A shabby tungsten lamp flickered with a dim glow in the room's center, hanging from a black wire.  The silence spread like ink in clear water, gradually filling the room.  In the room's center was a large round table, its surface battered and worn. A small, ornate clock, ticking away, sat at the table's center.  Ten people sat around the table, each dressed in tattered clothes, their faces smudged with dust. Some were slumped over the table, while others leaned back in their chairs, all deeply asleep. Standing silently beside them was a man in a black suit wearing a goat head mask. His eyes, peering out from the ragged mask, watched the ten individuals keenly.  The clock on the table chimed as both hands pointed to "twelve." In the distance, beyond the confines of the room, a deep bell tolled.  The ten men and women around the table began to stir and awaken at that moment. As they regained consciousness, they looked around in bewilderment, first at their surroundings and then at each other. It seemed none of them remembered how they had ended up there. "Good morning, everyone," the goat-headed figure began, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. "I'm pleased to meet you all here. You've been asleep in front of me for twelve hours."  The sight of this man was unsettling, his appearance bizarre under the dim light. His mask looked made from a real goat's head, with matted, discolored fur. The eye holes of the mask were hollow, revealing his sly eyes beneath. His every move exuded not only the distinct musk of a goat but also a faint scent of decay. A man with tattooed arms paused, realizing the absurdity of the situation. He hesitantly asked the goat-headed figure, "Who... are you?"  "I suppose you're all wondering that," the goat-headed figure replied, eagerly gesturing with his hands as if he had been waiting for this question. A young man named Ken Quinn sat the farthest from the goat-headed figure. He quickly surveyed the room, and his expression grew serious.  Something was off. This room was too peculiar. There were no doors; the walls on all sides were seamless. It seemed the room, including the ceiling and floor, was entirely sealed, with only the table in the center.  How did they get here? Were they brought in before the walls were built? Ken looked around again. The walls, floors, and ceiling were all covered in crisscrossing lines, dividing the surfaces into large squares.  Another thing that puzzled him was the goat-headed figure's mention of "nine people."  Counting everyone around the table, there were ten people, plus the goat-headed figure, making eleven total.  What did "nine people" mean? He reached for his pocket and found his phone had been taken. "No need for introductions," a woman with a cold voice interrupted, addressing the goat-headed figure, "I advise you to stop this right now. I suspect you've held us for over twenty-four hours, which amounts to illegal detention. Everything you say can be used as evidence against you." As she spoke, she brushed the dust from her arms as if more bothered by the dirt than the fact of being held captive. Her words jolted the group back to reality. Whoever this man was, to dare kidnap ten people single-handedly was already a breach of the law.  "Wait a minute..." a middle-aged man in a white coat interjected, turning to the cold-voiced woman. "We've just woken up. How do you know we've been detained for twenty-four hours?" His voice was steady and piercing. The woman calmly pointed to the clock on the table. "The clock here points to twelve. I have a habit of staying up late. The last time I checked my clock at home, it was already twelve. That means we've been held for at least twelve hours." She then gestured to the walls. "You should notice there's no door here. This man must have gone to great lengths to get us in here. He said we've been asleep for twelve hours, and now the clock points to twelve again, meaning it's turned at least twice. So, I suspect so. Any issues with that?" The man in the white coat shot her a cold glance, suspicion still in his eyes. In such an environment, her composure seemed almost too calm. Would anyone else remain so collected in the face of such a kidnapping? A young man in a black T-shirt spoke up. "Hey, why did you say nine people when there are ten of us here?" The goat-headed figure remained silent, not answering immediately.  "Damn it, I don't care how many people are here..." The tattooed man cursed, trying to stand but finding his legs weak and unresponsive. He could only point at the goat-headed figure, saying, "You'd better think twice. You have no idea the consequences of crossing me. I'll have your life." The tension in the room rose. At a time like this, they needed a leader. If they could subdue the goat-headed figure, perhaps they could regain control. But everyone found their legs limp, as if injected with something, leaving them powerless.  The tattooed man shouted threats, his voice echoing throughout the room. Ken remained silent, gently rubbing his chin. He studied the clock on the table, deep in thought.  Things were more complicated than they seemed.  He understood the goat-headed figure's mention of "nine participants." If ten people were here, one wasn't a participant. But who was it? The room held six men and four women—was one of them the "kidnapper"? The goat-headed figure said nothing more, slowly moving to stand behind a young man. The others followed his gaze and realized this young man differed from everyone else. Though his face was dirty, he wore a contented smile.  The goat-headed figure raised his hand, placing it on the young man's head. The young man's smile became more unsettling, his eyes filled with a knowing excitement. With a dull thud, the goat-headed figure slammed the young man's head against the table. Pink and white matter splattered like paint, covering the table and splattering everyone's faces. The young man's skull shattered upon impact. Outside, the distant bell tolled once more. Sitting close to the deceased, Ken felt something warm and sticky land on his face. Though he prided himself on his strong nerves, he found himself trembling. The girl next to the deceased froze for three seconds before her face twisted in horror, and she screamed. Her scream shattered the group's composure.  Could someone who could crush a skull with their bare hands still be considered "human"? How could such a frail body unleash such power?  The goat-headed figure spoke slowly. "I prepared ten people to use one to ensure your silence."