everlxnd

It was so quiet, all movements had paused.

You turned when you heard an elevator chime, which was then followed by faint, heavy footsteps. It felt suffocating, as if your throat would collapse into itself.

The hooded man at your side stopped you from any thoughts, instead jostling a door handle obnoxiously.

“Are you crazy!?” you sneered, the words squeezed through your teeth in a hush.

He seemed unfazed, instead going to the next door after the one he checked previously didn't budge.

“This isn't some normal game of tag y'know–”

“I know,” he interrupted, again going to the next door, you followed, “However, I would rather not get blown up sky high.” He said turned slightly, and you caught a glimpse of his eyes.

Were his eyes always that pretty? You needed his hair routine too–

“If you'd like to make yourself useful instead of tailing me like a lost puppy, you can keep a look out for this ‘tagger’, yes?”

You take it back!

“You–” The complaint stuck in your throat as you heard a gunshot ring through the apartment complex.

The man in the hood seemed to pause for a millisecond before resuming his door checks. The last door was also unmoving. You'd both have to walk towards the sound of the gunshot to get to the next row of doors.

He held out a hand.

What–?

“You first.” he said casually.

“Excuse me?!”

“I checked the doors on this side, you check the doors on that side. I will keep a lookout.” The matter-of-factly tone irked you and you raised an eyebrow.

“I never agreed to that.” You crossed your arms.

“I never told you to follow me”

“You grabbed me!”

“To give you back your card.”

THREE MINUTES HAVE PASSED.

The reminder seemed to halt the small argument. Sighing, you accepted defeat and slowly turned towards the row of doors on the opposite side.

“You better be good at look out duty.” you grumbled and you tiptoed towards the doors. When you got the first one, you grabbed and turned the door handle. Nothing.

Then the next, and the next, and the next until you had done the entire row.

“Are you sure you don't have the wrong idea? What if the button's in a room on the roof or something that's impossible to get to, and we're standing around opening doors like idiots?” The hood man came into view as you turned, the gunshots had started to fade into the background by now, and 6 minutes had passed.

“We haven't opened any doors, they're all locked down here.” He said blankly, he turned and started to make his way to the staircase.

“Geez, I didn't know I was in the presence of THE Sherlock Holmes, how could I have missed that!” You started, “You're lucky I haven't thrown you off the balcony or something–”

As you made it to the staircase, you felt a hand lock onto your wrist again before they yanked you away. The movement almost gave you whiplash, but the loud shots of bullets whizzing past your ear nearly gave you heart attack.

You didn't even get time to react before you were basically dragged along the corridor. The side of your head felt unusually warm and wet. Was it raining or something? You don't think rain was ever really that warm.

“Damn.” You heard the hooded man curse under his breath as you both came to dead end, the heavy boots against the apartment floor were a dull reminder of the approaching doom that would befall the both of you.

(un)Thankfully, a pair of unfortunate souls weren't looking where they were going as they flew down the stairs right in front of the tagger.

You saw the figure with the huge gun first. Then your eyes travelled to the mask they wore over their face – it obscured it entirely.

It was a deep blood red with a haunting smile on its face, like something out of a horror movie. The eyes had gold accents around them, meeting in sharp points at the cheeks to make it look like clown makeup.

The two who had stumbled down the staircase seemed to garner the masked persons attention as they turned in quick succession to aim their firearm at them.

You didn't even get a chance to register what was about to happen before you were practically thrown into a sprint up multiple flights of stairs until you reached the top. The screeches of terror and gunshots that soon became distant gave an idea what had occurred, however.

Blood rushed to your eardrums as you tried to catch your breath – stairs had never been a strong suit.

“You– you're bleeding,” a gasp came from beside you and you turned to see your hero. He seemed to be struggling to gathering his bearings, whilst simultaneously trying to look unbothered by the physical strain.

You felt his fingertips ghost across your temple before you quickly reached to it with your own. It wasn't much blood – but you couldn't help but scoff at the prospect of yet another injury. The slice in your hand seemed to burn at the reminder.

“Well, hopefully the button isn't down there,” you jested quietly, but the stranger man had already started to try and open doors again.

you shook your head before you came out with something rude or sarcastic at his determination, you needed at least one person be doing something after all.

“Should I go look on the other side?” you murmured in his direction as you looked at the corridor that lead to the stairs – the ones that your death could be climbing up at any time.

The hooded man seemed to stop in his tracks for a moment, mulling it over. 10 minutes remained.

previous chapter // next chapter // prologue

A shorter chapter today. Sorry for that, and the wait life got crazy in the worst way possible ://

Me thinks that I'll start posting every Saturday and/or Sunday so I can be more consistent w/ posting!!

taglist 🏷 (open – want to be added? just comment you do and I'll add you!)

I may also be making a masterlist + accepting requests for oneshots too!!

☆ reblogs / hearts are very much appreciated!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ☆

A day or two had passed since that fateful day. Your leg wound had started to scab, and the bruises on your neck were pretty much faded, albeit still quite tender to the touch. The slash on your hand, however, didn't seem to want to close. It was deep, to say the least.

Your nose wrinkled in disgust. It probably needed stitches, but you had no way to do that and didn't want to risk an infection. Keeping it bandaged and rinsed seemed to do the job. Thankfully, you had full movement of your hand, though it still hurt quite a lot.

