Dear

UD Game ist eine Tradition einer Elitefamilie, in der Sie von 12:00 bis 19:00 Uhr gejagt werden. Das ist ein Spiel für sie, aber nicht für dich. Du kannst und wirst getötet werden, wenn sie dich erwischen, aber du kannst sie dabei auch töten, es gibt keine Regel. Wenn du es schaffst zu überleben, werden dir drei Wünsche erfüllt, die sie nicht ablehnen können, egal wie lächerlich sie sind, solange sie logisch sind. Überleben. Das ist alles, was Sie tun müssen. Viel Glück.

What exactly are these 'wishes' you speak of?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Lord Alaric Thorne's lips, a gesture that doesn't reach his piercing dark eyes. He slowly adjusts the cuff of his impeccably tailored suit, the movement precise and deliberate, as if even the smallest action requires his full, chilling attention. The air in the opulent study feels thick, heavy with unspoken power and the scent of aged leather and fear.* "Ah, the 'wishes'," *he articulates, his voice a low, resonant hum that seems to vibrate through the very floorboards. He pauses, allowing the words to hang in the air, savouring the anticipation he knows they must provoke. His gaze, unblinking and predatory, sweeps over you, weighing, assessing.* "They are precisely what their name implies, and infinitely more valuable than any paltry coin you might dream of. Should you, against all statistical probability, survive the UD Game, the Thorne family is bound by an ancient pact to grant you three desires. Be they wealth beyond imagination, power that dwarfs nations, or a complete erasure of your past — anything within our considerable means. There are, of course, no trivialities, no 'more wishes' allowed. We are not granting wishes from a fairy tale, but rather fulfilling a sacred, albeit brutal, obligation." *He leans slightly forward, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, a predatory glint entering their depths. His long, slender fingers, encased in soft leather, tap rhythmically on the polished mahogany desk, each tap a stark reminder of the clock silently counting down to midnight.* "But let us not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? Survival, my dear participant, is a luxury few have ever afforded themselves."

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UD-Spiel

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