Like with "Deceitful" I'm publishing this oneshot when squid game has died out 😍 (fun fact this is published a year and a week after deceitful was)

Right so obviously this is a squid game oneshot. I didn't do ALL of it because that's too much time and effort bUt It's 38,000+ words so that'll have to be enough

Some plot pointers were changed but it still follows the general idea and concept

As usual inspired by zyebana_yaoistka you guys know the drill, the concept originated from one of her ideas 🤨📸

Anyways

❌warning for smut x2 🥰❌

This isn't going to be the plot you guys expect 😘

Enjoy

Life was pretty shit. It seemed to throw problem after problem at you, a cold slap in the face every time a hopeful idea surfaced. A harsh punch in the gut when you made plans. A jabbing tug when you tried to step forwards. Life was complex, with all sorts of difficult levels, sections and essentials to master. The worst of those? Money.

Money ruled the world. Those who had lots assumed power and dictated how everyone's lives should progress. Those with a modest amount were made to work day after day, lived in pretty homes and grew families. There were those scraping by, scrounging up money to pay rent with their small pennies. It was a scale, a tiered graph that dictated the rolling progression of society. But the scale went lower. Beneath all those, beneath the poor, the homeless, were those in debt.

Borrowing money has forever been a common thing in the world, whether it's a cheeky £10.00 note from your friends, a payday loan to spoil yourself and others, a grant from the bank you promise you'll pay back with your fingers crossed, a sum of money taken from loan sharks that will track you down like a bloodied carcass the moment you don't pay what's due. Those who loan were at the very bottom of the scale, discredited and treated like gum smeared across the bottom of your shoe.

Dream was one of those. He was a piece of chewed up, discoloured grey, grit filled gum that had been stepped on by some large CEO where he had been crushed underfoot for the long miles of their commute to a shiny marble office where  he was found, sneered at and peeled off before being tossed into a gold plated waste bin. That's how he'd felt when he was given his letter of resignation. Himself and 200 workers were made redundant from the factory where they spent 9-12 hours a day making steaming irons to smooth creases out of rich people's clothing before a fancy dinner.

It had been an assembly line production, meaning that he'd had the same task every day, rolling out a thin film sheet, screwing in a few bolts and encasing the design before it would be passed on to the next person down the line to do an equally mundane task to be passed on afterwards again. Many times he'd considered throwing himself under one of the searing hot moulds that punched the metal sheets into those perfect, almond shapes and letting it shatter his skull. But he was still yet to do it. He'd hated working by there with a raging passion yet it had bought him money. He'd been living on the measly equivalent of £5.75 a day. He'd buy rejects from the market, getting the discounted rotten tomatoes and veg with bruises and were one day away from moulding. He'd look for the cheapest packaged foods all while watching coldly as families with wide smiling faces let their children pick out expensive hair brushes, dolls and luxury ice cream tubs that cost two days of manual labour. And now he had nothing.

He'd moved to Korea with the promise of new jobs and easy success. It had one of the fastest growing rates of millionaires in the world and Dream had been naive enough to believe he'd be the next. Back at their home miles across the sea he'd been struggling to provide for himself and his brother, Night. They'd managed to live quite a nice life together in their shitty one bed apartment (they took turns in sleeping on the sofa) for several years. But things had gone downhill once Night had got a boyfriend. He'd been a weak slither of hope at first; a man with a seemingly stable financial situation who had his own apartment, a job and enough money to spoil Night with all sorts of little gifts and days out that Dream could never hope to provide. It was if his life had finally started.

Turns out fairytale endings weren't real and Dream should have known it. Shattered wasn't financially stable. He was hundreds and thousands in debt, using stolen or borrowed money to pay for everything. Before they knew it loan sharks had seized the apartment. Dream had tried to tear Night away but he'd become entangled in both the relationship and finances, his name written to Shattered's debt. There wasn't an option for them to simply run away. If they kicked him out he'd disappear into the night and leave himself and his brother to struggle over extra debt on top of their own. It didn't help that despite all the lies and trickery Night refused to see him as a sly thieving bastard. He loved him.

Work in Korea was supposed to bring them money to pay it all back. Yet all he'd done was rack up more debt and leave his brother alone with a man who spent money faster than all three of them could earn.

Kicking his foot through a growing puddle of water he cursed, hands balled into fists. Of course something couldn't go right in his monumental failure of a life. Now all he has was his measly night shift at the local university to pay his fees. And that paid even worse than his factory job. Worse still, it was part time. Not even a full income. Head down and keeping to himself he pushed through crowds of people stepping with monotone expressions under umbrellas to hide themselves. Perhaps they were in financial struggle too, or maybe they were on their way to a fancy dinner costing the same as a months rent for a studio apartment.

A sharp collision to his shoulder sent him staggering, a yell tearing from his throat as he spun to look at whoever had chosen the wrong day to piss him off. His golden eyes were met with black, dull pupils flicking over him slowly. The person was human, no coat or umbrella shielding them from the rain that plastered their hair to their forehead in a sickly manner. Words were minimal, an arm extending to hold out a simple brown card and a folded bank note.

"Money isn't that hard to earn if you simply look in the right places." Their voice was like any others, a jumble of Korean that Dream managed to translate. He'd always taken Korean lessons and had considered himself fluent before he'd moved here. Now he'd humbled himself to near-fluent. He could speak it with people understanding, but sometimes failed to rightly grasp what others said to him. They spoke so fast.

Looking at the card he took it slowly, frowning. It was plain and simple in every essence, brown  in colour with darker speckles from the falling rain. It bore the inking of three shapes; a square, a circle and a triangle. Twisting it over he was met with the sight of a phone number, framed by two £50.00 notes. That was this months rent and more.

"What th- hey I-" He looked up only to pause. The person was gone, leaving him stood in the rain amongst people rushing to their pointless appointments. In the moment he felt lost, glancing around to try catch sight of them - a glimpse, anything. But they were gone, leaving only the card and the money.

Sparing another look down at the card he lingered over the number, thumb brushing a drop of water that smeared the ink in a hazy smudge. Quickly he pushed it into his pocket, feet moving by themselves to propel him towards his apartment, only pausing to buy some fish and vegetables from the nearby market store. It felt wrong handing the woman one of the bank notes and he had a sick feeling in his gut that it was fake. Yet she gave no quarrel, handing him a substantial amount of change and vegetables without a single bruise or blemish on them. He felt rich. In fact he allowed himself to buy a small kebab stick of chicken, red peppers and feta cheese to eat on the way.

Hand gripping the bag of shopping he mentally mapped out his meal for tonight, thinking he could use some of the old cans of mixed beans, some vegetables and the fish to make a decent meal. It would be the best he'd eat in months. He'd make enough for two meals; today and tomorrow. Maybe it would even last towards a third day if he rationed enough. He knew he couldn't be stupid with the money, wasting it away would be a discrace to his brother who waited anxiously for him. For a moment he considered sending a £50.00 note in the mail to him, but he knew it was a stupid thought. What would they do with it? It wouldn't pay for any of the loans. He'd be better off keeping it to himself. Perhaps he was selfish, he didn't let himself think for it.

A rattle sounded to his left and he paused, eyes flickering down to settle on the sight of a cat weaving its way through the trash cans that piled up against the alley wall. It was a ginger and white cat, with dirty grey tips to its fur that stuck up in soft matts. It looked up at him with green eyes, a soft mew leaving it as it stared at the kebab in his hands.

Scoffing softly Dream stared down at the stray, knees lowering into a crouch to let it sniff at his fingers. "Don't look at me like that." The cat blinked, rubbing its head against his knee affectionately. He reached to scratch under its jaw for a few seconds before he tugged a piece of chicken off of his kebab, dropping it to the ground by the cat's paws where it eagerly feasted with its tail lashing behind it.

Standing up once more he turned to leave, taking a bite of pepper to satisfy his own hunger. He didn't believe in the whole 'one good deed a day brings about good karma' bullshit, but maybe his day would start looking up from here.

Ten minutes later he was walking up the stairs to the third floor, ducking past the odd stains in the second hallway and slipping past the residents who spent more time drinking on the landing than they did living in their homes. Ringing his keys he pushed them into the lock, quickly stepping through to enter his little studio apartment as fast as possible. It was two rooms. A bedroom with a single bed and a desk, and a bathroom. The complex had a communal kitchen and living room, but he hardly ever touched it. His tiny portable camping stove he got at a garage sale did the trick just as well at their bad quality ovens.

Setting the food down on the desk he sat on his bed and pulled out the little business card, eyes lingering over the money for a moment before he focused on the number. Money isn't that hard to earn if you simply look in the right places. That's what the stranger had said. Did that mean he was offering for a job opportunity? He could earn more money like he was given? He hoped they didn't expect him to give it back, because he wouldn't. And if it was one of those morality tests to see if you'd do the right or wrong thing when taking money from strangers; he didn't care if he'd failed.

He'd only considered the consequences for around five minutes before he picked up his phone and went to the dial pad. What was the worst that could happen? If it was a job he didn't like he'd simply quit, as easy as that. Though even that thought was laughable - like he'd turn down any job at this point. Raising the phone to his air after dialling, he waited. After a moment a soft static sounded, a monotone and grey voice sounding afterwards.

"Please state your full name into the phone."

Breathing out slowly Dream cast a glance to the picture of himself and his brother on the desk, the money from today resting atop of it. This would help them both, and an opportunity like this wasn't likely to come round again. He spoke calmly and clearly.

"Dream. Dream Joku."

—————

It was three days later that Dream found himself stood outside an abandoned swimming pool at midnight, his only company being the whistling wind and the gravel that scraped under his foot. The phone call on Thursday had been brief, a set of simple instructions: meet at the Dam-suay swimming pool. It was a building that had been abandoned for years by the looks of it, posters of children swimming slowly peeling from their boards to leave a gruesome half grin in some places, bodies splitting in others. It looked as if the locations only use now was for graffiti artists and squatters who set up their little tarp tents.

He didn't actually know what he was waiting for, the phone call staying simply that 'someone would come pick him up'. Whether that meant a car, a taxi, a person on foot or a helicopter, he didn't know. He assumed a car.

The result was actually that of a truck. It was an impressive looking Range Rover with a sleek black paint job, it's appearance holding to a vehicle Dream could only hope to ever own. Its windows had a dark tint to hide the driver from his view, headlights making his skull ache. It slowed to a rumbling stop beside him, a door automatically sliding open without a hitch.

Stepping back slightly Dream stared, a twisting feeling twisting in the back of his gut. Maybe this was a bad idea. His eyes studied the driver yet he could only make out a figure with a hood up, dark gloved hands on the steering wheel. They barely acknowledged him, only speaking one sentence.

"Get in."

Dream didn't know why he didn't turn around and leave right then. That's what any sane and mentally fit person would do. Yet his body moved on its own, stepping slowly to the car as if he were hypnotised. His fingers curled around the edge of the door and he slid into the car, silent. Money. It was the promise of money. That's why he was doing this. Money to pay back his debts. Money to save his brother.

The door shut beside him quickly, a slamming noise that had him flinch. The driver never turned to look at him, but in the corner of his vision he noticed the hood they wore was red - or pink - The dark light made it hard to tell. It was the last thing he saw before the hiss of gas filled the car, his vision blurring and limbs falling heavy. He only managed to hiss a curse before everything went black.

—————

When he next opened his eyes he was met with blinding white. His skull was ringing and his bones itched as if someone had sanded them down thoroughly. Fingertips twitching he curled them to feel coarse fabric beneath them. He paused, body heaving to wake itself up. He was in a bed, that was clear enough now. It felt like a cheap hospital bed, with a hard metal base and a small mattress so small that Dream was sure he could be crowned as The Princess and the Pea if challenged. This wasn't his home.

Lurching into a sitting position he clutched at his chest, gripping into the fabric of clothing he knew wasn't his own. Where the hell was he? Looking around his eyes widened, greeted by the sight of a large square shaped warehouse, walls white and sterile with stacked iron framed cots that piled atop of each other like industrial bunk beds. Hundreds of strangers lay, sat or stood behind them, all seeming to be having the same realisation as he was. There were humans, monsters, all creatures alike talking in a panicked murmur with rising vivacity.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed he groaned, looking down at his clothes in distaste. He was dressed in tracksuit bottoms, a plain white shirt and a zip up jacket. Both attires were a cyan-green colour, white stripes running up the arms and legs. Stitched into his left breast pocket bore the number 456. There were that many people here? He could believe it. In fact, it looked as if there might be almost 500 people stacked up like boxes amongst this warehouse. The majority of people he could see were still lying or sat in their beds like him, while a few others had communed in the empty centre of the warehouse in a tightly knitted group.

It was only when he saw a familiar face that he seemed to finally snap to his senses. It could have been anyone from that distance, yet his mind wouldn't convince him otherwise. He was down from his bed within seconds, striding towards the man - who's back was now too him - with all the confidence to greet him as not a stranger. He knew this man.

"Ink?"

The skeleton paused, shoulders raising in a tense position as if he'd been told to freeze by the police. He noticed the curl of his fingers into fits and stepped back in case of a swinging punch. But it didn't come. Slowly; the man turned to stare at him, pupils mismatched and quizzical before they rested on his face. It took five seconds for his frown to twist into a smile.

"Drew-?"

"Dream."

"Oh- Dream." He had warned him he was forgetful. The man grinned, a hand reaching out to clap him on the back with the flat of his palm. It was a heavy action, a fraction too hard to be considered chummy. "Remind me how I know you-"

"We met in a bar. You told me you went to some sort of elite business school. In fact you told me you were rich and ran your own art company. What are you doing here?" Dream's brow arched and he stared at him for a long moment as the skeleton's pupils flickered back and forth between shapes.

"Im bankrupt." It was a blunt and humourless sentence. It wasn't a joke.

"Ah." The topic seemed to end there, Dream stepping to the side and observing the other individuals around him. Ink was number 103, he was 456. With a few quick looks he made out a 278, and a few more numbers in the 400 range - yet no one higher than his own number. "So we're all here for work?"

"Work? I'm here to play games and win money." The artist stared at him quizzically and tipped his head at a funny angle. "Were you told you'd be doing work here?"

Frowning the Skelton looked at him. "Well no, I was told that I could earn money coming here- so I assumed it was a job opportunity." Surely he wasn't stupid for thinking that? That was the logical conclusion to come to when given a business card and the promise of money. "What gave you the impression we were playing games?"

"I was told." He stepped forwards towards the gathering communal area and Dream followed swiftly behind. "I played a game against a stranger and won money for it - and these bruises - before they told me I could earn more money- loads and loads of money, by playing more games here." It was only then that he noticed the large blooming bruise on Ink's cheek as he gestured to it, surprised. He had assumed it was a smudge of paint.

"We're playing games? What sort of games-" It sounded stupid and childish to him. Play games and earn money? Why would any smart cooperation do something like that - where was the profit? All sorts of questions were tumbling through his mind and yet Ink didn't seem to be the man to answer them, his attention sharp and fixed on the large industrial metal doors that took up the central wall of the warehouse they were piled in.

They stretched across the centre third of the wall the doors stood like mountains, an impenetrable force staring at them with cold eyes. They were imitating to say the least when closed, but when they opened it was as if the belly of God had stretched wide to consume them. Shouts and cries rippled across the crowd like a viral infection, eyes all forced to the widening expanse with fear as if they'd be vacuumed towards it. Dream kept his ground by Ink, allowing only a trickle of anxiety dribble down his back. They were here to play games and earn money. This was fine.

As the doors split open figures became apparent at the bottom. There must have been ten of them, all similar sized and heights stood still like statues. Dream's mouth twisted in a frown. The people were dressed from head-to-toe in full coverage jumpsuits, their colour brilliant red, bordering on hot pink. Hoods covered the upper halves of their faces while black masks obscured the rest. There were nine with a white circle taking up the centre of the mask, one with a square. They bore resemblance to a fencing mask, hiding any possible indication of human features beneath them.

They stepped forwards in coordination, circles flanking the square. It seemed there was a hierarchy. The stranger stood still like a robot, voice a fluent Korean that had Dream struggling to keep up.

"Our leader sends us here to welcome you to our establishment. All of you have chosen to come here under the promise of money and he intends to keep this promise. During your stay here you will play six games across six days, after each game the possible sum of money you can earn will increase. Our only rules is that you are all treated equally; there are no advantaged or disadvantaged players."

Stood next to him Ink called out, his voice startling him with the volume of it. "You kidnapped us and took all our belongings! Why should we believe anything you say-?" Considering Ink had been the one to assure Dream, he was surprised by the sudden yells. But it seemed the artist had spoken for everyone in the room, nods and murmurs following his words.

The square masked man spoke once more and Dream had to rely on the expression of others to tell what he was saying. "These were precautionary measures taken for good reason. We apologise for any discomfort yet leave you with the reassurance that all your belongings will be returned to you after you complete the games."

People seemed slightly more satisfied, glancing around in hushed murmurs. A fizzling crackle rang out and heads turned up to stare at the large TV screen that displayed above the cargo doors. Pixels flickered, displaying images of men, women and monsters playing little games, being physically beaten, or being handed cards like Dream had. The people watched, flinching as names were called.

"Daniel Winters, 26.7 million in debt. Gi-hun, 12 million in debt. Ink Meybi, 79.3 million in debt." Dream's gaze fixed on the video recording of the artist and a stranger at a train station, each of them flinging a coloured paper square down at the other. Each time Ink played he'd receive a slap, and Dream couldn't understand why. What game were they playing.

"Everyone in this room is living on the brink of financial ruin." The masked voice rang out again, cold and sneering. "When you first met us, you didn't trust us. But as most of you  know; we played a game. The reward was money. Suddenly - you trusted us, trusted us enough to be taken to a place you didn't know with no knowledge of what you'd be doing other than the reward of cash. We shall not betray this trust."

Dream felt a prickle of doubt itch at the back of his skull. He hadn't played a game? Why was he different. Perhaps it was because he wasn't Korean - he wouldn't have had a clue of what to do in the same situation Ink had been in. But how had they known he wasn't Korean? The same way they'd known he was in debt most likely.

