City Roulette Ep 3 : This doesn't feel like the Holiday's *Deadly Life/Investigation*

The plaza is silent except for the faint hum of the Christmas lights. The group of twenty-five stands in a rough semicircle, faces pale and eyes wide, staring at the park bench beneath the glowing trees. Robert Finn’s body sits slumped forward on the bench. His glasses hang crookedly from one ear. There are bruises on his arms and blood at the corner of his mouth — his once-calm, clever expression frozen in pain. Snow slowly collects on his shoulders and hair. No one speaks. The silence feels infinite. The soft sound of wind is the only thing filling the space between them. Mariah City, voice trembling despite her usual fire: Mariah: “This… can’t be real. I just… saw him, what, half an hour ago?” Jessie Kowalski, clutching her tarot deck tightly, stares blankly. Jessie: “The cards never said this… They never said this…” Johnathon Coffee takes a shaky step forward, his voice small. Johnathon: “He… he was just ranting about his old job. He said he hated Christmas music, remember? He was alive…” Austin Sobriquet lowers his head slightly, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Austin (quietly): “Alive. And now, very clearly, not.” Arthur Present’s fists clench at his sides. Arthur Present (furious): “We should’ve gone out sooner. We should’ve been there.” Paris Ross trembles beside Nicholas, clutching his hoodie’s sleeve. Paris: “Arthur, we didn’t know! How could we—?” Arthur (snapping): “That’s the problem. We never know until it’s too late.” The argument dies before it can spark further. No one wants to fight here. Not now. Riko Hoyomisha, quiet but firm: Riko: “We… we have to do something. We can’t just stand here.” Heather Metal wraps her arms around herself, voice barely above a whisper. Heather: “He looks so cold… we should at least cover him…” Kayegama Yoshe, usually energetic, just shakes his head, dazed. Kayegama: “It’s like… the air’s gone heavy. Even the lights feel wrong.” Snowflakes drift lazily between the neon glow — each one reflecting pink, blue, and red. Myrtle Chang stares down at the bench, her knuckles white. Myrtle: “Who could’ve done this… and why? We all knew Robert. He wasn’t—he didn’t fight with anyone.” Neely Pearl, voice soft but with an edge: Neely: “Everyone fights with someone. Especially when it’s life or death.” Mariah (snapping): “Oh, don’t start with that right now, Neely!” Neely: “I’m just saying—someone here did this. Pretending otherwise won’t change that.” A low hum interrupts the tension. The neon around the plaza brightens, forming a glowing ring around the scene. Then— Mayor Harold Yamaki’s voice echoes from above, cheerful and theatrical: 🎵 “Ding-dong~! Merry first blood, my little snow angels!” 🎵 The group collectively flinches as a holographic projection of Harold appears atop the fountain. He’s smiling — tail flicking lazily, eyes glowing with mischief under the falling snow. Harold (grinning): “Ah, what a glorious start to the holidays! I must say, the spirit of the season truly shines when someone unwraps a little surprise like this.” Mark Traverse (furious): “You sick freak!” Harold: “Flattery won’t get you out of the game, Marky. But I appreciate the passion~.” He gestures broadly toward the plaza. “Now then! Since the naughty deed has been done, it’s only fair that I reward everyone with a Christmas miracle!” The hologram’s eyes flash. A series of soft mechanical chimes echo throughout the city. Harold: “All the animals are now calm and cuddly again! No more running, no more screaming, no more tragic bear encounters. Isn’t that wonderful? I even gave them all new bows!” Emma Violet: “What’s wrong with you?! You’re acting like someone didn’t just die!” Harold (cheerful): “Oh, come now, Emma! It’s the season of giving, and someone just gave up their life for the game. How festive!” The group glares, grief morphing into rage. Chase Hallow, fists clenched: Chase: “You’re insane.” Harold: “Insane? No. I prefer entertaining.” He twirls his tail and gives a mock bow. “Now, as you all know, with every death comes a little holiday tradition! It’s time for the investigation to begin. Gather your courage, my darling players — and your wits — because one of you just made Santa’s naughty list.” The hologram flickers, static cutting through his last words: 🎵 “Happy investigating~! Don’t trip on the blood stains!” 