Speaking of rinsing, bottled water was starting to decrease steadily. You had started to ration it—some to drink and some to wash with. You weren't sure whether risking an open wound with rainwater would be wise. So now, here you were leaving the apartment's safety to go to the small supermarket that was a few blocks away.

It was dark and a little frigid. You opt to put the hood of your hoodie up to protect yourself. You were yet to figure out what a visa meant. In the ‘normal’ world, once a visa expired, you weren't permitted to stay in that country, right? So… would they kick you out? Whoever ‘they’ are? No, that seemed too merciful for a place that literally made you kill a person to survive.

You went to turn a corner when a screen caught your eyes. The same style arrow that led you to the botanical garden pointed to an apartment building.

Another game? In an apartment building? You eyed it cautiously, watching as an unfamiliar figure entered—it was still open.

It was a dilemma—typically speaking, it would probably be smart to just ignore it and wait for the visa to be on its last day and then do another game. What would happen on the last day, though? What constituted the end of the visa? What time? Did it end on day six or day seven of the visa?

Thinking back, you remember Jade, Swan, and Gallagher. Ignoring the ragged look of Gallagher, Jade and Swan looked pretty well put together—no traces of blood or scars, not even a bruise. Could it be that not every game was a physical one? One where you fight to the death?

You inhale sharply. You would have to enter a game either way if you wanted to stay on top of visa days and not find out what would happen when you were ‘no longer permitted in the country.’.

One foot in front of the other, you make your way up the steps of the apartment entrance and come to an open room; a number of people stood inside—some were in groups this time. You glance at the table in front of you, no goggles thankfully, but more phones. You pick one up.

FACE RECOGNITION IN PROGRESS, PLEASE WAIT FOR A MOMENT.

Swan was right about the facial recognition, which probably meant you couldn't back out of the game now either—something told you didn't want to know what would happen if you attempted to do so.

PLEASE WAIT UNTIL THE GAME COMMENCES. THERE ARE CURRENTLY TEN PARTICIPANTS. ONE MINUTE UNTIL REGISTRATION CLOSES.

Ten was a lot—a good chunk of them were teamed as well, at least over half of them. If it was anything like the seven of hearts, you would be one of the first to go.

You shook your head slightly to rid yourself of such (harrowing) thoughts. You definitely wouldn't win if you had that mindset—though the way you could hear them talk amongst themselves and eye you made you a little scared. They probably had a mindset that would put you six feet under.

You looked to the ground and leaned on the wall; maybe if you looked unsuspecting, they'd leave you alone.

Two pairs of footsteps, and then another. Three people.

The pair were women; you could tell from their voices. One was more high-pitched than the other, something about needing to do a coffee run when this was done. The other seemed to be pretty uninterested in the situation they were in too—talking about how they hoped they wouldn't need their baseball bat because they had forgotten it.

They were confident; if they weren't, they wouldn't be bickering the way they were.

You seemed to come to your senses when the familiar voice of the system (is that what it was?) reverberated in the room.

REGISTRATION HAS CLOSED; THERE ARE A TOTAL OF 13 PARTICIPANTS. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.

Thirteen? But you had only heard—

Your eyes drifted to the left; a new pair of shoes stood not far from you. Combat boots. You felt a little hesitant as you tilted your head slightly to get a better view.

White hood.

Your mouth felt dry, and your soul felt like it had sprinted away from you. White hood, combat boots, you could even see silver hair pooling at the figure's shoulders and escaping the food's confines.

DIFFICULTY, FIVE OF SPADES

Your head left the familiar figure as you looked at the phone you had unknowingly started squeezing the life out of. Spades? Five? From common sense and past (traumatic) experiences, the name was the amount of visa days you would be rewarded.

“Physical,” the all-too-familiar voice came from the side of you, though it sounded less than impressed. You would've replied, had it not been for the voice again.

GAME, TAG

RULES: AVOID WHOEVER IS “IT”

You raise an eyebrow slightly at the phone screen. They sure liked using kids games.

CLEAR CONDITIONS: DISCOVER AND TOUCH THE SYMBOL HIDDEN IN ONE OF THE BUILDING'S ROOMS WITHIN THE TIME LIMIT. YOU CLEAR THE GAME WHEN THE OBJECTIVE IS FULFILLED. THE TIME LIMIT IS 20 MINUTES. AFTER 20 MINUTES, THE TIME BOMB HIDDEN IN THE BUILDING WILL EXPLODE.

You almost cried. The rules presented the game to be less of a death game; however, the threat of a literal bomb seemed to completely change that.

THE GAME WILL COMMENCE IN TWO MINUTES.

People started to pour out of the room into the rows of doors. Out of instinct, you started to follow them until a sharp pain shot through and up your arm. You quickly swivelled and pulled your hand from a vice grip.

“What the hell!? Do you have a problem!?” You practically shrieked as you cradled your injured hand. You could see blood start to seep through the bandages. Looking up from the gruesome sight, the culprit with that damn hood retracted his hand.

“Joining a game so soon is a waste of bandage.” You could make out the almost meek mumble; you couldn't help but stare in disbelief.

“You serious? Who cares about a damn bandage? Do you know where you are right now?” You point accusingly in his direction; he doesn't seem to care or even acknowledge it.