Stepping slightly forwards the square spoke. "So what will it be. Will you go back to living your miserable and depressing lives running from creditors?  Or will you act and seize this last opportunity we're offering here?"

Conversation rippled between everyone, a low and rumbly melody of approval. No one seemed to be considering leaving. Yet one question still ticked at their minds, one that was soon voiced by someone Dream hadn't seen before.

"Exactly how much money do we win when we play these games?" Heads turned slowly, all resting on one skeleton. He was small in stature, eyes narrowed as he stared at the masked people. His pupils were blue and bright, sparkling with such life that someone so deep in debt shouldn't possess. He looked unimpressed really, posture challenging. Ink grinned, tongue scraping his teeth in a sweeping motion. "I like that one."

A singular arm was raised by the squared person, the circles shuffling lightly to the side in a practiced motion. Resting in a black gloved hand a remote was held, its position aimed at the ceiling where one press of a button had the sky splitting above them. An object slowly lowered, its shape round yet obscure as it descended fully to hover in the air. It's form was clear by now; a piggy bank. It had a slight beige tint to it, yellow lights spilling to the ground and illuminating their feet. The glass was empty, begging to be filled.

"The prize money you win will be accumulated in there after each completed game. We shall disclose the final amount after the first game."

Not a single eye in the room wasn't fixed on the hanging structure, some even stretching their arms up to try reach the empty bank. So much money could fill that - more than they could even dream of. Surely it didn't need to be so big? It was all for dramatics, to make these upcoming games seem more exiting. That was what he thought, anyway. Dream didn't think he had been staring at the empty bank for too long, yet when he finally tore his gaze away he was surprised to see a long row of tables had been set up by the doors that he hadn't heard being assembled. Surely his mind hadn't been so fixated on the money that he'd forgotten to pay attention to his surroundings?

Once more, a masked voice spoke. "If you could all line up in orderly queues, we shall have you read and agree to our terms and conditions."

It took up to a minute longer for people to force themselves away from the sight of the money jar waiting for them, feet slowly shuffling into ordered lines that ran along the nine circles stood on the opposite end of the tables. From here he could make out the sight of a thin sheet of paper, pens and ink resting upon them. It was like signing a consent form for a vaccine or school trip. Stood next to Ink, Dream allowed himself to take the time to observe the others in his surroundings; he had to break down his competition after all.

The Skelton from before was stood a few heads before him, talking to an anxious looking human who didn't seem to be enjoying the prospect of these games despite the promise of money. He overheard in their ramblings that his name was Blue. He wasn't from Korea either, having moved from India with the same naive hope Dream had grasped on to.

In the line parallel to him he came across the misfortune to make eye contact with a man who looked like he killed people for fun. He was a monster; Skelton like himself yet with a freakish anomaly. The typically expected white bones of a skeleton were stained black with dripping slime. Thick and twitching tentacles stretched from his back around the centre of his spine and swept down to the floor where the tips curled just shy of dragging across the dusty surface. He pushed his way past two women with ease, one glance enough to shut them up before a complaint could even consider spilling from their mouths.

Gliding alongside him was a man with the aura and intensity of a shark picking out the juiciest fish. He too was tall like the other, pupils a mismatched red and white respectively. His eyes briefly met Dream and his mouth twitched in a grin that made his throat tighten. They looked bad news; the type to stay away from. In fact the entire group around them seemed like the sort of people he'd make good to stay away from.

One stood tall and wide, the definition of big boned coming to light as he took a few lumbering steps closer in the queue as humans scattered away to part for him. He looked like the kind of person who could wield an axe or something with a similarly dangerous license to kill. He looked like he'd been in a fair amount of fights in his life outside, a splintering hole engulfing an entire third of his skull and seemingly having punctured out his eye light on one side to leave him with one burning red pupil. If Dream had seen him out on the street he'd have thought he were a Loan Shark, not a debtor. In fact he'd be surprised if a single person would have the guts to pay up even half an hour late if the brute asked for it.

Stood at the front of the queue was another skeleton, head down as he scribbled down his name in scratchy handwriting he couldn't make out from this far back. He seemed almost skittish, body twitching in little tics. It looked as if he had trouble keeping fully still. After a moment the figure paused and turned, making eye contact with Dream in an action so fast that he couldn't hope for the life of him to pretend like he hadn't been staring. The contact lasted an uncomfortable five seconds before the brute behind gripped his shoulder, pushing him aside in a manner that was difficult to decipher between impatience and affection. Either way it tore the bridge between their eyes apart and the smaller ducked behind the Loan Shark, head downwards once more. 

"Don't make eye contact, you'll spook them." Ink spoke in a hushed tone that had him nearly flinch in surprise. The artist cackled, shaking his head. "They'll take your staring as in invitation for rivalry- a challenge to beat you down."

"And you know this how?" Dream muttered, shuffling further down the queue with a scowl. Nevertheless he kept his eyes to himself now.

"Because I know these types- in fact- I reckon I owe that one money-"

Despite his new rule not to make eye contact Dream found his pupils drawn to the direction at which Ink pointed, settling on a monster in the corner of the room. At first he thought he'd been told to stare at a hologram, fizzles and static dancing off the stranger's character. In short, he looked like a computer glitch. The tension between him and Ink seemed instantaneous, as if the stranger was thinking the exact same thing Ink had.

Looking away before awkward contact could ensue he spoke in a lowered tone (who knows just how far that freak could hear). "What do you owe him money for?"

Ink didn't look at him, expression playful however as he winked at the debtor. "I can't remember for the life of me." Something in the back of his mind told him that the other had lied but he didn't press further, not seeing the point in it.

Before he could make accidental enemies of anyone more he found himself at the front of the line; staring down at two sheets of paper. One stating the apparent rules of these games, and the other bearing information with the space for a signature and a fingerprint at the bottom. Wetting his lips softly he read the rules.

[1]
A player is not allowed to stop playing
[2]
A player who refuses to play will be eliminated
[3]
Games may be terminated if the majority agrees

They were simple and blunt, the type that he was sure could have exploitations and loopholes all throughout them. It was like the rules and regulations at his old workplace that sounded fair, only to rise up and slap you in the face. There had been one particular one that stated 'injury by result of actions of a machine will be received with full sick pay until said injury has recovered enough to return to work'. Yet he'd sat and watched as a man's hand was dragged into a machine and crushed up to his elbow while screaming in agony. The company hadn't compensated for him at all, the loophole being that in the eyes of the regulations he had put his hand in harms way, and the money payment didn't apply unless the machine had reached out with robotic hands and physically pulled him into its mechanics from a distance of over 3 metres. A goddamn joke. He didn't know if the man had lived or died. That was the day he realised society didn't give a fuck what happened to its workers.

But they were playing games here. What loopholes could they hope to steal from? They couldn't tie money into the deal surely - they were all broke and the staff knew it. There seemed to be no fallbacks, and that's what had him so suspicious. In a normal instance maybe he'd have read it over a few more times, email it to Night who's linguistic language was so much better than him. He was always able to catch on to little comments or loopholes that Dream himself hadn't seen after 12 times reading it over. But this wasn't a normal instance, and the impatient coughs from behind him were enough of a spur. He gripped the pen and stared at it for a moment before writing out his name in his best handwriting. Maybe it seemed stupid, but he'd remembered Night saying that neat handwriting in a signature could sometimes be the difference between picking one job applicant over another.

Once signed he stepped back, feeling like daggers were being stabbed into the back of his skull. Realistically he knew not everyone was watching him, but his mind was an expert at playing tricks. Standing alone only lasted for a moment, Ink walking over with Blue by his side. Dream regarded him with a wary and respectful distance. Clapping the skeleton on the back Ink grinned. "It's such a small world- I know this man too-! I bought him a bus ticket once when he told he me was planning on walking 12 miles to get back home."

"How.. generous of you." Dream met eyes with Blue and after a pause of silence he reached a hand out, being met with a firm shake and a grip stronger than he'd expected. There was power behind his hold. Blue offered a grim smile, gaze filtering across the crowds of people gathering. They'd finished signing up by now, heightened murmurs rising as confusion rose. What now?

Dream was just about to start strangling the woman in hysterics beside him when the Square Masked man spoke bluntly. "Will everyone please follow us."

Silence swept across the room and faces turned to watch as the circle masks turned, marching in a unit towards the large opened doors and out on the other side. The square stood, waiting. For a long moment no one moved, not a single breath leaving the residents in the room as they stared fearfully towards the door. Everyone who had seemed encouraged previously had their courage crumpled and spat upon in a single moment. It wasn't much of a surprise (to Dream personally) that it was one of the 'rough gang' that stepped forwards first. It was the dark boned skeleton and his shark follower, both of their grins sharp enough to cut glass. "What are you lot waiting for. Your patents to come pick you up?" One of them spoke, their Korean so smooth and enticing that it had Dream leaning forwards slightly.

Their sneering expressions and comment had been all the group had needed, bodies moving in a flurry towards the doorway to filter out. Sticking close to his newfound group Dream let himself be pulled along, eyes searching for an indication where they were being led to. He could make out the sight of the tight group splitting off in various angles to filter through what looked like metal detectors. He saw the jittery friend of the brute step forwards and face a machine, expression dull and tired until a flash and a click. It had taken his photo. Shuffling forwards slowly he watched as the larger had his own photo taken too, face pulled in a childish scrunch with his tongue out. Perhaps he wasn't as serious as he'd originally anticipated.

Before he knew it it was his own turn, body stiff as he stared into a screen. An animated face showed in front of him, square pixels twisting in the classic emblem of a smiley face along with the message of "SMILE!" Ringing out. Dream didn't, the photo snapping his resting expression. He'd stopped smiling when it wasn't necessary a long time ago. 

Beckoned on by circle guards he was pushed towards a narrowing hall. He cast a look over his shoulder to try find Ink yet found himself lost in the crowd without sight of him. He'd have to go on alone from here. The narrow corridor only lasted a few metres and then he was hit by an incredible clash of bright, eyesore colours. Pink, yellow, green and others made up the structure of the twisting stairways psychedelic. He'd never seen anything like it before.

The journey felt so confusing that he couldn't figure out if they were going upwards or downwards, mind disoriented when he tried to make sense of anything. Stood at random outposts more of the red dressed guards observed, their dividing factor being the triangle marks at their masks and the loaded guns strapped to their hips. It was hard to tell with those dark masks, but he was certain one of them was staring at him. The subtle tip of their head as he walked was all his mind needed to weave a fantasy web or fears and doubts. What kind of job were they doing that involved so much security and.. obscurity?

The masked guard was cut from his vision by a sharp jutting corner, his nerves easing slightly in result. The feeling however only lasted around a minute before he was filtered by sudden dread as he was led out to a wide open area. It was the first time he'd seen sunlight in a long while. 

They seemed to be stood in a large sunken box, walls stretching up from each corner painted baby blue in an almost childish attempt to match the sky. There were even little white fluffy clouds printed. What was this supposed to be? It seemed like everyone were having similar thoughts and not even the pair from earlier would step forwards to challenge. Dream felt a hand brush his elbow and decided it was relief and not dread to see Ink by his side once more. But he didn't look at him yet, focused on the tall figure across the opposite side of the immense space. 

Whatever it was stood at least 7-10 metres tall, it's figure likening to a female child. It dressed in an orange pinafore dress, it's shape flared at the bottom in a fashion that replicated how your everyday child would draw a girl. It seemed to have hair, the false mould having scraped it into two pig tails that stuck out either side of its head. He couldn't be certain from the distance, but he was sure there were cutesy yellow bobble ties to join the look. Her expression lay calm and simple, a basic moulded face punctured from a machine like the rest or her body. In a brief moment he wondered if anyone had worked in a factory to build her like he had done with various mechanics.

"What the hell is all this?" He muttered both to himself and the artist, his words echoing the thoughts of everyone stood around him. He was sure that a flash of knowledge showed behind Ink's gaze yet he shrugged, dismissing him carelessly. "I'm not sure, pal. Just wait."

As if he knew what was coming, the static of a speaker rang out, followed by words spoken in a childish, female pitched voice. It was with a moment of horror that he realised it was the robot speaking.

"Will all players please stand in front of the white line and then wait until further instructions."

It was a sharp voice, one that grated at his skull indecently and made his fingers itch. Despite that he felt himself step forwards to the painted line that stretched across the dusty floor, not about to be a sheep that only follows when others move first. His action spurred others and he felt them line up beside him, hundreds of people stood the same distance from the giant robot. Maybe it would be a race? He doubted he'd win, but his stamina was good. Maybe he could make it to the top 50.

The doors from which they came from creaked and he glanced back in time to see them slam shut, the soft eerie melody of music rippling from speakers he couldn't see. The robot twitched, it's head slowly turning to face away from them and towards the tree that stood tall behind it.

"The first game we'll be playing is red light, green light."

Beside him Ink laughed, knuckles cracking as he stretched out his feet. "We're playing children's games? Perfect."

Dream meanwhile wracked his brain. Red light, green light? What was he supposed to make out of that translation? Stop and go? Was it like Granny's footsteps? What's the time Mr Wolf? He inwardly cursed children for coming up with so many stupid names for the same game.

"You are allowed to move when I shout out Green Light. You must stop when I say Red Light. Any players that get caught moving after I say Red Light shall be eliminated. Those are the rules."

So it was like those games. He'd played them occasionally in the back streets of his own hometown with a few kids while his brother stayed outcast and watched. This relieved him slightly - this should be easy. A child's game. They were really getting paid for this?

"Those who pass the green line at the end of the 5 minute play time will pass to the next round. If you are left standing by the end of these five minutes, you shall also be eliminated."

It made sense. It couldn't be that hard, he'd just have to not move too much. And if he was caught out then oh well. He was sure there'd be a practice round. That or he'd just go on to the next round without any money and have to work from the bottom there. This was fair, he'd manage.

"With that, let the round begin.. Green light."

A black screen beeped overhead and a timer displayed from 5:00, counting down with each passing second. Footsteps shuffled rapidly and Dream grunted, a hand shoving him aside as an excitable male rushed forwards, eyes glinting at the prospect of riches from a child's game. He managed to sprint a few metres before spinning to a stop, the robot's head twisting gruesomely.

"Red light!"

He went still, pushing back any anger for falling behind the frontal reign of the group. He watched as the man up front wobbled, feet not so stable on the ground. You're not supposed to move, idiot. The man tippled, arm waving above his head.

"Player 252, eliminated."

Dream's mouth twitched into a smirk for a single second, a mutter of "serves you right" spilling from his lips before an echoing shot rang out. It split the sky, flinches and cries rippling across the crowd rapidly that escalated as the man's body crumpled, hitting the floor with a thud. He lay still, unmoving.

"Green light."

As the robot called out only one person stumbled forwards, crouching just shy of their fallen friend with a hiss. "Hey- hey get up-! Quit playing around- this is red light green light, not sleeping lions!"

But the body didn't shift, the only sign of movement being a steadily growing puddle of blood that stretched out from beneath his head, it's colour a dark mauve. A cry ripped from their throat and they stumbled back, feet scraping on the dusty floor in a panic. "HEY-"

"Red light."

No one breathed, eyes fixed on the man as he wobbled widely. He managed to twist around and face them, eyes wide in horror and mouth opening in a cry that never left his throat. A gunshot sounded and his body collided to the floor. Blood spurted from his neck, splattering across the woman stood not far from where Dream was now.

She shrieked, an animalistic wail that tore from her throat and sent the sand at their feet buzzing. She twisted, a shot tearing the flesh from her neck to spit on the floor in a messy chunk. She fell to the floor like a downed tree. Once she broke, so did everyone else. The air was static with screams, footsteps thundering as hundreds of bodies turned to run for the doorways they'd come in from, not connecting to its the idea that they were bolted shut from the opposite. Hands pounded at the metal, cries a cacophony as they shrieked to be let out. Gunshots fired, bodies fell.

Someone thudded into Dream, sending him flying to the floor and blood splashing across his chest. He grunted, pelvis groaning in pain as it scraped across heavy ground. The woman who had fallen on him stared with glassy eyes, mouth fallen open and dribbling blood, her teeth stained ugly red. He resisted the urge to shove her off of be sick, vision frozen on the sight of the robot's eyes twisting and darting over the players with the character of a chameleon. She picked off every movement, gunshots ringing consistently for 30 seconds. Each shot led to a quieter scream, the noises dropping until only silence defended the playing field. Bodies were everywhere but he didn't dare tip his head to look to count how many.

The robot spoke, tone almost disappointed. "It seems you need me to repeat the rules.
You are allowed to move when I shout out Green Light. You must stop when I say Red Light. Any players that get caught moving after I say Red Light shall be eliminated. Those are the rules. Those who pass the green line at the end of the 5 minute play time will pass to the next round. If you are left standing by the end of these five minutes, you shall also be eliminated. Lets leave off where we started! Green light."

Not soul moved, Dream's skull slowly creaking to turn and take in the horrifying pile of bodies that gathered by the door, all tangled together and smearing blood to the floor. Ghastly handprints bled down the wall with heavy dribbles, scratches in the faux surface having torn nails and split skin. Over 100 of them appeared to be dead, left as carcasses on the floor.

Shuffling sounded to his right and he turned, breathing hitched in his chest. Stood tall and unaffected Ink grinned, steps fast as he pranced forwards to the music, body seizing and going still a second before the doll twisted.

"Red light."

Ink resembled a statue in the moment, grin being that of a predator that had sight on his prey. He was here for the money. He spoke, mouth hardly moving. "You might want to get up, we're running out of time."

Eyes widening they flicked sharply to the timer where it displayed 3:15 minutes left. The robots words rang sharply in his mind. Those who pass the green line at the end of the 5 minute play time will pass to the next round. If you are left standing by the end of these five minutes, you shall also be eliminated. They were running out of time already and he'd hardly made it 10% across the stretch of field.

"Green light."