🎵 And with that, he disappears — leaving only his laughter echoing faintly against the snowy buildings. The plaza falls silent again. Jessie (voice trembling): “He’s gone… just like that.” Paulie Louis: “So what now? We look for clues?” Austin: “We look for truth. But first—” He looks toward Robert’s body, the snow beginning to cover his lifeless face. “—we pay him respect.” Arthur Present steps forward first, kneeling beside Robert’s body. He removes his coat and drapes it gently over him. Arthur (quietly): “You didn’t deserve this.” The others lower their heads. One by one, the sound of falling snow replaces everything else. The camera pans upward — the glowing city lights reflecting off the snow — before fading to black. ~ City Plaza~ The camera pans across the plaza — the faint pink-blue neon glow reflected off fresh snow, the faint glimmer of ornaments swaying in the cold air. The scene settles on Robert Finn’s body sitting lifelessly on the bench. Around him stand Chase Hallow, Mariah City, Johnathon Coffee, Jake Belle, and Jackie Yamata. Mariah (arms crossed, furious): “This is ridiculous. We’re not detectives — we’re victims! Why the hell are we the ones doing this?” Jackie Yamata, calm but visibly disturbed, kneels near the bench. Jackie: “Because if we don’t, the real killer walks. That’s the game, isn’t it?” Mariah: “Yeah, yeah, I know, find the killer, live another day, but this is gross.” She turns away, fanning her face. “Ugh, I can’t deal with dead people before coffee. This isn’t even a latte situation, this is like… triple espresso trauma.” Chase, who’s crouched near the bench, sighs. Chase: “Then why didn’t you go with the others?” Mariah (snapping): “Because I don’t trust anyone. Everyone’s acting all calm like this is normal — like we didn’t just watch someone DIE!” Chase (firm but calm): “We need every pair of eyes. If we don’t do this right, we’re next.” Mariah stares at him — then looks away, muttering under her breath. Mariah: “Fine. But if I puke, I’m suing you in spirit.” Jake Belle, his K-pop streetwear now dusted with snow, leans over the body, gloves on. He takes a deep breath. Jake: “Okay… Robert, let’s see what you were up to before… this.” He carefully examines the body — the bruises, the torn fabric on the sleeve, the angle of Robert’s head. Jake: “These bruises… he got hit. A lot. Either he fought someone, or…” He pauses, brushing off some snow near Robert’s arm. “...he fell. Hard.” Johnathon Coffee, hovering nearby, points toward the trees behind the bench. Johnathon: “You might be right. Look.” The camera pans to show a tree just a few meters away — one of its branches cracked clean in half, hanging by bark fibers. Snow below it is streaked faintly with red. Jackie (uneasy): “Blood?” Johnathon (nodding): “Yeah. Either he fell from there, or someone fell with him. But…” He glances back toward the bench. “...how’d he end up here, sitting down like that?” Jake: “Someone could’ve moved him.” Mariah: “Okay, pause. You’re saying someone beat him up, dragged him, and then posed him on a bench like some creepy Christmas display?!” Chase (low, steady): “That’s what it looks like.” The wind picks up slightly, carrying flakes of snow through the air. The sound of sleigh bells faintly echoes from somewhere — eerily cheerful against the tension. The group moves a few steps away to discuss possibilities — voices overlapping quietly. As they talk, Chase stays crouched by Robert’s body. His eyes narrow slightly as something catches the light. Something small — faintly glinting — peeking out from between Robert’s lips. Chase (muttering under his breath): “What’s this…?” He glances over his shoulder — the others are still debating. Carefully, he pulls a small plastic baggie from his pocket, then leans closer to Robert. He gently removes the object from Robert’s mouth, careful not to let anyone see. He slips it into the baggie, sealing it quietly. He stares at it for a moment — whatever it is, his face hardens slightly, his jaw clenching. Then, just as quickly, he tucks the bag into his jacket pocket. When he turns around, Mariah is glaring at him. Mariah: “What? You find something, Detective Chill?” Chase (smoothly): “Just checking his pulse.” Mariah: “He’s dead, genius.” Chase: “Exactly. Had to be sure.” She narrows her eyes but drops it, rolling hers instead. Mariah: “You’re shady as hell.” Jackie (still examining the scene): “Shady or not, he’s right. We need to be thorough.” Johnathon: “Yeah, well, thorough doesn’t mean touching the body like it’s a latte art project.” Jake (calmly): “Enough, both of you. Let’s keep focus.” He gestures toward the broken tree. “Blood on snow, broken branch, bruised body. Either Robert fell… or someone made it look that way.” Chase (quietly, standing): “Then we’ll find out which.” The camera