Prologue || TWELVE || Emperor’s New Clothes [ATTN: Nines]
The opportunity to win a hundred million dollars had seemed like a good idea at the time, but TWELVE was beginning to have second thoughts. It wasn’t the lavish interior that aroused his suspicion, nor was it the fact that all of them were only now regaining consciousness (although that certainly didn’t help matters, considering the most likely explanation was that they had been drugged). No, what tipped him off was the fact that he had been shackled to a chair like a fucking hostage.
...But considering the alternative, being held captive in an extravagant mansion wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him. Really, it beat listening to old ladies prattle on about their newest aches and pains, and besides, he hated to think what would happen if he returned home without the prize money.
So while intellectually, he knew that he was probably in over his head, TWELVE kept a positive attitude. There was nothing he could do about the situation at present, anyhow, which meant he needed to occupy himself with the next two most important tasks; getting to know his fellow contestants, and getting plastered.
That was how he found himself in the lounge, standing behind the bar and perusing the selection (and what a selection it was; for a moment, it almost felt like he was back at the club). Before he could pour himself a drink, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening.
“Welcome! ♡”
Old habits were hard to shake, apparently. TWELVE leaned forward, resting his elbows (and, more or less, his entire upper body) on the bar as he sized up his present company.
(And, okay, the first word that came to mind was ‘nice’, because it wasn’t every day a full set of abs was just on display like that.)
Straightening up, he flashed the other man a wide grin, revealing rows of sharp teeth.
“If you were looking for a hundred million bucks, you could have just looked in a mirror.”