emma as she ducks behind a snow-covered car, trembling, eyes wide. The café’s interior flickers red through the shattered glass. Emma (under breath): “No... no, no, no... please tell me nobody—” Another roar shakes the block. Emma takes off again, sprinting toward the boys’ house. Her boots pound the pavement, the neon glow streaking past her as the camera sways with each frantic step. She slides across the icy porch, grabs the doorknob, twists it— Unlocked. She bursts inside and slams the door shut behind her, locking it with trembling hands. The sound of her rapid breathing fills the quiet. The room is dimly lit, only the flicker of a TV that’s lost signal glowing in the corner. A pair of red holiday lights blink softly in the window, throwing her face in flashes of color. Emma (breathing heavily): “Okay… okay, Emma. You’re fine. You’re good. You’re—” A floorboard creaks behind her. She spins. Hue Trinity steps out from the shadows of the living room, his long braids half-lit by the TV’s static glow. His yo-yo dangles loosely in his hand, the string glimmering faintly. Hue (low, steady): “Close it. Deadbolt.” Emma: “I already did.” Hue: “Good.” They stand there for a second — both panting, trying to catch their breath, the sounds of chaos faintly muffled outside. Emma (breathless laugh): “You too, huh?” Hue: “Yeah. Tried to make it to Clarence’s shop, but—” He glances toward the window, where a flicker of motion passes — a fox darting across the snow. The distant sound of more screams. Hue: “—I figured I’d rather not get turned into Christmas dinner.” Emma leans against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, still shaking. Emma: “A bear. A freaking bear, Hue.” Hue (half-laughing, half-serious): “Yeah, I saw it. You outran it?” Emma: “Barely.” They both pause. The pun hits. Despite the terror, they share a quiet, disbelieving laugh — the kind that comes from exhaustion and adrenaline. Emma (rubbing her face): “I hate that this is funny right now.” Hue: “That’s the point. If we stop laughing, we start losing it.” For a long second, they just sit there — listening to the muffled chaos outside. The faint, rhythmic flicker of lights through the frost-covered window gives the scene an uneasy calm. Hue (quietly): “You think anyone got hurt in the café?” Emma doesn’t answer right away. She stares at the floor. The only sound is the hum of broken electricity in the walls. Emma (soft): “I don’t know. I hope not.” The lights flicker again — for just a moment, they both see movement outside. A shadow — too big to be human — passing by the window. The collar light glows faintly red. They freeze. Neither speaks. The shadow pauses at the door. Hue (bare whisper): “Don’t move.” The bear’s heavy breathing is faintly audible through the door — slow, deliberate. Then silence. Hue grips his yo-yo tighter, ready to strike. Emma clutches the doorknob instinctively, afraid to breathe. A long pause. Then the sound of slow footsteps retreating into the snow. Emma (exhales quietly): “We’re not safe here.” Hue (grimly): “We’re not safe anywhere.” The camera pans up to the window — outside, the bear’s shape vanishes down the street, snow swirling behind it. The glowing red collar blinks out into the dark. ~Guys House~ The camera pans across the living room. A cracked mug steams on the table; the fireplace TV casts faint static light. Emma and Hue sit on the couch, trying to breathe normally again. Emma (half-laugh): “You know what’s crazy? We were supposed to have a quiet Christmas.” Hue (smirking): “Yeah, quiet’s definitely canceled.” Emma: “Guess the universe hates me.” Hue: “The universe hates everyone right now.” They share a small, nervous laugh. Outside, wind howls through the alley. Then — a sharp crack. Both freeze. Hue: “…What was that?” Emma (listening): “Not the bear.” Another crack. This one sharper — glass breaking. The sound comes from the kitchen. Hue gestures for her to stay back and steps cautiously toward the hall. The camera follows from behind his shoulder: pale light flickering through the doorway, snowflakes drifting through a broken windowpane. Something moves on the counter. At first it looks like black ribbon sliding down the cabinets — then more appear. Dozens of thin shapes slither from the window frame and vent grates. The floor begins to shimmer with motion. Hue (whisper): “…Snakes.” The first one drops onto the tile with a wet thud. Then another. And another. A hissing tide floods the kitchen floor, glinting red from the holiday lights. Emma (shrieking): “NOPE — NOPE — NOPE — NOPE — !” A large snake rears up and lunges. Hue reacts instantly — his yo-yo snaps forward with a metallic whirr, striking the creature mid-air and flinging it back into the sink. It hisses and coils away. Hue (shouting): “UPSTAIRS! NOW!” Emma doesn’t argue. They sprint toward the staircase as more snakes pour into the living room vents like water spilling downhill. Hue lashes his yo-yo across the bannister, knocking back two that slither close to Emma’s boots. The sound of scales scraping wood follows them up the steps. Emma (panting): “This is NOT a holiday special!” Hue: “More like ‘How the Grinch Ate the Animal Control Budget.’ Keep moving!” They reach the landing. Hue yanks open the nearest door — a small bathroom. He shoves Emma inside, slams the door, and twists the lock. For a moment, only breathing. Hue flips on the overhead light. The hum is deafening in the silence. Water drips from the faucet in steady beats. He wedges a towel under the gap at the bottom of the door. Emma (gasping, shaking): “Tell me that didn’t just happen.” Hue (checking his yo-yo string): “Oh, it happened. They’re controlled too — had collars on some of ’em.” Emma: “He released snakes into a holiday city. What’s next, reindeer with lasers?” Hue: “Don’t give him ideas.” They both laugh weakly, the sound brittle against the tile walls. The laughter dies when something thumps against the bathroom door — once, twice, then slides away. A faint hiss trails down the hallway. Hue sets the yo-yo on the counter, string taut, ready. Hue (quietly): “We wait here. Until it’s quiet. Then we move.” Emma (nodding): “Yeah. Wait. And breathe.” They sit on the floor, backs to the tub. The bathroom light flickers, casting alternating shadows across their faces. Outside, the faint rasp of scales fades into the night. Emma (whisper): “…Hue?” Hue: “Yeah?” Emma: “Thanks. For not letting me get eaten by reptile Christmas decorations.” Hue (half-smile): “Anytime.” The camera lingers on the closed door, towel trembling slightly as something brushes past on the other side. Then silence. Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Robert Finn/ Ultimate Technician Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Pualie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Kovaze wants to be rude, so this is a two-parter, and also, so sorry this is late. I got into a bad accident (hurt my leg badly), so I was resting and doing tournament things (My team won #teamKemi) Previous: https://www.kovaze.com/blog/10468 Continue: https://www.kovaze.com/blog/13295

~Guy's House December 5th~ The hum of machinery woke them before the sunrise simulation did. A soft mechanical chime pulsed through the dorm’s walls: “Good morning, citizens! Enjoy your holiday!” Blue neon glowed faintly through frosted windows. The house was sleek, sterile — like a luxury hotel built inside a snow globe. Beds lined the polished floor in two rows. Every face stirred at once. Kayegama Yoshe sat up first, hair sticking out wildly, eyes adjusting to the light. Kayegama (groggy): “...Yo... this isn’t my skate park.” Across the room, Jake Belle pulled the covers over his head. Jake: “Whoever dragged me here better not expect me to pay rent.” Arthur Smith stretched, his movements deliberate and refined even half-asleep. Arthur: “This... décor is tasteful, at least. But the energy? Tragic.” Jonathan Coffee blinked, rubbing his temples. The smell of roasted beans clung to his clothes like memory. Jonathan: “Anyone else’s head feel like it got blended on espresso mode?” From the far corner, Mark Traverse checked his reflection in the metallic wall panel, adjusting his messy hair. Mark: “Guys... we’re not on a shoot, right? ’Cause if this is a prank collab, my manager’s fired.” Riko Hoyomisha, quiet but sharp, touched the wall, tracing faint engravings beneath the wallpaper — sword-calloused hands feeling for something familiar. Riko: “The structure’s reinforced. Military grade. This wasn’t built for leisure.” A low, distorted voice echoed from a hidden speaker: “Breakfast will be served at Latoya’s Café. Please enjoy your morning.” The voice faded. None of them moved. Austin Sobriquet, sitting by the desk with glasses crooked, whispered to himself. Austin: “We’re missing pieces... collective amnesia? Could be neurological interference or psychological conditioning—” Will King cut him off, leaning back in his chair, controller in hand. Will: “Bro, stop monologuing like an NPC. I just wanna know who unplugged me mid-match.” Hue Trinity, spinning his neon yo-yo idly, grinned. Hue: “Maybe it’s a surprise tournament? Last man standing wins free Wi-Fi?” Neely Pearl, already on their feet, brushed off their outfit and sighed dramatically. Neely: “If this is some sick joke, they could’ve at least given me a mirror. A drag queen needs to suffer beautifully, not blindly.” Arthur Present, standing tall and composed, crossed his arms. Arthur P.: “No jest could justify confinement. Someone orchestrated this.” Seth Norway, sitting on the bed edge, stared blankly at his hands. Seth: “...This room’s energy feels wrong. The air hums like it’s alive.” The atmosphere grew heavy. Julian Merwin leaned against the doorway, half-dressed, smirking despite the tension. Julian: “Relax. Maybe we all partied too hard and ended up