“Yes, do you?”

He was good, you'd give him that. You had no idea where you were to be honest, but going with the flow seemed to be the only thing you had right now.

He filled the awkward silence with the sound of heavy boots meeting the concrete floor.

“Spades are physical games,” he stated as he continued walking, and you didn't have anything better to do but follow him. “Diamonds are for intelligence, clubs are teamwork, and hearts are for playing with feeling. I'm sure you're already aware of that, yes?”

He turned his head to the side to catch and answer.

“Er, no? Why would I?” You asked suspiciously, narrowing your eyes and looking him up and down. He had started to attempt to open doors of apartments.

“Considering you emerged victorious from the seven of hearts, I assumed you would be familiar with their nature. I seem mistaken; however, my apologies.” He sounded sarcastic as he said those words, and your eyes widened slightly.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“When you hit the ground, so did the card in your pocket,” he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a familiar, bloodstained card. It made you nearly gag with its appearance—

“Hang on a minute, how'd you get that!?” You barked, going to swipe it out of his hand, but he held it out of reach.

“Like I just said, it fell from wherever you put it when you fainted.” He hesitantly held it out again slightly so you could take it without taking his hand off in your stupor. “That's why I came back. I must've pocketed it when I was working and forgotten to give it back.”

He continued to try and open doors, and you looked on in surprise. It was an oddly noble thing to do; after all, it was just a card, and you had threatened him previously. You took it from his hand awkwardly at the embarrassing memory of flopping to the floor like a fish.

“Oh, uh... thanks.”

You heard a slight hum in response and saw him nod from beneath the hood. You wanted to ask something, anything—

THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE; THE TIME LIMIT IS 20 MINUTES. COMMENCE NOW.

THE TAGGER IS ON THE MOVE.

previous chapter // next chapter // prologue

as you can see, I've taken some liberty in regards too the actual plot/canon events in the actual AIB series. hopefully it isn't confusing to anyone :P

☆ reblogs / hearts are very much appreciated!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ☆

taglist 🏷 (open – want to be added? just comment you do and I'll add you!)

Your head throbbed, hurting like hell. You must have smacked your head on the floor as you fainted. How embarrassing. It was surprising; you had assumed they would've killed you, that you wouldn't have the opportunity to think about how your brain felt like it would escape your skull as of now.

Talking of skulls, your head felt like it rested on something plush and soft. The same with your entire body; something weighed you down—something warm and pleasant. Opening your eyes cautiously, instead of being met with a psychopathic killer, you were met with your ceiling.

Perhaps you had just dreamed an incredibly elaborate and lifelike nightmare? The pain in your palm and thigh disagreed. Your neck felt sore too, but it seemed you had narrowly escaped substantial damage to your vocal cords and oesophagus.

Sitting up from the plush pillow, you look at your hand that had held the glass. It was bandaged tightly, and both hands were clean. Maybe an angel had wrapped your injuries after you took a graceful tumble.

You rolled up your sweatpants, and sure enough, it was also clean and wrapped in a white bandage. You could smell lingering alcohol. It was undeniable; the stranger had patched you up for some strange reason. Or, you had sleep-treated yourself, but that seemed. unlikely.

You couldn't help but cringe slightly. Though your skin was clean around the wound, your sweatpants were torn and stained red. They still felt damp and warm.

Your room was empty, and no shuffling sounds could be heard in your apartment. They were gone. You didn't even have bandages or alcohol (your situation seemed to make alcohol quite appealing, though). Why would they use it on you?

You could think about it, or you could count your lucky stars and just accept that someone had done something nice and pray that everyone would extend the same kindness, though unlikely.

The sweat from the game prior stuck to your skin, and you cringe slightly. No electricity or power probably meant that the water was working. There was only one way to find out, and so you walked to your bathroom and turned the tap of the bath. Nothing.

“This is the worst.” You left the room and instead went into the kitchen. Quickly checking to make sure no strangers were rummaging through your cabinets. Nothing.

Recalling the bottled water you had in your fridge, you opened it and took one. Six more remained; you'd have to sort out some kind of water system, as well as a way to get food that wouldn't go bad in a day. Thankfully, the wound on your leg seemed to have been more superficial and not that deep. You could walk fine, and it didn't hurt much—if it did, the paracetamol in your–

They took your medication. No paracetamol or ibuprofen remained in the cabinet. You looked over to the pot of knives you used to cook.

1,2,3,4,... number five is missing.

It freaked you out a little. The person who helped you had stolen a knife and the painkillers you kept in your kitchen. They hadn't decided to stab you, though, so you supposed that was a plus, and you inwardly thanked them for sparing you.

You looked to the floor of where you remembered to have fallen, and you scowled. Smudged blood, it looked like you had been dragged. Thankfully, it was just on the tiles, and your carpet had been spared from being stained.

You were about to leave when you heard footsteps in the corridor. Another person. Whether it was the same stranger or not was something you didn't care to find out. Instead, opting to hide behind the wall beside the entrance to the kitchen. You look at the pot of knives as you hear your front door open. Damn the seven hearts for making the key to your apartment fall out.

Their footsteps were slow; they had boots on—they sounded heavy. You heard them make their way towards the bedroom and cautiously open the door. Peeking your head slowly around the corner, you see the familiar white hood look around quickly.

