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PROLOGUE.
ᡣ𐭩
Minho knew he had just made a crucial decision.
But he was desperate and it times of desperation the human brain acts on anything it can.
Fast.
Without thinking about the aftermath.
That's what Minho agreed on with his Dad some minutes ago.
He had finished writing the letters, ink pressed to the paper with all three names his Dad had gave him.
He knew all these people. All of them, one of them was his best friend, while the others were his frenemies?
Minho paused and looked down at the letter, he did his best to sound professional while writing it.
Dear [Recipient's Name],
I hope this message finds you well. We are thrilled to invite you to participate in an exclusive and exhilarating challenge that promises both excitement and extraordinary rewards.
As one of our carefully selected participants, you have the unique opportunity to join The Pieces Games. The rules are simple: eliminate 50 people by killing them, these can be relatives or strangers, without being caught by the police and if you succeed in meeting the objectives, you will be awarded a grand prize of £1,000,000!
This game has been designed to challenge your courage, strategy, and creativity. It's not just about winning-it's about the experience, the thrill, and the journey to the top. You will all start at the 14th of January ensuring that all participants play fairly and are given the same opportunities as the others.
Should you accept this invitation, further instructions and details about the game will be provided. To confirm your participation, please head over to Bromley woods and found a dark black mansion and submit this letter on the kitchen table.
We are excited to see if you have what it takes to claim the prize and become a part of this extraordinary adventure.
Best of luck, - Remember, WICKED is good.
Minho safely tucked the letters into his pockets, he would easily deliver them to the participants, but now he wanted to check on his grandmother.
ᡣ𐭩
A sigh of sadness had escaped his lips. He had crouched next to the bed, watching his grandma laying on the bed, Mimi, she wasn't awake yet, the doctors probably had drugged her. Curling up his hand in hers, he sighed again, his face scrunched up.
She wasn't getting better, no matter how his Mammi said she would recover, the slightest bit of doubt would grow within him and that would consume his thoughts, making him feel completely dull.
He was useless in helping, he hadn't got a job yet, the two hundred pounds in his account didn't stand the chance against a forty grand hospital bill. But, he thought, encouraging himself, that's why he was here, to earn while studying, that's why they had moved from Korea, to bring him into England so he could fulfil his dreams.
The curtains behind him shuffled, he didn't bother to turn, he already knew who it was.
"Min." Ha Eun whispers, his younger sister, only sibling, the only person he trusted with all his heart. "We should get going, Mammi said."
Before he turned from Mimi, he gave her a kiss on the forehead and whispered a prayer. He then turned from her, and approached the door, escorting Ha Eun out of the room.
"She'll get better." His sister whispered, obvious doubt in her voice. Minho glared at her, then sighed, closing his eyes.
"We both know that's not true Eun." He deflected, he knew he should be the one comforting his sister always, encouraging her that Mimi would get better. But maybe it was the fact that he was tired of people telling him what wasn't going to happen.
It would happen - if they had forty thousand pounds, which came out like a fucking dream, because no one in their family could earn that much. Minho sighed and ran a hand over his hair. He felt Eun's hand wrap around his, and he held it tighter.
"Wait, I need the restroom."
Minho told Eun, when he felt the urge to cry. He couldn't hold it back - in exactly two months, if Mimi didn't have that surgery she would be dead. As sorrowful as it sounded she would be dead. He sniffed, then felt embarrassed for seeming weak in front of his younger sister. Eun just nodded, looking distant.
Sometimes Minho wondered what went through her mind.
He excused himself once more before stumbling to the boy's restroom. He stopped, gazed at the window, the weather was shitty. England's weather, sky grey and emotionless, raindrops cascaded down the glass, mirroring the tears that welled in his eyes. Unable to hold himself, a choked sob escaped him. His heart ached.
He slowly wiped his tears, looking up and staring at his reflection in the mirror.
But right now, he has a small spark of hope. He headed out his the bathroom, his body weak from all that mourning. When he walked back to his sister, who was blankly tugging at her skirt, he tried to think of something comforting.
"Mimi will be fine." Minho announced. That was the only positive thing he could think of.