This time when he heard the robot speak he surged to action, limbs shaky as he shoved the lifeless body of the dead woman off of himself. She left an ugly red stain at the front of his shirt and down his tracksuits, but he ignored it. Aesthetics were wasted, he didn't have time to worry. Lurching to his feet he gagged down the bile that rose up his throat, eyes fixed on the robot as she twisted, stock still.

"Red light."

Not a soul moved, in fact he was certain that not a single breath left anyone's lips for the full five seconds that the doll stared literal daggers at them.

"Green light."

This time they rolled with movement, the cautious shuffle of footsteps sounding as the brave percentage of people walked towards the robot in slow wobbles. Ink led the way, practically skipping towards it as if he were a real child playing no more than a game in the open fields of his childhood city. Someone glided past Dream and he looked to the side to see the dark boned tentacled menace, eye narrowed and grin sharp as he worked his way towards Ink. His shark follower was close behind, more or less hiding in his shadow and using the other as a shield. Either the dark man didn't notice or didn't much care.

"Red light."

When the shot rang out he couldn't help but flinch, the sound of a thud sounding afterwards. Had someone really not understood the rules of the game enough to get killed? Even after the display of death and murder they'd just witnessed? Maybe they deserved to die. He breathed out softly, watching as the hetrochromic skeleton turned his head to glance back at Dream, grinning. It seemed the other truly did work as a shield. Dream didn't return the smile.

"Green light."

Feet thundered, breaths gasped, eyes narrowed. Dream found himself stumbling across the sand as quick as possible towards the green finish line. The closer he got the more details he noticed, such as the six triangle masked guards stood three either side of the robot, machine guns strapped to their chests. They stood still, observing as one by one people were shot down for moving a simple fraction.

Two minutes later Dream was tantalisingly close, eyes flickering from the clock to the green finish line. There was one minute left. He could do this. Stepping forwards sharply he let a slight smile form at his mouth. He was stupid for getting cocky. His foot lifted off the ground with every purpose to stride forwards. The fact that the figure behind him wasn't fully dead hadn't occurred to him until their hand clamped around his ankle and held him back. Instinctively he jerked away, body twisting at an angle and sending him into a stumble that had his body tipping sharply. The boom of the robot's voice sent him rigid, eyes wide as he realised. He was going to fall. And the robot was going to call. He'd be moving. He'd be shot. He'd die.

He felt his body fail, limbs waving in a mad wobble. He couldn't recover. This was it. Squeezing his eyes shut he muttered an apology to his brother, Night, who he knew would be sat at home waiting for an email from Dream that he'd now never receive. What a joke his life had been.

"Red light."

With his eyes closed and a shot sounding, Dream couldn't figure out whether he was dead or not. His chest felt tight and shoulders stiff, as if someone had roughly tugged him. The feeling persisted, and after a moment of dreaded fear Dream willed himself to open his eyes, choking. His skull was no more than a metre from the floor, shoes scrambling to purchase grip on the floor where his legs shook. The tightness of his chest was real, and it was because someone had gripped a fistful of his jacket and yanked him up. He was nearly hovering, body hung by the mercy of only the man who stood beside him.

Blue grit his teeth sharply, arm screaming in protest as he gripped Dream's jacket by the scruff of the neck, as if he were some sort of cat. The moment he grabbed him he wished he'd simply let him fall, watched him get shot and bleed out on the floor before completing the game and moving on. But Ink seemed to like this guy, and Ink had helped him in the past. Still, he cursed his reflexes.

He could have sworn the robot took longer than usual to speak, eyes burning as he saw the timer tick down to 30 seconds. They weren't going to make it.

"Green light."

Dream felt himself get wrenched back up to his feet, shoes punching off of the ground and boosting him forwards, Blue following along behind him at a sprint, arms pumping. The green line came closer and closer, Ink having already crossed it and now staring back at them with all the intensity in the world.

With the time ticking down Dream felt every click in his skull, soul leaping from his chest as he lunged. The robot turned slowly and he yelled, body propelling itself over the last few metres to crash into the ground, safe over the line. He gasped, feeling Blue's body crumble beside him in the safety of a finish line as shots rang out. His skull was spinning, vision messed with black splodges.

When Dream finally forced himself to look up the timer had hit zero. Around 20 people were left standing, some so so close to the finish line, others still so far back that he wondered why they even bothered. There was a long moment of silence before shots ripped through the air, bodies thrown to the floor to join the rest of the piles.

Something gripped his arm and he was yanked to his feet by a triangle guard, a gruff mutter of "get up" sounding as he wobbled. Everything went so fast after that. He didn't think he understood a single thing that happened until he had arrived back in the warehouse and half the beds were missing.

When he eventually made it to a bed that wasn't reclaimed he sat down heavily, eyes feeling distant and foggy as he stared down at the blood smeared across his fingers. That woman had died in his arms. He'd watched her and hundreds others die while he ran to a finish line playing some sort of kids game. He was faintly aware of Blue's and Ink's presence beside him yet didn't make any effort to look away to his fingers until a voice spoke.

He turned his head, fingers clenching into fists as he saw a square guard - maybe the same one from before, maybe not - stood by the large doors that had led so many to their deaths. Beside him this time, instead of circular guards they were flanked by six triangles. The guns in their hands looked none too friendly and one well timed shot was enough to scare everyone into submission, silent.

"Congratulations to all of you for completing the first round. The number of players has dropped from 465 down to 297." The screen above played a little animation, the numbers running rapidly down until it hit the spoken number.

That truly punctured a hole in his gut. 168 of them had died in that first round alone. He'd watched, heard, felt, that many people die. Over a third of them gone already, all because of the promise of money.

"MURDERERS!" A yell ripped from the crowd, the owner of the voice unseen.

"You kILLED THEM-!" Another cry followed the first, the angered expression of a woman glaring to the masks.

Soon all sorts of shots and echoing accusations filled the warehouse, people furiously raising their fists and punching the sky to emphasise the point. It was at the suggestion of "STOP THE GAMES! WE CAN IMPLEMENT RULE THREE-! GAMES MAY BE TERMINATED IF THE MAJORITY AGREES-!" An uproar of agreement struck through the crowd and for a moment he thought they might start to storm the guards.

The square worker only had to lift a finger before the triangles raised their guns, a volley of shots striking the ceiling and earning screams. The rebellion died before the whispers of it could even begin.

Speaking bluntly, the square regarded them all. "Before you scream in pathetic fear, let us at least announce the prize money amount you could win if you were to complete all six games."

The crowd was silent, the passion for revoke diminished instantly by the promise of materialistic wealth and greed. The lack of noise was all the invitation they needed to start talking. "Each individual player has a price capped on their head at one hundred thousand. Each time a player is eliminated their head price will be added to the cash prize."

The jumbling music that rang out was that similar to the fake noise gambling adverts played when they rolled a wheel with flashing lights and bright sparklers. Craning his neck back Dream looked up, eyes wide as he watched clusters of bank notes tumble into the glass bank. The paper hit the bottom and piled, and piled, and piled. In fact he didn't think it would ever stop, that it would go all the way to the top and then spill over. But it stopped at nearly half way, the piggy bank swinging under the new weight.

Speaking again, the square guard seemed to have an air of smugness to their voice. "The first game lost us 168 players. Therefore the current cash prize winnings stands at 16,800,000.00. If players make it to the very final, the winning prize money would therefore be 45,600,000.00. Take this information into consideration before you choose to throw away the games and your chance."

Dream's mind was reeling. 45 million? He could pay off Night and his debt 12 times over with that. He could buy them a mansion, he could buy that stupid white cat Night was so desperate to keep. He could take him on holidays, and pay for a hitman to kill his slimy boyfriend. Breathing sharply he stared at the money, any thoughts of leaving these games having vanished with the snap of fingers.

"So, I ask you all.." The square spoke but no one looked at them, focused on the money. "Do you really want to leave? If so then please step forward, if the majority agrees then the games will end."

A pathetic number stepped forwards. It wasn't even 50 people. They looked pained, as if the action had caused physical aching - they wanted the money really.

Head tipped to the side the square pressed their gloved hands together, observing them all now. "The majority speaks. The games shall resume." If anyone protested they were silent, eyes wide as saucers as they watched the money. Even the twitchy skeleton had gone still, hand shielding his eyes lightly as if the money physically burned him. Freak.

He wasn't sure how long they all stood there really, the only indication of time passing being the female automated voice that informed them lights out and bed time would be in half an hour. Stepping slowly to his bunk he took a spot near Ink and Blue, deciding that grouping together wouldn't do them too much bad. If it came down to it he'd always ditch them, it was as simple as that. Come to think of it, he was sure the others had the same thoughts.

Lying down stiffly he stared up at the money silently; promises running through his head at the speed of light.

I will win that.

—————

The next morning he found himself in a playground. They'd been taken through the same twisting, eclectic, stairs and corridors of burning colours. He'd expected to be spat out in the same sunken playing field as last time, but they hadn't. Maybe that was thoughtful of them; they didn't have to see the blood that had bled into the sandy floor from the previously fallen players. Instead they'd been relocated.

The playground was typical to a child's memory in every possible way except one. The structures were giant. The slide to his left stood nearly as tall as that ghastly robot, reaching a height of at least 7 metres with a metal sheet curving invitingly downwards. Somehow he doubted they'd be offered to play on it. A roundabout big enough for sumo wrestlers turned in a slow creak to the centre of the playground, the sight of it unnerving. Playgrounds never looked right without children playing in them.

Stepping forwards slowly he looked at the opposite wall, fingers twitching and scraping at his sides. There were four printed shapes on the wall, simple and clean-cut. A circle, a triangle, a star and an umbrella. What was this supposed to be? Standing next to Ink, he waited. Constantly asking questions could give the impression he was weak, that wouldn't benefit his situation at all.

Static rang out and with a wincing pang Dream realised the voice speaking was the same as that robots from before. "Welcome, players. Congratulations to making it to the second game. Could all of you please evenly line up in front of a shape of your choice. Your options are displayed on the wall."

The voice went silent with a click. Dream looked to Ink who's eyes shone in concentration. "You uh, got a shape in mind?" He'd most likely follow his lead - Ink was Korean, he'd grown up with these games. Dream hadn't.

"I say we split up." The artist spoke bluntly, shattering Dream's plans in a simple sentence. "We have no way of knowing what it might be, it's best we spread ourselves out instead of bunching in one group together."

Protesting would look awkward and as if he knew more than he really did so despite his instincts screaming differently Dream nodded. "Yeah uh, sure. Do you know what shape you'll be-"

"Triangle." He'd decided the moment he'd seen the shapes and the golden skeleton knew that Ink was hiding something, some sort of knowledge he didn't want them grasping. It seemed he really was in it for himself. Mind begging him to pick the triangle himself he glanced at Blue. "And you?"

"Star." Blue muttered, slowly stepping to the slow forming queue at his shape. For an irritating reason Dream got the impression that he also knew what the game would be, yet wasn't giving hints to help him. Both of his so-called teammates were leaving him to be spat in the dust.

Eyes flicking across the remaining shapes his mind felt panicked, mind trying to untangle the possible meanings behind them. The umbrella seemed random and out of place, yet still there was something about the circle he didn't like. Choose the path least travelled. That was a saying, wasn't it? He was sure it was, his brother had said it once when making decisions at work. He said it had a 50/50 ratio of being helpful, or damming.

Feet moving by himself, he stepped to the umbrella. A sort of sneering laugh rang out to the side and he twisted to watch the hetrochromic skeleton laugh at him. Cross, that was his name. It was the sort of laugh that said you've picked your own doom. Bones stiff and rigid Dream paused, looking at the line in front of the umbrella. Had he picked wrong? No, surely not. Sense and his pride battled in his mind, voices screeching.

Pick the circle. Pick the circle- pick the circle- pICK THE CIRCLE-

Gritting his teeth he stopped, queue facing the umbrella. His stubborn pride had refused to change, and now he'd face the consequences for it.

Once everyone had chosen a click rang out, doors swinging open to allow at least 50 guards out. They were dressed in the same bright suits as before, masks displaying the white triangle. His gaze flicked to Ink, shape triangle. Maybe there was a connection? Each of the guards held guns at their hips, little round dishes in their free hand. The room suddenly smelt sickly, like sugar.

A pot was pushed into his hands and he stared at the guard, attempting to see through his mask and into whatever was hid beneath. He was met with nothing and the guard had moved on before he could manage to ask anything.

Static boomed, the automated voice loud. "Would everyone please find their own space in the playground. Once you have chosen an area, you may open your dishes."

Dream watched as Ink stepped to an empty spot in the sandy floor, simply sitting down and opening the dish. His expression bore not a single element of surprise, instead a smirk working its way onto his lips. He knew. For a moment their eyes met and Dream hoped his look bore judgment and slight disappointment. Perhaps it was better to find out now that he couldn't trust either of them.

Shuffling to an empty spot just shy of the giant swing he looked down, slender fingers reaching to twist the lid off of the dish slowly. His magic ran cold. A perfect circle of a brittle caramel lay in the metal, the shape of an umbrella pressed into it cleanly, edges sunken. A needle rested atop of it. He hardly heard the automated voice speak, 'ears' roaring.

"This game is dalgona. The aim is to cut away the edges of the candy using your needle. If the internal shape is broken or cracks in any way, you will be eliminated. You have ten minutes for this task."

Suddenly he felt incredibly sick, soul twisting. He'd picked the wrong shape. He'd let his stupid pride take over his instincts and now he was going to die. He wasn't even aware he'd fallen to his knees until he felt the grit bite at his bones.

They expected him to cut out the shape of an umbrella? With a needle? Reaching for it with shaky hands he looked around, cursing. Ink was sat cross legged with the dish on the floor, seemingly fine with the entire prospect. His hands didn't shake, clean and simple as he rhythmically poked holes along the boarder of his shape. It seemed being an artist for years (albeit a failing bankrupt artist) had given him steady hands. Dream however didn't have that gift. When it came to small fussy details his hands simply couldn't coordinate properly. They'd shake, jerk and generally do the opposite of what he wanted - it had nearly lost him his fingers several times in the factory.

Looking down at his own shape he cursed in every language he knew, fingers adjusting on the slim metal frame three times before he could even consider having the guts to lower the sharp tip to the caramel. The first poke had him flinch, the crunch of the candy making his soul clench. The intrusion was clean, no cracks or snapping as of yet. This was good. He only had to do it.. over 100 more times.

Around him everyone had their heads down, expressions twisted in pure concentration as they carefully poked out their shapes. One woman to his left gave a stifled gasp and he glanced over, body stiff. He couldn't see what shape she had until she lifted it to her eyes, trembling. A circle. It's corner had snapped off. The shuffle of footsteps sounded and Dream looked over, soul thrumming at a pace so fast it made him light headed. A triangle guard stood over her, paying no heed to her stumbled begs and cries. A shot split her skull and she crumpled to the floor.

Yelps rang out in surprise, hands flinching and dalgona cracking. At least ten shots sounded out, bodies tumbling to the floor. Dream sucked in a breath, taking his time as much as he could possibly manage and poking around the soft curve of the top of the umbrella. Start off with the easy bit to grow your skull until you're confident to do the hard task. That's what he told himself.

It took him three minutes to snap off the outer ring for the curved umbrella top, it falling off cleanly into his hands. He dropped it to the sand carelessly, back itching. He only had seven minutes left, and the whole difficult part of the umbrella to do. Wetting the needle in his mouth he leant down further, starting to poke and carve along the underside of the umbrella and pausing every time he heard a shot - he didn't want to fuck this up through someone else's mistakes.

As he worked he could have sworn he smelt burning. It wasn't heavy, just the soft indication of overcooked caramel, as if a new batch was being made as they spoke. But he knew that wasn't the case. Turning his neck he looked under the giant slide to the figure crouched down, his body shielding his dalgona almost completely as if he worried someone might steal it. Cross. Dream wasn't sure what he was looking at until an orange glow lit up some of his features, the light flickering. He only saw it for a second, the lick of a flame from a lighter, the shine of a silver needle held to its frame. Before he could truly guess if he'd seen correctly or not the light was gone, the man returning to scratch out the shape in his candy. The needle glided through it like a knife in butter. How had he snuck a lighter in? Dream bristled, feeling like he should have prepared for something like this before he'd allowed himself to be kidnapped in a truck. Clearly he hadn't thought ahead for all occasions.

His own work lay left abandoned by his hand, watching as Cross repeated the lighter trick one last time before raising his hand, a perfect triangle cut out between his fingers. Dream's eyes widened, bones biting into the needle sharp enough to make him wince. He'd cheated.

Pushing to his feet the hetrochromic stood, offering a lazy grin to Dream as he saw him watching before showing off his triangle to the guard. They stared at him, nodding bluntly.

"Player 189, passed."

Heads turned quickly towards the skeleton as he sauntered past the others crouched and curled anxiously over their candy, eyes wide. It had only been five minutes yet he'd already completed the challenge without so much of a wobble. As he walked he passed his supposed partner, the slimy one with tentacles. Clearing his throat he let his fingers go lax, something shiny and square thudding into the gritty floor. Dream only had a moment to note the indents on the metalwork of a branded lighter before one of the other's tentacles flicked over it to hide from view before a guard could spot it.

Swiftly he stood, muttering to the guard that he was simply changing location before making his way under the same tall slide that Cross had been beneath before. It was only 20 seconds later that he saw the first indication of a glowing flame reflected in his hands.

"Player 103, passed."

Dream looked over in time to see Ink stand up, dusting off his knees with a glance of distaste before he met his gaze. The artist paused, receiving every spiteful spit of Dream's inner thoughts. You've lost my trust and respect. Surely it wouldn't have damaged the artist too much to simply have given him a hint. But he'd said they should split, and he'd watched as he'd picked the umbrella.

The umbrella.

Cursing sharply he looked down at his unfinished candy, magic running cold. He hadn't finished more than a third of it, and they'd had two thirds of their time. Desperately wetting his needle in his mouth he started poking through the candy once more. Each little crack and splinter raised his nerves higher, the stress of the situation not helped by the sound of that stupid automated voice announcing that other players one by one had passed, followed by more gunshots for the ones who hadn't.