The sky was still dark when you woke up from your (painful) slumber, so you hadn't been out for that long, maybe half an hour.

Maybe they planned to kill you in your sleep? That wouldn't really make sense, though; why would they use their own bandages on you if they were going to kill you anyway?

They had entered the room now, not a good idea on their part. What if you were waiting in your wardrobe or something to jump them? That said, you had a good opportunity served to you on a silver platter.

You quietly tiptoed to your bedroom door. They had stuck their head into the bathroom, with which you took your opportunity and slammed your door shut on them—locking them in.

You hadn't really thought it through very well, not executed it perfectly. The door didn't have a lock, so you jammed your body upwards into the door handle so the stranger couldn't try turning it down to open it.

“You... you stole my painkillers,” you started as you felt them slightly jostle the handle, trying to open the door. “And knife.”

“Is that what you're concerning yourself with?” The voice surprises you. They had been silent, even when you made your feeble attempt at a threat to get their hands out of your cabinet. That, and you had expected to sound more… rough? It was a guy who sounded like he had stepped out of some type of period drama—regal, composed, with a soft tinge.

“You came back; a knife is missing—how can I be sure you're not going to stab me with MY knife?” You hear him sigh from the other side of the door. You hear a thud; the jostling of the door stopped.

“I wouldn't have used my own supplies on you if I wanted to kill you,” he says in an almost deadpan voice, as if you were stupid. You agreed, but you had also been made to play in a deathmatch hide and seek; anything was possible at this point. There wasn't any such thing as being too careful in a situation like this.

“Hand it over, and I'll let you out,” you bargain. It was a little dumb; who's to say he didn't have another he had gotten from another apartment he'd attack you when you let him out.

You don't get to think; you hear a scraping on the ground, and lo and behold, a butter knife slipped through the bottom of the door. You almost laugh, but any knife would be dangerous if you had the intent to do damage—hell, you used a piece of beer bottle to kill someone.

“You... don't have anything else, do you?” you question. You're surprised the door hasn't gotten two holes burnt into it from the way you stared so intently at it.

“Nothing that concerns you, no.”

Well, that sounds awfully suspicious. You quirk your eyebrow slightly before looking around the main room. You inhale sharply before letting go of the door, quickly grabbing the vase on your coffee table to strike.

The door opened slowly, and out came the stranger. It was the first time you had seen his face. Though it was still a little obscured from the hood, he was worse; you could make out his features.

You almost lose your grip on the vase as you stare at him. He looked like he was some kind of prince or something. You could see silver locks flowing over his shoulder slightly; his stare was intense to say the least.

He wordlessly walked towards the front door again, but his eyes never left yours. Probably, so he wouldn't get smacked in the back of the head with a vase.

He knelt down and picked up a backpack he must have set down when he entered and opened the door.

“Goodbye.”

He was gone. What is going on?

previous chapter // next chapter // prologue

“GAME CLEAR. CONGRATULATIONS.”

The smell of smoke lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of iron coming from the pool of blood surrounding what was Gallagher. You can taste it on your tongue, the red substance coating your teeth in a cruel reminder of what had just happened.

You killed Jade and Gallagher. You stabbed Jade in the neck. Was the blood you could taste hers? Was it a disgusting mixture of both? Was it always so warm in here? The bile rises to your mouth, and you vomit.

“What…what the fuck,” your voice trembles as you wipe your mouth. A huge mistake, the blood coating your hands spreads onto your face, smudging the red that was already on there.

You hear the sound of a light turning on and follow the sound. A small round table, with a singular card. The seven of hearts.

You slowly reach out and grab it. The blood from your fingers will surely stain it. What was the reason for having a card? A cruel reminder?

You wince. The adrenaline must have worn off by now. A knife through the thigh and a tender throat after being choked nearly half to death. Not to mention the slice across your palm from when you gripped onto the glass.

“What do I do now?” It sounded pathetic. A voice unfit for someone who had just killed someone in a fit of primal instinct.

“you can save your grovelling for forgiveness for killing three people when you're out, when you're alive.”

Was it wrong you felt nothing? not relief or sadness? It felt empty; your heart was heavy, and your hands shook. The terror of the looming threat of having your head blown off or being choked to death remained.

Can't people die from shock? You hold your hand to feel where your heart was. It felt as though it would grow legs and run out of your chest any minute now.

TO THE SURVIVORS OF THE GAME, WE WILL NOW SUPPLY YOU WITH A VISA. WE WILL SUPPLY ALL GAME SURVIVORS WITH A SEVEN-DAY VISA.

You furrowed your brow at the announcement. Visa? Seven days?

A sigh escapes your lips as you slowly turn around to leave. You could figure that out later, as now you felt as though you'd collapse any second. You can't bring yourself to turn around and look at the bloodied corpse at Gallagher. You don't look back at the garden as you leave the building.

-

You entered the lobby of your apartment building. No doubt looking terrible—sweaty and bloody. Not to mention the plethora of injuries you had. You make your way to the stairs; thankfully, you didn't live on the top floor—lugging yourself up the stairs fifty times sounded unappealing at best with an impaled thigh that was actively bleeding out.

The receptionist and security guard had still not shown up. Neither had anyone besides the three at that game. Where had everyone gone? How many people were out there?

