"Game #5: Pain of Love
Rule #1: You and your girlfriend will receive a question at the same time. Whoever answers the question quickly and correctly will have a nail slowly hammered into their limbs and fastened to the table or chairs. If you don't want to hurt your partner, respond faster than her and take the nail for yourself. If you don't want to get nailed down, just remain silent and watch her be tortured.
Rule #2: Whoever gets nailed must count the specific numbers mentioned while the man hammers it down. Otherwise, another nail will be hammered until this rule is followed.
Punishment: There is no special punishment. The game itself does everything needed.
Note: She is unaware of the nailing part of the game and will only know it as a normal answering test until she is faster than you.
How to win: 10 nails should be used, following both rules. Nails will not be removed after the game; players can do it themselves, if they are still breathing, that is."
Reading the rules, I realized that previous games were merely preparations; there will be more torture and suffering from now on than I had endured.
"Why would you even do this?" I wondered, as tears began to fall, wetting my face, "What did I ever do to you? "What has she ever done to you?"
I received no response, as if any answer could justify this game.
"How about we do something else, huh? Let her go and kill me," I suggested. You won; I have no idea who you are. It is enough. "I'm finished."
The noise is heard again.
"What's the fun in killing you? There's none. And all I want to see is how much you love her. This will help me understand you better."
"Why do you care about me in the first place?" I screamed! "There are billions of people, and thousands of them deserve it more than I do. Why would you want me to suffer?" I asked, kneeling on the ground, barely holding myself up. But I got no answer. No explanation for the reason beyond what I have received.
A masked man entered the room from my side, and the same thing happened on her side. While the one on my side remained silent, those on the opposite side discussed the game's rules. Of course, they didn't inform her about the nail part. They simply told her that all she needed to do was respond as quickly as possible.
Another man entered the room from my side, holding a handful of long nails and a hammer, placed them on the table, nodded to the other man, and then left.
"Please listen to the questions and answer those you wish to." The last one in the room told me.
"Question number one," said the one next to her, "What is the imaginary line that divides the Earth into the Northern and Southern Hemispheres?"
"Are you fucking with me?" I burst out unexpectedly because of the absurdity of the question. This was, of course, an easy question to which any middle schooler would undoubtedly know the answer.
"Oh, it's an easy one," she said. At this point, I realized that the questions were supposed to be simple, and I had to decide whether or not to take the pain. It was never about answering questions.
"Equ—"
"Equator," I screamed, "I said it first. She couldn't complete her answer."
"True," said both men.
"You responded quickly, so please extend your arm across the table," he said, taking a nail and hammer.
I took a deep breath and braced myself for the torture I knew was coming. I was aware that there was no way out. Either the thing he desires will occur, or it will. No second option.
"Could you please count from one to one hundred, but only plural ones?" he asked as I extended my arm across the table.
"Is this really necessary?"
"The game's rules remain unchanged," he said in a monotonous voice.
I closed my eyes and started counting.
"Two, four, six, eig—AGGH," I screamed as he pushed the nail slightly down in my forearm.
He paused as I screamed, "You cannot stop; please continue," he said, and when I started to count again, he hammered it down again, slowly, making sure it took longer.
I counted until twenty-two, when the nail struck the table and the man stopped hammering. I could already feel the pain of my nerves screaming. The hot blood had begun to warm my arm.
When I opened my eyes, there was more than I had felt. My arm was nailed to the table, which was dyed with my blood. And my skin, vessels, and muscles were all destroyed.
"Question number two…"