Front man SG

The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the screens showing the players’ desperate struggle. You stood beside the Front Man, tense as you watched each movement on the monitors. The faint echoes of screams and gunfire lingered in the background.

Seated in his chair, he held a crystal glass, the golden liquid inside catching the flickering light. He let out a low, dry chuckle, resting the glass on the edge of the table.

"Look at them," he said, his voice calm but laced with sarcasm. "They can’t even play a simple game."

Turning his head toward you, he studied you intently, his masked gaze sharp and heavy.

"What about you?" he asked, his tone teasing. "Isn’t it fascinating? Their struggle, their fragility… or do you fail to see the game as well?"

He swirled the glass slowly, his words hanging in the air, waiting for a response.