lingers on the group standing before Robert’s body — the snow falling heavier now, faint neon reflections glimmering in the ice. Mariah paces back and forth, muttering about how “this city’s cursed.” Johnathon kneels, sketching the scene on a napkin. Jackie adjusts their scarf, gaze fixed on the bench. Jake stares at the bloodstained snow, lost in thought. And Chase… quietly slips his hand into his pocket, feeling the hidden baggie against his palm — a secret clue that could change everything. ~Guy's House~ The front door creaks open. Hue Trinity and Emma Violet stand near the counter, quietly talking. Emma’s hair is messy, one sleeve torn from the earlier chaos. Hue’s yo-yo hangs from his belt, string slightly frayed. A knock, then the door swings open wider — Neely Pearl, Paris Ross, Myrtle Chang, and Kayegama Yoshe enter, their boots crunching over broken glass. Neely (snapping fingers): “Well, look what we have here. The cozy crime scene duo.” Hue (flat): “Neely, not now.” Neely (smiling sharply): “Oh, now’s exactly the time. We’re all collecting alibis, sweetie. Everyone’s got stories to tell — or lies to maintain.” Myrtle (sighing): “Can we not start with accusations right away?” Neely: “Accusations? Please, I’m just… fact-checking. So. Hue. Emma. Where were you two when everything went down?” Hue folds his arms. Emma rolls her eyes but answers first. Emma: “I was running for my life, thanks very much. A freaking bear was after me — like, full sprint. I barely made it out alive.” Kayegama (raising an eyebrow): “...Wait, hold up. You’re that person?” Emma: “What do you mean, that person?” Kayegama: “The one who made the bear crash into Latoya’s Cafe! The thing went flying through the window like a cannonball — half the group’s still traumatized!” Emma (defensive): “Oh, excuse me for not wanting to be mauled to death! I didn’t tell it to jump through the glass!” Neely (grinning): “Ah yes, the old ‘the bear did it’ defense. Classic.” Myrtle: “Can we focus? We’re supposed to be piecing together who killed Robert, not assigning bear blame.” Emma (huffing): “Fine. Anyway, after that mess, I bolted here. I ran straight inside, locked the door, and that’s where I met Hue.” Hue nods, stepping in. Hue: “She’s right. I was already hiding out here. The moment she came in, I told her to stay quiet. A few minutes later, we heard glass breaking — the kitchen window.” Paris (frowning): “So, that’s when the snakes showed up?” Hue: “Yeah. They started slithering in through the vent and window. We had to run upstairs — bathroom, second floor. We blocked the door with a towel and waited it out.” Kayegama: “How long were you stuck?” Emma (shrugging): “Long enough for me to hate tiles and hand soap.” Neely (leaning against the counter): “Convenient. Locked away while the rest of us were being hunted. No witnesses to confirm your story.” Hue (deadpan): “Yeah, because I totally orchestrated snakes to flood a kitchen just for an alibi.” Neely: “I mean, creativity gets points.” Myrtle (cutting in, firm): “Stop it, both of you. The vent’s broken, the window’s shattered — their story checks out.” Paris (quietly): “...Then what’s that?” Everyone turns. Paris points to the open window frame. Outside, half-buried in snow, lies a large, dented cardboard box. The group approaches cautiously. The box is torn along one side, faint scratch marks visible along the top flap. It’s slightly damp, like it had been sitting out for a while. Kayegama (kneeling): “Huh. This must’ve come from outside. Maybe that’s how the snakes got in?” Emma (frowning): “Snakes… in a box? What, did someone Amazon Prime a reptile nightmare?” Neely (smirking): “Sloppy killer move, though. If you’re gonna stage chaos, at least clean up your packaging.” Hue (snapping): “You think this was staged?” Neely (shrugging): “Could be. Maybe someone wanted the animals to distract everyone — make murder easier.” Myrtle: “That’s... not impossible.” Emma (gritting her teeth): “Then whoever did it almost got me and Hue killed in the process.” Neely (smiling faintly): “Well, that’s how killers work, darling. Collateral chaos. But leaving the box outside? That’s amateur hour.” They kick at the box lightly with a boot. “If you’re gonna play god, at least hide the evidence.” Paris (whispering, uneasy): “I don’t like how you said that.” Neely (grinning): “Oh, relax. I don’t kill people — I just roast them.” Myrtle (exasperated): “Enough jokes, Neely. This could be important later.” Neely (mock bow): “Duly noted, Captain Serious.” The camera pans slowly toward the broken kitchen window, showing the snow drifting in and the empty