An old, antiquated tungsten filament bulb hung from the center of the room by a black electrical cord, its dim light flickering intermittently.
The silence in the room spread and darkened like ink dropped into clear water.
In the very center stood a large round table, its surface mottled and worn. At its heart stood a small mantel clock, its ornate carvings intricate, ticking steadily.
Around the table sat ten people in varied, threadbare clothing; their faces were smeared with dust. Some lay slumped over the table, others leaned back in their chairs, all sound asleep.
Standing quietly among them was a man in a black suit wearing a goat's head mask. His sharp gaze shone through the mask's empty eye sockets, watching the sleepers with keen interest.
At that moment, the clock's hands both pointed to twelve, and a distant, muffled bell tolled outside the room.
Simultaneously, the ten men and women around the table began to stir awake. Groggily, they glanced around in confusion, then looked at one another, realizing none could recall how they had come to be there.
"Good morning, nine of you," the Goat-Head spoke first. "I'm pleased to meet you here. You have slept before me for twelve hours."
The sight of the man in the goat's mask sent a chill through them. The mask looked as though it had been made from an actual goat's head—its fur yellowed, matted, and knotted. Two hollowed-out eye sockets revealed the man's sly, glittering eyes. Every movement he made carried with it not only the pungent odor of goat but also a faint whiff of decay.
A heavily tattooed man blinked in disbelief before finally daring to speak, his voice hesitant: "Who… are you?"
"I imagine you've been wondering," Goat-Head replied cheerfully, waving his hands as if he had rehearsed this introduction. "Allow me to introduce myself to the nine of you."
From the farthest seat sat a young man named Qixia. He quickly surveyed the room, his expression growing serious moments later.
Strange… this room was utterly strange.
There was no door—only walls on all four sides. In other words, the walls, ceiling, and floor formed a sealed chamber. Yet here in the center sat a solitary table. How had they arrived? Were they brought in first, and the walls built around them?
Qixia noticed that the floor, walls, and ceiling were all crisscrossed with lines, dividing each surface into large grid-like squares. He also caught the Goat-Head's reference to "nine of you." Counting themselves, ten sat at the table—plus the Goat-Head, that made eleven.
What did he mean by "nine"?
He patted his pockets—his phone had, unsurprisingly, been confiscated.
"Save your introductions," a cool, detached woman spoke up, addressing Goat-Head. "I advise you to cease what you're doing. I suspect you've held us for more than twenty-four hours, which constitutes unlawful detention. Every word you speak now will be recorded and used against you."
As she spoke, she disdainfully brushed dust from her arm, as though that were the greater injustice compared to being abducted.
Her words sobered the others somewhat. Whoever this masked man was, he'd kidnapped ten people on his own and clearly crossed a legal line.
"Wait…" a middle-aged man in a lab coat interjected, his tone steady but incisive as he looked at the cool woman. "We only just woke. How do you know we've been detained for 'twenty-four hours'?"
The woman remained unflustered. She pointed at the clock: "It shows twelve o'clock, yet I have a habit of staying up late. The last time I checked at home, it was already twelve. That means we've been here at least twelve hours." She then gestured at the walls: "There's no door. Whoever brought us in must have sealed this room afterward. He said we slept twelve hours; now the clock has pointed to twelve again—at least two full cycles. I suspect it's been over twenty-four hours. Any problem with my logic?"
The man in the lab coat gave her a cold look—he still doubted her calm logic. Who could remain so composed under these circumstances?
A young man in a black T‑shirt leaned forward: "Goat-Head, why do you say there are nine of us when there are ten?"
Goat-Head fell silent.
"Damn it, I don't care how many of us there are…" the tattooed man spat, slamming the table as he tried to stand but found his legs too weak to support him. He settled back down, venomously warning, "You'd better wise up, because you have no idea the trouble you're in. I will kill you."
The others stiffened. They needed a leader. If they could overpower this Goat-Head, they might still control the situation. Yet they found their limbs utterly unresponsive—like paralytic poison had been injected into their veins.
So the tattooed man resorted to threats and shouting.
Qixia remained silent, stroking his chin as he stared at the mantel clock, deep in thought. The situation was far more complex than it appeared. Goat-Head had said there were "nine participants." If there were indeed ten people here, one must not be a participant. Who, then, was he?
Among the six men and four women, was one of them the kidnapper?
Goat-Head spoke no more. He drifted over to Qixia and stood behind him.
The group followed his gaze. The young man behind Qixia looked different from the rest—though his face was dirty, a blissful smile spread across it.
Goat-Head lifted his hand and pressed it against the back of the young man's skull.
The man's smile turned even more unnatural, his eyes glinting with excitement as if he already knew what was coming.
With a muffled crack, Goat-Head slammed the young man's head onto the tabletop. Pinkish-white fragments scattered like spilled paint, splattering blood across everyone's faces.
The young man's skull had been crushed on the table.
Outside the room, another faint toll sounded from a distant bell.
Qixia, seated near the corpse, felt something warm and sticky smear across his cheek. Despite his own strong nerves, he began to tremble.
The woman to the victim's right jerked in horror for three seconds before her face twisted in terror and she let out a blood-curdling scream.
Her scream shattered their remaining composure. To crush human bone with a single blow—was this Goat-Head even human? How could such a frail body unleash such violence?
Goat-Head spoke slowly: "I prepared ten people because I needed one of you to quiet the rest."