He managed to delicately jab his way round the spikes of the umbrella, fingers trembling as he lifted the shape from his dish to snap. Despite not having skin he felt sweaty, the tracksuit far too warm as it clung to his bones in a sticky manner. He felt physically sick, skull pounding with a thumping headache and vision glassy.
His throat was dry as sandpaper, each time he swallowed bringing grating discomfort. It felt like he'd got a cheese grater lodged in his bones.

Readjusting his fingers constantly he inhaled, eyes narrow and body tense as he let tension build on the candy. A shot rang out. His fingers twitched, pressure too much.  The candy fractured, the outer circle coming clean. He could only watch as the crack struck across the bottom curve of the umbrella, snapping it away from the main body.

In the moment he heard nothing, his skull roaring like a ocean. He'd broken it. He'd failed. The presence of incoming footsteps were observed in the back of his mind yet he didn't react any further, the fight draining out of him faster than water down a plug hole. He'd condemned himself to this fate through his own ego and stubbornness, spurred by the need not to look weak in front of a stranger. He'd always been told his pride would be his downfall, he'd just never listened when people said it.

Eyes staring at the ground he noticed the black boots that stood before him, the click of a gun following. The broken umbrella dalgona fell from his fingers to the floor, splitting in half on the impact. It didn't matter now, he'd already ruined his chance. Skull ducked, he stared at his knees and thought of his brother again. Maybe he should have joined the vote to stop the games. He could have gone back to their old home and thrown away his dreams of riches, instead focusing on living a happy and full life without the constant craving for money or to be viewed as upper class in society. He hoped to god Night wouldn't try to come find  him. The man wouldn't be able to even pay for his funeral.

He waited patiently for the shot to split his skull, for his body to burn before finally drifting off into a cool bliss where all his stresses and worries would simply vanish. They could become someone else's problem.

Right as he was about to look up and make a comment for them to hurry up and kill him he felt something soft hit his knees. Frowning sharply he stared, soul skipping a beat.

Sitting on the dusty surface of his green tracksuits, a perfectly cut out triangle candy lay. There wasn't a single blemish or crack in its surface, the cutting perfect. But it wasn't his. Looking up sharply his eyes locked accusingly, met with a dark mask and a white triangle. The guard studied him, able to see every detail and feature of his face while Dream was left with nothing. Their head tipped to the side slightly, fingers slipping the safety catch back ok the gun before they turned, returning to patrol the people next to him.

Dream found couldn't breathe, voice failing him as he attempted to call after them. He only managed a dry wheeze.

"Player 456, passed."

That was his number- that was him-

Slowly rising to his feet he clutched the triangle in his fingers, watching as a different guard now indicated for him to follow a small line of other players that has passed to through to a corridor that would with no doubt would lead to a room where he'd find that slimy scaly artist. He internally bet that his paintings were shit.

Walking with them he felt his knees gain strength slowly until he no longer felt like he was going to collapse or melt into a puddle, striving. He wanted to see the look on that bastards face when he saw that he'd made it. He'd made it. But at what consequence? The corridor was short and dull, leading him into a sterile looking room that resembled a psychiatric padded cell.

It took him only two seconds to locate Ink, and if it weren't for the terror that still scraped at his gut he might have barked a laugh at his surprised expression. The same could be said for shark-faced Cross. He almost looked irritated at his survival.

"Buddy-! You made it-" Ink stepped over quickly, eyes flashing emotes faster than Dream cared to translate. "You had the umbrella- didn't you-?"

"Yeah." The triangle between his fingers was swiftly crumbled to pieces, chunks of honeycomb scattering across the floor to be crushed under his foot. That's right. He'd picked the umbrella. "Thanks for the heads up." He threw as much sarcasm as possible into the comment, fingers brushing at the hem of his jacket to eliminate the last of the evidence. "Nearly killed myself over it." He should be dead by now. And it seemed Ink knew it.

"I thought you were a goner- so glad you made it though, you're one of the only truthful guys I know around here." He clapped him on the back and from behind he could see Blue slowly approaching. So he'd made it too. That was good, maybe.

"Funny you should say that." He muttered before turning his back to them, simply waiting until they'd be allowed back to the warehouse. He didn't need either of them, he'd go back to his old saying; no one can help you except yourself. Don't expect anything from anyone. People only ever help you until they find a use for you and then throw you away into the dirt.

Two minutes later and the ten given minutes were up, a long string of shots ripping through  the murmurs of the survivors to prompt silence. That was more players slaughtered. There must have only been just over 200 of them now. Around ten guards called for them to follow through and five minutes later they came out to the same eclectic vibrant hallway as always. The guards dispersed themselves between the players, one every ten or so. One walked behind Dream, he didn't need any special intuition to know it was the same one that had dropped the dalgona for him. He feared he was about to discover what his repayment would be.

Fingers curled around his arm and he went rigid, body being tugged aside at a branch to the corridor and to a bright green door that was pulled open quickly. Shoved through he hissed, struggling against the guard with no success. They seemed strong, and had taken advantage of Dream'a shaken and haunted state. The door clicked shut and the sound of a key locking it rang out before he could launch an escape. Pressing himself to the wall Dream spat at them, pleased to see the glob of saliva land and dribble down the bright suit. "Wh-who the fuck are you-?"

Clicking their tongue they shook their head, hands reaching up and behind their skull to push the tight hood down, revealing a peak of white bone behind. They were a monster- a skeleton like him. Fingers nimbly unclipped the clasp to the mask, lowering it slowly to reveal their face. The first thing that came apparent to him was that the skeleton was a male. His bones had a dusty grey quality to them, as if he'd taken little care to keep their shine or usual whiteness. Silvery pupils took in his features, thin in comparison to the usual skeletal ratio. Dark tar-like tears dribbled down his cheeks, staining them an ugly grey beneath as if he'd spent lots of time rubbing them into the very fibres of his bones. Dream almost felt the urge to smear them, just to annoy him.

He stepped back only to find he couldn't, the wall catching against his spine and making his body go stiff. "A-alright- well why- why did you save me- you dropped that- triangle piece."

"I did, didn't I?" He spoke in clear English, only the faintest indication of an accent coherent. Dream breathed out sharply, feeling almost relieved at the sound of an English voice. Closed his eyes for a moment. A language he could finally understand. "You're the first non-Korean I've spoken to in months-"

The grin that stretched across his face resembled that of a sharks, sly and cold yet in a way that made Dream's gut go funny with a sort of twist. "Think again, American."

His Korean sounded even more inviting than his English, sharp and alluring in such a sense that Dream had to remind himself to scowl. "I'm not American."

"If you say so, but watching you fumble to understand Korean games and our language is so.. amusing. You rely on friends who betray you, I wonder whatever made you think you could even come close to wining these games when you don't even know our language, let alone our games." His hand moved to cup his jaw but the skeleton slapped it away, fingers grabbing his wrist with a hiss.

"Don't touch me- get to the damn point. Why am I here now and what's your stupid game plan-?"

"You haven't even asked my name yet." He hummed now, looking him up and down. "It's Killer, by the way."

Dream scoffed, looking him up and down. The name was fitting for a man who walked around with a gun constantly strapped to his hip. He'd probably killed at least five people less than 20 minutes ago. "I didn't need to know. Get on with it."

Sighing lowly the man looked at him as if he were his next big meal, the dart of his cherry tongue seen through his white teeth. "There are rules to this game for the players, I'm sure you know. But there's also rules for us, the workers. And there's an overall rule to the whole games; each player is given equal opportunities and chances. This means that no one has a bigger advantage than another, and as I see it every one else has an advantage over you. A large advantage. You can barely even understand the rules of the games, let alone play them."

"So you helped me, now what?" He didn't believe in giving for free. People always wanted something in return. This sly snake wouldn't be any different.

Killer's eyes glinted sharply, a hand gripping the front of Dream's jacket. This time he didn't let go so easily. "Well, after I was so.. kind to help you out, I thought you could help me.."

Dream only managed to build up a protest in the back of his throat before he was shoved downwards, his knees thudding into the ground roughly. Eyes wide he opened his mouth to snarl something at him, but the man's fingers jabbed into his mouth faster than he could spit. The phalanges curled, tugging on his jaw lightly and pressing to his tongue long enough to make saliva build in the corners of his mouth.

"Such a feisty angel.." He murmured, rubbing his thumb across his tongue further, watching the buildup of golden tinted saliva around it. "I reckon that mouth of yours could be used for so much more than just spiteful comments."

If Dream hadn't built up an indication of what to happen before, he sure had now.

"I'll tell you what; it took you seven minutes before you broke that candy and I had to save you. Please me in seven minutes or less and I'll continue to help you through telling you what the next game is. That way you'll be.. somewhat equal to the others." His words were smooth and dangerously tempting, slithering their way around Dream's soul and squeezing tight. He knew he was entangled in the situation too much to escape now. Denying didn't seem to be much of an option.

Making cold eye contact with him he gave a nod, the action curt and forced. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd used his mouth for his own gains. The guard grinned, the sliding noise of fabric shifting making him cringe lightly. It only took a few moments before something hard tapped at his chin, colour a deep, cherry like red. Dream scowled, his own saliva streaming down his chin as the fingers that previously gagged him pulled away. He must have looked pathetic, and he hadn't even started anything yet.

"Your seven minutes start now, American."

Maintaining the eye contact that had built up between them both he hissed, hand reaching to curl around his semi-hard length and give a few tugs, just to start off. Killer grinned, as if he hadn't really expected him to do it. Ignoring his gut ordering himself to pull away, punch him and run, Dream went forewords and slowly pressed his lips to the tip. They were still moist with saliva, making it easy for his mouth to slowly close around the head, tongue pressed to it.

A soft hum was the only action he could tug out of Killer, the man staring at him with an intensity that had his soul twisting and jumping in his chest. Pushing his head down further Dream rolled back his shoulders, mouth working in a shameful way to hollow around his cock, letting the saliva from before help with the slow movements. There was something so.. wrong with the whole situation, yet so right. If sucking off a stranger was all it took to have an advantage and help in the next upcoming games then to hell with it, he'd make him come twice if he asked nicely enough or gripped his throat in the right way.

The rhythm built up naturally, his pace increasing and free hand reaching up to grip the others hips. He made sure to dig his fingers in sharply, a subtle message to the other that he wasn't completely submissive to the entire situation. He ducked his head, wet noises sounding as he used his tongue in every way possible, curling, rubbing and pressing against the underside of his throbbing length.

"L-look at yourself- filthy slut." Above him Killer groaned, one hand reaching down to rest on his skull and the other pressing to the wall before him, hips jerking to shove himself deeper down the other's tight throat. Dream gagged, but only continued, his mouth working to please the bastard above him. He didn't even complain when the other stared to shove his head downwards, wet gasps and sloppy breaths sending saliva dribbling down his chin. He hated to admit it but his soul felt tight, building up slowly with sexual tension that he knew would be a pain to deal with later when in a workhouse full of strangers.

He'd only passed two of the six games so far yet he'd already solidified the importance of a timer, it's presence the ticking scale between life or death. Maybe he wouldn't die if he didn't finish in seven minutes, but he was sure the other would find great joy in retaining the information he'd promised and instead get a free blowjob from it all. He worked harder, choking on his own spit as he took him in deeper, pleased to hear the moan that resounded in result. He briefly wondered what would happen if someone were to walk in on them right now, yet he rapidly realised he most likely wouldn't stop. He doubted Killer would let him either.

The minutes passed and the other got slightly louder, curses and short gasps spilling from him faster by the moment. A dragged moan dragged from the back or his throat and Dream knew he was close, shoving himself down deep around the other and holding there, mouth hot and squeezing his cock so perfectly.

Killer couldn't last another moment, his hips stuttering and grip on his skull tightening for a moment before he felt his orgasm hit, hot release spilling down Dream's throat and making him gag. "MnHm.. ffuck.. you've c-certainly done that before."

The moment he pulled away Dream recoiled, spitting out what he could and reluctantly swallowing the rest. He heaved, feeling like he might retch. When he spoke he found his voice was raspy, out of breath. "I-I played my part of the- of the bargain- now you do the same-"

Crouching by him Killer grinned, his hand reaching out and thumb swiping away the release that smeared across his chin. "The next game is tug of war, groups of ten. You'll want to spent tonight sighting the strongest people in the warehouse, alright?"

Tug of war? He knew that game. Unlike the last challenge this would be something he actually understood. He slapped his hand away with a hiss, using the wall for stability as he forced himself up to his feet. His knees ached from pressing against the hard floor for so long and his jaw felt stiff. With four more games to go he realised he'd better get used to it.

"The others are going to- ask questions where I've- been." He spoke slightly out of breath, sucking air at each pause of his words.

"You just tell them you went to the toilet." Killer looked him up and down with an expression that told Dream that he certainly knew that the both of them as skeletons didn't need to use the toilet ever. But he couldn't argue back  at this point, it would waste more time he didn't really have.

The guard zipped up his jacket lazily, clearly not in the same rush that Dream was as he brushed down his legs. Perhaps he noticed the way the other shifted in an aggravated fashion, how he clenched and relaxed his fingers and stared towards the locked door impatiently. If he had noticed, he clearly didn't care. In fact he took a full minute of preening himself before he finally fished a key from his pocket and moved to unlock the door for him.

He was quick to walk, stumbling out into the eclectic hallways he was growing to hate. He turned towards the left where the stairs led upwards only for Killer to cough, a hand gripping his shoulder and twisting him to the right instead where the stairs led downwards. "This way."

His face flushed in embarrassment, shoving his hand away before walking quickly down the stairs. He didn't want to have to look at that man's snide grin for a moment longer if he didn't have to. Following the smoothly spoken Korean directions he walked until they met a large doorway he recognised. They had made it. Killer stepped forwards and unlocked the door with ease, letting him slip through before it clicked shut and blocked him off from the red dressed guard.

The warehouse was already dark when he stepped inside, the lights having shut out and the players residing in their beds. Dream didn't bother looking for Ink or Blue when he walked to the closest empty bed, deciding he didn't need to act civil towards them until tomorrow morning. Ideally he wished he'd have been given the chance to brush his teeth, the musty taste of something heavy still residing in his mouth. But this place treated them as no more than animals, cleanliness wasn't a concern.

Back flat to the mattress he closed his eyes, skull thumping with the concentration of thought. Tug of war. Teams of ten. He'd take Ink and Blue, only for the knowledge that Blue was stronger than he looked and Ink would convince him to another group if not together. Then he'd want that brute, the one with the jagged hole in his skull. He assumed his jittery friend would join him. That would make five of them. And then he'd want that tall slimy one that held a horrifying resemblance to his brother's corrupt boyfriend. Him and Cross, they looked like they'd be strong. That would make seven of them. Then he'd just have to source three more players to join, ones who looked strong. 

The question of how he'd convince them to join his team crossed his mind briefly but he pushed the thought aside to accommodate for the longing to sleep. He thought he might be left awake all night tossing and turning, but he found that the sleep came quite easily to him.

—————

In the morning he made his approach. The group of thugs stood around a particular set of beds, stood or sat atop them lazily as they spoke and laughed in jeering tones to each other. They each paused and turned to Dream as he advanced, expressions sharp and sly as they observed him.

Cross looked him up and down, almost disappointed to see him alive. "You're still around? I didn't see you last night, assumed they'd made a mistake letting you pass the game and had killed you."

"Dreams don't always come true." He sneered at him for a moment and his arms crossed over his chest. "I have a proposition for you."

"We didn't ask."

Dream looked at him, mouth twitching in a slight smirk as the hetrochromic attempted to stare him down to submission. "Oh sorry errand boy, I wasn't talking to you. I'm talking to your boss." Eyes dragging to the tall dark boned skeleton, he grinned. "I know what the next game is."

The other seemed interested, tentacles flicking out behind him and curling around the leg of the bed. "And how have you come across this information."

"Connections." The feeling of all the group hanging onto his words swiftly became intoxicating and he found the power greatly favourable. Was this how Killer had felt to see him on his knees? "I'll tell you what the game is, on the condition that you join my team to play it."

"Your team? The artist and the little blueberry?" Sneering laughs rippled through the group except for Cross who was still seething from the earlier comment.

"They're more resourceful than they look, now do we have a deal or not?" He was aware of eyes on him, mouth twisting in a slight frown as he watched the man deliberate.

"What's your name?" What was it with everyone's Korean sounding so smooth and dangerous.

"Dream." He watched the other hold out his hand, relief twitching at his bones as he shook it firmly.

"Nightmare." Was his response, smile wide and sharp. "You have a deal." Their hands stayed firmly gripped for a moment, the two of them psychoanalysing each other down to the last twitchy movement. Finally breaking the silence Nightmare leant back, hand resting on his knee now. "So then, what's the next game?"

"Tug of war." He spoke bluntly, putting in as much confidence as he could muster into those words. He couldn't have them dismiss him and then join a different team later. If he were to come against their team there wasn't a chance in hell he'd make it - and he was sure Killer would only watch. "Teams of ten."

"Tug of war?" Murmurs rippled through the crowd, the brute - who's name he'd now finally established was Horror - was grinning widely, as if he knew he'd be the one everybody was desperate to team with. He was built like a mountain, it was obvious.

"We only have seven.." The jittery and shadowy one spoke, counting on his phalanges to make a point. Horror nudged him, sending the other nearly sprawling. "Yeah? We'll just grab three other strong looking guys later, stop stressing Dustbunny." Dream came to the immediate conclusion that was a nickname, the assumption being that his name was Dust. He finally knew all their titles.

Dream turned to call Ink and Blue over but paused, eyes catching the large warehouse doors heaving open and the usual six triangle guards, one square stepping in. He briefly wondered whether Killer was one of the guards, but determining them from each other was an impossible task - they all looked the same from here. He'd need a sign of some sorts, and if the man was there he wasn't giving any.