here. Wouldn’t be the first time I woke up surrounded by strangers.” Paris Ross, curled up on a couch with a cat plush, muttered quietly. Paris: “No one’s laughing, Jules.” Nicholas Sour stood near the door, clutching a lollipop between his teeth. Nicholas: “Well, jokes aside... I’m starving. Who’s brave enough to check outside?” The group exchanged glances. Robert Finn approached the door first, running a small scanner from his pocket. The gadget beeped erratically. Robert: “Something’s not right with this knob. The handle’s electrically charged.” Jake: “Charged how?” Robert: “Enough to make your arm regret being born.” Mark: “Okay, maybe it’s like... symbolic? ‘Don’t open the door to trauma’ or whatever.” Ignoring him, Chase Hallow stepped forward, sketchbook in hand. Chase: “Only one way to find out.” He reached out. A sharp crack filled the air. Chase yelped, pulling back as a faint blue spark crawled up his arm. Chase: “AAAH—! Damn it, that’s real!” Jonathan: “Yup. Definitely not a dream.” The others backed away. The door shimmered faintly with a digital lock — red light pulsing softly. Austin: “An automated security measure. Controlled remotely.” Riko: “Meaning whoever put us here... can watch us.” Silence fell again. The only sound was the faint hum of neon through the windows. Hue: “So... we’re stuck here until someone decides we’re not?” Arthur P.: “Then we must prepare. Explore the interior. Search for provisions. Find weaknesses.” Neely: “Or—hear me out—we make coffee, gossip, and wait for our mysterious sugar daddy to explain himself.” Jonathan: “...I can actually make coffee.” Laughter broke through briefly, weak but real. It was the only warmth in the cold, glowing room. Mark (half-smiling): “Okay... fine. Let’s play along. Whoever’s watching, hope you like reality shows.” As they dispersed — some to check the windows, others to inspect the kitchen — the camera panned slowly toward the sealed door. The faint red light above the handle blinked twice. Then, for just a second, it changed color — Blue. And from somewhere beyond the walls, a faint hum answered back. The air buzzed faintly now — the kind of hum that gets under your skin the longer you listen. Half the group wandered through the house, poking into bedrooms and hallways, but near the main door, Robert Finn had set up his own little “lab.” He crouched by the wall, metallic gloves on, tools scattered across the polished floor — wires, screwdrivers, a compact voltage reader flickering green. Robert (focused): “Okay... there’s a pattern here. The door isn’t just electrified — it’s connected to an internal breaker behind this wall.” He pried the panel open, revealing a small glowing switch box marked with three colored lights: red, yellow, and blue. Only red pulsed softly. Nicholas Sour leaned over his shoulder, lollipop still in his mouth. Nicholas: “So... we open the red one and we’re free?” Robert: “If only life were that sweet, Candy Boy.” Robert scanned the readings again, eyes narrowing. Robert: “It’s strange. It reacts to biological contact... the door recognizes who touches it.” Jake Belle, leaning against the wall, smirked. Jake: “You saying we need a password, or a blood sacrifice?” Robert: “No. But it could require multiple inputs. The system’s primitive — old security design, maybe reprogrammed for containment.” He looked around the room. Robert: “I need someone to help me test this.” Nicholas: “Test what, exactly?” Robert stood, brushing off his coat. Robert (flatly): “The electrical response threshold.” Nicholas: “...That sounds like science talk for ‘I’m about to regret this,’ doesn’t it?” Robert smiled slightly — the first sign of emotion since they’d woken up. Robert: “You’ll live. Probably.” Nicholas groaned, flicking the lollipop to the floor. Nicholas: “Fine, but if I die, I’m haunting you.” Robert gestured toward the door. Robert: “Now, slowly touch the handle.” Nicholas hesitated, then reached out. ZAP! A sharp spark flashed — Nicholas recoiled, shaking his hand violently. Nicholas: “OW! DUDE! That’s not a small shock! That’s— that’s a hate crime against candy lovers!” Robert ignored him, watching the breaker’s lights — the red bulb glowed brighter. Robert: “There it is... responsive voltage spike. Energy flow active.” Nicholas: “You could’ve just said ‘door bad, don’t touch.’” Robert’s tone remained calm. Robert: “Once more.” Nicholas (in disbelief): “No. Nope. Not again.” Robert’s head tilted. Robert: “For science.” Nicholas: “For lawsuits!” The others began gathering — Hue, Will, Jonathan, Arthur Smith, and Paris. Hue (grinning): “Yo, this is great TV.” Will: “You sure this isn’t just the world’s worst escape room?” Under their laughter, Nicholas grumbled, but Robert was already motioning again. Robert: “Do it again.” Nicholas took a deep breath, muttering something about karma, and turned the knob— Another ZAP! echoed, brighter this time — but the breaker didn’t glow. Everyone leaned closer. Arthur Smith: “Well? What’s the verdict, professor voltage?” Robert: “It... didn’t respond. The system’s expecting a different signature. It’s not just one person’s contact — it wants variety.” Austin Sobriquet, adjusting his glasses nearby, nodded thoughtfully. Austin: “Like a failsafe... requiring multiple users to deactivate sequentially.” Chase Hallow scribbled in his sketchbook, murmuring. Chase: “A puzzle disguised as pain. Classic psychological conditioning.” Riko Hoyomisha: “So we’d need to... what? Line up and electrocute ourselves until it unlocks?” Robert (dryly): “If you’re volunteering, I’ll document the results.” The group erupted in overlapping voices — some laughing, others swearing, a few genuinely unsettled. Mark Traverse: “Okay, let’s chill, okay? This is creepy, but maybe it’s— I don’t know—some social experiment.” Arthur Present: “Experiments demand consent. This is coercion.” Jake: “Oh my god, he really talks like that 24/7.” Hue (snickering): “Yeah, it’s giving ‘final boss in denial.’” Robert ignored them, still staring at the breaker, murmuring under his breath. Robert: “Different people... alternating current... human-coded voltage variance...” He looked up, eyes faintly reflecting the neon. Robert (quietly): “Someone designed this to keep us inside. Not out.” A heavy silence filled the room again. The red light blinked twice, almost like it was breathing. Nicholas (muttering): “...This doesn’t feel like the holidays.” The camera panned out from the group — their reflections warped in the polished floor — as the snow outside thickened against the neon-blue glass. Robert Finn stood by the open breaker panel like a scientist about to conduct the world’s dumbest experiment. Nicholas Sour, still shaking his hand, scowled. Nicholas: “We doing this again? Really?” Robert (flatly): “We need to confirm how the breaker reacts to each participant. The faster we test, the faster we leave.” Kayegama Yoshe, rubbing the back of his neck, exhaled. Kayegama: “Man, I’d rather take a fall off a halfpipe than get electrocuted, but fine. Let’s ride.” He stepped up, touched the handle— ZAP! He jumped back, hair spiking even higher. Kayegama: “YOW! My legs are still tingling! Is that supposed to happen?!” Hue Trinity (laughing): “Bro, you just became static incarnate.” The breaker blinked red, then glowed yellow. Robert smirked. Robert: “Interesting. Two users confirmed. The system’s adapting.” Arthur Smith brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve. Arthur: “Fine. If I must subject myself to barbarism, at least it’ll be aesthetically pleasing.” He tapped the handle. ZAP! His hair stood slightly, but he managed to hold his pose, even as smoke curled from his fingers. Arthur (through gritted teeth): “Still... fabulous.” Jake Belle: “Okay, move over, pretty boy. Let’s get this show trending.” ZAP! Jake: “AHHH—okay, okay, not my best angle!” Will King: “You’re all drama. Watch this.” He swaggered up, confident—then touched the knob. ZAP! Will: “AARGH—Okay, I take it back. I’ve made mistakes!” Everyone was laughing now — even Arthur Present, trying not to. Arthur P.: “At least it builds fortitude.” Julian Merwin: “Fortitude? Please. You’re all amateurs.” He strutted forward, bare-chested as usual, flashing a cocky grin. Julian: “Electricity only enhances my aura.” ZAP! He froze, body twitching for a full three seconds before collapsing theatrically onto the floor. Julian: “—I have ascended!” Neely Pearl burst into laughter, clapping their hands. Neely: “My turn, my turn! Step aside, sinners — the queen’s taking center stage!” Robert: “You don’t need to be—” Neely: “Shh, let me suffer with flair.” They struck a pose, flipped their hair, and touched the handle with two fingers— ZAP!!! A flash of light filled the hall. Neely froze mid-pose. Then they dropped to their knees dramatically, eyes wide. Neely (screaming): “AAAAHHH!!! The voltage of judgment! The current of chaos! My career—over! Tell my wigs... I loved them!” Everyone erupted. Even Riko Hoyomisha — the quiet, stoic fencer — cracked a grin. Riko: “Your acting... lacks restraint.” Neely (still on the floor): “Restraint is for the untalented, darling!” Nicholas: “You good?” Neely: “Do I look good?!” They struck another pose mid-smoke. Hue: “Actually, yeah. That’s your best one yet.” The laughter carried for several seconds before Robert cleared his throat. He looked at the breaker — now pulsing with three colors: red, yellow, blue. Robert: “That’s... everyone. The sequence is complete.” The lights flickered across the house. A faint click echoed from the lock mechanism. They all froze. Chase Hallow (whispering): “...Did we just open it?” Robert: “Let’s find out.” He slowly reached for the knob and turned it. The handle clicked softly — no shock, no resistance. The door opened an inch. A rush of cold air spilled into the room, carrying the faint scent of snow and