Cycle of terror

An old tungsten lamp hung from black wires in the center of the room, flickering with a dim glow. The silence spread like ink dripping into water, saturating the space. At the room’s core stood a large round table, its surface chipped and worn. A small, intricately patterned mantel clock ticked at its center. Around the table sat ten people in varied, tattered clothing, their faces dusty, some slumped over the table, others reclined in chairs, all deeply asleep. Standing silently beside them was a man wearing a goat-headed mask and a black suit. His gaze pierced through the mask’s eye holes, studying the ten with curiosity. The clock chimed as both hands aligned with "twelve." Somewhere far beyond the room, a deep bell tolled. At the same moment, the ten men and women around the table began to stir awake. Blinking awake, they first gazed around in confusion, then eyed each other warily. No one seemed to remember why they were here. "Good morning, nine of you," the Goat Head spoke first. "Pleased to meet you here. You’ve been asleep before me for twelve hours." His bizarre appearance under the dim light startled everyone. The mask, seemingly crafted from a real goat’s head, had yellowed, matted fur; two hollow eye sockets revealed his shrewd eyes. His movements carried not just the goaty odor of livestock but a faint stench of decay. A man with tattooed arms hesitated before voicing the group’s confusion: "Who… are you?" "I’m sure you all have this question, so let me introduce myself to the nine of you," Goat Head said cheerfully, waving his hands as if rehearsing a prepared speech. Qi Xia, a young man seated farthest from Goat Head, quickly scanned the room. His expression darkened. Something was very wrong here. The room had no doors—just four walls. In other words, the walls, ceiling, and floor were entirely sealed, yet a table stood at its center. How had they even entered? Had they been brought in first, then the walls built around them? Qi Xia noticed grid-like lines crisscrossing the floor, walls, and ceiling, dividing them into large squares. Another detail troubled him: Goat Head’s reference to "nine." There were clearly ten people around the table—eleven including Goat Head. What did "nine" mean? He patted his pockets; unsurprisingly, his phone was gone. "Spare us the introduction," a cool-toned woman interrupted. "I suggest you stop this now. I suspect you’ve detained us for over twenty-four hours, which constitutes illegal detention. Everything you say can and will be used against you." She brushed dust from her arms with distaste, as if more annoyed by the grime than the captivity. Her words jolted the group. Whoever this Goat Head was, kidnapping ten people alone had already crossed a legal line. "Wait…" A middle-aged man in a lab coat interrupted, turning to the woman. "We just woke up. How do you know we’ve been detained for twenty-four hours?" His tone was calm but pointed, cutting straight to the flaw in her statement. The cool woman calmly pointed at the mantel clock and replied, "The clock shows twelve, but I have a habit of staying up late. The last time I checked my watch at home, it was already twelve. That means we’ve been detained for at least twelve hours." She then gestured to the walls and continued, "You must have noticed there are no doors. This person went to great lengths to get us in here. He said we’ve been asleep for twelve hours, and now the clock is at twelve again—meaning it’s gone around twice. So I suspect it’s been over twenty-four hours. Is there a problem with that?" The man in the lab coat shot her a cold, skeptical look. After all, she was unusually calm in this situation. Would a normal person respond with such composure to being kidnapped? A burly young man in a black T-shirt interjected, "Goat Head, why are there ten of us but you say nine?" Goat Head stayed silent, not answering immediately. "f*****g bastard," cursed the tattooed man, trying to stand up but collapsing back into his chair as his legs gave way. He pointed at Goat Head and snarled, "You piece of s**t, you better wise up. You have no idea what you’ve gotten into. I’ll f*****g kill you." The men at the table grew serious. They needed a leader—if they could overpower Goat Head together, maybe they could take control. But everyone realized their legs were numb, as if injected with something, leaving them powerless. So the tattooed man could only threaten and swear loudly. Qi Xia remained silent, stroking his chin as he stared at the clock, deep in thought. This was more complicated than it seemed. He knew Goat Head had mentioned "nine participants." If there were ten people, one must not be a participant. Who was that? There were six men and four women. Was one of them the kidnapper? Goat Head approached Qi Xia and stood behind a young man. As everyone followed his gaze, they noticed this man was different—though his face was dirty, he wore a bizarre smile of happiness. Goat Head raised his hand and placed it on the man’s***. The man’s smile grew eerie; he looked at the group with excitement, as if he’d known something all along. With a dull thud, Goat Head slammed the man’s head into the table. Pinkish-white matter splattered across the surface like spilled paint, flecking everyone’s faces. The man’s skull had shattered on impact. From outside the room, the distant bell chimed again. Qi Xia, sitting close to the body, felt something warm and sticky hit his face. Despite his strong nerves, he began to tremble. The woman seated next to the corpse stared in horror for three seconds before screaming, her face twisted in terror. The scream shattered everyone’s mental defenses. Who—or what—was Goat Head, capable of crushing a human skull with his bare hands? How could such a** figure wield such immense strength? Goat Head spoke slowly, "I brought ten of you because one was needed to… quiet the rest."