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: ????
Host/Mayor:
Harold Yamaki (In Middle)
Civilians: (in order from photo)
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
Death:
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
camell22