box half buried outside. The faint hum of the neon lights outside reflects through the shards of glass, painting cold blue streaks across the floor. Hue glances at Emma. Emma sighs. Neither says it aloud — but both are thinking the same thing: If someone brought that box here… they weren’t far away when Robert died. The sound of the wind fades into a low, distorted jingle — “Jingle Bells” faintly warped through the static of the distant city speakers. ~Latoya's Cafe~ Paulie Mae standing near the broken counter, gesturing animatedly as she recounts the earlier chaos. Paulie Mae: “So there we were — just trying to barricade the doors — and out of nowhere, this bear comes flying through the window like a Christmas cannonball! Glass everywhere, coffee in my hair, Mariah screaming like she was auditioning for a horror movie—” Julian Merwin leans against the counter, smirking slightly. Julian: “Can’t say I blame her. I’d scream too if a bear ruined my outfit.” Paulie Louis, near the supply closet, rolls her eyes while flipping through a clipboard. Paulie Louis: “You two can trade trauma stories later. I think I found something weird.” She holds up a laminated inventory checklist, slightly crumpled but still legible. Paulie Louis: “Looks like this place keeps track of its supplies — coffee beans, napkins, cups, sugar, the usual. But two things are missing: rope… and a box.” Aruha Suguyama, standing beside Austin Sobriquet near the doorway, looks thoughtful. Aruha: “A rope and a box…?” Her voice lowers. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence.” Austin (nodding): “Agreed. Especially considering there’s a torn-up box sitting outside the guys’ house window. The same kind that could’ve held the snakes.” Paulie Mae blinks. Paulie Mae: “So what, someone used café supplies to release the animals?” Julian (half-grinning): “Wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve seen worse customer behavior.” Paulie Louis (ignoring the joke): “If someone took the rope too, that means they planned this chaos — every animal, every diversion.” Austin: “And if they planned it, then Robert’s death wasn’t random. It was timed.” The camera pans to Austin’s reflection in a cracked café mirror. His expression sharpens — analytical, cold, calculating. The group follows him as he walks toward the narrow hallway that connects the café to Clarence’s Gift Shop. The hallway is dimly lit — flickering neon reflections from outside dance across the wall. Halfway down, Austin and Aruha stop. The door to the gift shop is completely blocked by stacked furniture: chairs, tables, even a tipped-over espresso machine jammed against it. Aruha (frowning): “This… this is where everyone said they were trapped.” Austin (nodding slowly): “Yes. They couldn’t get out through here, and when they tried the front door, that one was blocked too.” He kneels, inspecting the floor — scuff marks, drag lines, and faint trails in the dust from where the furniture was shoved hastily. Austin: “See these marks? These weren’t barricaded from inside the gift shop. Someone did this from here — the café side.” Paulie Louis (approaching): “So the killer… locked them in?” Austin: “Exactly. Both exits. They couldn’t have known, but whoever did this ensured no one could reach the plaza during the murder.” Paulie Mae (crossing her arms): “So whoever did it must’ve been outside during the lockdown. That narrows things down.” Julian: “Or someone’s pretending to be a victim. A good con’s all about timing, sugar.” Aruha (quietly): “Still… why block both doors? They didn’t need to trap that many people if they only wanted to kill one.” Austin: “Panic. Chaos. Distraction. The perfect cover for murder.” Paulie Louis: “And the rope?” Austin: “Maybe used to move or stage Robert’s body — maybe to lift him, maybe to drag him. We can’t confirm yet.” The group grows silent for a beat. The sound of dripping water from the cracked ceiling fills the silence, rhythmic and haunting. Paulie Mae (softly): “So the café… it wasn’t just collateral. It was part of the setup.” Austin: “Every mess has a reason. And every reason leaves a pattern.” He stands, brushing dust from his coat. His tone turns coldly matter-of-fact. “Whoever did this didn’t panic like the rest of us. They planned for this chaos.” The faint sound of sleigh bells echoes through the hall again — distant, distorted, mocking. Julian (muttering): “I’m starting to really hate that sound.” Paulie Louis (looking at Austin): “So what now?” Austin (walking back toward the main room): “Now, we connect dots. If the rope and box came from here, then whoever used