Page 7 of Insanium (Devil’s Playground)

As we continued down the corridor, my mind raced with thoughts of the elaborate setup around us, each detail a piece of a larger, more unnerving puzzle.

Holding the ticket in my hand, I wondered what awaited us as we found our way into a dimly lit theater, where a solemn, almost sacred silence enveloped the room once the doors clicked shut.

The space was expansive, and I quickly located my designated seat in Row B.

“Looks like I’m in B14,” I announced, checking in with Aisha and Hael for theirs.

“B12 for me,” Aisha responded, just two seats away.

“Different row, A7,” Hael noted with a slight frown.

We navigated through the rows to our seats, passing the unsettlingly still masked clowns scattered among us.

Their grotesque expressions were frozen, none acknowledging our arrival—quite rude, really.

I settled into my seat, the plush fabric feeling oddly comforting against the backdrop of potential chaos.

Aisha was only two seats away, separated by a clown whose sinister grin seemed almost too real under the dim lights.

I kept a watchful eye on it, ready at a moment’s notice.

I flicked Aisha a reassuring thumbs-up. The tension in her posture was unmistakable.

It was unfair she had to be here, all because of her cunt sister’s machinations, using me as bait.

She would regret this. I’d personally see to it.

I glanced over my shoulder to see how Hael was settling into his seat.

Catching my look, he nodded reassuringly.

Another clown was perched close to him, adding an edge to our separation.

My focus shifted abruptly as the seat beside me dipped.

The subtle scent of spicy cologne wafted over, heralding Raphael’s arrival.

“Keeping a close watch on our stoic friends?” he murmured, nodding towards the motionless clown a few seats from Hael.

“Pretty much,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “Making sure they’re here for ambiance and not part of the entertainment.” My eyes darted to the hourglass spinning relentlessly on the screen, its sand slipping away as if counting down to something inevitable.

What were we waiting for?

My gaze inadvertently crossed Eryx Draven’s as I turned my head. He was seated almost diagonally from me and had an easy view of the whole theater. His eyes, piercing and direct, locked with mine.

I held his stare deliberately, not wanting to appear like some damsel rattled by his brooding intensity.

I used the opportunity to take a really good look at him.

His slick, neatly styled hair, closely shaved at the sides, added to his structured, intense aura.

The intricate tattoos climbing up the side of his head and neck spoke of his complex past and the dark world we navigated, contributing to his formidable presence.

Additional tattoos adorned his hands and fingers, each a visible symbol of his experiences and commitments.

His expression was a mixture of curiosity and a silent dare—a test of wills played out in a fleeting, charged moment.

This silent standoff was gently broken by Raphael’s nudge. “Look,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Turning my attention back to the screen, I watched as the theater lights dimmed further, and the display shifted dramatically.

Animated scenes of elaborate traps and frantic participants played across the screen, depicted in a whimsically dark style that lent a peculiar charm to their otherwise grim fates.

It was like watching a twisted carnival of horrors, the animation adding a strangely joyful twist to the scenes of chaos and calamity.

Then, the visual narrative shifted back to show the theater lobby we had traversed, now empty.

A deep, resonant voice began to overlay the imagery, compelling in its gravitas.

“ Welcome to Judicium , the pinnacle challenge of your intellect and resilience.

Within this very cinema lies a yellow door, your gateway to what awaits beyond.

However, unlocking this door requires a code.

This digit is secured in keys of three.

The first resides in this room, veiled among the shadows of those around you.

The remaining two are tucked away—one amidst the virtual thrills that deceive the eye, the other buried within the sustenance that pumps your heart.

Watch the screen and count the time.

Should you fail to be seated, the silent sentinels will promptly remove you from our game—a permanent exit.

Proceed with caution and urgency, for every decision could be your last.

Let the first Judgment commence.”

As the foreboding voice faded into silence, the theater screen flickered and transformed, now showing a precise digital replica of our current setting.

Each seat was meticulously represented, with those of us in them highlighted in a bright red glow.

My attention homed in on the screen as two of these seats suddenly shifted to a bright green—Kristy’s and the seat of the guy beside her, another stranger to me.

This shift coincided with the appearance of two timers on the screen: a larger one at the top set for sixty minutes and a more immediate six-minute sequence.

As the timers began their countdown, a smile spread across my face. The show was well and truly on.

“Ah, I adore this piece!” I blurted out as the haunting strains of “Danse Macabre” began to weave through the air. The classical melody, both sinister and whimsical, seemed tailor-made for this very occasion.

Raphael shot me a look, one eyebrow arching in amusement. “Interesting choice for a favorite, but hey, if this is what you’re into, I’m all for it. I’ll remember this for the future.”

That implication caught my interest immediately. “Planning to stick around, are you?”

His response was lost to the swell of music and Liam’s booming voice from the back of the room. “Tyler, come on! Move!” he called to the redhead who was paired with Kristy.

Taking the cue that was apparently needed, Kristy and Tyler rose from their seats and finally began to search through the theater under our watchful gazes, nobody daring to stand or lend a hand.

The rules were clear, as was the time they had left.

“Where could a key possibly be in here?” Kristy pondered aloud, her voice tinged with urgency that echoed around the theater.

Tyler pointed towards the rows of seats, suggesting a logical starting point. “Let’s start with the obvious. Check under the chairs first. You take the bottom; I’ll head to the top.”

