The situation, as it was unfolding, was progressively becoming bloodier with each order carried out.

Two decided to literally take her nail out in the most agonizing way possible, stomping on her finger and pulling on the thing until it separated itself from her bloody flesh. For a scared girl, she put up quite a display of resolution, carrying out what the King asked without a moment's hesitation. Even he would have tried to find a way to delay or minimize the damage done to himself, had it been him given the order. It seemed that she really didn't want to die and was ready to go through any amount of pain to see it through.

In other words, she was a contender. Orwell decided to keep a watchful eye on her, sizing her up discreetly, but throwing his necktie in her direction, motioning wordlessly to her that she could use it as a bandage.

After that gruesome ordeal, the silent girl finally spoke, making some astute observations about their chances of survival, as well as the legal repercussions of murdering someone during the 'game'. Apparently, One didn't care much about living or dying, which relieved Orwell. If anyone was going to die first, it would probably be her. Without much ado, One did a faceplant onto the pliers, and off came her tooth, which she promptly threw towards the rest of them. He glanced at the bloody thing, then back at her. A mess of red now flowed from her mouth, which stained the floor as she salivated, like some injured animal. The pliers clutched tight in her hand also meant that like him, One was now armed with something.

Before anyone else could speak, Four made a sudden outburst.

[color=a36209]"T-that's... That's Cruel! L-look... I'm just saying, don't you think that's... a bit much? We don't even know if one of us is the King! The dumbwaiter comes down from above, so wouldn't that mean he's upstairs?"[/color]

Orwell was still beside the dumbwaiter, and he peered at it as Four continued speaking. It was true that the King -or at least another person- might be personally placing the items, but it was just as possible that a remote-controlled device was used to load them into the dumbwaiter. Although Four's theory did feel congruent to the disrepair that the stairs were now in. It might be possible to send someone up, if two or three people made a human ladder.

[color=a36209]"I mean... We have three hours to complete an Order, right? L-let's say the King is down here - He probably wouldn't target himself, right? We have three hours until we need to do anything drastic, we can think this over calmly..."[/color]

It was true that they had time to search around, but they did not have forever.

[color=fff200]"We have about seventy two hours before we die of thirst - probably even less for those already injured, unless we decide to start drinking blood, or unless the King decides to send us some supplies, which I find highly unlikely."[/color]

Orwell raised his arm and briefly showed them his watch, which indicated that it was a little past midnight. For some reason the date displayed on the watch was tampered with; the month was clearly wrong, almost seven months past the date he last remembers, and he guessed that the day was probably changed as well. As if the King were trying to tell him that a dead man has no use for time.

Well, he wasn't dead yet, and he doesn't plan on dying any time soon.

[color=fff200]"It might also be true that someone... maybe even another player... is up the stairs, but it would mean sending one smaller person up there to check. If there is someone up there, they are likely to be armed. Let me know if there are any volunteers willing to put their neck on the line for a shot in the dark."[/color]

He remembered the key in his pocket and started heading towards the only closed door. If there was something horrible waiting for him there, Orwell decided that he wanted to get it over and done with. The crumpled picture in his pocket felt like it weighed a ton.

[color=fff200]"The rooms - could be something useful in them. Hints, tools, bandages, food? Wouldn't hurt to find out. There's got to be a reason why the King chose us."[/color]

As Orwell reached the door, he took out the key and to placed it in the keyhole right below the worn knob to see if it would fit. He could have sworn that the room had gotten much colder - or was it just his imagination?