them had access before the animals went wild.” Aruha: “Meaning the killer started setting this up hours before any of us realized we were trapped.” Austin (nodding): “Exactly. And if I’m right, this café might’ve been the real stage for the murder — not the plaza.” The group exchanges uneasy looks. Paulie Mae (quietly): “...So the murder didn’t start where it ended.” Austin glances back toward the blocked door one last time — his reflection framed against the broken café window and glowing snow outside. Austin: “No. It started here.” The camera pans up from the blocked hallway to the glowing neon sign flickering above the counter: ☕ “Latoya’s Café & Diner – Open 24/7” The “Open” light flickers twice… then dies. ~Clarence Gift Shop~ Arthur Present standing in the snow, hands clenched, staring off toward the plaza where Robert’s body still lies. His armor-like jacket is scuffed and damp, and there’s exhaustion in his eyes. Arthur Present (low, bitter): “I was supposed to protect everyone. That’s… that’s what I do. And I couldn’t even save him.” His voice trembles — more frustration than grief — as he punches the nearby railing. Snow scatters from the impact. Nicholas Sour, standing nearby in his oversized candy-themed hoodie, flinches at the sound but slowly walks closer. Nicholas (quietly): “Hey… you can’t blame yourself for that.” Arthur: “How can I not? I was there, Nick. I should’ve noticed something, heard something—” Nicholas (cutting in, firmer than usual): “You were trapped. We all were. That’s not on you.” Arthur exhales sharply, looking away. Arthur (softly): “...I couldn’t even protect the people next to me.” Nicholas hesitates, then takes a breath and steps closer, lightly tugging Arthur’s sleeve. Nicholas: “You did protect someone. You kept me calm when we were stuck inside. I… I don’t really do well with closed spaces.” He fidgets with a candy wrapper nervously. “I was losing it in there. You talking to me — that helped. So… thank you.” Arthur’s expression softens slightly, surprise cutting through the guilt. Arthur: “...You were scared?” Nicholas (sheepish): “Scared, panicking, existential crisis — take your pick.” Arthur chuckles quietly — a small, tired smile breaking through. Arthur: “Guess we helped each other, huh?” Nicholas (smiling faintly): “Yeah. Guess so.” The camera pulls back as snow drifts between them — two figures in the glow of the neon sign, their breath visible in the cold. A few paces away, Will King, Jessi Kowalski, Mark Traverse, Arthur Smith, and Riko Hoyomisha stand near the sidewalk. The snow crunches under their boots as they speak quietly. Will King (thinking aloud): “So, let’s piece this together. The café’s back hall and the gift shop’s front were blocked at almost the same time, right?” Mark Traverse: “Yeah. But that means the killer would’ve had to move between them fast — while the rest of us were panicking about the animals.” Riko Hoyomisha (arms crossed): “And without being seen. Which makes no sense. Everyone was in chaos — but there’s no way someone could’ve set that up mid-attack without getting mauled.” Arthur Smith (calmly): “Unless they did it before the animals were released.” Mark: “You’re saying this whole thing — the attack, the barricades, the timing — was planned down to the minute?” Arthur Smith: “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Will (frowning): “But we were all together before Harold dropped his little murder circus act. Nobody had time to sneak away.” Riko: “Then maybe we missed something. Maybe the killer knew where Harold was going to unleash the chaos and prepped early.” The group falls quiet for a moment — snow muffling the sound of distant wind. Jessi Kowalski, slightly apart from the others, glances down at the snow near the bench line. Something glints faintly under the thin frost — barely visible. She kneels, brushing away snow carefully. A small piece of paper, water-stained but not destroyed, sticks out. Jessi (quietly to herself): “What’s this…?” She pulls it free, eyes scanning the writing — whatever’s on it makes her expression tighten. Without missing a beat, she folds it and slips it quickly into her bag. No one sees. She stands, brushing off her gloves, and rejoins the group, her expression neutral. Will (still theorizing): “Let’s assume whoever did this had access to the café and the plaza. That narrows it to the people who were there before the bear broke in.” Mark: “Which would’ve been… Paulie Mae, Paulie Louis, Mariah, Riko, Kayegama, Johnathon, and Jessie.” Arthur Smith (glancing at Jessie): “You were there too, weren’t you?” Jessi (smiling