something metallic. Austin Sobriquet: “That shouldn’t be possible...” Arthur Present: “Then fate favors the bold.” The group gathered, peering through the narrow crack — only to see another barrier, a translucent neon-blue field glowing just beyond the doorframe. Jake: “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Nicholas: “...We opened a door just to find another door.” Robert (dryly): “Progress.” Neely (fanning themselves): “If that’s progress, I’m quitting science.” The light from the new barrier reflected across all their faces — soft, shifting, otherworldly. Outside, the holographic snow kept falling — peaceful, serene, and utterly fake. Chase (quietly): “Something’s watching us. It wants us to keep playing.” Will: “Yeah, well... game’s on then.” The camera zoomed out slowly, leaving the boys framed by the glowing doorway — half in shadow, half in light — as the hum of the barrier deepened. The hum of the barrier filled the hall, a low vibration that rattled the glass panels. Then — like static dissolving into silence — the blue light flickered and faded out. The boys all looked at each other. For a moment, no one spoke. Then— Hue Trinity: “...Did it just—?” Will King: “I think we’re free!” Jake Belle: “Less talking, more escaping!” ~Outside the house/plaza~ They all lunged for the door at once. The result was chaos. Fifteen different feet collided in the narrow doorway. Arthur Smith shouted something about “personal space,” Julian Merwin ended up on Mark Traverse’s back, and Nicholas Sour lost his lollipop in the stampede. Robert Finn tried to maintain composure, but got trampled by Kayegama’s skateboard on the way out. Kayegama (laughing nervously): “Bro, teamwork makes the dream work!” Robert (muffled underfoot): “This isn’t teamwork, it’s manslaughter!” Outside, the air was bright and alive — fake snow falling through the sky like silver confetti, giant holographic candy canes spinning slowly along the plaza. And across the street, another door burst open. The girls poured out from their own dorm, yelling, gasping, laughing. Emma Violet nearly slipped on the frosted tiles, catching herself mid-skid. Heather Metal let out a long groan. Heather: “Ughhh. The lighting’s killing my vibe right now.” Myrtle Chang stretched, blinking against the sudden brightness. Myrtle: “Is this... a theme park?” Paulie Mae adjusted her black gothic sleeves, glancing around the neon decorations. Paulie Mae: “Feels too cheerful. It’s unnatural.” Paulie Louis, quiet and unreadable, crossed her arms. Paulie Louis: “Cheerfulness hides control.” Jessie Kowalski looked up, pulling her tarot deck from her pocket and shuffling idly. Jessie: “The Fool card... it’s us.” And at the center of it all — Mariah City, hair perfectly tousled, hands empty. Her eyes widened. Mariah: “...No.” Aruha Suguyama (softly): “What’s wrong?” Mariah (panicking): “MY. PHONE. IS. GONE.” The shout echoed through the plaza. Everyone turned to stare. Jake Belle (calling from across): “We’re missing ours too!” Mariah: “Missing?! You mean stolen! How am I supposed to stream this?! My fans are gonna think I ghosted them!” Heather: “Honestly, that might improve your brand.” Mariah (snapping): “Excuse me?!” The boys and girls met halfway, their voices overlapping like a crowd scene in an anime. Mark Traverse: “Wait, wait, hold up — you guys woke up the same way too?” Emma Violet: “Yeah. Door locked, electric shock, the whole ‘escape room from hell’ package.” Neely Pearl: “Ooh, twinsies! Ours came with a bonus panic attack!” Paulie Mae: “We almost smashed a window, but it shimmered like glass and fog. Magic or tech — hard to tell.” Austin Sobriquet was already scribbling notes, muttering theories under his breath. Austin: “Parallel conditions… replicated containment… yes, that checks.” Then, as the chatter continued, Robert Finn stopped moving. His eyes drifted to the glowing Christmas tree at the center of the plaza — perfectly decorated, blinking lights synchronized to faint holiday music. The faint melody was All I Want for Christmas Is You. He froze. Robert (deadpan): “No.” Kayegama: “...Bro?” Robert: “NO. No, no, no, no, no—” He dropped to his knees, gripping his hair. Robert: “I worked at a Christmas store for three years. I’ve seen things. I’ve survived sales wars. I’ve fought Karens in retail battlefields!” Neely Pearl: “Oh, he’s spiraling. Get the cameras.” Robert (pointing wildly): “The songs! They play on loop! All I want for Christmas is you—over and over—” He mimicked the tune, voice cracking. Robert: “You can’t escape it! It follows you!” Julian Merwin (smirking): “Trauma by Mariah Carey. Iconic.” Nicholas Sour (grinning): “He’s not wrong though. I once got into a fistfight over a candy cane at a mall.” Will King: “Was it worth it?” Nicholas: “No. The cane broke and I lost.” Robert (still ranting): “I saw grown men cry over limited-edition Santas! I watched two moms fight with tinsel!” He pointed accusingly at the sky. Robert: “If this city plays that song again, I’m jumping in the fountain!” Arthur Present (stern): “Compose yourself, man.” Robert: “I am composed! I’m just reliving my trauma in HD!” The others laughed, the tension fading slightly — the shared absurdity pulling them closer. Aruha Suguyama knelt beside the fountain, letting the glowing blue water pass through her fingers. Aruha (quietly): “It’s... beautiful. But not real.” Jessie: “Everything here feels designed. Perfect... like a dream someone’s controlling.” The camera panned slowly across the group — twenty-six bright faces under a fake sky, all reflected in the glassy surface of the water. Emma Violet: “Well, whoever built this ‘holiday city’ has a twisted sense of cheer.” Paulie Mae: “And they went overboard with the decorations.” Kayegama: “Could be worse. At least there’s snow.” He stuck his tongue out to catch one of the flakes. It vanished before it touched him. Kayegama (frowning): “...It’s holographic.” Hue Trinity: “Cool tech. Still creepy.” A faint hum rolled across the plaza — the same low tone they’d heard before, resonating in the glass beneath their feet. Austin: “That sound again.” Arthur P.: “The city watches. Always.” Julian: “Dude, tone it down, you sound like a prophecy.” Neely Pearl (posing): “Then call me the Oracle of Slay, baby.” Mariah (sighing): “I just want my phone back.” A light flickered above the fountain. The music shifted — from soft carols to a faint mechanical jingle. Everyone froze. “Good morning, residents of Neon City!” “Enjoy your holiday paradise!” The voice was cheerful, inhuman, and hollow. The same automated tone that had woken the boys earlier. Jake: “Oh, great. We’ve got an AI Santa.” The voice continued: “Explore the plaza, meet your neighbors, and celebrate together! You’ll find everything you need — right here in the heart of the city.” Then the line glitched — “...You’ll find everything you need—need—need—” Static filled the air. The snow paused mid-fall for half a second. Then the system rebooted, playing a short carol again as if nothing had happened. The group stood silently, unease crawling up their spines. Seth Norway (softly): “Glitches reveal the truth.” Neely: “Honey, the only truth I’m seeing is that this holiday is a mess.” Kayegama: “Yeah... this doesn’t feel like the holidays at all.” The camera pulled upward — showing the neon city in full, glowing under an artificial aurora. Snow fell. Lights twinkled. And above them, just for a moment, a faint holographic projection flickered — a cat’s tail silhouette swaying in the sky before disappearing. The group’s laughter and bickering faded as the air shifted again. Something about the giant Christmas tree at the plaza’s center drew their attention — it was massive, glittering, easily four stories tall, the crown tipped with a holographic star that slowly rotated like a signal. Jackie Yamata, ever the pop idol, noticed first. His sharp eyes caught a small, rectangular glint near the base of the tree — something tucked between the glowing ornaments. He stepped closer, brushing fake snow from his jacket. Jackie: “Hold up… what’s this?” He pulled a note from one of the lower branches. The paper shimmered faintly — metallic texture, like it didn’t belong in the real world. The writing glowed gold. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud: “If you want to learn more and begin this Christmas meet and greet, all of you should get to know each other while exploring.” The plaza fell silent. Neely Pearl: “...Meet and greet?” Hue Trinity: “Sounds like a dating sim event.” Will King: “Nah, that’s definitely the tutorial phase of something sketchy.” Kayegama Yoshe: “Wait — are we supposed to, like, walk around and... mingle?” Jake Belle: “So basically, forced socializing? Ew.” Mariah City, hands on her hips, rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. Mariah: “Okay, this is ridiculous. Whoever planned this needs to show themselves right now. I don’t ‘do’ scavenger hunts unless they come with a sponsorship deal.” Heather Metal: “Maybe it’s like... team building?” Mariah (snapping): “Heather, I don’t care if it’s therapy building! My phone is gone. I repeat: my. phone. is. gone.” Arthur Smith: “You could at least appreciate the aesthetic. This tree is stunning.” Mariah: “The only thing I’m appreciating is how someone’s about to get blocked in real life when I find them.” Robert Finn, still recovering from his Christmas PTSD, squinted up at the note. Robert: “Get to know each other, huh? Yeah, that’s how they rope you in before things go bad. I’ve seen this movie before.” Austin Sobriquet: “You’ve seen too many movies.” Robert: “And none of them end well, Professor!” Julian Merwin, smirking, stepped closer to Jackie. Julian: “A meet and greet, huh? Sounds like my kind of event.” Neely: “Oh please, you’d flirt with a snowman if it winked at you.” Julian (grinning): “Depends how well it’s sculpted.” Laughter broke through the tension again, but the unease lingered underneath. The sky flickered faintly — a neon shimmer that wasn’t natural. Emma Violet kicked her skateboard gently, rolling in a slow circle around the tree. Emma: “So... we just ‘explore’? That’s it? No clue who’s running this?” Paulie Louis, her voice calm but sharp, looked toward the nearby rooftops. Paulie Louis: “They’re watching. Always. Every word.” Jessie Kowalski drew a tarot card and flipped it — The Magician. Jessie: “A beginning, but one controlled by illusion. Someone wants to see how we act before they play their hand.” Aruha Suguyama (softly): “So this isn’t freedom… it’s the start.” Kayegama: “Well... start or not, I’m starving.” Will: “There’s that café down the road — Latoya’s, right?” Neely: “If they’ve got coffee, count me in. I’m running on trauma and glitter right now.” Robert (still muttering): “I swear, if they play that song in there…” Nicholas Sour: “Bro, chill. The Karens can’t get you here.” Robert: “You don’t know that! They travel in packs!” Mariah, meanwhile, stormed a few steps ahead, glaring at the glowing rooftops. Mariah: “Fine. Let’s get this over with. Whoever wrote this ‘note’—you just made my block list top priority. I’ll find you, I’ll livestream it, and I’ll—” She stopped mid-sentence, realizing again. Mariah (groaning): “...I don’t have my phone.” Heather (trying to lighten it): “Look on the bright side! No notifications, no pressure!” Mariah: “No content! No income! No likes!” Neely Pearl (patting her shoulder): “Tragic. Truly. A fallen influencer in her natural habitat.” Across the group, Jackie folded the note again, eyes thoughtful now. Jackie: “Maybe we should follow it. It’s weird, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.” Arthur Present nodded slowly. Arthur Present: “Agreed. If this is a trial, we can’t move forward standing still.” Chase Hallow, sketchbook open again, quietly drew the note in fine pencil strokes. Chase (to himself): “Words hold power. Whoever wrote this knows we’re curious enough to obey.” The camera zoomed out, showing all 26 of them standing beneath the towering Christmas tree — colorful lights reflecting off their faces like a distorted holiday card. In the distance, faintly, the speakers played a soft carol again. “It’s the most wonderful time... of the year...” A soft snowflake landed on Mariah’s nose. She looked up, unimpressed. Mariah: “No. It’s not.” The others began splitting into small groups — curiosity, sarcasm, and disbelief all mixing under the neon glow. The city felt alive again, but wrong. Too quiet. Too designed. The final shot lingered on the note still clutched in Jackie’s hand — the golden words flickering briefly before fading out completely. ~LATOYA'S CAFE & DINER~ The group pushed open the door to Latoya’s Café, the bell chiming with a distorted digital note. Inside, the warmth was immediate — fake but comforting. The place was spotless, too spotless, like someone had just reset it for them. Paulie Mae stepped forward first, her long gothic skirt brushing the polished floor. Paulie Mae: “Hm. Empty, but... kind of charming. Creepy-charming.” Paulie Louis: “It’s quiet. Too quiet for a diner.” They exchanged a small, knowing glance before both smirked. Paulie Mae: “Guess that means it’s ours now.” They walked toward the counter together, curiosity sparking between them like static. Paulie Mae ran her fingers across the coffee machine. Paulie Mae: “No dust. Someone’s been maintaining this place.” Paulie Louis: “Or someone wants us to think that.” Meanwhile, Johnathan Coffee had already found his natural habitat — behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, inspecting the espresso machine like it was sacred scripture. Johnathan: “This… this is a masterpiece.” He pressed a button. The machine hummed to life instantly, lights flickering along its chrome edges. Johnathan: “Auto-heating... perfect crema distribution... whoever owned this place knew what they were doing.” He took one of the empty cups and started experimenting, humming as he worked. Neely Pearl leaned lazily over the counter beside him, watching. Neely: “You gonna make us all a drink, barista boy?” Johnathan (grinning): “Depends. You tipping?” Neely: “Only if it comes with a side of gossip.” Johnathan: “Deal.” Across the room, Jackie Yamata adjusted the collar of his glittery jacket, spinning slowly in one of the café’s booth mirrors. Jackie: “Hmm… lighting’s decent. Maybe a bit too cold for my complexion. If I could just—” He tapped a nearby control panel, and suddenly the café lights flickered, cycling through rainbow hues before settling on a warm magenta glow. Jackie (smiling): “Perfect. Now it feels like a concert lounge.” Mariah City, who had been pacing impatiently near the door, stopped and glared. Mariah: “You changed the lighting? I was adjusting to the aesthetic!” Jackie: “You’re welcome, darling. The aesthetic has been upgraded.” Mariah: “Ugh. I’d record a rant right now if I had my—” She sighed dramatically, clutching her head. Mariah: “My phone. My precious engagement metrics.” Neely Pearl: “We should hold a moment of silence.” Johnathan (pouring espresso): “Yeah, one silent latte coming up.” He handed her a cup with a smirk. Mariah: “Thanks, but caffeine doesn’t replace followers.” She took it anyway. Mariah: “...This is actually good.” Johnathan: “Of course it is. You’re drinking the essence of my soul.” Paulie Louis chuckled from the counter, already wiping down an old tabletop with a rag she found. Paulie Louis: “You’re all loud, but it’s not bad. Feels alive in here.” Paulie Mae: “Agreed. It’s the first time today it’s felt... normal.” She paused, looking around at the room — the stockings hanging from the counter, the silver tinsel along the shelves. Paulie Mae (quietly): “Almost too normal.” Neely (teasing): “You say that like you don’t secretly love this vibe.” Paulie Mae (smiling faintly): “Maybe I do. It’s the gothic charm of fake comfort.” Jackie, who had now found the jukebox in the corner, scrolled through its holo-screen. Jackie: “Ohhh, they’ve got classics! Let’s see... J-pop covers, K-pop remixes, 80s synthwave—” Mariah: “Anything without sleigh bells.” Jackie (grinning): “Boring. Sleigh bells are in season.” He tapped a button, and the café filled with a smooth, jazzy remix of “Jingle Bells.” Mariah (groaning): “You did not—” Jackie: “I did.” Neely (dramatic): “Our ears are the hostages now.” They threw an arm over their forehead and collapsed theatrically onto a booth seat. Johnathan: “You’ll live. Probably.” Paulie Louis turned, eyes narrowing toward the windows. Paulie Louis: “Anyone else notice how quiet it is outside?” Everyone froze for a second. The snow fell soundlessly — no wind, no chatter, no movement. It was like the whole world had paused. Paulie Mae: “Maybe the others are still exploring.” Jackie: “Or maybe they found a bar without us.” Neely: “If they did, I’m suing.” Johnathan (half-joking): “You think we’re really supposed to just… hang out? Play pretend?” Mariah: “If we are, I want whoever’s watching to know they picked the wrong girl to mess with.” She looked right up at the café’s ceiling camera — a tiny blinking red light hidden in a garland wreath. Mariah (to the camera): “You hear that? You picked the wrong influencer, honey.” The light flickered once. A faint mechanical hum followed, almost like a giggle. Everyone looked up. Neely (nervously): “...Did the ceiling just laugh at us?” Jackie: “No, no, it’s just… ambiance, right?” Paulie Mae: “Yeah. Totally. Ambiance.” Paulie Louis: “Ambiance doesn’t blink.” The sound faded as quickly as it came, replaced again by the soft hum of the coffee machine. Johnathan (exhaling): “Alright. Whoever’s running this show, at least they gave us caffeine.” He raised his cup. Johnathan: “To surviving weird holiday kidnappings.” Neely (raising their cup): “To surviving with style.” Jackie: “And lighting.” Mariah: “And finding my damn phone.” Paulie Mae: “To new... beginnings, maybe?” Paulie Louis (softly): “And to watching carefully who ends them.” Their cups clinked together. The camera lingered on the reflection of the neon lights rippling across the coffee surface — pink, blue, and faint static white. Outside, the snow still fell — and across the street, the windows of Clarence’s Gift Shop flickered on by themselves. ~CLARENCE GIFT SHOP~ The door between the café and gift shop creaked open, a small bell jingling overhead. Robert Finn took one cautious step inside — and froze. Rows upon rows of holiday merchandise stretched before him. Candy canes. Santa figurines. Stockings that blinked to the rhythm of a carol. Robert (whispering): “...No.” He stepped backward immediately, hand trembling. Robert: “No, no, no, no—this can’t be happening again.” Hue Trinity, standing behind him, blinked in confusion. Hue: “Uh, dude? It’s just a shop.” Robert (voice cracking): “That’s what they said last time, before the shoppers attacked.” He stumbled inside, pointing wildly at a spinning rack of plush snowmen. Robert: “They’re watching us. They’re waiting for the discount sign.” Hue (trying not to laugh): “Robert, bro—there’s no crowd. No Karens. No price wars. Just toys and tinsel.” Robert: “That’s how it starts!” He darted between aisles, muttering to himself. Every jingle bell seemed to taunt him. Robert: “They’re everywhere. The peppermint-scented candles, the wrapping paper traps... the sales.” Emma Violet rolled in behind him on her skateboard, gently pushing the door closed. Emma: “You’re seriously traumatized by a gift shop?” Hue (grinning): “Dude’s got retail PTSD.” Robert: “You wouldn’t understand! You’ve never worked twelve-hour shifts while kids screamed about stock shortages!” Emma (half-smiling): “Yeah, but I have been hit in the face by a rogue skateboard