When Zero woke up, his eyes were sewn shut.
The mask is already on. The inner spikes press against the throat.
Rules emerged in the darkness—silver-grey ancient words, burned into consciousness stroke by stroke.
Article 1: You are not allowed to take off your mask after entering the venue.
Article 2: The person who takes off the mask will be replaced by the mask.
No.? Article: If you find three real things - the door will open.
Three real things.
This phrase is weird.
What's even weirder is that this rule is lighter than the other words, as if half of it has been erased.
There were seven living breaths in the room.
There is also an eighth - that position, which did not exist when the first count was made.
This copy is called Faceless Carnival.
No one's face here belongs to them.
And Zero - he doesn't remember who he is, and he doesn't remember why he can see those words that shouldn't appear.
He only knows one thing:
There must be a loophole in the rules.
And he could see the holes.