nervously): “Yeah, lucky me. But I didn’t exactly have time to take inventory while running from a bear, thanks.” Will (nodding): “Fair. Still, it’s weird that the killer went to that much trouble. They risked being attacked just to trap everyone.” Riko (grimly): “Or they knew they wouldn’t be attacked.” The implication hangs heavy. Arthur Present, who’d been quiet for a moment, turns back to them. Arthur Present: “When we were trapped, I heard something — a crash, from outside. Nicholas did too. But we couldn’t see a thing, there are no windows in the gift shop.” Nicholas (nodding): “Yeah… it sounded big. Like something heavy fell or… someone did.” Mark Traverse: “You think that was Robert?” Arthur Present (looking toward the plaza): “Maybe. It lines up with the timeline. But until we know how he got from there to that bench…” Riko (quietly finishing the thought): “...we’re still missing the real story.” The snow falls thicker now. The neon reflections flicker across their faces — pinks, blues, faint red shadows. Arthur Smith: “We need to regroup. Compare notes before Harold decides to throw another ‘holiday surprise.’” Will: “Yeah. I’ve had enough festive trauma for one day.” Jessi (forcing a smile): “You and me both.” The camera lingers on her bag — a faint corner of the folded, damp paper visible before she zips it shut. The group begins walking back toward the town center, their footsteps fading into the snowy silence. As the camera pans up, the soft hum of the neon sign flickers behind them — and from somewhere above, faint laughter echoes through the city speakers. Harold Yamaki (distorted through static): 🎵 “The snow looks prettier when it’s stained red, don’t you think?” 🎵 ~Main plaza~ The entire cast of twenty-five stands gathered in the plaza. The faint glow from the surrounding lights reflects on their faces — a kaleidoscope of exhaustion, grief, and anxiety. Mariah City stands near the front, hands on hips, absolutely fuming. Mariah (yelling): “Y’all hear that? Investigation over?! We didn’t even solve anything yet! This furry-ass mayor better explain himself before I lose it!” Heather Metal, adjusting her scrunchie, gently pats Mariah’s shoulder. Heather (calmly): “Deep breaths, Mariah. Let’s not give him a reason to drop another bear.” Mariah (snapping): “He can drop himself!” Kayegama Yoshe (grinning awkwardly): “Honestly, I’d pay to see that.” The group chuckles weakly — a fragile laugh in the middle of tension. Behind them, Nicholas Sour and Arthur Present stand close together, quietly holding hands. Nicholas fidgets, embarrassed but comforted; Arthur looks down at him, faintly smiling. Neely Pearl (teasing): “Well, well, well — look who’s the cutest couple in town. Hand-holding in the middle of a crime scene? Romantic and suspicious.” Seth Norway (groaning): “Neely, can you not turn trauma into a dating show for once?” Neely (mock gasp): “I’m just observing! Emotional bonds in high-stress scenarios are fascinating! Besides, it’s cute.” Arthur Present (dryly): “You talk too much.” Neely (grinning): “And yet, everyone listens.” Nicholas (muttering): “I’d like to not be a subplot, thank you.” The crowd murmurs — small pockets of conversation overlapping, some nervous laughter, some arguing, some silence. Then — A low chime echoes through the plaza. The neon lights pulse once. Twice. Then flicker into a swirling array of red and gold. The snow sparkles under the shifting colors as Harold Yamaki’s voice cuts through the air — playful, proud, and a little too delighted. 🎵 “Attention, my delightful holiday guests! I hope you’ve all enjoyed your little detective playdate, because~…” 🎵 A loud snap echoes, and Harold’s holographic image appears high above the plaza — leaning casually against the giant Christmas tree like a smug host on center stage. Harold (smiling brightly): “...the investigation time is officially over! That means it’s time for my favorite part — the City Roulette Class Trial!” Mark Traverse (irritated): “Trial? What, we’re supposed to argue till we drop?” Harold (twirling his tail): “Oh, not at all! You’ll debate, deduce, and destroy each other’s lies until the truth pops out like a champagne cork on New Year’s Eve!” Jessie Kowalski (under her breath): “This guy’s definitely been dropped on his head.” Harold (snapping his fingers): “Now, now, don’t be shy! You’ve got a stage waiting!” The ground beneath the group begins to rumble. The giant Christmas tree in the plaza suddenly flickers brighter — ornaments glowing, lights spinning faster, colors blurring into a whirl of red, green, and blue. Will King (wide-eyed): “Whoa—what