during a Christmas parade.” Robert: “That’s not the same!” He ducked behind a shelf, eyeing a display of robotic reindeer that slowly turned their heads in perfect sync. Robert: “They’re synchronized. They’re planning something.” Hue: “You need therapy.” Robert: “I had therapy! It wasn’t enough!” Emma sighed, pushing her hair back and gliding her board next to him. Emma: “Okay, okay. Deep breaths. Look—” She picked up a glittery snow globe with a neon cat spinning inside. Emma: “It’s a cat in a snowstorm. See? Harmless.” Robert (suspicious): “That’s what they want you to think.” As they argued, laughter erupted near the candy section. Nicholas Sour, hands already full of sweets, was stacking chocolate boxes into his backpack. Nicholas: “Jackpot! Whoever stocked this place must’ve loved sugar as much as me.” Paris Ross, standing beside him, giggled softly, holding up a folded hoodie with cat ears on the hood. Paris: “This is adorable! Look—it even has a tail stitched on.” He turned it around to show the group. Hue: “Bro, that’s literally made for you.” Paris: “Right? It’s fate. I’m not taking it off.” He slipped the hoodie on and pulled the hood up, the little cat ears perking. Nicholas (snickering): “You look like a crime-fighting house cat.” Paris: “Correction—an adorable crime-fighting house cat.” Emma (grinning): “Honestly? It suits you.” Paris: “Finally, someone with taste.” Nicholas, meanwhile, had somehow managed to climb halfway onto the candy shelf, trying to reach a massive holographic candy cane at the top. Nicholas: “If I get this, it’s officially a heist.” Hue: “What are you, the Candy Phantom?” Nicholas: “Please. I’m the Ultimate Candy Lover. This is professional work.” He stretched further, fingertips brushing the shiny packaging—when the shelf creaked ominously. Emma: “Nick, you’re gonna—” The shelf collapsed. A mountain of candy rained down on him. Wrappers, chocolate bars, neon taffy packs. Nicholas (muffled under candy): “Worth it!” Paris (laughing so hard he snorts): “You look like a piñata after a bar fight.” Hue: “And somehow he still wins.” While the others laughed, Robert had gone stock-still near the register. His eyes were locked on the counter’s holo-screen, where a faint message glowed: “Clarence’s Gift Shop Welcomes You!” “All purchases are free today. Enjoy your stay… while you can.” He stepped back slowly, voice trembling. Robert: “Guys... I think the shop just threatened me.” Emma (distracted): “What?” Robert: “Read the screen!” They gathered around. The text flickered, distorting — the final line glitching until it read: Enjoy your stay… while you can. The music in the background warped slightly, the jingle slowing to an eerie crawl. Hue (uneasy): “Okay... that’s new.” Nicholas (still chewing candy): “Eh, probably just part of the décor.” Robert (snapping): “Nothing about this is décor!” He stormed toward the exit, slapping his hand against the door — shock! He yelped, shaking his hand. Robert: “Still locked! Of course!” Paris (playful): “Relax, we’re all locked in together. At least it’s festive.” Robert: “I’m going to die surrounded by nutcrackers and jingles.” Emma (chuckling): “Well, at least you’ll die on theme.” Nicholas (calling out): “Hey, before we all die, anyone want caramel?” He tossed one in the air; Hue caught it mid-spin and popped it into his mouth. Hue (smirking): “Sweet. Literally.” Paris: “If we’re stuck, might as well make it cozy.” He curled up on one of the display couches, cat hoodie and all, the picture of blissful contentment. Paris (purring softly): “Wake me up when this weird Christmas dream ends.” Neely’s muffled voice came faintly through the café door: Neely (offscreen): “If you guys are hoarding snacks, I expect tribute!” Everyone laughed — everyone but Robert, who still stared uneasily at the flickering screen. The message blinked again, unnoticed by the others: Inventory updated. New game conditions pending... The lights flickered once. The jingle loop reset. Outside, snow fell in perfect rhythm again. ~OUTSIDE OF TOWN HALL~ The Town Hall loomed like a sleeping giant, every window reflecting cold light. The group stood in front of it, staring at the locked glass doors. Arthur Smith rattled the handle again. Nothing. He kicked the bottom panel with a sharp thud. Arthur: “This is absurd. Locked? Really?” Mark Traverse crossed his arms, his expression twisted with irritation. Mark: “First, no phones. Then, no internet. And now, no authority figure to complain to. Whoever’s running this place better start explaining themselves fast.” Will King slouched nearby, hands in his pockets, tapping his foot nervously. Will: “Yeah, ‘cause that always works in horror setups. ‘Hey, weird omnipresent captor, mind giving us Wi-Fi?’” Arthur: “I’m not joking, Will.” Will (dryly): “Neither am I. I’ve played this level before. It ends badly.” Austin Sobriquet, arms behind his back, adjusted his glasses and examined the keypad next to the door. Austin: “It’s electronic. The system’s powered, but there’s no input response. It’s intentionally locked from inside.” Myrtle Chang: “So whoever locked it is still in there?” Austin: “Possibly. Or they’ve automated the lock.” Jessie Kowalski, shuffling her tarot deck on the fountain’s edge, flipped a card without looking. Jessie: “The Tower.” She smirked faintly. Jessie: “Fitting.” Mark (snapping): “Can we not do the creepy fortune stuff right now?” Jessie (calmly): “You’re already cursed, honey. I’m just giving it a name.” Seth Norway, quiet up to this point, stepped closer to the door, tracing his fingers over the frosted glass. His breath fogged slightly as he spoke, voice low and measured. Seth: “Places hold energy. This one’s sealed for a reason. We’re not meant to go in... not yet.” Arthur: “Oh, great. Now we’ve got riddles.” Seth (turning to him): “Do you feel that static in the air? The low hum?” Everyone paused. They could hear it now — a faint vibration under the fountain’s splashing, like a quiet mechanical heartbeat. Will: “Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.” Austin: “It’s an electromagnetic field. Likely powering the entire plaza.” Mark: “English, please.” Austin: “We’re trapped in a controlled zone, not just a city.” Myrtle, who’d been staring into the fountain, dipped her hand into the shimmering water. It rippled unnaturally — not real liquid, but holographic projection. Myrtle (softly): “Even the water’s fake.” Arthur: “So we’re being watched, manipulated, and lied to.” He turned and punched the door — a loud metallic clang echoed through the square. Arthur (shouting): “HEY! WHOEVER’S RUNNING THIS! COME OUT!” The echo faded, swallowed by the quiet snowfall. Mark (snapping): “This is ridiculous! They can’t just—just take our lives like this!” He turned, pacing back and forth in front of the building. Mark: “Do you know how many sponsorship deals I was about to sign?! This is literal career sabotage!” Will (deadpan): “Truly the greatest tragedy of our time.” Mark: “Shut it, gamer boy.” Austin (sternly): “Mark, focus. We need to assess, not panic.” Mark: “Oh, I’m beyond panicking. I’m influencing. If I had my phone, I’d livestream this nightmare and cancel whoever’s responsible.” Jessie (chuckling): “You might still get that chance. Death’s pretty viral these days.” Arthur: “Jessie!” Jessie (shrugging): “What? It’s true.” Myrtle, ignoring the bickering, wandered toward a bulletin board near the steps. The flyers were pristine — all for nonexistent city events. Myrtle (reading): “Winter Festival... Snow Parade... Neon Ball...” She frowned. Myrtle: “None of these dates exist.” Will: “Maybe it’s pre-programmed to loop fake holidays.” Austin: “More likely fabricated. Everything here feels... curated.” Seth (quietly): “A stage.” Everyone looked at him. Seth (raising his eyes): “We’re the performers. The city’s the audience.” He stepped back, looking up at the holographic star on top of the Town Hall. Its glow pulsed in rhythm with that low hum. Seth: “And something — someone — is watching from behind the light.” A chill rippled through them. Jessie (half-whispering): “You sound sure.” Seth: “I don’t think. I know.” A burst of static from somewhere nearby made them all flinch — the digital wreaths on the building flickered, then reset, glowing brighter than before. The star’s reflection shimmered across the fountain like an eye opening. Will (nervously): “Okay, anyone else just feel like we got... noticed?” Austin: “That hum just spiked.” He adjusted his glasses again. Austin: “This place reacts to our presence.” Mark: “Then good! Maybe whoever’s watching finally gets the point!” He shouted toward the camera embedded near the door frame. Mark: “You hear me?! You picked the wrong influencer to kidnap!” Arthur (crossing his arms): “Add ‘and male model’ to that list.” Jessie (smirking): “Ah, the true heroes emerge.” Will (under his breath): “This is a sitcom waiting to die.” Myrtle (turning back): “Okay, jokes aside... we really don’t know anything, do we?” Silence. Even Mark didn’t respond. Austin: “We know enough to stay cautious. Everything about this—” He gestured toward the glowing fountain, the sealed hall, the flickering sky— Austin: “—screams control.” Seth (closing his eyes): “Control... and judgment.” He looked at the star again, and for a brief second, the light pulsed red. Just once. Will: “...That didn’t just happen, right?” Myrtle (backing away): “No, I saw it too.” Mark (uneasy now): “Great. Red lights. Creepy fountains. What’s next?” Seth (softly): “Next comes the truth.” The faint hum grew again, echoing off the plaza walls. From far away — faintly, through the snow — came Robert Finn’s panicked shouting from the gift shop. Robert (distant): “IT’S ALIVE! THE CASH REGISTER IS ALIVE!” The group froze for a beat. Will (flatly): “...That can’t be good.” The camera panned upward as the town