Scott awoke to the excited whispers and groans of his peers. They were talking and begging--everyone seemed to have something to say. His eyes peeled open against the crust. There was a dry stain of something on his cheek that extended from the ridge of his left eye to the very end of his cheekbone. Whether it was blood or tears he didn't know--it didn't truly matter, did it? My hands are tied. He wriggled around his fingers, feeling the rough edges of the chairs he'd come to hate.

Ugly, red carpet was the first thing he saw. Large black lines mingled with smaller ones that crafted the material into a maze of awful carpet that made every High-Schooler groan. The Principal's office, he thought, God, I hate this place.

"Get the hell up, crybabies! I'm sick of hearing you whine. God, you act like we've kidnapped you." She laughed, cold and curt.

Scott could hear his mother's voice in his head, "Wakey-wakey or armsey-breaksies." It was soothing. Eyes moving slowly around, he kept himself calm. People had invaded the school. People had died. But how many? Who escaped? Where were the cops? How many hours had it been? A hundred questions with no answers. Then, he saw them. White tennis shoes with eight small scuff marks on the sides of them. Laces that weren't fully tied. Caster's shoes. He was alive, he was awake, and his feet were rubbing against each other, which meant he was nervous or thinking. Oh, thank God. He's alive. He's alive.

To think that there was a chance Caster had died would've killed Scott. It was bad enough that Colton had died--that had nearly destroyed Scott. Caster had been his best friend, yes, but Colton had shared all his interests. I can't lose him too.

"Caster," he whispered. Then Scott's neck twisted as he sat up straight and shooting pain rushed through his spine before ending. At least an hour had passed with him like that. "Cas."

Caster turned to him, his serious expression morphing into a smile. God, he looks like Colton when he's serious. "Hey, didn't think you'd still be breathing, jazz-butt."

Someone had placed crayons in his pocket, their oddly shaped ends poking violently into his thighs. What the hell? "Yeah?" Scott hated how easily he failed to be serious around Caster. "Like you'd know, you're a damn sorry fuzzle-co-"

"All right," an intimidating woman began, clapping her hands together. She stood strong and amused, as if holding herself back from killing them all. A Psychopath. "You've had time to talk. Let's clear out the rules now, shall we?" The six foot, curvy beast of a woman held a glorious pistol in both her hands fit for the newest COD. She held all the perfections of bust and butt and if she hadn't been a part of them Scott would've gotten a boner just from looking at her. As it was, he didn't have time for things like that.

The room was a blur of static people.

"The rules of the game are simple. You run, we pursue. You hide, we seek. If we find you," she paused only briefly to give them a smug smirk, "you die. If you're the last person standing then you're going home, and not in a body bag. There's one exception to this rule...Radley."

Radley's eyes widened and he sat straighter in the chair. It was obvious that he was scared for his life.

She chuckled, in an almost condescending way. "We'll let Naomi live with you, if you so choose," she said.

"Why?"

All of them turned toward the back of the room. One person hissed for him not to question it. The blind guy from before, the one who'd knocked Scott out, spoke up. "Samantha had been so quick to overlook you because of your love of words. She missed your shining potential," he said, his voice careful, "Perhaps if you impress me, I might even let your girlfriend live."

Samantha, the intimidating one, nodded. "That's why. Anymore questions? None? Good. We're going to untie you...but if anyone fights we'll kill you all where you stand."

A guy and a girl came around and undid the ties while the rest stood ready with guns poised. Scott really looked around at the faces then. Radley. Naomi. His teachers. Oh hell. The rest were students. Layla, the skittish one. Skyla. Oh fuck--Briar! Scott's heart lifted as he didn't see Isabel, but pounded harder when he realized she might be out there. Dead? Polaris, the off-girl. The tenth grader who shared PE with him, Casey. The snob eleventh grader, Blake, was there. He looked like he could handle it but Scott knew the boy's confidence could only last so long. Three girls he didn't know. That James something, the guy who could cook. The two weirdos, Alix and Aquilo. Jason, Titan, William--Is his name William, or is that someone else?--and the Dean kid. There was around twenty something teenagers in total. Far too many deaths.