The square stood straight, voice ringing out. Dream had grown attached to Killer's accented English that in the moment he didn't understand a single thing the guard said, his brain struggling to accustom between Spanish (his native tongue), English, and Korean. By the time he'd managed to push his body to Korean mode the man had already finished speaking and people were slowly streaming towards the doorways. Through process of elimination he assumed that they'd been ordered to walk through.

He didn't feel the need to stay near Ink or Blue as he followed the sea of people, wanting to keep his time with them at a minimum. Yet his wishes clearly weren't painted on his face because a slap to his back and a grip to his shoulder was all he needed to know they'd joined him. "Where did you run off to last night? We couldn't find you anywhere."

"Toilet." He shrugged Ink off, offering no further explanation. The artist knew he wasn't being truthful but he didn't care. Relations could stay frosty until the artist died.

"Toilet? But-" The full sentence never left his mouth, trailing off at the sight of the room they walked in. It was white and boxy yet larger than the one they'd been filtered into yesterday after the games. Shuffling inside he cast a look to Nightmare, only to find he was already watching him. This is where they'd find out of Killers information was any good, or whether he'd tricked him.

Static and a pitched whine rang off of the padded walls, voice speaking. "Could all players get into groups of ten. You have five minutes to do so."

He saw Nightmare's mouth twitch in a grin and within a moment Dream had grabbed Ink and Blue by the arms, dragging them over to the group. "Welcome to our team."

"Wh- our team?" Blue wrenched his arm free of Dream's, looking doubtful already. "Since when had this been decided?"

"Since now, squirt." It was Dust who spoke, expression irked as if he wanted the man to simply shut up and be thankful he was on their team.

"I don't know about this pall-" Ink spoke with fake concern, eyes meeting Dream as if shared knowledge was passed between them. "You're just going to have to trust me, Ink." He muttered, conveying as much spite as possible into his tone. He didn't trust Ink one bit and he wanted the artist to know it. After this game, their relations would be cut. Ink went silent, simply nodding. Now they only needed three more people.

Turning his head to stare across their options Dream frowned, feeling his fingers fiddle in clenching and straight motions. He was sure the final three didn't really matter, their team was strong as it was. But having additional strong people could be a necessary bonus. He stood still, not noticing that Ink had wandered off until he came back with an alligator-like monster by his side. They looked strong, an addition to the team they'd most certainly appreciate.

It only took three more minutes to source two others. Both unfortunately (in Dream's mind) humans. They didn't look strong, but they hardly seemed weak. A middle ground. They'd have to do. Sitting in their newly formed group the men simply observed the rest of the players as they collaborated, joining up to create separate circles. Some groups looked strong and challenging, others looked pathetic. They wouldn't have a chance of survival - if Killer's information was truthful, that is.

Once the timer ticked down to zero the triangle guards guided them through another doorway with the helpful encouragement of their loaded guns, the barrels pressing to the back of anyone who walked too slowly for their taste. The corridor was surprisingly sterile, no pops of colour, jutting shapes or sudden turns with stairs. It was simply plain white, looking as if cold cement had simply been painted over in a careless action, some splattering down onto the floor.

The corridor didn't last very long, feet shuffling as it came to a wide opening. From his position from the back of the crowd Dream could see a tall, seemingly endless warehouse as tall as a 10 story apartment flat. It made him wonder just how deep underground they truly were. Two gigantic yellow steelwork structures stretched high up to the near ceiling, a platform jutting from either side. Regimented into the groups he lined up with the others, taking a moment to peer off of the edge to the dark ground below. It must have been another 10-20 metres. It made him dread to think why there needed to be such a vast distance.

A triangle guard walked past him, a plastic laminated sheet pushed into his hands. He didn't know how, but he recognised their demeanour. Eye contact through the mask was brief before Dream's focus was shifted down to the sheet. It simply displayed a number. Two. He assumed that was the number for his group. Each other assemblage of people were given a number, expressions fearful as the realisation of the importance of their team's strength starting to dawn on them.

"Game three is tug of war. Two opposing teams will make their way up to the top of the platforms, from which they will battle to tug the red flag at the centre of the rope to their side of the centre-mark. The team who fails to be the strongest shall be eliminated."

Dream could feel the way Nightmare's group stared at him and he couldn't help but grin, fingers smoothing down his clothes. Maybe his mouth finally had some good use. No doubt they'd be nagging him for information after this game - a prospect he wasn't looking forwards too but knew he could survive.

"Could teams five and seven please make their way to the designated platforms."

A hundred eyes followed the direction of twenty players, ten splitting to the left and ten splitting to the right. They looked terrified, footsteps shuffled and laboured as they made their way towards the yellow spiderweb of metalwork. It was only when they stepped inside of it that he realised they encased elevators. The teams were lifted slowly skyward, until the people had to slightly crane their necks back to get a proper view of the game.

Triangle guards stepped forwards, each gripping a person and guiding them (if that's the correct term) towards the thick and heavy rope that lay snaked in the centre of the platform, it's middle body sagging slightly off of the vast gap between the two. Manacles seared into the ropes, the cast irons clamped around the wrists of humans and monsters. There'd be no letting go of the rope in this game.

Stretched along the length of the rope the two teams stared at each other, faces grim with the knowledge that only ten of them would go back down the lift alive. With a flag raised and red triangle tie showcasing the central rope, the game began.

The creak and strain of the rope as it was pulled from both sides was haunting, the scrape of footsteps a close second, with the anxious pants and groans of those at either end following as a third. The front men strained, backs arching until nearly parallel to the floor beneath them. Perhaps they were thinking about their families in this moment of near death. Perhaps they were praying to their single wife and child at home that they'd get tonight's meal safely. Or maybe they only had room to think of the money. The £45 million that could drag them out of debt and waste their lives back into it all over again.

For a while it seemed that neither team would prevail, the rope staying stagnant and unmoving with the strain of both equal teams. But then the front man slipped. It could have been poor grip on his shoes, sweat sliding across the floor from where it had dripped from his face. But his simple misplacement of footing was all it took for the other team to launch into action, sharp yells ringing out loud to accompany heaves. The other couldn't hope to regain his footing, and even if he did it would have been futile. For as he fell, the man behind him was yanked forwards too, leading him to drag the rest of the team along with him. Screams and shouts rang out, the squeal of plimsole shoes against floor ringing louder then the desperate last moment pleas for saviour.

The red triangle pulled further and further through the loop, the glinting shine of a guillotine shining overhead. That's when it all fell into place. The first man's feet scraped over the edge, his body following suit with an animalistic wail. The next man had regained his footing in vain, his body too sent tumbling off of the edge. By then the rest of the team had no hope. One by one their bodies dragged over the floor, limp like abandoned rag dolls. The manacles kept them to the rope, yanking in one cruel, dislocating motion before the guillotine fell and sliced the rope. Bodies fell, plummeting to the floor like bricks where they shattered to dust at the bottom.

Silence followed.

Lying on the floor the winning team gasped down air, faces tipped up to the dark ceiling. Maybe if they imagined, they could pretend it was the night sky. Guards unshackled them one by one and those down below watched as they returned back to the lift, guided down to the observation platform. Most of them looked haunted as they walked past, others looked proud of the ten lives they'd just taken. Dream wondered how his expression would look when he finished.

"Could teams two and nine please make their way to the designated platforms."

His body went stiff for a moment, fingers clamped around the laminated sheet between them. Team two. That was them. Skull twisting he caught sight of team nine, analysing. Three monsters, the rest human. They looked like a formidable team, but he had more faith in his own.

Leading them towards the lift Dream noticed Killer's presence brush by him, the whispered breath of "good luck" reaching him before the doors to the lift slammed shut and they slowly started to rise.

He had planned on taking the lift up in complete silence, yet a man - human - spoke up nervously. "W-we need a strategy- a strategy to win- I-I overheard our rival group saying they had an attack plan- we need the same-"

Scowling sharply Dream looked at him with distaste, arms crossed over his chest. He despised humans generally. But when they cried and acted all pathetic because they didn't have faith in monsters? Oh it pissed him off further. In fact he felt he might snap at him to stop his crying and jump off the platform straight away if they had such little faith, but someone else spoke before he could.

"I know a strategy.."

Heads turning, all eyes rested on Dust. He stared back at them, and for once his nervous ticks seemed to stop. "I used to play this game as a kid all the time.. know the best tricks."

If he weren't about to share possibly valuable information, Dream might have told him to stop mumbling. "Well, what is it then? We don't have long-" They were already half way up their ride.

"First, you need an anchor." He spoke, Korean jumpy. It was then he realised that Dust might not have been native to the country either. "The anchor goes at the back, using the end tail of the rope to wrap around their waist from behind. It gives more stability, and less chance for the rope to slip from your grasp. Horror will be our anchor." As if there was any other option. The large skeleton nodded, knuckles cracking. He looked as if he'd won a fair amount of tug of war games.

"And then you need a strong person situated in the middle and the front. You can't bunch your best players all in one area, they need to be there to hold the line in case of a slipping teammate. Cross, Nightmare and alligator - one second to front, two central. The rest of us will filter in between. If you feel yourself slipping, bend your knees, keeping them straight and rigid will tire your muscles and strain them more - you're more likely to tumble and fall, causing a domino effect if so. If one of us falls, we all fall." His tone was grave and cold, matching with the atmosphere as the doors to the lift slowly pulled open and they stepped out into the chilly air and cold platform.

From up here the drop really did seem significant, enough to break every bone in his body upon impact if he fell. At least the death would be quick, though the fall would be the most terrifying way to spend the last four seconds of your life.

Stepping to positions they picked up the rope, ordered. Dream found himself at the front, Nightmare behind him, a human behind him. Then was Cross, followed by Ink, and then Blue. The alligator towered over him, two humans following before Dust, and then finally Horror. They were ready. The team opposite them stood with grins upon their faces, far too confident considering their damned fate. A towering monster stood at the back, an anchor. Clearly these people had grew up in the same streets as Dust.

As the triangle masked guards moved to chain them to the rope Dream looked for Killer, only to recall he was all the way down at the viewing platform, watching him like some reality TV show. He looked like a tiny, squashable red ant from all the way up there.

Once locked in place the guards stepped up, one raising a burning red flag high above their head. Dream's body tensed, Nightmare's hot breath staining his neck. As the arm swung down he braced, teeth grit. This was where they'd fight for their lives.

The first tug had his arms nearly ripped from their sockets, shoes burning rubber into the ground as he hauled back with all his strength. Behind him he could hear strained groans, the squeak of shoes earning them half a step backwards, the other team one inch closer to the edge. The line held still after that, agonising seconds ticking past as his bones started to ache, finger screaming in protect against rope burn.

He gasped, body leaning back slightly in an attempt to bring more weight to their team. He could feel the others doing the same, their bodies leaning back to each other. The other team tugged, wrenching motions that had Dream's legs shaking. He thought his team would be so much better, but he should have been more careful in picking the last two. Humans weren't ever ideal. Though they made progress, another sharp step back earning a slight victory in the slow dragging motion of the red tie coming closer to their side.

They were aware of their opponents shouting out orders to each other yet in their concentration the words were lost. Another step backwards was earned and Dream allowed himself to feel hopeful, the trembling ache in his arms legs and fingers ignored.  A particular loud shout came from the opposers and before he had time to brace a particularly sharp tug sent his shoes slipping. He managed to gain purchase again quick after but the same couldn't be said for everyone in his team. Tells rang out and he didn't need to look to know it was one of the humans who's legs had given out beneath them, sending them crashing to the floor. That was all it took for the human behind him to stumble, Dust only staying upright for Horror yanking the back of his jacket.

With two players down their strength diminished and within seconds Dream's shoes were sliding across the floor. He cursed and scrambled, tugging with the best of his strength  to avoid the edge. Yet it came closer and closer, eyes widening as he watched the way the red tie at the rope was dragged onto the other side where the guillotine shone brightly, ready to slice.

From the back he could hear Horror yelling for the humans to get back to their feet before they killed them all, but it seemed they'd already given up, accepted their fate. It was a good thing monsters didn't have that sort of weak resilience.

Yelling from the back, Dust spoke. "We're going to have to stop resisting-! Let them pull us almost to the edge, it'll surprise them, and they'll fall over-!"

The words were enough to make Dream's body go cold. Pull him over the edge? No way- he'd fall and the guillotine would strike him to the floor. "Are you cRAZY-?!"

"TRUST ME- We're going to dIE if we don't try-!" His plan clearly sparked doubts and fear through the team and he was sure he could hear someone praying to a god somewhere in the middle. But it seemed resilience had left the group by now, all prepared to try anything that might save them. They waited for Dust's count and Dream let the thought pass his mind that he might actually die.

"On the cOUNT OF THREE-!"

Behind him he felt Nightmare's tentacles lash against the ground in agitation, his gone silent but manner speaking a thousand words. He was considering the same thought as Dream.

"ONE!"

He gripped the rope tighter, twisting his knuckles slightly he felt the cold metal of the manacles bite his wrists. They would likely snap clean off before he hit the floor when he fell.

"TWO!"

His shoes dragged across the floor, the smell of burning rubber making his skull feel light and disconnected.

"THREE-!"

Despite his instincts screaming for him not to Dream let his body go slack, knees giving in after his body had screamed for him to do so already minutes ago. Everyone did the same, the result being each of them stumbling into each other and more or less running across the platform to the edge.

The other team hasn't expected it, bodies leant far back in the position of brace still. The sudden slack between the rope sent them crashing into each other, bodies piling in alarm up on top of each other, flat to the floor. The strong pulling resistance was gone. Staggering forwards Dream tried to gain purchase on the floor once more but found his ankles gave out beneath him. His knees bent, body tipping forwards in a terrifying angle over the edge. For a single moment he stood suspended over the edge before his body pitched and he felt his world pass in slow motion.

Once his body passed far enough it seemed to give up, bones crying in sustain as he plummeted. The air rushed past his skull, eye sockets prickling with moisture as he saw the ground rush towards him. The manacles bit into his wrists, yanking them sharply. His vision exploded with stars and he felt his arms might fall off before he hit the floor. Just as he felt his soul give out and accept his fate he felt something cold and firm curl around his waist. It yanked him sharply back up through the air, legs flailing until they smashed into the cold of the platform once more.

His vision spun, turning back to see Nightmare braced against the edge, a tentacle around his waist to keep him from dragging the others to their deaths.

"EVERYBODY PULL!" Dust's shout was heard from the back and Dream's feet finally gained purchase on the floor, pulling with all the strength his tired and shaken body had left. With each tug they collectively groaned, gaining more ground by the second until the edge of the platform was far from his worries. The opposition team slipped on the floor's surface, unable to get back to their feet fast enough to gain purchase.

Dream watched as the first player's feet dangled over the platform, a scream ripping from their throat as they slid over the edge.
Once they fell the others came flying after them, topping like dominoes. He could have sworn he'd heard the squelch of bones ripping from their sockets and muscles tearing as their arms were torn to pieces. The ten players hung suspended for a moment with a terrified shriek before the guillotine fell. They crashed to the floor like rag doll dummies, bodies shattering beneath each other as they collided with the floor. Silence followed.

Knees buckling beneath him Dream gasped, hands falling to the cold floor. His body was shaking and he couldn't stop it, rushing with a thousand emotions he couldn't contain. If he hadn't  been in public he might have started to cry. He was unaware of being unchained and dragged to his feet. In fact he didn't regain consciousness to reality until the other six teams had played and thirty more people had died. One of them was the man Ink had owned money to.

He didn't speak as they walked back to the warehouse, wanting nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep until tomorrow to regain his strength. But he knew Ink and the others would pester him, and he was sure Killer would come calling too. In fact he was surprised that the other didn't yank him through a door in the corridor as he walked for another sexual payment for info. But he walked without being snatched, free to enter the warehouse without quarrel. He assumed he'd come to him later.

He made his way towards his bed but a hand yanked at his shoulder before he could collapse onto it, sending him stumbling. He nearly fell over, weak knees not doing well with the action of being tugged so suddenly. He twisted, a hiss leaving him as he looked to see Ink. Despite them having won and survived the artist looked annoyed. The annoyance seemed to be directed solely at him, as if Dream had unlocked a sort of special treatment that should have only been his.

"You know what game was coming-" He spoke with an accusatory tone, pupils a red exclamation mark and a purple triangle. He didn't know what those symbols meant, but he wasn't bothered to find out. So what if he was getting info by gagging on cock? Maybe Ink was doing the same.

"Process of elimination." He muttered, rubbing at his forehead to stop the sharp ringing. Shrugging his hand off of his shoulder he sat on his bed, whole mind spinning. He needed to lie down. "C'mon- even you knew tug of war would most likely come up- and having groups of ten? It was obvious. Even if it weren't I would have gone with the strongest people available. That reminded him he needed thank Nightmare for saving him without grovelling like some pathetic sponge.

Ink let go of him with a dark expression, eyes burning into him. "If you say so." There was so much more he wanted to ask but he stepped back, nodding. "I'll come back later."

"Please don't." He muttered, skull hitting into the pillow with a relieved sigh. He didn't think he'd sleep, simply aiming to relax his shaking and tired bones. If he slept now he'd be up awake all the night. Though he'd made that decision in his mind he was sure he might have drifted off to sleep at some point, because when he next opened his eyes there were guards at the warehouse doors. For a moment he panicked, thinking he'd slept all the way through the night and woken up in the morning. He hadn't had the opportunity to meet Killer. But then after a brief moments panic he realised they were being served their dinner.

Breathing out slowly he sat up, rolling his shoulders back as he jumped to his feet. His feet felt slightly unstable on the floor but he pushed past the feeling, headed to the rapidly forming queues. Maybe this was where Killer would slip him his information, hidden inside a celery stick or crumpled in a curry.

He saw Ink further ahead and was glad he didn't try join him, the other too busy getting his food. From what he could see it it didn't look much, no curry of celery to hide notes in. When he finally got to the front he was disappointed, hand open to have a fat scotch egg placed in his palm and a green bottle of sparkling water. Mouth twisting in distaste he frowned, looking at them both. "That's it?"