hall doors flickered faintly with static light — the lock symbol glowing bright red. ~PLAZA~ The camera panned slowly across the quiet street — rows of empty buildings, untouched snow blanketing the ground, and glowing gates in the distance pulsing a faint blue. Kayegama Yoshe kicked a stray ornament across the road. It rolled until it stopped against the invisible wall of light that sealed the west gate. He stared at it for a moment. Kayegama (frowning): “It’s solid. Like... a hologram you can’t walk through.” He reached out, touching the glowing surface. It buzzed faintly, and a ripple of blue spread across it. Kayegama: “Definitely solid.” Riko Hoyomisha, standing nearby, folded his arms. Riko: “So that’s it? We’re fenced in like caged animals.” Arthur Present: “No. Cages have doors. This doesn’t.” He struck the barrier with the hilt of his sword — the sound was sharp, metallic, and echoed unnaturally far. Jake Belle, leaning against a lamp post, sighed. Jake: “Great. We’re living in a Christmas snow globe.” Julian Merwin (smirking): “At least it’s aesthetic. The lighting’s perfect for skin tone.” Jake (rolling his eyes): “Oh yeah, fantastic — kidnapped, but make it fashion.” Heather Metal, adjusting her oversized scrunchie and phone-less wrist, looked around with unease. Heather: “Has anyone else noticed something weird?” Aruha Suguyama: “Define ‘weird,’ because we’re way past normal.” Heather: “No birds. No dogs. No... anything.” The group quieted. The realization spread like frost on glass. Heather (softly): “A city this big, this decorated — you’d expect sound. But there’s nothing. No footsteps, no cars, no animals. Just us.” Chase Hallow, his sketchbook half open, began scribbling furiously. Chase: “...That explains the silence. There’s no life to fill it.” Aruha (watching him): “You’re drawing?” Chase: “I don’t draw for fun. I document what feels off. The world’s too quiet. It’s like it’s waiting for us to make the first sound.” Arthur Present turned from the gate, brow furrowed. Arthur: “Who would build an entire city just to trap us in it?” Riko: “Someone with resources... or obsession.” Jake: “Obsession wins my vote.” Julian: “Oh, I don’t know — maybe it’s a fan. ‘Merry Christmas, now live in my simulation.’” Heather: “Don’t even joke about that.” She walked toward one of the small houses, looking through the frosted glass. Inside, perfectly arranged holiday decorations glowed under string lights — stockings, plates, untouched cookies. Heather: “Everything looks... staged.” Aruha: “Like a set.” Heather (turning back): “Yeah, a movie set that forgot to hire extras.” Kayegama kicked at the snow again, this time with a little frustration. Kayegama: “So, the plaza’s open, but everything else is blocked off. Someone wants us in one area.” Riko (grimly): “To monitor us. Herd us like sheep.” Arthur Present: “Or to keep us safe from something worse outside the walls.” Jake (snapping): “Oh yeah? Like what, snow zombies?” Julian (teasing): “Mistletoe monsters. Watch out, they kiss back.” Heather: “Can you two not flirt while we’re possibly in a horror movie?” Julian: “You say ‘flirt,’ I say ‘coping mechanism.’” Jake: “And a pretty effective one.” Riko (groaning): “Unbelievable.” Aruha, who’d been staring at the glowing gate, knelt down and brushed her fingers across the frozen ground. Aruha (quietly): “The air’s different near the barrier. It hums. It’s... listening.” Chase: “Listening?” Aruha: “Every sound we make here echoes just a little too long. It’s like it’s recording us.” Arthur Present: “Then let it listen.” He stepped forward, staring up at the barrier as if challenging it. Arthur: “If someone’s watching, they’ll learn this — we’re not afraid.” A faint flicker rippled through the wall — not bright, but enough to make everyone step back. Kayegama (uneasy): “Okay... either that was a coincidence, or the wall just blinked at us.” Chase (whispering): “It reacted. Like a heartbeat.” Heather: “I hate this. This whole city feels... fake. Like the air’s programmed.” Jake: “Programmed or not, I’m done standing here.” He threw a snowball at the barrier. It hit with a dull thunk — the snow vaporized into blue mist. Jake: “Well. That’s not creepy at all.” Julian (muttering): “At least it didn’t explode.” Aruha: “Maybe this is all one giant test.” Riko: “For what?” Aruha: “Us. How we react. What we’ll do when we realize we can’t leave.” Silence. The only sound was the hum of the neon. Heather (softly): “You think this is punishment?” Arthur Present (quietly): “Or judgment.” He looked toward the city skyline in the distance — faint, endless lights glowing through artificial snow. Chase: “If it’s judgment, then someone’s watching every move we make. Every word.” He glanced upward. Chase (grimly): “And maybe... waiting for us to give them something to punish.” The snow drifted between them like static on a broken screen. Somewhere in the distance, a single bell chimed — faint and hollow. No one knew where it came from. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A long buzz of static rolled through every corner of the city — the café, the gift shop, the plaza, even the closed-off streets. Then a voice, smooth and confident, purred through the air. Mayor Harold Yamaki: “Citizens of Neon City… good evening.” “Your holiday meet-and-greet has officially begun. The Town Hall is now open to the public. I’d like everyone to stop what they’re doing and come on in. I promise… you won’t want to miss this.” The announcement faded into faint sleigh-bell jingles. The speakers clicked off. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~MEANWHILE AT LATOYAS~ Mariah City froze mid-sip of coffee, cup halfway to her lips. Then her expression darkened. Mariah: “Oh hell no.” She slammed the cup down so hard it nearly shattered. Neely Pearl: “Uh oh, she’s entering her villain arc.” Johnathan Coffee: “Brace yourselves. Category Five influencer meltdown incoming.” Mariah (snapping): “He wants us to come to Town Hall? After locking us in like lab rats? Oh, he’s got me messed up!” She stormed toward the door, heels clacking like a drumline of rage. Paulie Mae (quietly): “...Is she really going out there alone?” Neely: “Sweetheart, she’s not alone. Her anger has its own zip code.” Mariah yanked the café door open. Mariah (yelling): “HEY NEON KITTY MAYOR — I HOPE YOU HEAR ME BECAUSE I’M COMING FOR YOUR ASS!” The rest of the group just blinked. Jackie Yamata: “She’s really doing this.” Paulie Louis: “At least she’s motivated.” Johnathan (sighing): “God help whoever’s holding that microphone.” Mariah stomped through the snow, muttering the entire way. Mariah (ranting): “‘You won’t want to miss this’ — boy, you’re right! I’ll be front row with a right hook!” “Talkin’ about ‘citizens’ like I signed up for this damn Hallmark horror special!” “I swear, when I find him, I’mma grab him by them fluffy ears and — ” The camera cut to the rest of the café group following cautiously, trying not to laugh. Neely: “She’s giving full Bad Girls Club Christmas Special energy.” Jackie (grinning): “Ten out of ten performance. No notes.” Paulie Mae: “Except maybe a therapist.” Johnathan: “Or a camera crew.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~MEANWHILE AT CLARENCE~ Robert Finn looked up from his candy-induced meltdown as the voice finished echoing. Robert: “Town Hall’s open? Oh great, another corporate nightmare.” Hue Trinity: “Maybe the mayor’s finally here to explain.” Robert: “Or to upsell us on Christmas trauma, Part Two!” Paris Ross: “C’mon, drama boy, let’s go before Mariah burns the building down.” Nicholas Sour: “I’m taking these caramels. Emotional support sugar.” They hurried after the café crew, laughter and arguing spilling into the street. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~MEANWHILE OUTSIDE OF TOWNHALL~ Across the city, the various groups converged. The doors that once refused to open now glowed a faint welcoming gold. The fountain lights flickered from blue to pink to red. Mark Traverse: “Oh, now it opens, huh? How convenient.” Arthur Smith: “Whoever’s inside better be ready for questions.” Will King: “And for Mariah.” Austin Sobriquet: “I’d fear her more than any captor.” From down the street came her voice before she even appeared — loud, fierce, unstoppable. Mariah (off-screen): “Move out the way, I got a bone to pick with Santa Claws!” She stormed into view, hair catching the neon light like a flame. Mariah (pointing at the doors): “You better come out, Mr. Meow-Meow-Mayor, ‘cause I’m about to knock this Christmas tree over myself!” The others barely held back laughter. Jake Belle: “I don’t know who’s scarier — her or whatever’s waiting in there.” Julian Merwin (smiling): “Honestly? My money’s on her.” The massive doors creaked open on their own. Warm golden light spilled onto the snow, stretching toward the gathered crowd like a spotlight. Harold’s voice, calm and silken, echoed once more from unseen speakers. “Welcome to Town Hall. Step inside, everyone… it’s time we finally met.” The camera panned over all twenty-six faces — hesitant, curious, defiant. The neon lights dimmed as they began to walk forward. Mariah, still muttering, took the lead. Mariah (under her breath): “He better have my phone … or a death wish.” The golden doors closed behind them with a resonant boom. ~ Episode 1 Ends~ Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Robert Finn/ Ultimate Technician Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Pualie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Continue: https://www.kovaze.com/blog/13294