"You have one minute," Samantha told them. "Ready?"

There was an awkward shuffle as everyone stood up. Scott's legs tightened. There were two directions from the Principal's room--left and right. He had to make a decision quick. "Hey, Cas," he whispered. "Remember when Radley got us in so much trouble we had to run laps?"

"Yeah."

"I'd rather that."

Caster snorted under his breath. "Remember running twice around Einstein Hall?"

"I mopped the floor with you."

"In your dreams," Caster said. His hand reached out and grasped Scott's for the briefest second. Let us live.

The door was flung open with a dramatic bang worthy of Scott's attention. Samantha began to count downwards from thirty, a timer for the game. Everyone stood in the hallways, poising themselves for the run.

"Go."

They both headed left. Caster gave Scott the barest nod before turning off to the left again at the nearest turn and Scott went to the right. Risk was all they had. People ran past him, then back, tripping over themselves. A few fought over open doors. Scott ignored all of them. He leaped and moved with ease, used to obstacles in his path.

A dead body blocked his path and he jumped it. More decorated the floors. A bloodbath. Fucking hell! Don't think, don't think! Run. Run.

"I mopped the floor with you."

Forty seconds left.

Right turn. His body swiveled around and he continued at the speeds he so desperately tried to hold steady. Muscles taunt, Scott was ready for an attack. A hit. A kick. A gun to the head.

Sharp pricks bit uncomfortably into his hips. The blade! One small bit of help. He could attack someone with it or attach it to one of the school's dulled scalpels they used in science.

Forward and forward he went. Thirty seconds. Screams of pain and terror echoed down the halls in every direction, pushing him onwards as his internal clock counted down. So much for hiding. Assholes. It was only a matter of time before everyone was found, no matter where they hid.

The school was trapped inside the world's deadliest game of hide and seek. A twisted version of life fit for a Game. Scott prayed that it was all one big, fat, realistic game. If only. Dammit! Caster better be quick.

Another right turn. Time was fading fast. Twenty seconds turned into fifteen. Scott had a single advantage but for how long? He had to move faster. Quicker. If his plan didn't work, both would die. Finally, he turned leftwards.

That left led him straight into a hallway painted in gold and grays. His path was a treasure cove of jewels that led to the bounty he so desired. There, straight ahead, right before his eyes, was the Janitor's Closet. Banged open, left hastily behind in the attack. Another dead body was there and like the last he ignored it. Ten seconds. He rummaged through the room like a madman, looking in every crevice. He knew they were there. Time's up. Scott spent half the summer at the school, gaining a bit of money in their young work force program. They have to be here! Dammit! We need the fucking keys!

A shout, long and shrill. It sent shivers down his spine.

Scott only had a few seconds--then he saw it. A glint of gold that flashed as he grabbed them, turned hide, and ran once more. Air rushed through his lungs and his legs felt the strain of use wind through them with each powerful stride further. He turned through two more corridors before he finally arrived.

The Science Lab.

The windows were broken but the door was perfectly intact. Footsteps were pounding from the other end of the hallway but they didn't even register. Scott's fingers trembled violently as he tried three keys that didn't work. The fourth must've been God, for it turned, it clicked, and the door shoved open. It creaked and groaned but Scott didn't care. He kissed the air and went inside, eyes darting as he tried to think of a hiding spot. He could hear them in the halls.

Desks upon desks stood there, silent and empty. The burners worked but never were used and in a moment of joy, Scott turned one on. He took out the blasted blade from his underwear, and began to break off one of the scalpels. The footsteps grew louder and he threw them down in a huff, looking around once more for a place to hide.

Behind a desk? No, they were too open. Inside the desks would be too obvious.

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the crayons, sighing deeply. Are these Jazzberries? "I couldn't have gotten a knife?" he asked before putting them back into his pocket. That's not a damn coincidence. Perhaps they held a later use.

