The four men checked the plate. Pale-faced. Hands shaking.
Two hundred kilograms. Solid iron. No tricks. No gimmicks.
"...Can we continue?"
They could. They did. It didn't matter.
Dex was strong — but he wasn't beating four people alone. He didn't need to.
Linray could.
The thin guy on their team — the reject nobody wanted — stood there holding a fifteen-kilo plate with both hands, mouth hanging open.
"Boss... how did you TRAIN for this?"
"There's no muscle definition anywhere on your body, but you can just — I don't even know how to describe it."
"Are you Captain America?!"
"Boss, I'll follow you anywhere. I'll carry your bags. I'll fan you in the summer—"
"Haha — Linray, I knew you were strong." Harlan pushed his glasses up, grinning. "But this is something else."
"No need to keep going. Look at them — they're done."
The opposing team had stopped moving. Four people standing around their scale, staring at the ground. The gap wasn't close. It wasn't even competitive.
"We give up."
"...Yeah. We forfeit."
Ash-faced. Defeated. They couldn't figure out how to beat one man who looked like an office worker.
"Since the opposing team has forfeited — your group advances."
"Losers will receive their punishment."
The security staff appeared. Silent. Efficient. The four were led away from everyone's sight.
*"Punishment." Right. That's what we're calling it.*
---
"Shall we proceed to game four? I agree — no need to waste time."
The host's voice carried a hint of something. Amusement? Hard to tell with no face to read.
"Game four: Tug of War. Once again — a test of strength."
"However — you may choose to leave the game now. This is your only chance."
Linray turned to face Harlan and Dex. His expression had changed. No humor. No lightness. Dead serious.
"Dex. Harlan. You two need to leave. Now."
"You've seen how strong I am. You know you can't beat me in tug of war."
He paused. Let that sink in.
"It's time I told you the truth."
"If you lose a game in here — the punishment isn't elimination. It's not getting kicked out. It's not ketchup bullets."
"It's death."
"Everyone who 'failed' is dead. Every single one. Think about the people from before — did any of them walk out? Did you see them leave?"
"There's only one winner. Everyone else dies here. If you don't want to lose your life — get out now."
---
Harlan was quiet for a moment. Then he pushed his glasses up — slowly, deliberately.
"You're saying... we'll die?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
Harlan studied Linray's face. Whatever he saw there was enough.
"Alright. I believe you." He raised his hand. "I quit the game."
He turned to Linray one last time. "I don't know who you really are. But thank you for telling me."
"I'm curious about... all of this. These things." He pulled a business card from his pocket — somehow still pristine after everything. "Call me sometime. If you ever need help."
Linray took the card. Nodded.
Then he looked at Dex.
The kid's jaw was tight. Fists clenched. He wasn't moving toward the exit.
"I have to win the final reward."
"Why? What do you need that badly?"
"Money." Dex's voice dropped. The bravado was gone. "A lot of money. And this is the only way I can get it."
Harlan stepped in. "If it's money — talk to me. Tell me what you need. I can probably help."
Dex looked at him. Then at Linray. Then back at Harlan.
"...If you can give me enough, I'll quit."
Straightforward. No games. Just a kid who needed cash badly enough to risk his life for it.
"Those who wish to withdraw must leave the Death Show immediately. Are you certain?"
Dex and Harlan spoke at the same time: "We're sure."
"Close your eyes. Walk backward. Someone will escort you out."
The lights went dark. When they came back — Harlan and Dex were gone.
Only two people remained in the arena. Linray. And the thin man.
---
Linray looked at him. Really looked.
The guy had been a ghost this entire time — rejected by both teams, carrying fifteen-kilo plates while everyone else hauled hundreds. Scrawny. Weak. Barely looked like an adult.
"You want to tug of war with ME?"
"Of course." The thin man's voice was flat. "I have to try."
"Are you seriously—"
The host cut him off. A rope materialized between them. The game started whether they were ready or not.
Linray sighed. "Fine. I'll make this quick. Consider it a mercy — at least this way it's painless."
*Sacrificing one so the others could leave. That's the deal. That's always the deal.*
He gripped the rope. Planted his feet. Pulled.
The rope didn't move.
"...What?"
The thin man's face changed. The vacant, pathetic expression drained away like water through a crack. What replaced it was hollow. Empty. Wrong.
*SCP-034-Z. The Vicious Face.*
The data scrolled through Linray's mind:
*A disembodied human face of unknown origin. Survives through parasitism — attaches to a host body. When the Face opens its eyes, whatever body part it's attached to gains extraordinary strength. Capable of lifting over five hundred kilograms.*
*Different attachment points grant different abilities.*
*Security personnel below Level 03 are prohibited from approaching. Its whispers can corrupt and confuse — making new hosts out of anyone who listens too long.*
*Containment class: Euclid. Contained via cryogenic preservation.*
Linray's grip tightened on the rope.
*Two contained objects in one outing. Lucky me.*
*Wait — an SCP hiding inside another SCP's game? What was this, SCP-ception?*
*The Foundation would have a field day writing THAT containment report.*
The thin man's clothes hid whatever was underneath. The Face could be anywhere on his body — arm, leg, chest. Each location meant different powers, different dangers.
*The worst case is the heart. If it's attached to the heart — containing it means the host dies. No exceptions.*
*But first — beat it.*
The Face's eyes opened beneath the thin man's shirt. Linray could feel them — watching him through the fabric like a snake sizing up prey.
The thin man's body flooded with strength. Inhuman strength. More than Linray's.
The rope began to slide.
"Shit — the contained object is THAT strong?!"
Linray's arms burned. His feet scraped against the floor. Inch by inch, he was being pulled forward.
*Think. THINK.*
He let go.
Not fully — he released tension for a split second, letting the rope go slack. The thin man, pulling with everything he had against maximum resistance, suddenly had nothing to pull against.
He stumbled forward. Off-balance. The red cloth marker swung past the center line — onto Linray's side.
NOW.
Linray yanked. Every ounce of enhanced strength, every fiber of absorbed SCP power, channeled into one explosive pull.
The rope snapped taut. The marker flew back across the line.