The shop owner was scheming against Chen Ge, but Chen Ge was no less busy scheming against the shop owner.
Three out of four people had fallen into the trap. The shop owner figured his side held the numerical advantage and it was time to make a move. What he didn't know was that ninety-nine percent of the combat power among the people standing before him was concentrated in Chen Ge alone.
The reason Chen Ge hadn't made any rash moves after entering the restaurant was that he was wary of the shop owner's hidden contingencies — the police-issue firearm, for instance, and the Red Suit in the refrigerator.
Now both sides believed they held the upper hand, and identical smiles crept across their faces.
"He might have stashed the gun somewhere. Bullets are limited, so he probably won't use it unless it's truly critical. That means I need to strike first — disable both his hands before he even has time to react, so he can't pull the trigger."
Chen Ge's approach to problems was straightforward: to prevent surprises, he eliminated them at the source.
"There's no point resisting. We mean you no harm — we just want you to play a little game with us." The shop owner was convinced he held absolute control. His expression was relaxed. "I trust you've already realized the chairs are rigged. The toxin on them will gradually strip away your ability to resist, and then, after you've enjoyed the peak of agony, you'll die."
He produced a clear glass vial from his pocket, crimson threads swirling inside. "I only have one dose. Of the the four of you, only one gets to live."
"I'm not poisoned, so your threats are useless to me." Chen Ge unzipped his backpack and reached inside.
"You'll be just like them soon enough. I'd advise you not to do anything pointless — unless you want to lose an arm or a leg and ruin the rest of the game for yourself." The fat owner's jowls quivered with excitement. He clearly relished watching living people turn on each other — the sensation of grinding every beautiful thing to dust and trampling it beneath his feet gave him a rush.
"A game? What kind of game do you want to play?" Chen Ge was genuinely interested. His haunted house needed more entertaining activities. Ordinary games didn't mesh with the atmosphere of a haunted house, but games that came from the mouth of a killer — those were different.
A terrifying, eerie haunted house paired with the kind of games a murderer enjoyed. In Chen Ge's mind, he could already picture the visitors screaming.
"Quite a few — cutting the cake, musical chairs, hide-and-seek, things like that." The fat owner was certain he had the situation completely under control. He patiently explained each game to Chen Ge.
The cruel rules, the nightmarish game design — just hearing about them made Chen Ge uncomfortable. "If I copied them exactly, the visitors would probably end up in the ER. But some of the ideas are actually pretty good."
"Visitors? What are you talking about?" The fat owner and the cook were now only a few meters from Chen Ge.
"Sorry — I've got quite a few friends on me, so I've gotten into the habit of talking to myself." Chen Ge didn't bother explaining the connection between carrying many "friends" and talking to himself. He'd already squeezed every last drop of value from the fat owner, and now it was time to drop the act.
"You've got the numbers advantage and you're armed. I might not have great odds, but I'm not going to sit here and wait to die." Chen Ge gritted his teeth, putting on a fierce expression.
"Truth is, we much prefer hunting down living, breathing prey. The more you struggle, the more you scream, the more excited we get!" The fat owner couldn't contain his laughter, his body shaking like a wobbling mountain of flesh.
"The more the victim struggles, the more excited you get?" Chen Ge waited until the fat owner was right in front of him before suddenly breaking into a grin. "Well then, today I'll give you more excitement than you can handle!"
He flung off his backpack, seized the hammer's handle — shaped like a column of vertebrae — with both hands, raised it high overhead, and swung it in a full arc straight into the fat owner's chest.
"Phut!"
Chen Ge confirmed the fat owner was a living human — the blood he spat was still warm.
"Are you excited now?!"
Factoring in the possibility that the fat might cushion the blow, Chen Ge put everything he had into the strike. The owner's massive body couldn't withstand it and was sent crashing to the ground.
Without a moment's pause, before the cook behind him could react, Chen Ge surged forward and smashed the fat owner's arms and one of his legs.
Even with the upper hand, Chen Ge never let his guard down. He wasn't certain whether the fat owner was hiding a handgun, so he chose the safest method: destroy both arms, break both hands — even if there was a police-issue firearm, he wouldn't be able to fire it.
Fierce, decisive, cunning, cautious — that was the impression Chen Ge left on the cook. The man's mind had still been wondering which dishes he could make out of these customers, and in the next instant, his own boss had been hammered into coughing blood!
What kind of despicable, shameless person carried a massive iron hammer inside their backpack?!
The cook's pupils jittered with unease. The bone cleaver in his hand looked like a toy compared to that hammer.
He scrambled for a countermeasure in his head, and when he looked up, his gaze happened to lock with Chen Ge's.
A cruel, terrifying stare — enough to chill the blood. Just as the cook thought Chen Ge was about to say something, Chen Ge charged straight at him with the skull crusher, not a single wasted word, not the slightest opening.
Too fast. His brain hadn't even formulated a plan before his body was already feeling the pain.
The bone cleaver clattered to the floor. The cook watched helplessly as his arm went limp and dropped to his side, fingers going slack.
"I—"
The cook tried to speak, but Chen Ge gave him no chance. He was far too cautious — before he had complete control of the situation, he wouldn't waste his own breath, and he certainly wouldn't let the enemy speak and throw him off balance.
A few more hammer blows, and the cook was smashed to the ground as well.
"All right, now you can talk. Tell me — where is the antidote that will restore their ability to move?" Chen Ge first took the vial from the fat owner's hand. The crimson threads swirling inside reminded him of a scene from long ago, when the Horror Specialties Society had clashed with him back in the Coffin Village. Wu Fei had held a vial just like this one.
"I—"
"Don't let him trick you!" The cook had barely started speaking when the fat owner shouted out.
"I haven't made you any promises. And besides, I never lie." Chen Ge crouched in front of the fat owner and began searching him. The cook's face flushed red with frustration, but not a single word managed to escape his lips.
"If I were you, I certainly wouldn't give that antidote to them." Both of his arms were shattered, a chunk of his chest caved in, and blood kept spilling from his mouth. The fat owner looked absolutely pathetic, but his attitude remained defiant.