You continue to think absentmindedly. Though, when you get to your door, you see it's slightly ajar. All of the doors before yours are in fact. You could hear the slight sound of shuffling around.

Someone was in there.

A raccoon? A fox? A rat? A massive spider? Please, anything but that.

You felt around your pocket before grabbing the piece of glass you had used previously. It was a grim reminder, but easy to carry. That, and you had forgotten to discard it, too scatterbrained to let go of it when you ran to Gallagher. Maybe it grounded you in a way at the time—something to stabilise yourself, then literally everything went to shit.

You don't want to use it again, not really. Even if you were a crazed maniac who loved to stab people with a measly piece of glass, the cut in your palm and your badly impaled leg made it hard to move now that adrenaline had all but seeped from your body.

More shuffling. It sounded like they were opening and closing drawers and moving stuff around. Maybe the rats have grown thumbs and are five feet taller? Actually, that's a horrifying thought too.

You hold the trusty piece of glass in front of you. It embeds itself into your already sore skin, and you bite back a groan. Slowly, opening the door wider and peeping into your apartment. They aren't in the main room; it sounded like they were in the kitchen.

Gallagher had mentioned he'd been here for a while, a scavenger? They would be terribly disappointed if so; the cabinets were more barren than a desert, and the lack of power meant that the stuff in the fridge would go bad in a matter of hours to days.

You quietly step towards the entrance to the kitchen. Lo and behold, a figure. They were tall and slim but decently built. They had a hood over their head, and their back was too you. They had opened and emptied every drawer in your kitchen, and you internally groaned at the thought of having to put all the contents back (unless this person was the serial killer with the crazy budget to put people in death games and had come to kill you).

Why’s it gone quiet?

You hadn't realised you’d spaced out, but the stranger certainly had. Their hand was halfway in a cabinet. It wasn't far from the pot where you stored your (very few) knives. If they wanted to, they could grab one and stab the living daylights out of you. You tighten your grip on the piece of glass; you feel warm liquid run down your hand.

Their head was slightly turned, face still obscured by the white hood. How the hell do you deal with an intruder? God, you felt lightheaded.

“You… uh… hands out of my cabinet?” It came out like a question, but you held out the glass, still stained with Jade’s blood, towards them. It would've been more effective had it been a gun, or even the screwdrivers back at the garden, but the stranger holds their hands above their head in surrender regardless.

They wore gloves. Everything about their attire was pristine. Had you not been basically dying at the moment, you would've laughed at how terrible the contrast must be from an outsider's perspective.

“I have nothing for you,” you say, eyeing them. You swear you hear them sigh, and they relax a little. A good sign? Probably not. Maybe they think you're an easy target. Why are they tilting sideways? Is the room spinning, or is that just you? Why is everything black?

previous chapter // next chapter // prologue

“GAME TIME: TEN MINUTES, STARTS NOW”

You don't even get the chance to move before Jade saunters towards the slouched man. His posture was relaxed—he was in no hurry to be anywhere. Maybe this meant that it was all a bluff? Some type of elaborate plan to scare you?

It's what you would like to think, but the way Jade pushed her heel into Gallagher's chest, pinning him to the ground with an icy glare, tells you that she is taking it seriously.

A chime comes from the large screen. The picture of Gallagher turns white, and the symbol of the wolf appears next to Jade's. She wastes no time running further into the garden, disappearing up a ramp—her heels could be heard stomping on the ground.

The lady in purple—Swan—leaps into action, running in the direction that Jade ran too with not even a second glance. As she walked, she pulled something out of her pocket—it was long and shone as she ran. A knife.

You couldn't help but be glued to your spot. A minute had passed—nine minutes remaining. Should you run after them? How would you gain the upper hand to become the wolf? Swan had a knife; she had been able to conceal it. Who's to say Jade didn't also have a knife?

“Standing around like a scared rabbit won't make you the wolf or win you the game,” a now-familiar voice said. You almost had a heart attack, forgetting that Gallagher had sunk down onto the ground.

“Do you want to live?” He asks, looking up at you through his eyelashes. He looked tired, but he wasn't acting drunk. Maybe he was good at hiding it?

You could feel yourself start to get hot; this was scary.

“Do you?” You asked cautiously, eyeing the man. If he wanted to, he could take you out right here with no problem. He laughed a little, shaking his head slightly. Then he smiled.

“Been here a while. Too long. Nothing here except games and survival, and more games and survival. Had a partner initially; he lost on purpose—thought I was the more capable out of the two of us." He audibly gulped as if he was holding back tears. “What is physical strength if you don't have mental fortitude? Absolutely nothing. Didn't realise how much I relied on his presence to stay sane. I'd rather die here than carry on going on with this bullshit.”

He lifted his head lazily, meeting your gaze. His eyes were narrowed slightly. “You've only just arrived, I assume? Bad luck to start with a hearts game, a seven at that.” He started feeling around in his pockets. A knife? A screwdriver? Was he going to kill you anyway?

“You know no one here, though. It's an advantage you should use if you want to survive, kid,” he pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Lighting it before inhaling, then exhaling. You couldn't help but wrinkle your nose at the smell of smoke.

“Heart games play on feelings. Would be a terrible game if you knew all three opponents, choosing which one should live,” he blows out more smoke. “You should stay indifferent and close your heart to feelings of remorse or regret—that is how you will win this game.”

