Pennywise, his face a grotesque mask of smeared greasepaint, cackled incessantly. His body twisted and swayed with a boneless, rubbery fluidity that made Steve's skin crawl.
Steve remained indifferent, ignoring the performance. Instead, he reached out through his consciousness to the Thousand-Man Think Tank stationed back at the Command Center. Analysis?
Almost instantly, a prioritized report flickered across his mental interface.
[PRELIMINARY ANOMALY ANALYSIS]
Gate Obstruction: The Teleportation Gate was likely blocked because this instance has a mandatory "player limit." Rule-based anomalies often exist within isolated domains; by opening the gate directly into the entity's theater, the system hit a hard cap on participants.
Emotional Feeding: The target repeatedly emphasizes "feelings" and "excitement." It is highly probable this creature draws power from high-intensity negative emotions, specifically fear and despair.
Kinship Manipulation: The mention of "family" being "perfect materials" suggests the entity seeks to trigger betrayal. It likely orchestrates scenarios where loved ones are forced to kill each other to generate maximum emotional resonance.
[Recommendation]: Maintain absolute stoicism. Do not engage in emotional outbursts. Deprive the entity of its power source.
Steve gave a microscopic nod. "Emotions, then?" A cold sneer curled his lip. "Since you want a show, let's see if you can survive the opening act."
Swish!
Steve raised his right hand. A fierce, unnatural chill erupted as the Frost Domain flared to life. Within a second, the dark-red soil was encased in a thick layer of ice, and the ambient temperature plummeted to a lethal negative one hundred degrees Celsius.
With a flick of his wrist, a jagged ice spike tore through the air, aimed directly between Penniwise's painted eyes.
Whoosh.
There was no impact. The spike, capable of shattering a Fifth-Order zombie's skull, passed through Penniwise's head as if he were a holographic projection, eventually embedding itself in a far wall.
"No physical form?" Steve mused. Or is the rule-priority in this domain so high that it nullifies energy and physical vectors from outsiders?
"Hahaha! Splendid strength!" Instead of being angered, Penniwise clapped his gloved hands in delight. "But too bad, too bad! In this theater, violence is a vulgarity. Only the games... only the rules can bring true joy!"
Suddenly, a cold, mechanical voice boomed through the void.
[The Clown's Carnival Theater is about to begin.][Current Players: 8][Race: ???]
Buzz!
The empty, misty wasteland underwent a jarring transformation. The crimson fog dissolved, replaced by a dilapidated, neon-lit amusement park permeated by a sickeningly sweet stench. A rusted Ferris wheel spun with frantic, rattling speed; headless carousel horses rotated to a distorted, minor-key melody.
Steve's eight zombies stood motionless beside the carousel. Penniwise floated above them, clutching a tattered ledger and a quill pen. He tilted his head at Steve. "What race are you?"
"Zombies," Steve said shortly.
"Zombies? How quaint." Penniwise quill scribbled frantically in the air, filling in the word on the ledger. Suddenly, his tone shifted into a rhythmic, unsettling cadence as he announced the decree:
[GAME RULES]:
Preparation: You have ten minutes to hide. After that, Penniwise begins the chase.
The Curse: The first player found by Penniwise is assigned the 'clown' identity.
Transfer: The player with the 'clown' identity must kill another player to transfer the curse and save themselves.
Completion: A round ends when the 'clown' successfully kills a player, or the players manage to kill the 'clown.'
Persistence: The game lasts for four rounds. At the start of each new round, the 'clown' identity is randomly reassigned.
Restriction: Mutual killing is strictly prohibited unless one party holds the 'clown' identity.
Command Center.
Data cascaded across the Think Tank's screens. "It's a variation of the Prisoner's Dilemma," a lead psychologist noted. "The selling point is suspicion. In the first round, they might cooperate, but as soon as one becomes the 'Clown,' they have to murder their teammates to survive.
The fourth rule is the most malicious—it ensures that even if you trust your friend now, they might be your butcher in five minutes. It forces the team to fracture into smaller, paranoid cliques."
Steve listened to the analysis in his mind. A 'Heart-Attacking' game.
If a group of humans had entered this place, they would already be glancing at each other with fear and murderous intent. But Steve looked at the seven zombies flanking him. They were vacant, cold, and shared a single, unified consciousness. They had no heartbeats to quicken and no egos to bruise.
Suspicion? Betrayal? Such concepts didn't exist for a hive-mind.
The Amusement Park.
Penniwise stared down at the eight zombies, his star-painted eyes narrowing. "That's... strange."
By the usual script, these mortals should be screaming. They should be trembling, weeping, and eyeing their companions like starving wolves. Where was the delicious aroma of betrayal? Why were these eight standing there like wooden stakes, staring at him with the look one reserves for a particularly dull idiot?
"Hey! Did you hear the rules?!" Penniwise shrieked. "You're going to die! You have to kill your friends to live! Aren't you terrified?!"
Steve, controlling the lead zombie, gave him an indifferent stare. "We heard you. It's just hide-and-seek. Stop talking and start the clock."
Penniwise's blood-red grin twitched. "Very well! Since you're so eager to play... let's see how you dance."
[COUNTDOWN BEGINS: 10:00]