Night. 8:30 PM.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the card I once thought I knew. The card that used to show a simple brain icon under the civilian class was no longer what it once was. The blur and flickers that used to dance at the edge of my vision were now gone. All that remained was clarity—and a name.
PROXY
A sleek silver coating shimmered over the surface. The figure on it was a silhouette of a man in a long coat holding a briefcase—calm, unreadable, and untouchable. I blinked slowly, processing what I already knew. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being a civilian.
And became something else.
Proxy Role:
Skill 1: Shadow Insight – Each night, gain hidden knowledge of those aligned with the Mafia.
Skill 2: The Judge – Gain the authority to execute a Mafia or Civilian during a vote or night when guilt is proven.
Passive: Survival Clause – If targeted by vote or by night assault, survive once every two nights.
I let out a quiet exhale.
Why did I pretend for so long? Was it to observe? To manipulate? Was it just for the thrill of the game?
I couldn't answer that. Maybe it didn't matter. The only truth that mattered now was this:
I'm going to win.
Not out of pride. Not even for survival.
Because I had seen the blood on their hands.
Because they thought they had control.
Because they underestimated me.
It was now 10:25 PM.
The lights in the hallway flickered slightly as I leaned back, eyes narrowed on the creased edge of the card. Then—
Knock.
I froze.
The knock wasn't loud, but it wasn't gentle either. It echoed down the long velvet-lined hallway, cold and deliberate.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Then a voice.
"P–Please… Is anyone inside?" A girl's voice. Trembling. Barely holding back sobs.
I rose to my feet, card clenched tight in my fingers.
"Iris?"
She knocked again. Faster this time.
"Please… please someone... I don't want to be alone anymore."
I opened the door slowly.
There she was.
Iris Denholm. The girl with soft steps and sharp eyes. Always watching. Always in the background.
But tonight, she was a mess. Her knees trembled. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Her lips had bite marks. Her hands clutched her sleeves like she was trying to hold herself together.
The girl who used to speak in sarcastic quips now could barely look me in the eye.
She looked like she had been running. Like she had seen something she wasn't supposed to.
"Iris. What happened?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she collapsed into me, sobbing.
"I saw them…" she whispered into my chest.
"Who?"
"I—I saw someone get dragged down the stairwell near the storage room. It was Mila or… or someone that looked like her. And the man—he wore gloves. And he… he was smiling."
She looked up, eyes wide with a kind of fear I hadn't seen before. Not even when people died in front of us.
"They smiled while dragging her. Who the fuck smiles like that?"
I guided her inside and closed the door. She sat on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees. Her hands were shaking too much for her to drink the water I gave her.
And I sat there, watching her. Listening.
But more than that…
Calculating… As if she is preparing to do somehting
If Iris was targeted, why didn't they kill her?
Unless…
Unless they wanted her to see something. Or say something.
"Iris," I said carefully. "Tell me what you saw. All of it. Don't hold anything back."
She wiped her tears and looked at me with hollowed eyes. "I—I think someone let the killer in. The door to the basement bar wasn't broken. It was unlocked. Someone from our side... someone trusted... let them in."
So the net was tightening.
Someone had opened a path. And someone else had been chosen to watch.
A move of fear. Or misdirection.
Maybe both.
I stood. My thoughts spun like blades in a storm.
"Iris," I said.
She looked up.
"You're going to stay in this room. I'll lock it behind you."
She nodded, clearly too broken to argue.
I walked toward the door, hand hovering near the lock.
Then a sudden movement.
A glint of metal.
A knife.
It came at my side in a quick, lunging arc. I twisted out of instinct, the blade grazing the front of my shirt, slicing cloth but not skin.
I turned fast, already stepping back. "What the—?"
Iris was standing.
No—not Iris anymore.
The innocence had vanished from her expression. No tears. No tremble. Only a cold smirk spread across her face like paint on glass.
"Aww," she cooed, licking her lip. "I really thought the crying would work."
My heart dropped.
Reyna Solace.
In one smooth motion, she peeled away the fake skin from her jaw, tore off the wig, and let the illusion collapse with a flourish. Iris Denholm had never been in this room. Just the monster in her skin.
And suddenly I can see clearly of what she is like something in grave my mind.
The Biloquist.
She kicked aside the last piece of disguise and stood tall—grinning with delight. Her knives were already back in her grip.
"Let's get this over with," she sigh.
She slashed. I ducked. Another came for my chest—I deflected it with the edge of the nearby nightstand.
Fast. Unrelenting. But not unpredictable.
I twisted under her next swing and caught her wrist, flipping her arm back with a snap. She yelped, but spun with a knee toward my ribs. I caught that too.
Momentum favored me now.
I slammed her against the wall, one hand locking both wrists above her head. Her breath caught. She snarled.
"What's your role?" I asked, voice low and steady.
She said nothing—just wriggled, teeth bared. Then she lunged again, trying to bite me.
I leaned back.
Still holding her, I cupped her chin with my free hand. "Answer me. Or I'll execute you."
"You can't," she spat. "Unless you're the Proxy."
Her words stopped.
So did mine.
Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd just said.
A slow grin pulled across my face. "Thanks for confirming."
She stiffened.
"And even if you are," she snapped quickly, trying to recover, "you won't win. You're stuck. You can't execute any of us. Not while one of your civilian's votes neutral every single time."
She flinched—again too late.
Another mistake.
"You talk too much, Thanks for that" I said.
She went silent.
The room was still. Her breath was shallow. And my grip was steel.
"You're done," I said coldly. Out of nowhere no thoughts a quick slash like it's an instinct. Her head fell down…
And for the first time…
I killed someone…