Mark's hands trembled as the heavy steel door clanged shut behind him, sealing his fate. The labyrinthine corridors of Bastille Maximum Security Prison echoed with the distant sounds of chaos—a cacophony of shouts, clashing metal, and the eerie hum of electric barriers. Convicted of a crime he didn't commit, Mark found himself thrust into the darkest corners of a dystopian society where justice was a distant memory.

The guards, indifferent to his protests of innocence, had thrown him into the fray of the most brutal punishment reserved for the damned: the Battle Royale. It was a televised spectacle, a perverse form of entertainment for the masses, where prisoners fought to the death for the promise of freedom. Mark's heart pounded as he surveyed the arena—a sprawling urban wasteland, littered with makeshift weapons and the remnants of past battles.

As the blaring horn signaled the start of the game, Mark's instincts kicked in. Survival was the only option. He sprinted towards an abandoned building, seeking cover and a moment to gather his thoughts. His mind raced back to the night of his arrest, the setup, the planted evidence. He had to stay alive, not just for himself, but to uncover the truth and clear his name.

Kane set everything up so perfectly, the way everyone believed him as Mark took the fall was nothing short of genius. The way that everyone turned on him was like nothing that he could have planned. The guards loyal to him in Bastille Maximum Security Prison didn't even need to fake their indifference to Mark's cries about him being innocence. And soon the problem would be gone when Mark is killed during the Battle Royale. Though knowing these prisoners, Mark could die before that even starts, which would be preferred for Kane.

The next on his list of people in his way is Jamie, the sweet redhead that everyone loves, which will make it all the more enjoyable when he changes their mind. That part of the game that always got him excited. Kane just needs to fabricate the evidence and figure out something that didn't sound like a copy and paste of what he framed Mark, George, Luna, and the many others.

"Lance, this isn't good for you to be worried about this, let me," he said as he handed the older man a cup with odorless and tasteless poison in it, that would slowly kill him, as he played the role of worried friend so very well.

Lance was the leader here, and now he was dying, and Kane was in his ear. Soon, Kane would replace him, but he had to be patient and make it look like Lance slowly got old and sick.

"You are too good to me," Lance croaked, his voice barely there.

"Lance, you are like family to me. Of course, I am going to be there for you," Kane easily lied.

"I just wish I knew why everyone keeps trying to betray us. I never thought Mark would do such a thing. I still have trouble believing it," Lance's voice filled with grief.

"I am still in disbelief as well, even with all the evidence we found," Kane replied as he held on to Lance's hand with his left hand and placed his right hand over his heart as if he was in pain.

He sat with the old man for a while until he fell asleep, playing the good friend, but now it was time for more scheming.