This will be where you'll find episode links, Buildings, and Character status (I will have this pinned) Episode List: Prologue I: Operation Dawn (Status: Complete/posted) https://kovaze.com/blog/5911 Episode 1: This doesn't feel like the Holidays *Daily Life* (Status: Completed/Posted) https://kovaze.com/blog/10468 Episode 2: This doesn't feel like the Holidays *Motive* (Status: Completed/posted) Part 1: https://kovaze.com/blog/13294 Part 2: https://kovaze.com/blog/13295 Episode 3: This doesn't feel like the Holidays *Deadly Life/ Investigation* (Status: Completed/Posted) https://www.kovaze.com/blog/15938 Episode 4: This doesn't feel like the Holidays *Class Trial* (Status: Completed/Posted) Part 1: https://kovaze.com/blog/18488 Part 2: https://kovaze.com/blog/18493 Part 3: https://kovaze.com/blog/18500 Part 4: https://kovaze.com/blog/18502 Episode Locations: Episode 1-4 Location Reveal: Town Hall: Girls House: Guys House: Clarence Gift Shop: Latoya's Cafe and Diner: Death List: Secret Service guys 1,2,3,4,5,6,9,11// Prologue I// Executed: Death by Gas Sheila// Prologue 1// Executed: Death by exploding escape pod Robert Finn //Ultimate Technician// Episode 3// Murdered: By Heather//Death: Chocked by Scrunchie Heather Metal// Ultimate VSCO Girl// Episode 4// Executed: Killed Robert// Death: Crushed by whale Character's Photo Status: Ep 1-4: Ep 5-8: Civilians: Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer Paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Paulie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress

(Also disclaimer it does get violent and has strong language) ~Saturday November 31st, 2025 6:15 pm ~ The rain outside the glass-paneled headquarters distorted the Neon City skyline, painting streaks of pink and blue light across the conference room walls. The city glowed like a heart that never stopped beating — unaware that its pulse was about to be cut open. Eleven members of the Neon City Secret Service surrounded a holographic display table. Each flickering light represented a possible threat. Every red point pulsed like a countdown. Guy 1: “All intel streams converge on the same coordinates. It’s the central sector. The tourist district.” Guy 2: “That can’t be right. We’ve been guarding the upper sectors for months. There’s no chatter, no movement—” Mitsuru Yamato, silent until now, leaned forward, his reflection fractured in the blue holographic glow. Mitsuru: “That’s why it makes sense. Nobody expects an attack where security is tightest. Neon Plaza is a symbol. They’ll strike there to send a message.” A murmur of unease spread across the room. The rain outside intensified. Tojo Yumaki: “If we respond too early, we risk mass panic. The mayor’s office won’t greenlight an evacuation without absolute proof.” Guy 4: “Proof? What more do you need, Tojo? We’ve got chatter, movement patterns, spikes in encrypted frequencies—” Sheila cut in sharply, voice cold but trembling underneath. Sheila: “Speculation won’t save lives. If Mitsuru’s right, we’re staring at another Black Night incident. We can’t afford indecision again.” A heavy silence fell. The holographic map zoomed in, showing Neon City Plaza, the most vibrant and crowded part of the city — now painted with a red, blinking ring. Guy 5: “If this is real… the entire plaza could turn into a graveyard.” Guy 6: “Then what’s the play? Evacuate a million civilians? Deploy agents in daylight? We’d start the panic ourselves.” Mitsuru folded his arms, eyes narrowing. Mitsuru: “We either act now… or regret it later.” The debate spiraled. Voices overlapped, orders and theories crashing like waves. Tojo slammed his fist on the table. Tojo: “Enough! We’re supposed to protect this city, not tear each other apart!” The holographic lights flickered — static ran through the system. For a moment, the red dots multiplied, as if the city itself was bleeding through the screen. ~ 7:15pm ~ The rain outside hadn’t stopped — it only fell harder. Each drop against the glass synced with the flicker of the holographic map as the eleven agents continued to argue, their voices clashing over the hum of the servers. Guy 3: “We’re running out of time, Mitsuru! You can’t act on assumptions!” Mitsuru: “Then tell me what we can act on, huh? The city’s bleeding warnings and we’re pretending not to see it.” The room was heavy with tension. The monitors along the wall suddenly pulsed red. Lines of encrypted code streamed across one screen before auto-decoding into location data. The main display zoomed closer — the Neon City Plaza glowed brighter than before, and new signals appeared in the surrounding districts. Guy 1: “Wait— that’s new. What the hell is that?” Guy 6: “Cross-check it with Sector 9’s intel feed!” A robotic voice from the main monitor cut in cold and mechanical: “⚠️ Urgent Priority Signal Detected. Predicted Attack Window: Under Six Hours.” The room froze. Tojo Yumaki took a step back, disbelief written across his face. Tojo: “…Six hours? That’s not possible. We just received a seventy-two-hour projection this morning!” Sheila stood still, her sharp eyes glued to the map. The cold blue light reflected off her earpiece as she spoke. Sheila: “The timetable’s changed. Whoever’s planning this is accelerating. That means they know we’re watching.” Mitsuru exhaled slowly, his composure slipping for the first time. Mitsuru: “Then it’s a race. And we’re already behind.” Sheila turned toward the others, voice firm and controlled — the kind of authority that cut through panic. Sheila: “Listen up. We don’t have the manpower for a direct assault. If we try to intercept, we risk turning the city into a war zone. The only plan that makes sense now—” She tapped the screen. The city map expanded into color-coded zones. Sheila: “—is a peaceful evacuation. We clear out the civilians first, district by district, under the guise of a maintenance lockdown. Once the city’s empty, we engage the threat.” Guy 5: “Evacuate the city? That’s millions of people! That’s—” Sheila: “Possible if we control the flow of information. We do this quietly. No alarms, no broadcasts. A calm lie saves lives.” Tojo lowered his gaze. Tojo: “…You’re suggesting we manipulate the public.” Sheila: “I’m suggesting we protect them.” For a moment, the rain stopped — or maybe no one heard it anymore. Each agent stared at the glowing city model before them, red lights spreading like infection veins across the grid. Guy 11: “...Then it’s settled.” He looked to Sheila, the faintest trace of grim respect in his tone. Guy 11: “You lead the operation.” Sheila nodded once. Sheila: “Codenamed Silent Dawn. Begin immediate preparations. Every second counts.” The team dispersed, their footsteps echoing in the metallic hallways as monitors tracked their movement. But as the lights dimmed, a faint static glimmered across one of the screens — a ghost signal flickering for less than a second. ~7:45 pm~ The storm had not let up. Outside the headquarters, lightning rippled through the skyline, washing the glass towers of Neon City in fractured light. Inside, the Secret Service members gathered around the main table again, their faces pale in the dim blue glow of the monitors. The air felt heavier now — like even the oxygen was waiting for permission to move. Tojo Yumaki stood at the communications console, hands hovering over the secure line. Tojo: “…This is Tojo Yumaki of the Secret Service. Requesting an immediate connection to Mayor Jerald White.” Static filled the room, then a faint click. The mayor’s voice came through, filtered and distant, like he was speaking from another world. Mayor White: “This is White. What’s the situation?” Tojo: “Sir, new intel confirms an imminent large-scale attack targeting the Neon Plaza district. We’re projecting the civilian casualty rate to be catastrophic unless we move now.” Mayor White: “How long do we have?” Tojo: “…Less than six hours.” A long pause. The sound of rain against the glass filled the silence. Mayor White: “Then begin a phased evacuation. Quietly. No media. No public alert.” Sheila: “Already in motion, sir. We’ll monitor the evacuation from headquarters. Once the last sector is cleared, we’ll contain the threat directly.” Mayor White: “Good. Make sure it stays quiet. If panic spreads, we lose control.” Sheila: “Understood.” The line went dead. Tojo lowered the receiver, his reflection flickering across the monitor. Nobody spoke for several seconds. They didn’t need to — they all understood what that silence meant. The main wall of the room came alive as the surveillance feeds switched to live broadcast mode — dozens of panels showing every sector of the city. The holographic map dimmed, replaced by raw video feeds: streets drenched in neon rain, crowds moving slowly under the false announcement of a “maintenance lockdown.” Guy 4: “They’re actually doing it…” He whispered, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and guilt. On the screens, families shuffled through the avenues — parents holding umbrellas over children, travelers pulling luggage, workers abandoning the night shift in confusion. The city that never slept was finally quiet. Guy 2: “They don’t even know what’s really happening…” Sheila: “That’s the point.” Sheila’s voice was firm, but her eyes lingered on one of the smaller screens — a close-up of a mother holding her child, the child staring curiously up at the glowing skyscrapers as if it were all part of the show. Mitsuru Yamato stood near the back of the room, hands in his pockets, watching the monitors without a word. His expression was unreadable — too calm for someone who just ordered the evacuation of a city. Guy 1: “Do you think this will work?” Mitsuru: “It has to.” The storm roared outside. Lightning illuminated the conference room again — for just an instant, their reflections overlapped across the glass wall, eleven silhouettes watching the city fall silent. Guy 11: “All districts are reporting compliance. Civilians are exiting in an orderly fashion.” Guy 6: “Good. Once the lower districts are empty, we can start scanning for anomalous energy signatures.” Sheila’s gaze didn’t leave the screen. Sheila: “Keep your eyes on the Plaza feed. That’s where it’ll start.” The city lights flickered. A momentary static interference ran through every monitor — a pulse of white light like a camera flash. Guy 5: “What the—? Was that from the broadcast?” Guy 3: “Could be the weather. The storm’s messing with the signal.” But Sheila didn’t move. She stared harder, leaning forward as the image of the Neon Plaza feed slowly stabilized. And on the far right corner of the frame — for less than a second — something moved. A shadow that didn’t belong. Sheila (quietly): “…Rewind that feed.” The room obeyed. The screens flickered back three seconds. The feed replayed — civilians walking, neon rain falling — nothing unusual. Guy 4: “You’re seeing things.” Sheila: “Maybe.” Sheila stepped back, exhaling through her nose. Her hand brushed against the edge of the console, tightening unconsciously. Tojo: “Keep recording everything. If there’s even a trace of a false signal, I want it flagged.” Mitsuru: “We’re out of time for second guesses. Once the evacuation finishes, we go in.” No one replied. They just watched — eleven shadows standing before the glow of a dying city — as the rain outside slowly buried Neon City’s heartbeat under thunder and static. ~ 8:30 pm~ For a while, the storm sounded almost gentle. Rain whispered across the glass, thunder rolled far away, and on the wall of monitors the evacuation moved like a slow-motion dream. Neon umbrellas. Street vendors packing up their carts. The flicker of traffic lights. Everything about it felt… almost peaceful. Guy 6: “It’s working. No panic, no crowding.” Tojo: “Keep it that way until the lower sectors clear.” Sheila’s fingers danced across the keyboard, eyes darting from one screen to the next. Sector 5—green. Sector 6—green. The plaza—still crowded, but thinning out. Then one of the smaller feeds blinked. A brief flash of light. At first they thought it was lightning. Mitsuru: “Rewind that.” Before anyone could react, a blinding white bloom filled the center monitor. A shockwave of fire tore across the image— The camera buckled— The feed fractured into lines of static and color. An enormous explosion ripped through the residential district on the edge of the map. Guy 2: “That was… sector one… that’s—” Sheila: “The mayor’s residence.” The next image came from a street-level surveillance drone. Flames bloomed upward, swallowing the skyline. Debris rained down like comets. A twisted shape crashed through the smoke, landing hard on the hood of a car below— a man in a torn white suit, his badge glinting once before sliding away into the gutter. Tojo (hoarse): “No… Mayor White—” The body didn’t move. The quiet city dissolved in seconds. People screamed. Cars swerved. Alarms blared across every feed. Crowds that had been calm a moment ago erupted into chaos, scattering beneath the neon rain. Then, from another camera angle, new figures appeared— shadows in armored vests, rifles raised. The first muzzle flash flared bright enough to turn the entire plaza white. Guy 3: “What the hell—? Who’s firing?!” Guy 11: “Those are security units! They’re— they’re shooting civilians!” The monitors filled with horror: bodies collapsing under strobing streetlights, blood washing into puddles, screams cutting through the static. Feed after feed blinked red as signal loss warnings filled the air. Sheila: “Shut it down! Kill the feeds!” Mitsuru: “No—keep it on!” For a moment they could still hear it— the chaos, the shouts, the desperate cries echoing through the speakers. Then everything died to snow. A hiss of white noise swallowed the room. Eleven agents stood frozen before the flickering wall of static, their reflections ghosting in the glass— the last witnesses to Neon City’s peace. Tojo’s voice cracked the silence. Tojo: “…We just lost the mayor.” Sheila: “And the city.” The rain outside fell harder, drowning out the soft hum of failing machines. ~ 8:59 pm ~ The sound of rain was the only thing that proved time hadn’t stopped. No one spoke. No one moved. The smell of burnt circuitry filled the air — monitors flickering with lifeless static, the ghostly afterglow of the city’s last screams still echoing through the speakers. Tojo Yumaki finally broke the silence, his voice trembling through the haze. Tojo: “…Check the connections. I want every live feed re-established— now!” Guy 4: “Systems are fried— whatever hit the network came from inside.” Mitsuru: “Try rerouting through the west relay. I don’t care how, just get visuals back.” Sheila’s hands moved across the console, her expression rigid but her breathing uneven. Lines of code scrolled across the secondary display, each attempt ending in failure. Sheila: “Every route’s dead… it’s like someone locked us out.” Guy 2: “Locked us out of our own system?” Sheila: “No. Like they’re already in it.” A low hum began to build — faint at first, then rising into a distorted mechanical whine. The static on the central monitor warped, reshaping into distorted lines. A flicker of white light pulsed across the room. Guy 6: “…What the hell is that?” Guy 1: “We didn’t restart the feed—” The lights overhead dimmed. Every monitor on the wall rebooted on its own. Their controls froze; the keyboard shorted out with a hiss of smoke. A faint, digital voice echoed through the speakers. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even consistent. It shifted pitch, gender, and tone with every word, as though reality itself couldn’t decide what it was. ???: “Good evening, Agents.” Every gun in the room was drawn instantly. No one fired. Tojo: “Identify yourself!” Mitsuru: “Trace it, now!” Sheila tried, but the trace data spun in circles. The feed refused to stabilize. The voice came from nowhere— and everywhere. ???: “You’ve done well. Truly. The evacuation was smooth. The casualties minimal— at least, for now.” Sheila: “…What are you talking about?” ???: “You’ve fulfilled your duty. And now… it’s time for the next stage.” The screens around the room flickered one by one, showing distorted images of the city — fire, sirens, crowds running in all directions. Then the view cut to black. Guy 3: “You son of a— who are you?!” ???: “Names are irrelevant in a world that’s ending. What matters is purpose. We are the architects of a new beginning.” Mitsuru stepped closer to the main screen, the light reflecting off his wet hair. Mitsuru: “A new beginning? You call this slaughter a beginning?” ???: “Every world needs a reset. You should be proud — you served well. But every service must come to an end.” A faint click echoed through the speakers — like a coin spinning across a table. The screens went dark again. Then a single phrase materialized across every monitor in bold white text: GAME OVER The agents froze, watching helplessly as more words appeared, typed out one by one in flickering red: The lights in the room cut out completely. The hum of the servers died. Only the rain remained — tapping softly against the glass like an audience applauding the end of the world. EXECUTION: ❈ 🎀 𝑔𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇, 𝐸𝓍𝒸𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓇 🎀 ❈ 11 members look at each other with confusion and fear. Most of the members faces turn pale as a ghost. With no hesitation blue gas comes pouring out of the vents and into the room. Most of the members covers their mouth and try to break down the door that leads to the hallway. Meanwhile guy 1,3,4,5, and 9 cough violently. The blue gas is more of a poision gas. Mitsuru, ToJo, Sheila, guy 6,2, and 11 manage to break down the doors and exit out to the hallway. But for the others...the poision already took them away, some of them threw up violently. There's no time to relax because the hallway vent blows out another gas, but this one is yellow. Tojo, Mitsuru, Sheila covers their mouth and make a run for it to the emergncy escape pods as for the others. The yellow gas isn't like the posion like the blue one. Instead Guy 2 and 11 began fighing violently at each other. Guy 11 breaks a chair leg and swings it around, guy 6 tries to break up the fight, but gets stabbed in the troat with a metal pipe from guy 2. Guy 2 and 6 continue with their brutal brawl. Guy 2 dies from blood lost from gettig hit with hard wood. Guy 6 dies from getting stabbed with a metal pipe to the stomach and blood loss. Mitsuru, Sheila, and Tojo manage to get to the escape pods, but somehow all of the escape pods look like it got tampered and exploded.....all except for one. ToJo: Why is there one! Their should be more!! While Mitsuru and Tojo are distracted, Sheila hits both of them in the head with a chair as orange gas pours out from the vents. Sheila gets into the escape pod and looks back at the two knocked out men. Sheila: I do believe the term is lady's first. Have fun dears. She closes the pod and escapes, what the men don't know is that Sheila was the one who sabotaged everything and gave the third party information about their plans on the evacuation and handlement on the next attack. Sheila sits comfortably in the pod as it moves. A note falls down on Sheila, she reads the note and her face goes pale. The pod explodes and roars with fire.....Sheila is no more. The note reads out " Dear Sheila, thank you for being the most useful member and want to partake in our new world....but what you don't know is that we were testing you. If you're not in the pod....then congratulations, you passed. The orange gas is only a knock out gas. But if you are in the pod.........then you're really a greedy bitch who only sees their own goal." ~ Prologue Ends~ Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer @evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Robert Finn/ Ultimate Technician Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Pualie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress