Penniwise waved his hand abruptly, and a neon countdown sign flickered to life on the massive, rusted Ferris wheel in the distance.
[10:00]
"Ten minutes to hide," the creature shrieked. "After that, the chase begins!"
Penniwise expected the group to scatter like panicked insects or scramble for defensive high ground. To his shock, the eight figures remained rooted to the spot, their expressionless faces staring back at him with chilling stillness.
"This..." Penniwise paused, nodding to himself as if discovering a hidden depth to their strategy. "I see. You've realized the logic of the game already? While becoming the 'Clown' is dangerous, it also grants you the initiative and access to my exclusive arsenal. Choosing to face the curse head-on to seize power... you have guts, little monsters."
The ten minutes passed in a deathly, unnerving silence.
Ding!
The countdown hit zero.
"Time's up! Ready or not, here I come!" Penniwise lunged toward the eight zombies like a streak of crimson lightning. However, as he hovered before the identical, hollow-eyed faces, he hesitated. "Which one to choose... you're all carved from the same mold."
He looked left and right, but even their energy signatures were perfectly synchronized. "Forget it. You'll do." He pointed a gloved finger at the zombie standing at the very front.
Buzz!
A surge of eerie red energy enveloped Steve's lead vessel. Instantly, a garish, rainbow-colored cap appeared on its head.
"Congratulations! You are this round's lucky winner!" Penniwise rubbed his hands together and conjured a long table filled with weapons emitting a foul, necrotic aura. "Look! Chainsaws, blood-stained bats, rusted claymores... with these, you can easily butcher your—"
The words died in Penniwise's throat.
The 'clown' zombie didn't reach for a weapon. It didn't even look at its "prey." Instead, Zombie No. 2—standing directly behind the leader—began frantically pulling items from its own storage.
Clatter!
Stacks of golden Totems of Undying were pulled out and stuffed into the hands of Zombie No. 3. Within seconds, Zombie No. 2 was a blank slate—no defenses, no "revival coins," and no armor.
"What is he doing?" Penniwise stammered, his greasepaint mask twitching.
Before he could process the move, Steve's lead zombie raised a hand. A cold, murderous glint flashed in its eyes.
"Finally!" Penniwise shouted, desperate for the script to return to normal. "Start the slaughter! Let the blood flow!"
Whoosh!
The lead zombie's hand erupted with a blast of absolute zero air, instantly flash-freezing the defenseless Zombie No. 2 into a fragile ice sculpture.
"Shatter." Steve's lips barely moved.
BOOM!
The ice sculpture disintegrated into fine powder. Not a single cell of Zombie No. 2 remained.
[Congratulations to the 'Clown' (No. 1) for successfully killing Player No. 2.][Round One has ended!]
The smile on Penniwise's face froze. He stared at Steve as if he were looking at a monster more deranged than himself.
"No hesitation? No grief? Not even a spike in your heart rate?!" Penniwise's worldview suffered a catastrophic shock. This was a member of the same race—an identical "kin"—and the leader had executed it with the same clinical indifference one might use to discard a broken tool.
But the nightmare was just beginning.
[Round Two: Selecting 'Clown' identity... Player No. 3 has been chosen.]
The garish cap appeared on Zombie No. 3.
The script played out again with horrifying speed. Zombie No. 3 handed over all its Totems of Undying to Zombie No. 4, stepped forward, and exposed its throat. Steve raised his hand again.
BOOM!
[Congratulations to Player No. 1 for killing the 'Clown' (No. 3).][Round Two has ended.]
"Madmen... you're all lunatics..." Penniwise's body began to tremble. The Prisoner's Dilemma he took such pride in—the exquisite drama of betrayal—was being treated as a minor administrative task.
[Round Three: Player No. 4 has been chosen as the 'Clown'!] Bang! Zombie No. 4 self-destructed before the cap had even fully materialized.
[Round Four: Player No. 5 has been chosen as the 'Clown'!] Bang! Zombie No. 5 followed suit.
In less than two minutes, all four rounds were cleared. The amusement park fell back into a hollow silence. Only four zombies remained on the field.
Steve slowly raised his head, his cold gaze pinning Penniwise in mid-air. "The game is over," he said, his voice flat and chilling. "Can we proceed to the final phase?"
Gulp.
Penniwise swallowed hard. Looking at the four expressionless monsters below, he felt a sensation he hadn't experienced in centuries: fear.
"Where is the betrayal? The despair?" he whispered to himself. The first stage was supposed to weaken them, to break their spirits and deplete their numbers. But these four survivors were unscathed, their mental states rock-solid, and their efficiency terrifying.
"If it comes to a direct confrontation," Penniwise panicked, "can I even stop these things?"
"Th-that..." Penniwise forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Congratulations on clearing the first act! Truly... spectacular. Since your performance was so... efficient, the next round will begin in thirty minutes. I need to... prepare the props."
With that, Penniwise vanished, fleeing into the depths of the anomalous space like a ghost.
Deep within the anomaly, Penniwise hid in a shadowy corner, clutching his hair in frustration. "This is wrong! This script is completely broken!"
His painted eyes flashed with a sinister, desperate light. "These things have no souls. That No. 1 is the core; the others are just puppets. If the next round is a head-on collision, they'll tear me apart. I have to change the rules."
He grinned, his blood-red mouth stretching wide. "Since psychological warfare is useless, I'll target the leader. If I kill No. 1, the others will become headless flies. Heh heh... just you wait. In the next act, you'll learn exactly whose theater this is."