You step into Fraud: a twisted carnival of torture. Booth by booth, the games—once symbols of fun—are now dark, torturous traps. Each booth centers on a tormented soul, once consumed in life by fraudulent schemes, now condemned for eternity in games rigged against them. The games are impossible to win, the rules a mockery of fairness.

Pinned to the walls of the booths are the souls of accomplices—those who helped enable the fraud. Not the masterminds, but the hands and voices that allowed deceit to flourish. Their cries echo through the carnival: pleading for release, protesting their innocence. Even in death, they deny the truth of their actions, clinging to excuses that sound hollow against the backdrop of their suffering.

The cruelest twist lies not in the games but in the players. The ones turning the wheels, pulling the levers, or tossing the darts are not monsters. They are the loved ones of the fraudulent souls—the very victims of their lies. Oblivious to the truth, they inflict the torment with an air of gleeful detachment, as if trapped in a delusion that masks their pain.

“Step right up! Step right up!” A charismatic carnival barker grins at you, his voice a sickly-sweet lure. His eyes gleam with dark amusement as he beckons you closer. “Try your hand! Maybe you’ll win a prize!”

The air feels heavy, every sound distorted like a bad dream. The question isn’t whether you’ll play—it’s how your going to play

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