The silver-masked man stood there like a statue, hands clasped behind his back. His mask gleamed under the lights, perfectly clean, like it hadn't just replaced a dead man's face.
"Spin the revolver," the voice repeated, like a slaughter hadn't just happened right in front of us.
No one reached for the gun. No one even looked at it.
Then the masked man stepped forward and turned the revolver.
It spun, and stopped. Pointed to the next player.
A girl. Short hair. Mid-twenties. I didn't know her name...
Her fingers shook as she picked it up.
She didn't hesitate.
BANG.
Her body snapped back in the chair. Blood sprayed the white table, and her mouth stayed frozen open in that one final breath that never came out.
The sound of her skull cracking echoed through the room. Someone else was muttering "oh God" over and over again.
And yet, the game continued.
One bullet remaining.
The masked man spun the revolver again. This time, slower.
It pointed to a lanky guy.