You could feel a migraine coming on; your brain was working overtime. It was clear what he meant.

kill them.

“Why…?”

“That Swan woman seems intent on being the wolf. You saw the knife she had, yes? She won't be using that for cutting the trees down, that's for sure.” 8 minutes remain. “Once she's killed that Jade woman, she'll probably come back to finish us both off to eliminate the possibility of becoming a lamb. Or, maybe, she'll lose, and Jade will come and do the same.”

You nod slightly. You were no killer; you could hardly cut a loaf of bread properly. How would you kill someone? How could you kill someone? You assume the two women were not killers either. Originally anyway. The way Gallagher spoke of his partner dying in another game made you think, though. Was every game cutthroat in nature? Were they all kill or be killed?

“You didn't pick up anything from the table,” he scoffs slightly. “You could use the glass; it'll be nasty though.”

He says it so casually, as if it were second nature. The norm.

“It’s a moral battle now, your first game. But you can save your grovelling for forgiveness for killing three people when you're out, when you're alive.” He snuffs his cigarette out by putting it on the ground. “Or you can wait around and die; I won't stop you. I have a whole box of cigs to go through in 7 minutes—schedules full.”

“You... you're not going to try and become the wolf?” You mutter quietly. You eye a piece of glass on the ground. Green, with ragged edges. It would do damage, would cut into your hand if you picked it up, and would probably kill if you used it in other ways.

“Did you not listen to what I said about a minute ago? I'm done.” He opens the cigarette box again, pulling another cigarette out. “You'll probably be the same once you've done 10 games, but you should probably give it a chance.”

The screen chimed again. Swan was now the wolf.

You slowly squat down, picking up the piece of glass cautiously. It felt like a boulder in your hand, the weight of what it could—would be used for.

“Well, good luck out there, kid. Wouldn't wanna be ya.” He gave a lazy wave. Was it to say goodbye or to shoo you away? It was unclear, but you break into a brisk walk, and you're over the ramp in no time. Gallagher would be unlikely to become a problem, unlikely to get in your way.

The foliage is vast. The garden would've made a good first date spot or a nice place to relax and admire. Yet here you were, stuck in some twisted death game.

Death game…

Maybe Gallagher’s words only really seemed to settle down on your shoulders now.

“this game will kill three of us; only one will survive.”

It was truly a game of survival. You felt your knees wobble slightly as you followed the wooden path. You could see Jade’s expression in the back of your head. Primal, desperate, like a cornered animal. Swan’s wasn't far off as she pulled that knife from her pocket to chase her down.

Then you heard it through your headset. A struggle–yelps, and grunts. The sound of rolling and thudding. Jade and Swan were fighting. Fighting for their lives. You had to kill them.

kill them…

Then the screaming and yelping stopped. Replaced with heavy breathing. You could hear the screen chime in the background. The last wolf was Swan, which meant Jade had taken the role now. Was she dead? Did Jade kill her?

THREE MINUTES REMAINING.

You tightened your hold on the glass. Maybe you could make eye contact at the last second with Jade and become the wolf without hurting anyone? It was impossible; she would still die a gruesome death whether you killed or left her to be a lamb. Maybe you should give up? Save your hands from becoming stained with the blood of others.

You felt your back hit the ground before you could even react to what was happening. The force made you clutch onto the glass in your hand harder. Your hand felt warmer... and wet? Then a stinging pain in your thigh.

You rolled to the side; a mess of pink hair is all you see. Then her hands, stained with thick red. Jade.

“I must win,” she sounded crazed, speaking in a hushed and quick tone. You watch as she raises her hands, the blade Swan had before she went running. Thick globs of blood pooled off of it.

She was straddling your legs. Her head was down—no doubt so she wouldn't make eye contact. You wouldn't get away in time; she'll stab you–

You turn your head as she plunges it into the wood below you. Jade almost growls, low and full of desperate frustration. She claws desperately at the blade, but the strength she used to indent it into the wood made it so it wouldn't budge.

ONE MINUTE, THIRTY SECONDS REMAINING.

Instead, she wraps her slender fingers around your throat. Her well-pedicured nails digging into the delicate skin.

“You… can't win,” she cries as you feel her grip tighten. You kick wildly, try to knee her so she'd get off, move, anything.

Then, you feel her weight shift ever so slightly, and you leap forward, knocking your forehead into hers. She grips her head slightly—stunned.

ONE MINUTE REMAINING

It was enough. You grab at the piece of glass. When did you drop it? You plunge it into her throat.

It's bloody; it sprays all over your face and hands, dripping down your clothes. The sickening smell of iron reaches your nostrils first. She collapses to the ground limply, and your goggles turn red. The chime sounds in the distance.

THIRTY SECONDS REMAINING.

You don't hesitate. Your mind is blank, and you pull yourself up and run the way you came, where the screen is. You see the red illuminating the room. You are the wolf.

Then your eyes travel to Gallagher. He's lying upwards, facing the glass ceiling, safe from being ‘found’ by the wolf.

TEN SECONDS REMAINING.

“I stand by it,” he says as he exhales, a plume of smoke comes from his mouth.The box of cigarettes beside him is empty. Nineteen burnt-out cigarettes surrounded him. “I wouldn't wanna to be ya, but you should give survival a try; you seem good at it.”

