The Murder Game: The Final Day
you can run on for a long time.
run on for a long time.
run on for a long time.
[the booth closes for the last time and you slump back to your room. It doesn't matter anymore. You'd welcome death. Those grinning wolves, you'd throw yourself at their feet and beg for them to end your suffering. That Prussian... You'd fight him first before gladly accepting the sharp stab of pain into your gut or the senseless feeling of the bullet passing through your temples. At this point, anything would be a Godsend. Death would be treasured, cherished-
Coveted.
You think of everyone that's died. The names crossed out in the red. Freed, they are. In heaven. No longer mortals like you. They are freed from the shackles of a monster while you remain in your little white cage, chained. You rot away in this hell on earth and in your hellish prison, you slowly pick those to be released. It is a monstrous blessing, your vote releases them from the fate you continue to wallow in. If only they would've voted for you first.
If only you could've been free of this blessing.]
sooner or later God'll cut you down.
[but that ringing and slashing and vicious freedom never comes. Your door opens but no one is there. So you stand. And you walk. And you look around quietly and you notice something. Something different. Something new. Something that makes your gut twist and squirm in on itself like someone has pierced their nails through your gut and is squeezing it as hard as they can.
You gag slightly but shake away the feeling. Your eyes flick around the room, counting the dry and flaking marks on the other doors. You count seven dry ones and only then does the strange prickling at your neck find it's reason.
There is only one new red X. Only one fresh kill. Your attention snaps to the television even before the static changes into that smooth white.]
The final poll has been tallied.
The wolves have been found.
The game has been won.
[Do you celebrate? Do you get on your knees and sob? Do you stand there and not let the news sink in because it's so strange. Or do you wish that it had been you who had been behind that door with the dripping X? The victory doesn't even register because at this point you wish that no one had won this game, that you had all lost. That you'd all be in heaven. That you'd all be free of shackles for you know that even if you do leave this facility, this week will forever haunt you.
And deep down you will always know that you are a monster.]
well you may throw your rock and hide your hand.
workin' in the dark against your fellow man.
[The television flickering to the scene of a room makes you look up with tired and bruised eyes. Feliks and Sindre are sleeping peacefully but the latter seems to hear something and he slides out of his bed, opening his door. There is a moment that you watch as Sindre's finger press to his lips before tugging an albino inside.
Before Sindre can open his mouth to speak he is slammed up against the door. The Prussian is close but the blade is closer, digging into the pale skin of his neck. The Norwegian's lips move and the words seem to make Gilbert smirk. Blood runs from the wound but Gilbert's mouth i quick to clean. Lips press to the albino's ear, moving.
These words clearly do no impress the Prussian.
Blood sprays along the wall as Gilbert's knife cuts clear through Sindre's neck and the body collapses to the ground, the red puddle growing with ever passing moment.
The unmoving lump in Felks' bed slowly shifts as the body hits the ground, stretching and sitting up. Gilbert dives for him without hesitating but Feliks scrambles away and the blade misses his back, scraping along his arm. You see Feliks' lips moving rapidly, can see the fear in his eyes.
And you don't care. For once you want to see this death. You are rooting for the Executioner.
Feliks tries to run away but Gilbert catches his ankle and drags him back. The Pole's flailing foot catches Gilbert in the stomach and the grip loosens. Without warning, Feliks' fist swings at the Prussian. The move does nothing but throws Feliks off-balance.
He plunges his own chest into the knife. Gilbert is happy to twist it deeper, grinning. Feliks starts to laugh but each shake of his body, tiny and weak as it is, only brings him further down on the blade and withing moments of impaling himself on the knife, he goes limp.]
but as sure as God made black and white.
what's down in the dark will be brought to the light.
[With a flourish, Gilbert pulls the blade out, blood arcing out from the tip and onto the wall and the blond's body sinks back to the bed, staining the sheets a delicated and perfect crimson. He doesn't carefully step around the thick puddle of the Norwegian's blood but walks through it, leaving bloodied footprints as he makes his way to the wall under the camera.
Gilbert then disappear through the wall underneath the camera.
In the same instant, it opens into darkness. Nothing but pure blackness. Thick and radiating with an odd feeling of eternity.
Perhaps this is The End you have been waiting for.
You hesitate, feet not quite sure what to do, so used to climbing stairs as opposed to walking into The End. There was always an up, but now it's a step forward.
you can run on for a long time.
run on for a long time.
run on for a long time.
[As if to help you, the television flickers on.]
Rory and Ivan: move into the darkness.
Sadiq and Elizaveta: return to the theatre upstairs.
Rhema and Thera: remain where you are.
sooner or later God'll cut you down.
[there is a feeling of foreboding even more threatening than The End waiting. Rory and Ivan don't hesitate to move through it and disappear from sight completely while in the same moment, Sadiq takes Elizaveta's hand and leads her to the stairs.
As Rory and Ivan move through the darkness, there is no plunging blade and definitely no End. They look around the room they've entered and wondered if they've moved at all for it's the exact same room they left save for once difference.
Bodies lie scattered on the ground but they are not lifeless, merely knocked out and before this can register, the both have clothes slammed over their mouths, chloroform bitter and harsh on their pallets as they collapse to the ground. Gilbert smiles, tucking the clothes into his backpockets, leaning over the two collapsed figures, slipping notes into their pockets. Notes telling them the same words that Gilbert finds fit to whisper into their ears.
"Meine Wölfe." He pets Ivan's hair, sneers at Rory before straightening, gazing around the new players. He stares for a moment before shaking his head. He doesn't know anyone here. He can't. He has a job.
And Gilbert moves back towards the door that he had just come through. The one that leads back to the previous main room. The one that leads him back to where Thera and Rhema are waiting.
This door is door Number 5.]
go tell that long tongue liar.
go and tell that midnight rider.
tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter.
[When Ivan and Rory awake with the new group of people, they will take it upon themselves to murder every single pair, to save them from this cursed building. It will be their burden, for all those fallen, they will bring down as many as they can to save their souls.
They repent for the others.
When Sadiq and Elizaveta return to the theatre they will find themselves the newest clue givers and just as Alfred and Arthur were, they will be forced to watch the game unable to help save for showing ultimately fruitless clues.
They watch the fruitless game.
When Rhema and Thera realise that Gilbert is here to kill them, they will fight. They will scream but Gilbert will end them and leave their bodies in the common room.
They set an example.
And he will exit through The End and will leave a large bloodied X on door Number 5 before picking his way through the newest group of recruits before disappearing under the new camera. And this new television, it's snowing screen gently across the bodies of the newest players will briefly flash a message across it's screen. The background will be white. The text will be black.]
The final rule of the Murder Game:
It doesn't end.[and the quiet hum of static]
tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down.
And with that, the Murder Game comes to a close. Thank you for an entertaining week.
I do hope we will meet again. Perhaps outside of your dreams?
Sleep well little rabbits.