With that, they began to methodically inspect each chair. I scoffed. Did they truly believe they’d have time to check every damn seat?

I watched the clock as seconds disappeared, only looking away to make sure the clown by Aisha hadn’t moved a single inch.

Without any warning, the music stopped.

The silence that followed was heavy and loaded. Both Kirsty and Tyler quit what they were doing and looked around the room as if confused.

“What are you two doing? Get back to your seats, now!” the girl with the pixie cut shouted.

Kristy reacted with the immediacy of someone used to following orders, sprinting back to her chair.

It wasn’t surprising, considering her father’s reputation—an iron fist in a velvet glove, always too eager to impress my parents, which in turn made him entirely unimpressive.

Tyler, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to the gravity of the situation until it was almost too late.

He lingered at the top of the theater, dawdling as if he had all the time in the world. By the time he recognized his error and turned to sprint down the stairs, his window of opportunity had all but closed. One of the clowns moved to cut him off, a looming figure in the dim light.

“Back up!” Tyler barked, shoving the clown in the chest in a desperate bid to clear his path.

The clown looked down nonchalantly where Tyler’s hands had made contact, then locked eyes with him and pushed back hard, sending Tyler tumbling to the floor. He scrambled to get up, but the clown played a twisted game of denial, blocking every attempt Tyler made to bypass it.

It was clear the clown was toying with him, drawing out his desperation for our morbid entertainment.

As the final seconds of Tyler’s timer dwindled, the clown’s hand disappeared into its voluminous costume, emerging with a grotesquely oversized, serrated knife.

The clown’s movements were chillingly deliberate as they advanced on Tyler, who was frantically trying to escape.

With a swift, practiced motion, the clown slashed across his back, the sound of tearing fabric followed by a raw scream as the blade split open his flesh.

“Oof.” I winced as the blade immediately sliced again, creating a deep crimson X.

Then, he did it again.

And again.

He sliced back and forth, all the while Tyler sobbed and tried to crawl away, blood pooling down his back and onto the floor. Someone gagged, losing their stomach to the scene. If this was all it took to unsettle them, they were in for a rough ride if they survived this first challenge.

“It’s killing him! Someone do something!” Janelle shrieked.

A few contestants squirmed in their seats, caught between the instinct to help and the realization that interfering was a fool’s errand. Personally, I found the notion of heroics in this game laughably naive.

From the back, a guy’s voice, tinged with irritation, called out to Janelle, “Do you not get that this is part of the challenge? He failed.”

Janice, clearly on the verge of hysteria, shot back, “So we just let him die?”

What had she been expecting? “If you’re so upset, why don’t you jump in and save him? Otherwise, zip it and watch.”

She bristled, but Eryx, who had observed the situation with a calm detachment that I found incredibly attractive, cut in smoothly, “As Kinks pointed out, you’re welcome to join him if you’re so concerned.”

Kinks? Since when had we ventured into nickname territory? And why did I find myself liking how that sounded? Especially the way it effortlessly slipped from his lips ...

Tyler’s screams stopped abruptly.

He was either dead or had mercifully lost consciousness.

I hoped for his sake it was the latter. The clown, ever the performer, sheathed his knife with theatrical flair and seized Tyler by the ankles, dragging him toward the exit.

At the bottom of the stairs, it paused to bow, its grotesque mask turning towards us as if awaiting applause before resuming its task.

Tyler’s body, now mutilated with long ribbons of flesh dragging along the ground, reminded me of a Thanksgiving turkey, carved up and ready to serve.

The room buzzed with a mix of sniffling and murmurs as the clown and Tyler vanished from sight.

I couldn’t help but admire the clown’s dedication to its role—it was utterly captivating.

Janelle’s cries echoed louder without the music to muffle them.

I glanced at Aisha and smothered a laugh when I caught the major side-eye she was giving her.

It wasn’t as if I was a totally heartless villainess. I was sure there might have been a backstory I wasn’t privy to—maybe she and Tyler were closer than I’d realized.

However, that didn’t make much sense to me.

If that had been one of my people down there, I’d have stormed the floor, rules be damned.

Her over-the-top display of despair seemed excessive, considering she wouldn’t get up out of her chair for him.

Seriously, the melodrama was peaking, and Judicium had barely started.

If there was any real sympathy to be doled out, it should have been for Tyler’s family, who might’ve just watched his final moments.

I sure wouldn’t want my folks to see me go out so early on.

How utterly embarrassing would that be? My brothers would never let me live it down.

I checked the screen. There were fifty minutes were left on the clock, three keys still out there, and one less competitor.

I leaned toward Raphael, unable to resist commenting. “Well, that sets the stage, doesn’t it? Drama aside, this is shaping up to be quite the spectacle.”

He gave me a look, a spark of humor in his stunning eyes. “Certainly seems that way,” he agreed smoothly. “And I doubt the remaining keys will come any easier.”

“I’m not worried about that. I think we’ll find them. Every single one,” I declared.

His smile deepened, acknowledging my determination. “With that kind of confidence, I certainly wouldn’t bet against us.”

The screen shifted again, our seats lighting up in green as if the Syndicate was telling us to back up our words with seven minutes now counting down.

Seven minutes we couldn’t afford to waste.

Raphael stood and offered me his hand. “Ready?”

My grin was all the answer he needed.