You stagger towards him without thinking. The collar around his head explodes; you feel warmth on your face. Blood. The phone in your pocket chimes. How did it stay in your pocket all this time?

“GAME CLEAR. CONGRATULATIONS.”

previous chapter // next chapter // prologue

“GAME THIS WAY”

Game… what kind of sick psychopath is playing a game? And why are they trying to rope you into it?

You checked behind you. No one was there; you half expected to see some kind of killer clown or something come running at you as soon as you turned, but no.

You swallowed. This was stressful, game or no game? Why was there a game? What was the game? Is someone in there? A little voice in the back of your head told you that this wasn't going to go the way you expected.

Breathing through your nose, you walked slowly, cautiously, into the garden's dome. There, three people stood; one glared at the others, whilst the pair avoided eye contact and stood far away from each other.

You felt the pit of your stomach tighten; something was off. Maybe you should just turn around and leave; yeah, that would be a good idea–

“You shouldn't do that,” a gruff voice said. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and looked like he would send you flying if he backhanded you. His brown hair fell in front of his face slightly, stubble forming at his chin. He held a bottle of alcohol in his hand.

“Sorry?” It came out almost as a squeak.

“Unless you want your head to have a hole in it.” He said it so casually, you almost laughed. Hole? In your head?

“A newbie,” one of the eye contact avoiders mumbled, loud enough to hear. Her eyes narrowed, but she wore an almost easygoing smile. Her hair was a light purple, long and well-kept. She seemed to like purple a lot, with a long, baggy cardigan on, a hood almost engulfing her entire face. The gym shorts she wore were over the top of a pair of leggings, albeit they were ripped to hell, as if she had been dragged or something.

“He is right, you know,” she almost purred. “Once you enter a game, you cannot leave.”

“What game? What happened? Where is everyone?” you blurted, they seemed calm, albeit the subtle quickness of their chests raising and falling suggested that it was a front.

“Keeping them in the dark will make this game easier for all of us. I don't appreciate you decreasing my odds of winning just because you feel a little sympathy.” The third person spoke up, a haughty glare on her striking features. She had heels on and a smart two-piece suit. Her hair was a light pink and seemed to be styled, or maybe her hair routine was perfected?

“Then why are you wearing heels, lady?” The man grumbled, “That confident it won't be a Spades?”

The pink-haired lady sneered in response.

Spades? Odds? Winning?

“What is going on?” Your voice trembled slightly. All the language they were using sure made it sound unpleasant. Maybe you really should've closed your eyes and pretended this wasn't happening.

“Dunno. Can't be bothered waiting for another person, though, so come here and put this headset thing on.” He motioned to a table, of which you approached.

There were two, one with some sort of goggle contraptions and phones, and one that nearly made your throat contract in on itself.

“FEEL FREE TO USE ANY OF THESE.”

A table of an assortment of weapons. Blades, hammers, even screwdrivers. They could do some serious damage, and you definitely didn't want to find out how much.

As you picked up a phone cautiously, a small sound went off, and then a robotic but pleasant voice.

“ENTRIES ACCEPTED”

“it uses facial recognition,” the lady in purple said. You turned to her with eyebrows furrowed. “The phone, that's how you register into a game, though once you've entered a premises of a game, you have no choice but to register.”

“PLEASE PUT ON THE GOGGLES AND PROCEED INTO THE GARDEN.”

Everyone moved at once, putting on the goggle headpieces. As it fastened, you couldn't help but choke slightly. It was tight around your neck.

As you looked around, a beep came from your headpiece as your gaze landed on the purple lady.

“Swan…" you mutter as her picture appears along with her name and a set of numbers.

“It must have facial recognition,” the pink-haired lady said to no one in particular. Your eyes travelled to her face, and her profile popped up at the inside of your goggles. Jade. You snuck a glance at the (less than) unkempt man. Gallagher.

He seemed uninterested, though, instead opting to unsteadily follow the arrow into the garden, taking a large swig of the beer he held. He was drunk, at the very least a little intoxicated—the scent of alcohol attacked your nostrils as you and the two women followed him.

You continued into the garden where the three stood looking at a blank screen.

The phone you held chimed, and you pulled it out of your pocket tentatively.

“REGISTRATION IS CLOSED; THE GAME WILL NOW START.”

A title flashed onto your screen, and you couldn't help but try and gauge the reaction of your peers.

“DIFFICULTY, SEVEN OF HEARTS. GAME: HIDE AND SEEK”

“Shit,” Gallagher grumbled. The two women didn't seem to react all that much, but the fact Gallagher had that type of reaction told you it was nothing good.

“RULES: ONE PERSON WILL BE THE WOLF, AND THE OTHER THREE WILL BE THE LAMBS. A LAMB FOUND BY THE WOLF WILL BECOME THE NEXT WOLF, AND MUST HIDE SO THAT THE WOLF DOES NOT FIND THEM.”

Your shoulders relaxed a little; it seemed to be easy enough, and there was no mention of your head having a hole in it.

“CLEAR CONDITION: PLAYER WHO IS THE WOLF AT GAME'S END IS THE WINNER. THE TIME LIMIT IS TEN MINUTES; AFTER THIS TIME HAS PASSED, THE COLLARS FASTENED ON THE LAMBS NECKS WILL EXPLODE.