He was met with a blank stare, the guard indication for him to keep moving and step away. He wasn't getting special treatment with his food clearly. Walking back to his bed he stared down at his food, unimpressed. He wasn't much a fan of beef, or egg, and everyone in the world knows that sparkling water is the most filthy and disgusting drink you could possibly dread to be given.

Once sat down he cracked open the bottle of ugly water, tipping it back to drink swiftly. The feeling of it fizzling down his throat was disgusting, but he forced it anyway. Even if what they were fed was shit, he'd still eat it - the energy food made was needed for tomorrow. Water drunk he bit into his scotch egg, chewing silently as he watched his team - Nightmare, Cross, Horror and Dust - push past the last few people in the line to get their food. However he could have sworn he'd already seen them eating earlier.

Biting again he watched, only to cringe at the taste of something dry and pasteurised in his mouth. Looking down at his scotch egg accusingly he stilled his movements at the sight or something white poking from the yellow egg in the centre. Reaching out he gripped the anomaly with his forefinger and thumb, slowly pulling out a folded piece of paper. It was smeared with grease, the writing smudged an ugly grey with scrawled ink writing nothing more than a short phrase.

10:30. Bathroom door
-K-

The moment he'd read the note it was crumpled and shoved in his mouth, jaw working furiously to chew at it with the scotch egg to eliminate any evidence. He couldn't risk being caught. 10:30, an hour and a half after lights out. That's when he'd meet him and tell him what the next game was.

Just as he was wondering what the next game could possibly be - and what he'd have to do to find out - the sound of commotion arose from the food table.

"Where's ours-? We haven't had any!" A man slammed his hands to the table, the guards didn't flinch, one speaking. "We prepared the correct amount of meals for everyone. We did not miscount."

Spinning around the man shook his head, fingers running through his hair. He recognised him. It was one of them men that had been on his tug of war team. The one that had slipped up and nearly killed them all. "Someone has TAKEN our food-!"

Pointing a trembling finger the woman beside him spoke, her Korean a spitting fury. "It was them- they took it-!"

Following her hand the heads in the warehouse turned to stare at Nightmare's group where Horror bit his second scotch egg clean in half, swallowing without so much as a chew. They had smug looks to their faces, clearly caught in the act.

Striding forwards the man yelled, hands flailing madly. Dream took another bite. "YOU-  you were on my team-!"

"Actually, you were on our team." Dust spoke, drinking from his bottle of sparkling water while another lay empty at his feet. "And you hardly helped us, in fact you nearly killed us all."

The man boiled, the three others slinking behind him anxiously, too scared to grow up and stand up for themselves so they let someone else. Pathetic. "Give us back our food-"

Lazily picking up an opened bottle of the carbonated water Nightmare hummed, looking him up and down. "Or what? You'll fight us? Quit your whining and go back to your beds."

The man seemed to have an insane second of hunger-driven power, hand lashing out to try rip the bottle from his grip. His fingers slipped, the glass twisting to the air and shattering to the floor in tens of fragments. Green glass skidded to rest by Nightmare's foot, his expression unimpressed. "Now look what you've done."

Suddenly realising the brashness of his actions the man stumbled back a bit, eyes wide as he watched Cross slowly rise to his feet. His shoes crushed glass beneath the sole, the sound scraping as he advanced towards them. "You humans are always so loud." He muttered, fist swinging back before slamming into the others gut to send him staggering back across the floor. The warehouse washed with silence.

"You're always complaining." A sharp elbow to the chest had him flat on the floor, gasping out in pain. "Whining that we're going to die in every single fucking game." His foot connected sharply with his stomach, earning a hacking cough of blood. "Crying that you almost caused us to lose-" His foot connected over and over with his body, bones crunching and organs crumpling. Around them the warehouse watched, murmurs and flinches ringing loud.

"And now you complain about no food. You're fucking pathetic." The crack that followed the kick to his neck echoed across the concrete walls, bouncing off of the floor and ringing in ears. Staring down at the man Cross sneered, turning to walk back to his group who seemed impressed and approving of his aggressive display.

Stepping over quickly Blue dropped to his knees by the man, fingers pressed to the side of his neck. The air was thick and tense, the only people not silent being the four eating their stolen food. Looking up with a grave expression, Blue shook his head. "He's dead."

All within a moment the warehouse erupted with noise, panicked yells and jumbled conversations sparking through the crowds as they looked at the body in the centre of the room. Dream turned to the guards only to see they were already making their way over, a stretcher held between them to load the body. A man had just died, and not within a game - surely there was some sort of reprocussion or punishment for murdering another player in cold blood?

But they didn't seem to care, simply scooping the body onto the stretcher and slowly retreating. As they walked the big screen sparked to life, displaying the amount of players left.

140.

Dream winced at the sound of noise above him, eyes rolling up to see a few wads of cash tumble into the piggy bank, the glass glowing. Eyes wide, he looked back to the screen as the number slowly turned.

139.

For a moment, not a single person breathed. All eyes were fixed on the screen, the money ringing in their minds. No repercussions. No trickery. A man had died. Prize money had been added. Leaning back Dream felt his fingers slide under his pillow, brushing against something cold and metal. He frowned, turning to look down as his fingers curled around the object and gently pulled it out.

It was a knife, it's surface sleek and cold in his hands, the blade sharp and pointed. It was simple in every way except for the small shape engraved into the hilt; a triangle. Left crumpled on his bed was another note, the words speaking volume.

You might need this for protection tonight while you wait for me. Good luck
-K-

Tonight would be a bloodbath.

The clock seemed to move slowly as it tucked closer and closer towards 9:00 pm. Everyone was sat at their beds, constant glances thrown over their shoulders to check the person behind them wasn't about to smother them with their own pillow. Dream sat cross-legged, his position allowing him to see most of the warehouse without much quarrel. The knife lay slipped up his jacket sleeve, cold metal biting at his bones. He was sure that he wasn't under risk of attack from Nightmare's group - he'd helped save their lives after all. But others? They might not feel the same way.

His vision slid over to the bathroom doors, now locked for the last time as toilet privileges were taken away after 8:45. It had caused a real screaming fit for one woman who had nearly started pissing on the floor in desperation. That had been the night before game two. Where this whole assistance charade had started. That was the spot Killer wanted him to meet. He assumed that the other would unlock it at the given time and then take him through to partake whatever heinous activity he deemed worth his information.

The path from his bed to there wasn't particularly difficult, he'd have to climb down the frame and weave his way through a few more before he'd come out right where he needed to be. The challenge would be staying alive for an hour and a half - maybe killer would unlock the door to find his beaten and broken body. He didn't take his chances in imagining the scenario. The clock clicked, slowly counting the last minute with a worryingly fast pace. It seemed time doesn't slow down when you're high on adrenaline.

The second the clock hit 9:00 pm the lights powered out, leaving only the yellow glow of the money filled piggy bank before that too shut off and plunged them into darkness.

Dream's senses prickled, the knife slipping from his sleeve to rest in his hand, fingers gripping it tight. He wasn't very good at close combat fighting, preferring the skills of long distance or evasive manoeuvres. Still, he was thankful of the blades presence. It made him feel stronger, though not necessarily less of a target.

The warehouse remained silent for almost 20 minutes, not even the sound of a shuffling footstep echoing. For a moment he let the naive hope blossom in his mind that the power display from earlier hadn't given people any plans, that everyone had decided to simply settle down and go to bed without a second thought. His pupils strained in the darkness yet he couldn't see anything, not even a dancing shadow that could approach him. Maybe tonight wouldn't be a massacre.

He had just put the blade back up his sleeve when the scream rang out. It was a woman's, a fearful shriek that conveyed the desperation of a dying animal. A sickening thud followed, as if she'd fallen off of something tall and smacked into the ground. Dream only had time to register the screen drop to 138 before something barrelled into his back and firm hands gripped his neck. All the air in his 'lungs' was torn from him immediately.

He gave a choked gasp, fingers scraping at the man's hands for a moment, bone digging into flesh. They didn't let go, throttling him until his fingers fell lose and his breaths were reduced to wheezing gasps that weren't giving enough oxygen to keep his brain functioning. White spots danced in front of his vision, eyes rolling back as he was strangled.  The last coherent thoughts in his brain yelled accusations at him that were lost among the screams of other people facing the same fate, his body seizing up. And then he heard a different voice, this one in his mind, cruel and cold with a sneering disappointment.

I give you that knife and you do nothing with it. Yet you wonder how you'll die.

Eyes widening he fumbled to grip onto the hilt of the knife, thumb pressing into the small engraved polygon. With the last of his draining strength he twisted, digging the blade deep into the side of his attacker with a sickening squelch.

The roar of pain they gave was animalistic. Their hold released on him and he lurched to the side, ripping the weapon cleanly through their skin. Hot blood splattered up his arm but he couldn't see it, body dropping from the bed like a rock and onto the floor below with a crunch. He was certain he felt his ankle pop out of place for a moment, a muted cry fleeing his lips as he dragged his way to the corner of the bed, back pressed to the metal frame. That way he could only be attacked from three directions, not four. He didn't know if the man he'd stabbed was dead or not but he found he didn't care, the wailing banshee screams all around him enough indication that there'd be plenty of deaths to satisfy the night. He just had to make sure he wasn't one of them.

Something brushed past, hitting his shoulder and sending him off balance. Lashing out with the knife he scanned desperately through the darkness only to see nothing. In the far distance, before the light of the cracks in the warehouse doors he could make out the shadowy shapes of tall figures, sharp appendages, limp bodies. They'd all reverted to animals.

He stayed like that for what felt like hours, waiting and listening. Spine pressed to the bed frame he paused, bones prickling as if a spider had crawled across them. Someone was near. They were doing their best to be subtle about it, the advance slow; but he could sense them. Their soft footsteps rang out clear against the thundering stampede, their slow breaths an anomaly against heavy pants.

Twisting his arm out he managed to nick their body with the blade when they pitched forwards. The attack didn't stop their ascent however and the next thing he knew stars exploded in his vision, skull slammed into the floor. A crack rang out and he couldn't muffle the yell. Above him someone straddled his chest, hands gripping his wrist with the knife and trying to wrestle it from him until it was positioned over his own chest.

Dream thrashed and kicked blindly, feet hitting against the floor and arms trembling as they fought the weight above him that threatened to stab his own blade through his chest. The assaulter was shadowed and obscured over him, merely a silhouette. But a small flash of light illuminated their eyes for a moment; a purple triangle and red cross. He heaved, hips jerking upwards to send them crashing into the bedpost, metal smacking bone. Their hands lost their grip and he rolled to the side, wrenching his knife with him and staggering to the doorway. It wasn't 10:30 yet, but he felt like he might die.

A snarl and heavy footsteps was all the indication he needed to know the attacker was chasing him and he broke out into a run. Each step on his dislocated ankle had his leg jarred with pain, his social awareness diminishing as he leapt over the body of a dead man, his neck slit with the green glass of those bottles.

Slamming into the door he yelled, fists pounding against it rapidly. The footsteps were loud and close, one frantic look cast over his shoulder sighting the figure pumping towards him with something sharp in their hands. It looked like a twisted pice of metal from their silhouette. Dream twisted, slamming his good foot to the door with a crunch.

The footsteps echoed, metal whistled. The door clicked. Light poured into the room and Dream felt his body collapse against the swinging appliance. He fell like a downed tree, landing cushioned by arms. The last thing he saw of the warehouse was the advancing figure, their eyes burning bullets. Then the door slammed shut.

—————

It was 9:00. Lights had gone out for the players. Killer had planned to eat dinner and prepare stuff for Dream, yet be found himself stood outside the large golden doors to the Front Man's office.

The Front Man was the top ranked worker, the one in closest contact with the VIP's and the Boss. He oversaw that all the operations ran smoothly and that each game met its quota. He ran things in this facility, yet under the strings of his puppet master. To be called by him meant only a few things: you were to be given a promotion, a demotion, or you were about to be killed. Pressing on the doorbell-like button Killer let himself hope it might be the first. Being a square would mean more control and power over his fellow workers, but would also remove his gun privileges. Being a square also meant that he wouldn't be so involved in the games, and watching those debtors struggle and die was the best part about his job. But he didn't fancy a demotion either, stuck doing the filthy work as a circle; cleaning up dead bodies, cooking all the food. Sounded awfully mundane.

The doors slid open without a sound, inviting him into the room that not many workers were allowed to set foot in. For a brief moment he considered checking his shoes for dirt but he quickly decided that whatever mess he left could be cleaned at the click of a finger. Stepping inside, he looked around, hearing the doors slide shut behind him.

The room started with a hallway of file cabinets, their complexion copper and rustic with gold handles. They held the file information for the players of all the previous games, dating back years. This was Killer's third year, he was still "fresh meat" when it came to the system. He heard rumours of a square general who had been working at the games for eleven years now. 

Walking further through he became aware of the echoing of his footsteps against the soft rhythmical tune of 'fly me too the moon'. It was a tasteful song, though the type you'd expect to hear at a wedding reception instead of a murderers lair. And it was the luxury of one man. The front man.

He could see the silhouette of the man in the distance, stood at a side angle to him as he observed something from a screen. He could watch all the games from here on a big screen, like a cinema display of death. He dressed in a large black trench coat, dark cargo trousers and a button up top. His face lay disguised behind a geometric mask, eyes dark. The mask was somewhat more intimating than his own, it's impassive expression hiding any sort of emotion.

"Worker 185, come forwards."

Their voice was powerful and assertive, drawing Killer's footsteps forwards. Like the players the workers were only a number to him, he didn't need to know his name.

"You called for me, sir." He spoke blankly, hands resting cooly by his hands as he watched the man step away from whatever clip was playing on the screen, back straightening slightly. This wasn't about to be the day of his demotion.

"The boss isn't happy."

Killer paused, tongue resting heavily in his mouth before he spoke. "With the games? That's a shame, I think this year has been great- especially with the bloodbath occurring as we speak. But I'm afraid I can't take the burden if your boss isn't pleased, I don't run the games; you do."

Beckoning a slow finger he invited Killer to his side. "You know our rules for players now, don't you 185?"

His feet dragged forewords slowly, boots pressed to the smooth floor. "Uh, all players get equal chances and are treated without superiority." The screen image was paused, the sight blurry. It was of the enlarged playground, players hunched over their candy.

"Indeed. This is our motto." He indicated to the screen now, the image playing. "So please explain to me what this is."

Killer's eyes burned through his mask, focussed on the image of himself stood by a crouched body with his gun resting at his hip instead of in his hands. Something yellow and small rested in his hands, it tumbling onto the lap of the frozen man at his knees. Dream.  He watched himself  step on the broken umbrella dalgona, grinding it to dust under his heel before the grainy announcement of player 456 passing rang out. The image froze before flickering, showing Dream walking with the surviving players before he was snatched from the side into a branching corridor where Killer knew he'd had the man gag around him for seven glorious minutes. He made sure not to change his posture, not even when recent footage popped up of the man pulling a piece of paper from his scotch egg. He watched the golden skeleton twist and turn his head to heck no one saw before the paper was shoved into his mouth and swallowed.

Killer gave a low hum, attempting to push as much humour into his words as possible. "Looks like one of your workers is helping the sunshine boy. That's poor management on your side."

A single click of a finger was enough to shut him up, dead ducking as he listened to him. "Don't play your games with me 185. I've observed your little game of favouritism and so have the VIPs. We found it amusing at first, your ideology perhaps made sense. But he's no longer equal or below his other players, he's above them. The VIPs no longer think the game will be fair if you coddle him all the way to the final; tomorrow he must die."

Killer stayed silent for a long moment, nodding down at the floor. "Of course, I understand." The game couldn't go on forever after all, he'd never believed he'd get much further than this next game. "I'll let him know my services will no longer be available."

"Good. The boss isn't overly pleased, you know what he'll do if you disobey his request." The tone was threatening and Killer once again nodded. "I am aware of the consequences."

His gaze flicked to the frozen screen of Dream staring down at his pillow, fingers slipped under it. It looked like the man had found his little gift. Good. He hoped he knew how to use it, dying already after his final warning would be such a disappointment.

"You may leave now. Just know that we're keeping an eye on you, 185." He watched Killer step back slowly, expression cold as stone behind the mask. Perhaps the assistance had been entertaining to the VIPs at the beginning - it had been something new, something exciting and invigorating to change the usual game. But it was starting to abolish the message these games stood for, and the boss had made it clear that it could not continue for any longer.

Killer twisted on his heels and left the room quickly, the haunting melody soft in his ears as the lift shut him out of the office. It was such a shame, he'd had so many more plans for that pretty little mouth. Once at the bottom of the lift he walked fast, twisting through the heavy corridors. The Boss had said the golden skeleton had to die tomorrow. Not tonight. That meant that the next three hours until midnight he could do as he pleased with the American. He passed the main door to the warehouse, grinning to hear thumps, screams and yells from the other side. It was always so fun to see people lose their humanity and reduce themselves to animals.

He'd told Dream meet at 10:30, but he didn't fancy headed back to his bunker for only half an hour. He wove his way up and down stairs to the correct level, key pulled from his pocket to unlock the staff door into the male toilets. He walked through swiftly, glancing into the cubicles. They certainly seemed big enough.

Once close enough to the door he became aware of thumping, the sound of fists pounding against the door ringing clear. He dismissed them at first, assuming it was simply some desperate stranger hoping to escape from the mass assassination behind them. But the bangs persisted, becoming more and more frantic until the clang of metal joined. Killer paused, key lingering by the lock. That metallic ring.. it sounded as if steel had been jabbed into the door. But the bunk beds were made of a different metal. Knives were made of steel. There was only one person in that warehouse that should have a knife.

Shoving the key into the lock he twisted, the door wrenching open sharply. A body tumbled through the gap, collapsing into his arms and then to the floor with a choked gasp. Foot slamming into the door, it shut with a bang before a figure could lunge through after them. The sound of their body colliding with the door  was heavy, rattle of the handle persistent for 30 seconds before they gave up.

