The Vote Of Death

The group stood paralyzed by the weight of their decision. One vote—one life extinguished. The rules were simple: identify the captain, eliminate them, and survive. But beneath that simplicity lay a grim reality—one of them would die.

What if they were wrong?

The burden of their choice was suffocating. Five people had entered this game, but only four would move on.

"I hope you've all made your decision. I've given you more than enough time," the cloaked figure said, each word pressing down on them like a vice.

Bernard, the so-called lazy man, remained still, his expression unreadable. I should have known from the beginning—the true purpose of this game was to divide us. I was a fool to think I could get close to these people.

The silence stretched, each second dragging into eternity. No one wanted to speak, no one wanted to choose. Because in choosing, they weren't just identifying a suspect—they were condemning a person to death.

The figure's patience thinned. Its voice erupted like thunder.

"You must choose. You have one minute to decide who dies."

The countdown began. Every tick of the unseen clock sent a fresh wave of anxiety through the group. They already knew who they wanted to vote for, but acknowledging it—saying it aloud—was another matter entirely. The moment they spoke, that person's fate would be sealed.

And then, time was up.

"Time's up!" the figure declared.

"Wait!" Arthur pleaded, his voice desperate. "Isn't there a way we can all survive?"

Ever the idealist, Arthur clung to the hope of a loophole. But deep down, everyone knew the truth.

"No," the figure responded coldly. "You must choose."

The man with glasses was trembling, his body tense with fear. His breathing grew ragged as the reality of his situation closed in.

"Since you refuse to vote, then—" the figure began, but before it could finish, a hand shot up.

The group turned in unison.

It was the girl with pigtails.

Without hesitation, she raised a trembling finger and pointed directly at Arthur.

A stunned silence followed. Even Bernard, who rarely let emotion slip through his carefully crafted mask, found himself caught off guard.

That was unexpected.

The cloaked figure chuckled. "Ha! So that's your choice."

A glowing number 1 appeared above Arthur's head, shining in an eerie purple hue. Arthur's gaze flickered to the number, then to the girl. His usual cheerful mask cracked, revealing a flash of anger.

"Why did you pick me?" His voice was sharp, edged with betrayal.

The girl shrank back, clinging to the woman with smudged lipstick for comfort. But before Arthur could retaliate, another voice interrupted.

"Wait."

Bernard.

The lazy man, who had thus far avoided getting involved, finally spoke. His tone was steady, devoid of emotion.

"It's better not to make a hasty decision," he said, his gaze sweeping across the group. "Out of all of us, Arthur has been the most outspoken. If we want any chance of surviving, we need him. If I had to choose, I'd say him."

Bernard lifted his hand and pointed—straight at the man with glasses.

The man's face contorted with rage. "How dare you?! Who do you think you are?!"

Bernard didn't react. He simply closed his eyes, uninterested in the man's outburst.

"So, can I count that as a vote?" the figure asked, amused.

"Sure," Bernard replied, his voice indifferent.

A 1 appeared above the man with glasses.

Now, two votes had been cast. Three remained.

The man with glasses ran his hands through his hair, his breath shallow. He knew. He knew he had just become the prime target. Desperate, he turned on Arthur and, with no other choice, pointed a shaking finger at him.

2 votes for Arthur.

Arthur didn't hesitate—he pointed right back at the man with glasses.

2 votes for the man with glasses.

And now, only one person had yet to vote.

All eyes turned to the woman with smudged lipstick.

Bernard exhaled quietly. It's over.

The woman's gaze darted between Arthur and the man with glasses. Her lips trembled. The weight of the decision pressed down on her like an unbearable force. But as she replayed Bernard's words in her head, her choice became clear.

Slowly, she lifted her hand and pointed—

At the man with glasses.

"That makes three," the figure announced. "You're out."

A glowing 3 appeared above the man's head.

It was over.

The man collapsed to his knees, his fingers tangling in his hair. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Why me…?"

The figure's response was merciless. "Because it's time to die."

A massive scythe materialized behind him, its blade gleaming ominously. In one swift, silent movement, it sliced through his neck.

His head tumbled from his shoulders.

Blood gushed from the wound, pooling beneath his body as it crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

The woman and the girl with pigtails turned away, shielding their eyes from the grisly sight.

"Thank you for voting," the figure said, its tone eerily cheerful. "You will have more time before your next decision."

With that, it vanished, leaving the survivors in stunned silence.

Trust was now an illusion. The game had only just begun.

"Wait… does that mean the game isn't over?" the woman with smudged lipstick asked, her voice trembling.

A cold silence followed.

They had all believed the game would end once the captain was identified, but as they stood there—haunted by the bloodied remains of the man they had condemned—a chilling realization dawned on them.

The game was still in motion.

They didn't need the cloaked figure to confirm it. The truth was evident in the pit of their stomachs, in the way dread twisted inside them like a coiled serpent.

They had killed an innocent man.

So… it wasn't him?

A soft sob broke the silence.

The girl with pigtails clutched her knees to her chest, her small frame trembling as quiet cries escaped her lips. She had cast the first vote. She had been the catalyst for his execution.

The woman with smudged lipstick turned her gaze toward Arthur.

Her thoughts were clear.

Could it be him?

Arthur—who had been the most vocal, the one who had fought to keep everyone together—was now under suspicion.

If the game continued, then the captain was still among them. And as things stood, Arthur was the prime suspect.

The votes had already been cast once. If they followed the same pattern, Arthur would receive two votes—one from the girl with pigtails and one from the woman with smudged lipstick.

But there was one more vote left.

The lazy man.

He had remained neutral, calculating, a spectator to the chaos unfolding before him. But now, his decision would be pivotal. Whoever won him over would gain the advantage.

And in this game, that advantage could mean the difference between life and death.