the hell—?!” Aruha Suguyama (staggering): “It’s moving—!” With a mechanical roar, the massive Christmas tree begins to open like a flower — ornaments and lights folding outward as the trunk splits apart vertically, revealing a cylindrical elevator shaft made of chrome and glass, glowing faintly red from within. Harold (grinning, his tail swaying): “Ta-da~! The Elevator of Truth! Isn’t it magnificent? I had it built just for you! Nothing says holiday cheer like a stylish descent into despair!” Mariah (in pure disbelief): “I’m sorry—HE TURNED A CHRISTMAS TREE INTO A DEATH ELEVATOR?!” Heather (sighing): “...of course he did.” Will King (in awe): “Okay, okay, I know this is messed up, but that’s actually kinda sick.” Mariah (turning to him): “SICK?! IT’S PSYCHOTIC! THIS IS WHY I HATE CHRISTMAS!” Harold (giggling): “Oh, Mariah~ You’re just mad because you didn’t make the Nice List.” Mariah (furious): “OH, I’LL SHOW YOU NICE WHEN I—” Before she can finish, the ground beneath her gives a jolt — she loses balance and crashes to the snowy ground, cursing in dramatic fashion. Mariah (from the floor): “Okay, that’s it! I’m suing the North Pole!” The rest of the group can’t help but laugh — the tension briefly breaking. Neely (snickering): “Can we get that on camera? Instant holiday classic.” Arthur Smith (sighing): “Focus, everyone.” Harold (stretching, satisfied): “Now that I have your undivided attention — everyone, please gather inside the elevator! The trial awaits below~.” The glowing shaft hums as its doors slide open, revealing an ornate golden interior. Snowflakes drift into the open space, melting instantly against the warmth that radiates from within. Harold (cheerful): “Step right up, my little ornaments of fate! Let’s see if you can unwrap the truth before it unwraps you!” He winks, and the hologram vanishes in a burst of confetti-like light. The group exchanges uneasy glances. Austin Sobriquet (coldly): “No more running. We face this head-on.” Julian Merwin (with a smirk): “Nothing like a courtroom under a Christmas tree to make the holidays feel alive.” Neely (to Nicholas and Arthur Present): “You two lovebirds better sit together. You’ll make the descent more aesthetic.” Nicholas (groaning): “Please stop talking.” Neely (grinning): “Never.” The group begins to file into the elevator one by one — some nervous, some determined, others quiet and pale. Will (still amazed): “I can’t believe we’re going down in a Christmas tree.” Mariah (muttering as she gets up): “I can’t believe I didn’t stay in bed.” The final shot pulls back — the massive neon plaza glowing beneath the snowfall as the Christmas Tree Elevator hums to life. Its lights shimmer, then begin to descend slowly underground, snow swirling above like falling glitter. The faint echo of Harold’s voice lingers as the tree sinks out of view: 🎵 “Ho, ho, ho~! Let’s see who’s been naughty this year!” 🎵 ~Inside the elevator~ The doors slide shut behind the last person — a soft metallic clang echoing through the chamber. The walls shimmer faintly with holographic snowflakes as the elevator begins its slow, smooth descent. For a brief moment, no one says anything. The sound of the machinery fills the silence, low and mechanical — a steady rhythm that almost feels like a heartbeat. Then— Seth Norway (dryly): “...Okay, but how the hell is this elevator holding twenty-five people without collapsing?” Will King (dead serious): “Maybe it’s powered by despair.” Mariah City (snapping): “Maybe it’s powered by my rage.” Neely Pearl (grinning): “Or maybe it’s powered by love!” Austin Sobriquet (under his breath): “I’d prefer despair.” The group lets out a tired, nervous laugh. Paris Ross, standing near the corner, looks quietly toward the glass floor beneath them — faintly seeing the glowing city lights fade as they descend. Paris (softly): “...I kinda miss him already.” Kayegama Yoshe (tilting his head): “Miss who?” Paris (sad smile): “Robert. He complained a lot — about the music, the decorations, the snow, the trees — but he still helped fix the heater when it went out in the guy’s house.” He sighs. “He acted like Christmas was a nightmare, but he still made sure we were warm.” The elevator hums softly. Heather Metal (quietly): “He didn’t deserve that. None of the animals did either.” Her voice drops, pained. “They were controlled… tortured, used as weapons. That wasn’t fair.” Riko Hoyomisha (calm, firm): “Fair doesn’t exist in this kind of game.” Heather (sighs): “Still. It feels wrong.” Johnathon Coffee groans dramatically, leaning against the wall. Johnathon: “And it also feels wrong that Jessie