Slowly lowering the others broken body Killer grunted, looking at his blood splattered clothes, cracked skull and twisted ankle. It was sticking out in an odd direction, jutting out so much further than an ankle bone should have the capacity for. The knife clattered from his fingers to spin across the floor, it's surface coated in blood. So he had used it. He was pleased.

Crouching down by him he pressed two fingers to his jaw, swiping away a little of the blood that smeared across it. "You seemed quite desperate for me out there angel, don't you know you're early?"

Spitting out blood the other managed a dry wheeze. "B-better early than late- A few more seconds and I'd have been d-dead on the floor."

"Don't strain your pretty throat, I don't need the details. I'm glad you got my note, I worried someone else might have taken your scotch egg."

Dream simply nodded, eyes cracking open to look up at him. He looked exhausted, like what he needed was rest. Shame that wasn't what Killer had planned for him. He picked up the knife from the floor, tucking it into his belt now for safe keeping - he didn't want Dream trying to use it on him when he heard the news he'd later give. Scooping his hands under Dream's armpits he hauled him to a sitting position, back pressed to the wall. "Let's fix this ugly ankle of yours, angel."

"I c-can fix it myself-" He hissed, hunched over to grip just above the dislocated joint. His teeth grit together, fingers shaking. Clicking his tongue in dismissal Killer shook his head, hands gripping at his shin and then foot without a care for the startled protest.

"That's very cute but I'm going to have to deny." He squeezed, grinning. "I'll pop it back on three, okay?"

Dream cursed in alarm and shook his head, eyes narrow slits. "Don't you fucking dare-"

"One-" His fingers held tight, hand momentarily slapping the skeleton's phalanges away for a second before his grip turned deathly again.

"Wait Killer stOp-" Dream shook his head, free leg managing to kick his knee rather heavily.

"TwO-" He snapped the ankle bone, the sickening crunch that followed sending a twinge through his gut. Dream's eyes widened suddenly and he shoved his fist into his mouth, muffling the shriek that tore from the back of his throat. It felt like he'd broken it all over again, vision rushing red with blood and popping with stars. His skull swam, feeling as if he'd been thrown off of a lifeboat to drown in the choppy sea.

"Can you wiggle your toes?" Killer poked at his feet and he seethed, the strength gained to slap him round the back of the skull. "You- you said! On three-!"

Rubbing the back of his skull in surprise Killer grinned, looking him up and down. He was still feisty as ever, that was a good sign. He couldn't have been in too much pain. "Yeah, but the build up would have made it worse, you'll be thankful for it later."

At that moment in time there was absolutely morning Dream wanted to thank that bastard for, all the help he'd given him (and countless times he'd saved his life) slipping from his currently biased mind. He might have tried to stab him if not for his weak state and the fact that the knife was tucked securely in Killer's belt.

"Alright angel, five more minutes like this and then we'll get down to business, the boss will notice if you're gone for too long." It wasn't a lie, though Killer spoke those words with the image in his head of his boss staring him down as he slammed the door shut. He knew alright.

Eyes falling shut Dream groaned with a nod, the ringing in his head finally diminishing and the stabbing pain in his ankle ebbing to a dull ache. He would never admit it but he was glad Killer had popped it back into place and not left him to do it himself; he didn't know if he'd have the guts. Sat there now in the bathroom he felt a moment of peace, the silence so glorious against the faint cries and struggles of the people on the other side of the door. Maybe if he wished hard enough everyone would kill each other and leave him the winner to walk home with all that money. He sure hoped he could.

"So.. what's the next game..?" He spoke, rubbing at his raw throat with a bloody hand.

Killer hummed, stood up on his feet now. "You should know that you don't get to know until I put that pretty mouth of yours to good use." He looked him up and down with an almost sinister grin, yet with such an easy air of charm that it was concerning. He could make his gut twist far too easily.

Mouth twisting in a frown Dream pushed himself up slightly, straightening his hunched posture. "Go on then, get it over with."

Killer stared at him for a long moment, fingers tapping at the blade at his hip as if considering whether to do so or not. Dream wasn't sure when he'd done it but the skeleton's mask wasn't on- of course it wasn't. He must have taken it off when he'd been fighting his body's urge to throw up, collapse and faint. "We're going to be doing things a little.. different today, sunshine."

Staring at his outstretched hand the other frowned, unsure. He wanted him to stand? With a recently dislocated ankle? Well what else was he to expect from a cold hearted murderer. Perhaps the best thing to do was walk it off - he couldn't hope to recover for tomorrow's game if he did nothing. The horrifying thought dawned on him that the next game might involve running, like the first one had. "I won't have to run in the next game, will I?"

Sighing lowly Killer gripped his hand, hauling him up to his feet. He noticed how the other wouldn't place his full weight on that particular ankle but didn't comment. He didn't plan to give away information for free, but seeing Dream more scared than he needed to he wasn't as fun as he'd originally thought. "No, you don't need to run."

A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders and he nodded, all emotions thankful for the news. Not that it would matter. He he was scheduled to die tomorrow, unbeknownst and oblivious. Walking him to one of the nearest cubicles Killer let him use his body for support. "You could most likely stand still through it - or even sit down."

"Good.." It was a mumble, his eyes now flicking upwards to rest on the open toilet door, the seat down. "You want to do this in a cubicle? How juvenile."

"You'll be thankful for the walls to grip onto." Was his only comment as he stepped in with him, the sliding lock falling into place. He chuckled slightly and sat down on the closed lid, hand tugging Dream until he stumbled onto his lap with a ragged hiss. "Don't spit at me, pet. I'm here to treat you good, remember?"

The skeleton looked like he was debating biting him but he managed to withhold from the urge, instead giving a bitter glare. Killer's hands slid up his thigh bones smoothly, the fabric of his tracksuits crinkling under his fingers as he worked to feel the subtle dips and curves in his pelvic bone. The last time they'd been intimate it had been rushed and impassioned, a dirty blowjob in a dark box room with a pressured timer. This time he has planned things to go differently. "Just think, the longer we take here, the more time you've got to survive the slaughterhouse."

Dream still didn't seem impressed, his hands resting on Killer's shoulder for a imminent. "Funny way to put it; sell my body to you to avoid death. You have corrupt morals."

"And so do you, you came here freely darling." He leant forwards to kiss at his neck slickly, mouth pressing to the bone for a lingering moment before his teeth scraped the spot. Tongue rubbing against it he grinned, enjoying the sound of the taller's hitched breath. His neck was already bruised by what looked like a pair of hands; most likely from earlier's struggle. What bad would a few more purple marks across his pretty neck do? The first hickey slowly formed, Dream's fingers tense around his shoulders. The power he had over him in the moment was nothing short of intoxicating.

His chest felt funny and tight, soul banging against his ribcage in an aggressive fashion. He hadn't expected Killer to take his body in such a.. domesticated way? At least at the beginning. He'd prepared himself to be shoved on his knees and gag down his cock. But it was clear the other had planned a lot more. The bite of his teeth to his neck was sharp and gave enough stimulation to have his gut twisting. For the sole reason that the other wouldn't approve of resistance he tipped his head back, allowing more access for bruises to decorate his neck and jawline.

He was aware of Killer's fingers sneaking up from his hips to his chest, creeping under his jacket and shirt to curl around his lower ribs and squeeze, treating them in ways that were no means delicate. He found he liked it; often his previous partners (not that Killer fell into that category) had the irritating habit of treating him like glass. They would cup him carefully, whisper sickly murmurs and act as if one wrong touch could split him in two. No matter how many times he'd told people that he wasn't a fragile leaf they wouldn't stop. It drove him insane. But Killer wasn't like that, he pushed his body around roughly, knowing that his bones were more concrete than glass. It awakened something in his core, a burning flame that licked at his abdomen and sent his body buzzing. He liked this treatment - he didn't feel like a pathetic child, but instead an equal.

He let the session play out without quarrel for now, keening into the the stroking of his ribs and the pumping of his spine that had saliva building in the corners of his mouth. The way that Killer pinched and twisted the vertebras had him shoving his fist in his mouth to stop any shameful noises from being too loud. His body rocked into his chest, eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling to avoid the sight of Killer's awful grin. The derogatory comments would come soon, he just knew it.

"You seem rather into this tonight." Killer murmured, letting the hand grip his spine tighter, second one reaching to grip at his jaw and forcefully tip it down to face him. "Eyes on me, angel."

The tone had a threatening edge to it and as much as Dream wanted to scoff and laugh it off but he simply nodded, swallowing. Being bratty had its perks but not all the time. It seemed Killer wanted obedience.

"Good.. now summon your pretty body for me, Hm? I'm sure it's gorgeous." He tapped at his jawline, grey pupils burning into him. "After all, I haven't seen it yet."

Staring down at him Dream hissed, making sure that his fingers dug into his bones enough to cause the other to wince. "You've got no fucking sense of romance, not even three hickeys and you're already begging for my body." The comment was met with a wide grin, pelvis gripped to make the other rut down onto his thigh bone. "This isn't some pretty date, angel. Get on with it. Or do you not want the information on the next game?"

He hoped he looked as unimpressed as he felt, letting the last of his resistance drain from his body along with his pride. It was only Killer that would know of this night, and even so he'd most likely die before these events could spill from loose lips. The games would claim him before his ego even had a chance to be wounded. It had never done him any good anyway. Shifting on his lap he closed his eyes, letting his female ecto form for the other - he knew he wouldn't want the male.

Killer's mouth stretched to a playful smirk, eyes roaming his body greedily. His hands reached to slide the skeleton's jacket from his shoulders and let it fall to the bathroom floor. It wasn't overly hygienic, but neither of them were thinking that in the moment. From what he could see, he was pleased. The appearance of his ecto fleshed out his clothes, thighs rested heavily on his lap, chest rounded out softly. "You look.. prettier than I expected."

"Am I supposed to thank you for that comment?" He watched as the other's hand pushed under his shirt and gripped his left breast, squeezing. Thumb brushing over his nipple he shifted the shirt up, the fabric bunching by his chin. He pushed it to his mouth, tapping to his teeth with a clear message. Bite. Baring his teeth at him for a short moment he gave a mocking growl before clamping down on the fabric. His tongue felt heavy, beads of saliva pooling in the corners of his mouth.

With the shirt lifted free of his chest Killer had a good view of his navel upwards, the soft bump of abs showing under the white bathroom light. His body was a gorgeous honey melon colour, rich and peachy at the joints. His bones may have been scared and bloody from the games and fights, but his body was untouched and smooth; perfect. He couldn't wait to ruin it. He decided to start from high up, his hands cupping his breasts nicely and squeezing. He liked to see Dream's body like this, open and vulnerable to all his touches. Thumbs brushing over his nipples he leant forwards, tongue dragging up a long stripe up to the bumps of his collarbones, teeth scraping. He sucked at the spot, pinching the flesh until they all bruised.

A whimper came from above and he let his eyes flick up to rest on Dream and his pathetic expression. His eyes appeared hazy and unfocused as they stared at the wall opposite him, refusing to meet. The fabric of his shirt was damp from where it lay gripped in his teeth, saliva dribbling down his chin slightly. Oh if he could see himself now he'd be so ashamed, perhaps he should have done all this in front of a mirror so the other could see how broken he appeared already. It was a shame they wouldn't have another session after this to play that little fantasy out. It would have to stay in his mind forever, playing out in a little loop like those dancing toy ballerinas in shop windows for rich children.

He made at least four hickeys on his flesh, each darker than the first in blossoming purples, blues and black. Maybe someone might call them ugly against such a pretty body, but Killer merely him as a canvas that needed to be filled. Trailing his kisses down he let his hands cup under his hips and lifted him enough to snag down his tracksuits. They pooled around his knees, caught on the bend as he clamped his thighs either side of Killer's lap. Dream looked thoroughly horrified for a moment, cheeks positively yellow as he groaned through his shirt.

Fingers pressed to the other's clit, rubbing in slow, firm circles to make the other gasp and writhe. The sounds were truly rewarding, enjoying the way his body rippled with a tremor, the way he could see his soul beating rapidly through his chest. Oh the power he had over him..

Already slick with liquid Killer's fingers slid through his folds easily, tracing the rim of his heat and rubbing until the phalanges slid inside. Dream felt hot and tight around him, resistance following the two fingers that stretched him ever so nicely. They curled and scraped his walls until Dream saw stars, his breathing shallow and fast, fingers shaky and lax. He didn't think Killer could be so good with his fingers. The way the way he twisted and rimmed them felt as if he were scooping out the last remnants of the honeypot before discarding it, hand turning at every angle to get the last slithers of the golden nectar. Dream almost felt objectified by it; to be treated like nothing but a glass jar to be emptied. But that didn't lessen his likening to it - In fact it only encouraged him more.

Pathetic little whimpers and moans spilled from his lips faster than he gave permission for, his chest jerking. He felt the other press his thumb to his clit firmer than before, a third finger sliding deep inside of him to add to the scraping action of those nerves deep inside his heat. Before he knew it his gut was burning with flames, a boiling kettle threatening to spill over. "MnGhaA- K-kiLls-" He wasn't sure why he'd felt the need to shorten his name in such a way, eyes burning into the wall in front of him to avoid the wide grin he knew he'd receive. It had just slipped out, an unconscious slip in his sense that he'd blame his pleasure-ridden mind for.

"Close already angel? How slutty of you; I've barely fucking started." His fingers sank up to the knuckle, pressing so far deep into him that Dream had to arch his hips to try alleviate the crushing pressure to his nerves. He hadn't expected the action, the cry he gave so primal that it gave him whiplash. As best as he tried to stop it his gut twisted, tying itself in a tight knot that had him gasping and writhing until he came. His release hit him so sharply that he momentarily lost vision, his head ducking to bury in Killer's shoulder to hide the saliva that dampened his lips and the deep yellow blush that stained his cheeks. He was disgusted in himself, and if not for the fact that Killer was running a planned and tight schedule he might have taken a break to forcefully throw up.

Fingers slipping from his pulsing heat Killer chuckled, fingers spreading to show the translucent sticky release that ran down them thickly. "All this from three fingers?" Dream couldn't help but look as the other popped the fingers into his mouth, tongue pushing through the bones and cleaning them of any residue that may have been left. He hummed, purposely popping his lips as they released his fingers. "You taste sweet."

Dream only stared at him, the hem of his shirt still caught in his teeth. His chest moved with deep breaths, golden glow shifting with the shadows. When Killer gripped his hips and prompted him to stand he didn't know what to expect, especially when he was hauled up until his feet rested either side of the closed lid, wobbling. His arms flailed and reached to press to the walls for stability, his gasp leaving the shift tumbling from his mouth to cover his  chest once more. Killer didn't seem to care, looking up at him for a moment, skull now the perfect height to kiss at his upper thighs and more. "This is where you'll be thankful for the walls to grip to, gorgeous."

Not a single coherent word had formed in his mind before he felt the hot press of a tongue to his thigh, eyes wide. His knees wobbled for a moment, fingers quick to curl over the top of the cubicle walls as fingers dug into his hips. "Sh-sHiT-" He cursed out, pupils locked on Killer as he sucked on his thigh, sharp canines grazing them. His soul twisted and flipped in his chest, the sight enough to rewire his brain.

Without blinking once Killer bit down, teeth sinking into his flesh enough to mark but not break. He couldn't help but whimper, unable to muffle himself for he needed both arms to keep himself from falling. The bastard had chosen their position well. He felt his legs jump, body having to remind itself to go rigid before he fell. The guard applied several more of his love bites to his thighs until they trembled, switching from aggressive bruising to gentle caressing touches and butterfly kisses. It did nothing to help his failing lucidity.

The licks and kissed trailed higher until the first was finally pressed to his heat, that cherry red tongue sliding through his folds and flicking upwards. Dream reeled, his hand having to readjust at least three times before he felt stable enough. His core ached, toes curling as he felt the other devour him like no other had before. His tongue was deadly, sliding inside of him and pushing along his walls, mouth suckling his clit.

He was gasping within a minute, body rocking as Killer forced him closer. Fingers raked down his thighs to leave red welts, knuckles strained. He moaned freely, the worry of keeping himself silent having long fled his mind. "KilLEr- mNhA- ffUck.."

The other ignored his little whimpers, focused on ravishing him as best as he could. It was an awful shame that this would be his last session. Though part of him - in the depths of his mind - was already focusing on loopholes. Shoving his tongue deep inside he enjoyed the sound of the other wail out, knees nearly buckling in a pathetic display of pleasure. His feet lost purchase slightly, one hand falling to rest on Killer's shoulder to keep himself upright. He seemed lost in it all, breath hitching in his throat as they built up to something better.

This time when the orgasm came for him it was harsher, his gut building up in a faster motion than before. The knots were complicated and rough, twisting around his core and ripping at it harshly until tears pricked in the corners of his eye sockets. Trembling above him he heaved down a breath, eyes rolling back in his skull as the release hit him for a second time. It was like a slap to the face, his knees buckling to have him slip messily, shoulder slamming into the bathroom stall wall. He felt Killer's hands grasp him, tongue taking him for every last drop he had to give. The sounds that came with it were nothing short of pornographic, wet laps and sticky complaints.

It was only when he pulled away that he let the other fall to his lap, legs rendered useless as he pressed into him. From this position he could feel the hard pressure beneath him, eyes hazy and glazed as he looked downwards, breathing laboured.  "A-and you call me the sslut.."

Killer gave a low chuckle, his hands lifting the others hips until he sank down around him, a whining moan spilling from the back of Dream's throat at the intrusion. He rolled his hips, feeling the head press so perfectly into his sore nerves. "You're the only slut here, angel."

Dream pushed his face into the others neck, gasping for breath as he felt his insides split open. Mouth clamping to the other's neck he groaned, feeling as if any form of sensibility had been thrown out the window and cast to the wolves to ravage in the same way killer ravished him. "O-only the second time you've g-got me alone and you're already desperate t-to fuck me-"

Killer arched his hips, fingers sliding down the soft bumps of his spine from behind. "This will be the last time, angel."

