The realization hung heavy and cold in the air: the true target of the game was Suresh.
"The hell it is!" Suresh barked, his face tightening with anger and fear, the ceramic lamp still clutched in his hand. "You're projecting, Rajeev. It's designed to make you feel responsible for everything."
"Think logically, Suresh! That's what 'Anonymous Death' wants us to do—to use logic to dismiss the supernatural, even when the evidence is clearly manufactured to look supernatural," Rajeev insisted, his tone urgent. "The entity stole my life history. What is the one thing I love more than my life? Friendship. Losing you would shatter me completely, fulfilling the 'big loss' penalty."
Rajeev paced away from the balcony, forcing himself to calm down. "The choice is about time: Now or Sunrise. Both are dangerous. The game is not about safety; it's about immediacy versus delay."
They sat in the dining room, staring at the glowing message on the laptop, the white envelope a beacon of menace on the railing outside.
"If we wait until sunrise, we're being careful," Suresh reasoned. "We can call the police, have them secure the envelope. That's the logical step."
"And that's why it's the wrong one," Rajeev countered, tapping his temple. "The game master knows our every move. They know we're smart. If we choose the safe, delaying action, they will execute the threat immediately to punish the delay. The loss will happen tonight because we didn't play their game immediately."
Rajeev's eyes narrowed, a grim determination replacing the fear. "The perfect decision must be the one that accepts the risk and takes away the entity's control over the timeline. We have to open it now."
"Rajeev, no! That could be a bomb! Or a booby trap! That's exactly what the game master wants—a panicked reaction!" Suresh cried, grabbing his arm.
"It won't be a bomb," Rajeev said, shaking his head. "Bombs are for final acts. This is the second event. The goal is psychological. The loss will be executed after the choice, not during it. The envelope contains the trigger—a picture, a note, a location. Something that demands immediate action."
He looked into Suresh's eyes. "If we delay, they win control. If we open it, we take the risk, but we get information. The threat is you, Suresh. I can't risk your life on a logical gamble. I'm choosing the immediate, aggressive action."
The Decision and the Trap
Rajeev took a deep, steadying breath. "We need to get the envelope without stepping onto the balcony. If they can use the smart speaker, they could have placed motion sensors or sound triggers on the railing."
They found a long, sturdy wooden curtain rod in the storeroom. Rajeev guided the rod carefully through a small gap in the sliding glass door, maneuvering the end toward the railing. It took five tense minutes, his hands sweaty on the wood, before he managed to hook the edge of the envelope.
He slowly, painstakingly, dragged the envelope across the concrete floor and back into the living room. It was thick, heavy-stock paper, sealed with a blob of dark, unidentifiable wax.
Suresh snatched it, tearing the seal and yanking out the contents.
It was a single, professionally printed photo, and a small card.
The photo was a high-resolution, aerial shot of a busy intersection, taken just moments before. In the bottom-right corner, clearly visible, was an aging red scooter.
Rajeev stared at the scooter, a cold pit forming in his stomach. "That's Mrs. Sharma's scooter. She uses it to visit the market every morning."
Then, his eyes flew to the card. Suresh read the message aloud, his voice trembling:
YOUR CHOICE IS MADE: OPEN NOW.
The perfect decision is not safe, Mr. Rajeev. It is the one that forces the greatest confrontation.
You have chosen confrontation.
Look again at the photo. Note the time in the top-left corner: 10:15 PM.
Your next decision must be made in the next two minutes.
At exactly 10:20 PM, the driver of the red scooter will be targeted by a speeding vehicle. The driver will die instantly in a brutal, irreversible collision.
The loss is not your friend, Rajeev, but your mother.
Decision: Do you call the number on the back of this card, or do you call the police emergency line (100)?
Time remaining: 1 minute 40 seconds.
The Immediate Loss
The air was sucked out of the room. Rajeev's mind screamed, his reality fracturing around the horrific certainty of the threat. The red scooter—it was Mrs. Sharma's. The 'mother' was Mrs. Sharma, the only woman left in his life who still treated him like a son.
