THE END ? SUNDAY

CHAPTER FIVE ;

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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.

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as you can see, I've taken some artistic liberty when it comes to the plot and order of events of AIB. hope this isn't confusing or anything :P