Smith's voice, amplified by hundreds of loudspeakers scattered across the island, cut through the air like a rusted metal blade. His "variety show host" persona was now more sinister than ever, laden with the anticipation of someone about to watch a choreographed massacre.
"Attention everyone!" The voice echoed off the hotel walls, the forest trees, and even the mountain crevices. "Today we begin the penultimate game. I've affectionately dubbed it: 'The Scarecrow.'"
The following silence was filled only by the static hum of the microphones.
"The game is as follows: two groups attack, two groups defend. You may choose your roles now. Remember: this game will not take place in your usual bases, but within the Hotel complex itself. You will have half an hour to prepare once positions are taken. This goes for defenders and attackers alike. Choose!"
"Defense!" Alex shouted immediately, his firm voice ringing into Smith's pickup sensors. He knew that with six members and Harry's brilliant mind for traps, holding a position was their greatest advantage.
"Defense," John's voice followed shortly after, clipped and military. He was no fool. In unknown territory like the hotel's inner wings, hunting was far more dangerous than fortifying.
"Well, well..." Smith let out a small chuckle. "It seems two groups are left for the attack. Marcos's Group and Vane's Group, sharpen your teeth. The rules are simple: in each base prepared for the defenders, there will be a scarecrow. The attacking groups will have exactly one hour to steal it. Whether you kill or not doesn't matter, as long as you leave with the doll. Defenders, if the scarecrow is taken, you die. If time runs out and it's still there, the attackers die. Good luck to all!"
North Wing: The Workshop of Death (Alex's Group)
Alex's group was led to the North Wing, a sector that looked like an old convention center, with wide corridors and meeting rooms filled with heavy furniture and moldy carpets. In the center of the main hall stood the doll: a grotesque figure of straw and rags, hanging from a wooden stand, with a stitched-on smile that seemed to mock the situation.
"Harry, Elisa, set up the traps as fast as possible! I'm counting on you," Alex ordered, his eyes sweeping the possible entry points: two front double doors, a side fire exit, and ceiling ventilation ducts.
Harry already had his backpack open, spreading sensors, nylon wires, and small chemical containers Smith had provided the day before.
"I'm going to electrify the handles of the secondary doors and create a field of sonic mines in the hallway," Harry explained, sweat already beading on his forehead. "Elisa, I need you to place tripwires in the blind spots. If someone passes through, I want to know before they even draw a breath."
Elisa nodded, moving with the silent efficiency Dante so admired. Meanwhile, Dante watched Alex. The group leader wasn't checking his ammunition. On the contrary, he kept his pistol holstered and drew a pair of combat knives made of darkened steel. The weight of the blades seemed natural in his hands.
"Foxy," Alex said, his voice now in a register Dante had never heard—something deeper and more lethal—"you said you wanted to see my style... this time I won't just observe. You're going to get your chance to see how I truly fight."
Foxy gave a corner-smile, flipping his own pocketknife.
"Finally. I thought you were just the guy who gives orders, Alex. Let's see if this style of yours is as good as the soldier's."
Dante felt a shiver. Alex's aura was shifting. He no longer looked like just a survivor; he looked like a predator waiting in the dark.
South Wing: The Silent Bunker (John's Group)
In the South Wing, the atmosphere was one of professional coldness. John wasted no time on unnecessary words. Their sector was a labyrinth of guest rooms and narrow hallways, favoring close-quarters combat and ambushes.
"Nicole, Carina, cover the rear. Use the furniture to create funnels. I want them to enter only where we allow them," John commanded.
Theo was treating the last wound on John's arm while the leader cleaned his weapon. "Do you think they'll come at us with everything?" Theo asked.
"They have one hour to keep themselves from dying," John replied, testing his sights. "They'll come like starving animals. But panic leads to mistakes. We're going to turn this floor into a cemetery of silence."
John positioned the scarecrow at the end of a hallway that looked like a dead end but actually had strategically placed holes in the drywall of the adjacent rooms. They wouldn't defend the doll from the front, but through the walls—like ghosts shooting at what cannot be seen.
The Central Courtyard: The Altar of War (Marcos's Group)
Outside, under the pale afternoon sun, Marcos's group prepared for the assault. They had chosen to attack the South Wing, John's territory. Marcos knew John was wounded from the previous game and believed their military efficiency would be more predictable than the unpredictability of Alex's group.
"Alen, how are we on 'chemistry'?" Marcos asked, looking at the red-haired man who had traded his chemistry book for a bag full of glass vials.
"I've created three corrosive compounds and two of dense smoke," Alen explained, wiping his glasses. "If John hides behind locked doors, I'll melt the hinges. If he hides in the dark, I'll flood the place with toxic smoke."
Victor, the man of ice, carried a crowbar and a shotgun. "Don't waste time with complex tactics," Victor said. "We go in, clear the path, and get out. The soldier is weak. If he gets in the way, I'll rip his head off myself."
Marcos smiled, a glint of madness in his eyes. "Let's show Smith that one does not live by defense alone on this island. We'll take that straw doll and burn the rest."
West Depot: The Cunning of the Fox (Vane's Group)
Vane and her group were in the opposite wing, preparing to invade the North Wing—Alex's territory. Vane was too smart to underestimate the "kids." She knew their numerical advantage was a problem, but she also knew that an excess of people created chaos if the pressure was right.
"Dan, Max... listen well," Vane said, sharpening a short blade. "Alex's group is still 'human.' They care about each other. If we catch one, we catch them all. We won't focus on the scarecrow first. We'll focus on isolating the members."
Max, the group's brute, carried a heavy sledgehammer. "I'm going to break through the walls. They'll expect us to come through the doors, but I'm going to open new paths."
"Exactly," Vane agreed. "Dan, you handle Harry's wires. I know that redhead will fill the place with traps. Use the detectors we stole from the depot. We won't step on anything we haven't verified."
Vane looked at her watch. "They think they're safe because they have a genius and a serious leader. Let's show them that in the Scarecrow game, it's the crows who rule."
The Nightmare Begins
The half-hour of preparation flew by. Inside the North Wing, the silence was absolute. Harry and Elisa were hidden in a mezzanine, watching improvised monitors. Dante was in a corner, his heart pounding but his mind focused, Foxy's teachings echoing in his head.
In the center of the room, Alex stood like a statue. His two combat knives were drawn, but he kept them relaxed at his sides. He closed his eyes for a second, feeling the airflow of the room.
"They're here," Alex whispered.
Almost at that exact moment, a violent crash shook the North Wing. Max, from Vane's group, had just smashed through the side wall with his sledgehammer, ignoring the main doors Harry had protected. Gypsum and concrete dust billowed up, filling the air.
"Now!" Vane's voice shouted from somewhere amidst the rubble.
Simultaneously, in the South Wing, Marcos and his group fired Alen's first smoke grenades into John's corridors. The acrid, green gas began to spread, blocking both thermal and standard vision.
"Contact!" Nicole's voice crackled over John's radio, followed by a burst of gunfire.
Smith, in his control room, watched it all with a grin from ear to ear. He opened a global microphone just to say one last phrase before total chaos:
"May the scarecrows protect your souls... if you still have them!"
In the North Wing, Dante saw the first figure cross the dust cloud. He prepared to attack, but Alex was faster. With a speed Dante could barely track, the leader lunged at the intruder. There was no sound of gunfire, only the glint of darkened steel slicing the air and the dull thud of a body hitting the floor before the man even realized what had hit him.
Foxy whistled low, impressed. "Yeah... looks like his style is pretty lethal indeed."
The Scarecrow game was no longer a matter of defense or attack. It was a matter of who would become the monster first.