"No! Mom! She left here an hour ago, she wouldn't be out this late!" Suresh yelled, already grabbing his phone.
"She goes to the late-night temple on Tuesdays, Suresh! She would be on her way back now!" Rajeev countered, his voice raw.
Rajeev flipped the card over. There was a single, ten-digit number.
Call this number OR Call 100.
Suresh was frantically dialing the emergency police line (100). "We call the cops! They can dispatch a patrol!"
"No! Wait! Stop!" Rajeev grabbed Suresh's wrist, his grip like steel. "Think! The choice is about efficacy. Calling 100 now? It takes five minutes to connect, explain, dispatch. It's too slow to stop an event in less than two minutes! The game master knows this."
"But what is that other number? It could be the killer's line! A trap!" Suresh argued, pulling his hand away.
Rajeev stared at the number, then at the time ticking down on the laptop screen—1 minute 15 seconds. His heart was a jackhammer, but his mind had found a terrifying path.
"The number on the back of the card is the only way to stop the attack in time," Rajeev declared. "It's the entity's hotline, a direct line to the control panel. It's the only path to the perfect decision—obedience."
"We can't obey him, Rajeev!"
"We have to, to save your mother!" Rajeev screamed, grabbing his own phone, his fingers flying to dial the number on the card.
55 seconds remaining.
He hit the call button. It connected instantly. There was no ringing. Just a soft, synthetic voice, calm and utterly devoid of emotion.
"Hello, Rajeev. Your choice is made."
"Stop the attack! Stop the truck now!" Rajeev roared into the phone.
"The consequence of an incorrect choice is irreversible loss. Your choice was to call the designated number. This is the correct action, Rajeev."
A mechanical, electronic laugh filtered through the phone. "You chose to sacrifice your pride and dignity to save the one you love. That is the perfect decision."
Rajeev felt a wave of dizzying relief mixed with profound shame. "Then stop it! Where is the truck?"
"The truck has been stopped, Rajeev. The threat is neutralized."
The synthetic voice paused, the silence stretching.
"However, Mr. Rajeev. You forgot one thing."
Rajeev's blood froze. "What?"
"The time. The time is now 10:20 PM."
Rajeev looked frantically at his phone. The call duration showed: 1 minute 42 seconds.
"The time for the collision has passed, Rajeev. The event was scheduled to happen at 10:20 PM sharp."
"But you just said you stopped it!"
"We stopped the truck, Rajeev. We neutralized the threat. But your perfect decision to call us occurred at 10:19:42 PM. The time taken to confirm the decision and issue the stop command meant the actual collision still occurred."
"No! No, you bastard!" Rajeev collapsed onto the floor, clutching his head.
"The perfect decision only ensures that the entity does not actively execute the loss as a punishment. It does not guarantee the stopping of an already-scheduled event."
The synthetic voice faded.
"The second consequence has been executed. Look to your friend, Rajeev."
Rajeev raised his head, his face wet with tears of terror and despair, and looked at Suresh.
Suresh was standing frozen, his eyes wide and unblinking, his right hand still hovering near the disconnected phone. A single drop of bright crimson blood welled up from a tiny, precise, circular puncture wound right in the middle of his forehead. He swayed once, then dropped the phone.
He fell to the floor, his eyes glazing over, a look of profound, silent shock replacing the terror.
Rajeev scrambled towards him, his mind unable to process the new horror. "Suresh! Suresh! Wake up!"
He was dead before he hit the ground. A single, silent, hyper-targeted attack that Rajeev never saw coming.
Rajeev screamed a guttural, raw sound of total devastation, the sound of a man who had failed to protect the last piece of his heart. The pain of Anjali and Anaya's loss was dull compared to this fresh, agonizing wound of preventable failure.
Then, from Suresh's discarded cell phone, which had just called the police emergency line, a new notification appeared—a ghost email, visible only to Rajeev at first, but slowly, ominously, flickering into visibility on Suresh's screen as well.
Sender: Anonymous Death
Subject: TRANSFER COMPLETE.
Rajeev collapsed onto Suresh's body, the game's horrific endgame accomplished. He had lost everything.