Cabinets? No, they're so tiny. Everyone would hide there. We couldn't fit.

Outside, only around forty feet away, Scott could hear one of the Psychopath's taunting students in a classroom. They banged open cabinets and tapped on walls, their voice eerie in the dead school. "Come out, come out!"

Scott shuddered and kicked off his shoes, throwing them into a bottom cabinet. They squeaked too much. Another set of footsteps was coming closer. They passed the classroom the guy was in and slid into the Science Lab just in time to close the door behind them.

"Hide," Caster whispered. He too had taken off his shoes. Scott nodded and climbed onto the slab of marble and opened up an empty top cabinet. It was small, but with him getting in first there was just enough room for Caster to sit on his lap and for them to close the door.

In the dark they breathed as silently as possible. The air was confining but not impossible to breathe. Scott's legs fell asleep near instantly but he ignored the spidery sensation and tried to lessen his heartbeat, which was sure to be heard from miles away.

"Open up!" A guy was outside the Science Lab. Pounding on the door. His shouting was sure to break their positions. "Come on now," he muttered. "They're right behind me." His voice was soft, pleading.

Fists pounded against the door and rattled the lock until it opened and he ran inside. Silence descended only to be broken by his erratic breathing. Scott knew that voice. That was Dean, who was in Physical Science with him last year. They'd been lab partners.

"H-"

Caster's fist clapped against Scott's mouth and grabbed him good. Through the dark he could just barely make out the seriousness inside the boy's face and Scott didn't try to say anything else. Fuck. He's gonna die if we don't help-

It was too late.

More footsteps, thick and heavy. They gave Dean just enough time to hide, or do what Scott assumed was hide. For an entire half minute nothing could be heard and the world spun an eternity of times. Life, upon its golden thread, was winding down and leaving all without hope for the frightened, anxious beings waiting for their time to end.

Scott had never enjoyed horror movies. But as the door let out a creak and someone walked in, he wished he had. At least that might have prepared him. They tapped against the floor with a stick or something. Glass broke. Something flew through the air. A childish giggle, as though tickled by the sadistic game.

"I know you're here," they whispered. Like they wanted to help. Like they weren't death in disguise. "Now, aren't you going to try and fight? Make this fun, why don't you?"

Scott's body began to tremble and it took all of Caster's weight to keep him from making noise. Legs feeling cold, clammy, he realized with a chilling shock that he really had to pee. Hold it! Hold it, fucking hell! Fucking hell! Scott shouted inside of his head until his mental voice was hoarse.

Dean was moving--they could hear it. His voice shook as he responded, "I'll kill you. I will!" Glass shattered, the pieces no doubt flying into oblivion, and Scott prayed that Dean had found a weapon. The boy was strong, he could fight well, he had to survive. He didn't need our hiding spot.

With a sickening punch, the fight had begun. Thuds fell against thuds and every so often Dean let out a groan or grunt. The other guy was stoic but amused, as he would chuckle before something hard would sound. Come on, come on...Just a little more and Scott was certain he'd win.

That little more died out as quick as the screaming began.

His scream rose and rose, reaching a feverish pitch. The entirety of Dean became an endless scream of agony as the smell of burning flesh wafted upwards. Both boys tensed as they realized what was happening. The Psychopath was holding him onto the burner Scott had left on and torturing him. Scott mentally saw the flames growing and consuming the poor boy as they sat and allowed it to happen. The white flesh bubbling up and turning into a blackened, red mush with spots of puffed up yellow liquid that would burst and catch fire. It seemed as though it would never end as minutes flew by and the sounds grew louder and untamable. Hot agony was all that was left until finally there was a pop and something thrown onto the floor. A body connecting and bones snapping.

"What a shame," the guy said. "I thought you'd last longer."

Silence once more took hold as he walked off, leaving the room. Still, neither boy made a motion to move. They stared into each other's eyes and waited for the end to come. This is only the beginning.