threw my favorite coffee pot at a bear’s skull! I could’ve brewed something with that!” Jessie Kowalski (rolling her eyes): “Excuse me for choosing survival over espresso, Johnathon.” Johnathon (dramatic): “Survival tastes better with good coffee!” Jake Belle (grinning slyly): “I dunno, I’d pay to see that again. You vs. a bear, armed with caffeine and confidence.” Mariah (snapping): “I’d pay to have my phone back so I could record all this damn nonsense!” Mark Traverse (leaning on the railing): “Honestly, I’d stream it. The Locked-In Chronicles: Coffee, Chaos, and Crying Citizens. Instant viral hit.” Neely (perking up): “Ooh, speaking of content — Mark, I have your next influencer pitch!” Mark (narrowing his eyes): “Do I even wanna ask?” Neely (excitedly clapping): “Yes, yes you do! Picture this — Arthur Present x Nicholas Sour: Love in the Time of Murder!” Nicholas (blushing furiously): “WHAT—?! Neely, no!” Neely (pretending to swoon): “The tension! The hand-holding! The forbidden tenderness amid despair!” Arthur Present (groaning): “Neely, please.” Neely: “Never. The fandom demands it.” Seth Norway (pinching the bridge of his nose): “Neely, there is no fandom.” Neely: “There will be.” Mariah (snapping her fingers): “Okay, okay — but when Mark starts that stream, I wanna co-host. That ship’s getting exclusive coverage.” Mark (laughing): “Deal — assuming we all live long enough to monetize it.” Nicholas (burying his face in his hands): “I regret everything.” Arthur Present (chuckling softly): “You’ll survive. Promise.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, wrapped lollipop, handing it to Nicholas. Arthur (gently): “Here. Helps calm the nerves.” Nicholas (surprised): “You… you just carry candy around?” Arthur: “You like sweets. I pay attention.” Nicholas blushes again — quietly unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. Neely (clutching chest): “Oh my God, they’re canon! Somebody hold me!” Seth: “I’m gonna hold your mouth shut in a second.” Neely (grinning wider): “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Seth.” Seth (flatly): “I will literally hex you.” Julian Merwin (snickering): “This is the weirdest group therapy session I’ve ever been in.” Austin (arms crossed): “At least morale’s up before the death trial.” Will King (nodding, fascinated by the elevator’s tech): “You gotta admit though… this thing’s incredible. Look at the lights, the panels, the mechanics—” He taps the glowing wall, eyes wide in admiration. “—You could fit an entire gaming PC setup in here!” Aruha Suguyama (smiling faintly): “Priorities, Will. Priorities.” Will (shrugging): “I cope through tech admiration.” Mariah (still fuming): “And I cope by yelling! And I can’t even text about it because SOMEONE—” She glares upward, yelling at the ceiling. “—took my PHONE!” Harold’s distorted voice echoes faintly through the speaker: 🎵 “Because you’re all on my Nice List!” 🎵 Mariah: “I’LL SHOW YOU NICE, YOU GLITTER-TAILED MENACE!” Jackie Yamata (laughing): “Someone get her a candy cane before she explodes.” The elevator hums louder — brighter lights spiraling through the glass floor as the descent slows. The city above fades completely from sight. The group grows quieter, the laughter dying down into a low, nervous murmur. The mood shifts — the jokes fading into unease. Heather (softly): “...This is really happening, huh?” Paulie Louis (nodding): “Yeah. No turning back now.” Julian Merwin: “Welcome to the holidays, where the only gift is existential dread.” Mariah (rolling her eyes): “I hate this city.” The hum grows deeper — like the rumble of thunder far below them. Arthur Present (quietly, to Nicholas): “No matter what happens… you’ll be fine. Okay?” Nicholas (nodding slowly): “...Okay.” The two share a brief, wordless look as the elevator gives a final metallic clunk. The glowing ornaments flicker once… twice… then dim. A low chime rings out, echoing through the space. Will (whispering): “...We’ve stopped.” The air falls silent. No one moves. Mariah (barely audible): “Oh hell no…” The last thing the audience hears before the screen fades to black— Harold Yamaki’s cheerful voice through the intercom: 🎵 “Welcome to the City Roulette Trial Chambers~! I hope you’re all ready to deck the halls… with accusations!” 🎵 ~Episode 3 ends~ Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer evrtngbagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Robert Finn/ Ultimate Technician Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Paulie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Previous: https://www.kovaze.com/blog/13295 Continue: ??????