Well, that took the worst possible turn.

“One player,” Gallagher says, and you can't help but look over at him with confusion. “This game will kill three of us; only one will survive.”

The air seemed to tense almost immediately. It felt dangerous and suffocating. Gazes seemed to harden at phones, determination (aside from Gallagher, who seemed to be struggling to keep himself on his feet).

“THE FIRST WOLF'S ID IS 1000247 : GALLAGHER HOUND.”

The two women's heads nearly break as they snap towards the drunken mess. You slowly look to him too, only to catch him downing the bottle and throwing it on the floor. It smashes into pieces; he slowly lowers himself onto the ground.

“GAME TIME: TEN MINUTES, STARTS NOW”

previous chapter // next chapter // prologue

Life had become boring, pointless in a way. It was always sleep, wake up, work yourself half to death, and by the time you got home, there was no longer time for yourself. Sometimes, you would stay up, despite your alarm creeping closer and closer to going off, just so you could have time to do things you enjoyed. The dark bags under your eyes seemed to be testament to this.

“Stupid boss, I hope he dies in a fire or something,” the complaint falls from your lips absentmindedly. You could picture the ugly scowl your boss wore, his accusatory finger pointing at you and the massive cart of produce that he had insisted he had told you to sort out (he definitely didn't… or did you just not listen to him?). His constant nagging about how his employees were a team and that you should take it a lot more seriously than you were.

“Produce… one day, I'll produce the biggest punch to the face that old man has ever seen.”

You turn the tap of the bath off. The weekend was truly an incredible thing, the absence of the threat of tomorrow being one of which you were expected to be somewhere filled your heart with a terrible amount of glee.

The steam emitting from the hot water was inviting; it was a shame you didn't have any bath bombs or rose petals to make it feel all the more special—another thing to add to the shopping list.

The ‘want’ list, anyway.

Moving to Penacony was supposed to be a fresh start. The old, sleepy town you were born and grew up in simply didn't offer the opportunities you wanted, and so moving to a city seemed to be the smartest move.

You were wrong. You were now stuck stacking shelves and taking verbal (and sometimes physical) abuse from vexed customers who seemed to believe those working in retail were some sort of class of sub-humans.

Those thoughts could wait; you had a relaxing bath waiting for you after all!

Sighing in content as you sunk into the water, you felt the tension flow out of your aching muscles—being on your feet for 10 hours five times a week at a minimum was not good for your calves, it seemed.

“I should've become a lawyer or something…” you say wistfully, staring at the ceiling and then at the mold growing in the corner of the room. Another sigh.

“Damn landlord…” you cursed. They had promised they'd figure something out, but that was around five months ago, and still the mold clung to your walls. Can't die from inhaling those spores or something?

It's so quiet... and so nice.

Quiet... quiet?

The distant and constant roar of cars on the road had disappeared, as well as the occasional car horn or ambulance siren.

Squinting your eyes thoughtfully, you got out of the bath, wrapping the towel you had set out previously around your body so you could check your phone.

It doesn't react to you touching the on button, the screen staying black.

That's weird. You thought mold spores only affected people; can they kill phone batteries too? Did you accidentally splash water onto it and damage it? No, that wasn't it; your phone was dry.

Humming in thought, you exited the bathroom and beelined for your room. A cramped but satisfactory space that could hardly fit more than three people—enough for you and yourself, however.

Grabbing the folded sweatshirt and sweatpants you had laid out and putting them on, you walked out of your apartment and into the corridor and then the stairwell.

More silence. Not even the pair of pigeons that had nested in the little nook under the stairs was making a noise.

The soft pat of your shoes connecting with the concrete stairs was all you could hear until you came to the main lobby and out of the front door.

No receptionist drinking her coffee in preparation for her night shift, no security guard with his arms crossed.

As you looked from left to right at the street before you, not one passerby. The cars stood dormant, the streetlights off, not one light in the other apartment windows.

Now that you think of it, you hadn't tried the lights in your apartment since you got home. The remnants of golden hour lit your room when you entered, and you had opted for scented candles during your pleasant (but brief) bath.

A power cut perhaps? World War Three? A prank that everyone in the vicinity was in on but you?

“What the hell,” you couldn't help but utter in confusion. Alone. You hadn't had an actual conversation with someone outside of scanning their groceries in so long; that was alone. But this, this felt different. Almost menacing.

You wondered if the stars looked down at you in pity or were laughing at you and your racing thoughts.

A light caught your eye from your peripherals. A huge arrow, pointing down an alley.

Maybe a serial killer with a huge budget?

Swallowing the lump slowly forming in your throat, you marched towards the direction of which the arrow pointed. What other choice did you really have? Maybe it was smart to just go into your apartment, close the door, close your eyes, and pretend this wasn't happening, but it was.

When did people disappear? As soon as you entered your building? You hadn't seen the receptionist or security guard then either, but you assumed maybe they were on break, or maybe their shift hadn't even started yet.

You shook your head—it didn't matter. What did matter was what was happening now, and what was happening was a large botanical garden coming into view. The dome glass allows light to escape and bounce off of the surroundings.

Light. Power. Then again, the screens of arrows also suggested a power source of some kind.

Speaking of screens, another was on a wall on a building next to the garden.

“GAME THIS WAY”

next chapter