A worn tungsten filament lamp, suspended from the ceiling by a black cord, flickered with a dim and feeble glow.
The silence in the room spread like ink bleeding into clear water, deepening its eerie stillness.
At the very center of the space stood a large, timeworn round table, its surface marred with age. At its core rested a small ornate clock, intricate in design, its rhythmic ticking the only sound punctuating the hush.
Encircling the table sat ten individuals, their attire mismatched and tattered, their faces streaked with dust.
Some lay slumped over the tabletop, others reclined against their chairs—all were lost in a profound slumber.
Beside them stood a man clad in a black suit, his face concealed behind the grotesque visage of a goat's head mask.
From the hollow sockets of the mask, his gaze, keen and full of intrigue, scrutinized the ten unconscious figures before him.
The clock on the table chimed, its minute and hour hands converging at the stroke of twelve.
From somewhere far beyond the confines of the room, a deep and distant toll of a bell echoed.
At that moment, the ten figures surrounding the table began to stir.
As wakefulness took hold, their expressions flickered first with confusion as they scanned their surroundings, then with suspicion as their eyes met one another's.
It was evident—no one recalled how they had come to be in this place.
"Good morning, my dear nine," the goat-headed figure finally spoke, his voice laced with amusement. "How delightful it is to see you all here. You have been sleeping before me for twelve hours now."
The bizarre appearance of the man, cast in the dim glow of the lamp, sent a shudder through the group.
His mask, seemingly fashioned from a real goat's head, bore matted tufts of yellowed and blackened fur, tangled and clumped together.
Where its eyes should have been, only two hollow voids remained, through which his own sharp and cunning gaze gleamed.
A rank, musky stench clung to him—a putrid mixture of animal musk and the unmistakable undertone of decay.
A tattooed man, his arms inked in elaborate patterns, stared in stunned silence for a few moments before his mind grasped the absurdity of the situation. Hesitantly, he broke the silence.
"You… who are you?"
"I imagine that question plagues you all," the goat-headed man replied with a flourish of his hands, his demeanor suggesting he had been eagerly awaiting this moment.
At the farthest end of the table sat a young man named Qi Xia. His sharp eyes darted across the room, swiftly assessing his surroundings. A frown settled on his face.
Something was terribly wrong.
There were no doors—only four seamless walls.
The ceiling and floor, too, were perfectly enclosed.
And yet, in the very center of this sealed space stood a table.
How had they been brought here?
Had the walls been built around them after they arrived?
Qi Xia's gaze traced the room once more. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all marked with intersecting lines, dividing them into large geometric grids.
But what unsettled him even more was the goat-headed figure's choice of words—"nine."
There were ten people seated at this table.
With the goat-headed man included, that made eleven in the room.
So why had he addressed only nine?
Qi Xia instinctively reached for his pocket. As expected, his phone was gone.
"No need for introductions," a woman's cool, measured voice cut through the air.
She regarded the goat-headed figure with unwavering disdain. "I suggest you put an end to this charade while you still can. I suspect you have held us captive for over twenty-four hours—that qualifies as unlawful imprisonment. Every word you utter now will serve as evidence against you."
Even as she spoke, she brushed at the dust clinging to her sleeve with an air of distaste, as if the filth itself was a greater offense than their captivity.
Her words had an immediate sobering effect.
Regardless of their captor's identity, the sheer audacity of abducting ten people at once was an undeniable crime.
"Wait a moment…"
A middle-aged man in a white lab coat interrupted, his gaze settling on the woman with quiet scrutiny.
"We've only just woken up," he said, his tone even but pointed. "How do you know we've been held for exactly twenty-four hours?"
The woman remained unruffled.
She gestured toward the clock on the table. "The hands point to twelve. I have a habit of staying up late. The last time I checked my clock at home, it was already midnight. That means at the very least, we've been unconscious for twelve hours."
She then motioned toward the surrounding walls. "And surely you've noticed—there are no doors. Which means he went to considerable lengths to place us here. If he claims we've been asleep for twelve hours, and the clock has circled twice, then I suspect we've been here for more than twenty-four hours. Any objections?"
The man in the lab coat regarded her coldly, suspicion still clouding his eyes.
She was far too composed.
Would an ordinary person truly remain so calm in the face of abduction?
Just then, a young man in a black T-shirt spoke up. "Goat-head, there are ten of us. Why do you say nine?"
The goat-headed man did not answer.
"Enough of this," the tattooed man snarled. He braced himself against the table, attempting to rise—only to find his legs utterly unresponsive, as though the strength had been drained from them.
Realization dawned.
Something had been done to them.
Curses and threats erupted from the group as they struggled against their own inert bodies, their voices rising in frantic defiance.
Qi Xia, however, remained silent.
One hand rested lightly against his chin as his sharp eyes fixated on the clock.
Something was amiss.
The goat-headed man had spoken of "nine participants."
If there were ten seated at the table, that could only mean one thing—one among them did not belong.
Who was it?
Five men. Five women.
Could one of them be the abductor?
Without another word, the goat-headed figure moved.
He stepped toward a young man seated at the table and stopped behind him.
The room followed his gaze.
Only then did they notice—the young man in question was smiling.
Despite the grime on his face, there was an unmistakable air of contentment about him.
Slowly, deliberately, the goat-headed figure raised a hand and placed it upon the young man's head.
The smile widened.
His eyes gleamed with an unsettling knowledge, as if he had long awaited this moment.
And then—
A sickening crack.
The force of the impact sent the young man's head crashing down against the table.
A splatter of pale matter erupted, painting the wooden surface in a grotesque fan of red.
Droplets of blood spattered the faces of those nearest to him.
His skull—shattered upon impact.
From beyond the sealed walls, the distant chime of a bell tolled once more.
Qi Xia, seated closest to the victim, felt something warm and viscous cling to his skin.
For all his strength of mind, a shiver crept through him.
A girl sitting beside the fallen man froze for a heartbeat—then, her face twisted in horror.
A scream tore through the suffocating silence.
A scream that shattered whatever composure remained.
To reduce a human skull to pulp with bare hands—
Was this goat-headed man even human?
How could such a gaunt frame conceal such monstrous strength?
The goat-headed figure exhaled slowly.
His voice, when it came, was calm.
"I prepared ten of you," he said.
"Because I needed one… to quiet the rest."