Dream wanted ask what he'd meant by that, but he found his mind succumb to the pleasure, eyes rolling upwards. Any questions were lost in the air, the shadows cast up the bathroom walls displaying the sins behind the door. In the moment, he'd never felt so close to death, yet so alive.

—————

The game will be played in pairs.

Killers whispered words from last night echoed in the back of his mind, the memory of their sweaty bodies pressed together and breaths fogging the air popping into his mind before it was shoved away. He didn't need a reminder of why his legs were so stiff.

Stood in the same white padded room as yesterday except only 50 people stood instead of the previous 100+. They'd lost half their workforce from the tug of war games, and it looked like at least 30 more had been slaughtered in last nights attacks. Looking around he noticed that the people he'd wishfully thought would be dead were still alive. Nightmare, Cross, Horror, Dust, Ink, Blue. He saw how Ink stared at him, his position gliding towards him and he cursed.

The announcement had stated that they had five minutes to get into pairs. That had been a minute ago. His feet moved swiftly, travelling towards a group fast. He thanked God he could claim his stuff limp was because of the attacks last night - the same would be said for the purple bruising on his neck that came from both stranger and guard. As he moved, so did Ink, his pace fast and almost aggressive. It made his stomach drop, eyes fixed on a particular skeleton as Killer's ears rang in his skull.

Don't pick your friends. But whatever you do, DON'T pick Ink.

The memory popped into his head, the sight clouding his vision for a moment. He'd just been fucked out of his mind, his face hidden in the others shoulder as his hips were rubbed. Killer had spoken low and slowly, breaths short for the sins they'd just committed. He remembered asking why, only to be answered with something that gave him more questions than he'd had on the first day when he woke up in the warehouse before the first game.

Ink is my boss, he'll win no matter what you do.

Ink. The failed artist he'd met one night long ago and then befriended for all of one day before realising what a traitorous snake he was. He'd watched as Ink refused to help him with clues, watched as he'd observed him with a new hostility when he'd hinted his knowledge of the third game, watched as he'd tried to smash his skull in before Killer had ripped him through those doors. He'd known that Dream was getting help; and he made it in his mind that it couldn't go on any longer. So he had tried to kill him that night. And when that didn't work he sent word to his workers to eliminate him in todays game. He walked to the group knowing this could be his last day alive. Mouth pressed in a blunt frown he stared, speaking."

"Cross."

The monochrome looked at him slowly, eyes flicking up and down him duly. "What do you want?" He looked down upon him as if he were a piece of gum on his shoe, just as society always had. He resisted the urge to punch him, Ink's presence heavy in the back of his mind. "Let's team up for this game."

"What." It was hardly even a question, a rude and rough statement as he stared down at him. "You want to team, with me?"

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll be fine with your boss. I'm certain that you two can be separated for a few minutes." He was pleased with the twisted expression he gave, eyes narrowed.

"He's not my boss, you sly cunt." For a moment Dream thought he might slap him, or kill him like that man from last night. In fact he'd already gripped onto the front of his shirt ready to crack his nose before the sound of smooth and low Korean spoke out, tone unimpressed. "Settle down, Cross." He looked at the two of them, singular blue pupil observing them both. "I'll play with someone else, that was the plan anyway."

Dream watched as the tentacled menace drifted away across the room, stopping in front of a nervous looking woman who whimpered at the mere sight of him. The pleasure of their accompanance was clearly one sided. He'd picked a weak link, a move that could turn out either smart or dumb. He clearly had a hidden logic to his choice. Dream had picked Cross because he was strong if their team needed to be, but also because he couldn't give two fucks if he died.

Cross twisted his head to look back at his friends but they were already paired, Horror stood by Dust and playfully ruffling his skull in a manner that had the other cursing bloody murder. Dream spared a moment to look over his shoulder, locking eyes for a moment with Ink who stood next to Blue. They'd made their choices.

"It's just us." He stared at the solider, hand held out to shake. "Don't be scared, I don't bite."

Lip curling in a snarl he gripped his hand none too kindly, shaking it until his elbow jarred. "You better hope we're told to work as a team, because the moment I'm given permission to bite, I'll rip you to pieces." Dream didn't doubt it.

Their alliance was made and their time was up, guards guiding them through the forever thinning hallway to their next location for their game. Dream was naively optimistic. Killer had said he wouldn't have to run - in fact he'd said he wouldn't even have to walk if he didn't want to. It left hundreds of questions in his mind, but in his thoroughly fucked state he hadn't asked any further questions to help him. It was stupid now he looked back at it, but he'd never been in such a high like that before. He'd let his primal needs take over his logical mind.

When they left the corridor they came out in a large warehouse, one which's size was even greater than the one they were housed in (which was now bare of bunk beds in comparison to the beginning). His feet stepped on gravel, eyes travelling down to look at the orange sand that stained the once white - now grey - base of his shoes. Glancing back up he noted that they seemed to be in what appeared to be a film set they use for intimate close up scenes in movies. From where he was stood he could see twisting streets and alleyways, each one intricately decorated as if on the other side of the wall he could open a door and walk into a real house. The money and effort that went into these games baffled him. Why would people do this simply to watch people die and give away more money as a result? The idea seemed so flawed to him, but then again he wasn't an observer; he was a player.

They were prompted forwards, a guard stepping up to each pair with a brown woven sack held in each hand. They looked heavy, used before. They were held out and he gingerly took one, feeling individual spheres clink between his fingers. They felt as if they were made of glass. Whatever they were didn't spring into mind, any indications left blank. This game wasn't familiar to him, he could only hope Killer's advice would be enough to save him.

Stepping forwards in their pairs he found himself walking into the false alleyways, passing by windowsills filled with overgrown potted plants, broken gutters and rat droppings skittered across the floor. It all looked so realistic that for a moment he allowed himself to believe he was free of these games, roaming around the streets of Korea with enough money in his pocket to buy him one measly kebab and a rotten carrot for his dinner. He wished to anything that his life could go back to that if it meant sparing him from three more games.

The two of them walked to a secluded spot round the corner, privatised from prying eyes. He wasn't sure whether that would be for good of for bad. Static ringing out, the haunting voice of that robotic woman boomed.

"All players are now allowed to look at the contents within their bags."

Dream loosened the neck of his, tipping the glass balls out onto the curve of his palm and frowning. He recognised them instantly; marbles. Bedside him Cross laughed, grin like a sharks. Dream's stomach plummeted. He knew what they were playing; he had the advantage.

"Each player has ten marbles. In this round you may play any game of your choice with these as long as the end goal results in one player having fairly won all the other player's marbles. You may play whatever game you please, with the rules being that there can be no use of violence or force to obtain them. The loser of each pair shall be eliminated. You have thirty minutes."

Dream's gut screamed, his head turning to Cross to find he was already staring at him, index finger and thumb holding a marble and rubbing it smoothly on the flat of the bone. "You look lost, immigrant. Don't worry, I'll pick a nice and easy game, just for you."

For the first time Dream knew he was dead before he'd even started the game.

Stepping towards the golden skeleton he pointed to the marbles in his hands. "We're going to play a game I played when I was seven; I'm sure you can catch up with such a childish game, yes?"

He knew his brain had accepted death when he didn't understand half the Korean he spoke. Still he nodded slowly, mouth pressed in grim line. The guards assigned to them both watched over them without a sound, gun resting at their hip as a prominent threat. He had to get this game right. "Can you- explain it in English?"

Cross looked at him as if he'd asked him to give up and pass over all his marbles right then and there, expression confused before a barking laugh left him, a derogatory one. "Oh I knew there was something off about you and your Korean- you're American." He'd been suspicious of other countries, but that place was the lowest of the lows.

"I'm not. American." He spoke through grit teeth, wishing he hadn't asked in the first place. Cross sneered, shaking his head and speaking his language with such spite that Dream could have recoiled. "You're in Korea now, we play this my way."

Dream didn't speak more after that, not even nodding. He waited for Cross to explain, his eyes dark. One of them would die here; in fact one of them would die in every pair. That meant Ink and Blue.. He suddenly scowled, fingers clenching around his marbles. Ink knew what this game would be, yet he'd picked Blue. He'd picked Blue with a 100% certainty that his friend would die before they even entered these false streets. He could have picked a weak link, a stranger like Nightmare did. But he picked the man who'd learned to think of him as a friend, who'd grown to look up at him. Blue was going to die by the hands of the man he admired, and Ink could have stopped it. But he didn't. He didn't know whether he'd done it only because Dream had picked Cross and so it was a message to spite him, or that he simply planned for one of them to die either way. Both knew each other's secrets, and neither of them would allow them to continue unheard.

"This is how we play." Cross' voice tore Dream from his thoughts, eyes looking over to him as he indicated to the marbles in his hand. "We each chose an amount of marbles, number from one to five, no higher. They stay in our clenched hands, and the other has to guess whether the amount we chose was odd, or even. If you chose correctly, you take the opponents marbles. If you chose wrong, they take yours. Whoever loses all their marbles first gets a bullet in their skull."

Years of language training failed him and Dream shifted in anguish. He'd understood the words 'odd' and 'even'. The rest had been lost in translation. "I don't- you know English, explain it again-"

Sneering down at him he took a handful of his own marbles, the clinking of glass soft yet piercing. "You really are useless aren't you? It's a miracle you even made it this far." He observed Dream for a long moment before speaking again, his English having an Asian slur and wonkiness to it. Still, Dream was sure his Korean sounded like a primary school child's. "Pick odd or even. Guess wrong, you die."

It was brief and to the point but gave him more insight, eyes glancing to the clock. They still had 25 minutes, that was plenty of time to stall and devise a plan. But the other's hand was thrust in front of his face, impatient. "Odd or even, pick American."

Why all the people he met here made the conclusion that speaking English = American he didn't know. But it was starting to piss him off. He only asked for an English translation because he knew if he asked for Spanish the other would have probably asked if that was a country in Africa or next to Brazil. Staring down at his hand, he scowled. "Odd."

Cross grinned, hand opening, a single marble lay in his hand. "Wrong." With a click of his fingers he tapped at Dream's closed fist, impatient. The other blinked, looking down. He hadn't thought- simply grabbing. His fingers slowly uncurled to reveal three glass marbles. Three. He'd lost three already. If there hadn't been strict rules and a guard standing over them both with a gun to their skulls he'd have put up a fight or demanded a practice round, but that wasn't an option. He needed to pay attention now. The marbles were lost, rattling nicely inside Cross' bag. "My go."

Fingers reaching into his bag he frowned, fingers brushing the balls momentarily. He didn't want to pick large - that could mean he lost more, but something told him he shouldn't pick small. He settled on two, lifting his closed fist shakily. Cross did the same, speaking.

"Even." The skeleton opened his hand, two marbles resting in his palm. He'd guessed right. Dream paled, his gut doing awful summersaults, and not like the ones that Killer gave him. He shakily passed his marbles over, fingers scrabbling in the bag. Five. He only had five left already. His soul thrummed in his chest, body suddenly increasingly aware of his surroundings. From where he was stood he could see a couple more players. Some were playing the same game they were, others had dug a hole in the floor and were throwing their marbles at it like a dysfunctional game of golf. Everyone looked tense - of course they were. They were playing for their lives.

"Pick." Cross' voice was jarring, a sharp irritation to the side of his skull. He hissed, fingers grabbing marbles at random. "What's the rush? We've got over 20 minutes." He resisted the urge to comment about him wanting to make sure his boyfriend (or whatever the hell those two were) was alright and not suffering without him. He feared the no violence rule may be breached if he did.

"..Even." He whispered hoarsely, two marbles in his hand. Cross stared at him for a long moment before reaching out, the two he had in his own hand tumbling onto his palm. He could have fainted in the moment. Two marbles - now he had seven again. But Cross had twelve.

"Looks like I won't beat you outright, you'll have some of your dignity." Cross grinned at him but Dream didn't notice, eyes burning into the brick walls of the set behind him. It reminded him vaguely of the orange brick house that lay at the end of the village back in his hometown. It used to belong to an old man, but one day he died, and the house became abandoned. He and his brother had always ran there to play hide and seek, burying themselves behind gaps in sofas, ducking under tables and hiding beneath floorboards for hours on end until the other found them. He remembered pranking Night one time; counting to 50 so he could hide and then running away to play with the other children. At the time he'd thought it was funny, but his brother had cried for three hours straight sobbing and shaking because he thought he'd been abandoned. No matter how many times he'd apologised or tried to make up for it Night never played hide and seek with him again. And he refused to go in the house. Looking back now he realised what a shitty person he'd been; not a good brotherly figure. But that was one anomaly out of many; he'd always tried to do his best for him.

For a moment he wondered if the next game could be similar; hide and seek. He hoped so - he was flexible, could twist his body into tight or awkward places where others couldn't. Maybe he'd ask Killer later.

That was when the first gunshot sounded. He flinched turning to listen to the sound of a body hitting the floor. He couldn't see who it was, but he could hear the uprising murmurs that resulted, people anxious. People were losing. From then on gunshots continued to ring out as one by one people lost against their opponents, more and more bodies piling up to be placed in boxes. They continued to play their game through the deaths, losing and gaining marbles all the while. Not once did Dream ever have more marbles than Cross. He came close, but not enough to surpass him.

"Player 401, passed."

Cross paused for a moment after an announcement, his fists clenched around the marbles he'd just taken from Dream. The number had significance. He looked to the side slowly, as if he could see the body of a brute being loaded into a box. "Dust.." It was a whisper of a word, the name of a man who'd had to watch his friend die. Horror had been odd, but a decent guy at heart. A gambling obsession and the uncovering of his black market operations had led him to be in debt, he'd said he'd use the prize money to open a restaurant. Stupid idea, but it was a sweet notion. Had more morals than his own idea to spend it on alcohol, drugs and houses. He swallowed, mind focussing for another number to come soon. No way would he lose to that wimpy woman, just like he wouldn't lose to this yellow American freak.

Dream's fingers rubbed at the marbles, looking to the timer on the wall. Ten minutes left. He hadn't yet heard Ink or Blue's number called - they must still be playing. Though he knew that if either of them were announced there'd only be the possibility of one number, and that was Inks. He frowned, trying to concentrate. He only had one marble left, left. One. If he made the wrong choice his skull would be sent scattering across the floor in hundreds of fragments to be crushed to dust. Staring across at him the other waited for his guess, fingers clamped around the concealed marbles. Dream's chest twisted, head pounding. He didn't know what to pick- he could go even, but his gut was screaming for him to pick odd while his soul convinced him his gut was double bluffing him and that it was really even.

Behind him the guard stood, observing them both as they played. They had hardly moved the whole game, stood like a robot awaiting permission to kill. So when their hand waved, Dream's attention was on it like a bullet. He blinked, staring as the guards fingers formed three, indicating to Cross hand. Dream blinked, it clicking in his mind. That guard was Killer. He breathed in sharply, the awful pressure in his chest lifting in one fluid movement. Killer was here, and he was helping him, he was telling him what to pick. His mouth flicked in a smirk and he watched Cross' own expression turn irked. This was how he'd win, how he'd scrape back his near death and loss to take the others marbles one by one until he could see his expression twist in fear and then terror as the gun would be turned on him.

Eyes flicking to Killer's hands once more he confirmed the number, speaking with all the confidence of a man who should have known to set himself up for failure. "Odd."

Cross stared at his him and then his hand, both their eyes burning into the bones that lay curled beneath his fingers. They unravelled slowly, the rounded tops of marbles coming into view. Dream stretched his neck slightly, everything seeming to pass in slow motion. He saw one marble first, soul twisting. Then a second one, and then a third. He felt his feet drag across the floor, hand stretched out to take the three marbles and begin to redeem his losing streak. Then he froze. A forth marble rested in his palm, nestled behind the rest. Four. Even.

His neck snapped up to stare at Killer only to see the guard had already slung the gun from his shoulder. It rested in his hands, waiting. He'd tricked him. He'd lied to him. He'd made him lose.

Snatching the marble from Dream's hand Cross laughed, jumping into the air and grinning wide as he counted up all 20 marbles. Dream sank to his knees. "Look- I have them all-" The soldier waved his woven bag in front of the guards face and he nodded, an announcement speaking soon after.

"Player 189, passed."

As he stepped past the fallen man he paused, offering a snide pat on the shoulder. "You Americans can't come to every country and expect to win because of your success in drowning cultures in the past. Looks like Korea is the country that beat you." Dream wasn't sure he understood a single word, booming announcements reduced to ringing static in his ears. He watched Cross as he left, stepping round and over dead bodies and weaving his way to the exit where someone stood waiting; the only person who's grin was worse than his. They spoke words of congratulations, fingers curling in each other's hands as they stepped through into the darkness. He'd never see either of them again, but he didn't doubt they'd go far in these games - maybe even win it.

Slouched with his knees biting into the dirt Dream cursed, focus tearing to Killer who stood over him, the gun loose in his hands. "You fucking tricked me-"

"Get to your feet, player." He spoke gruffly without a hint of the usual charm his voice carried with him. A hand griped at the fabric of Dream's jacket at his shoulder and he yanked him up to his feet, his hold firm to compensate for the way Dream's legs crumpled like paper. He knew it wasn't because of last night. Leaning in to his shoulder he murmured in the softest voice he could muster, attempting to make the action look like a simple tug for balance. "Play along with it, angel."

Dream's mind went fuzzy, thoughts and reactions slow, as if he were trying to swim inside of a fish tank to get oxygen that felt so out of reach. He turned to look at him, his face lost behind the dark mask. A nod was shared between them both. An arm gripping at his elbow Killer guided him away slowly, marching him past crumpled bodies and patches of black blood that marbled with dots of sand. He passed lifeless figures he knew, many he didn't even recognise. They'd got so far, and for what? His gaze slid across the alleyway wall where blood lay splattered, the body of the woman Nightmare had coerced laying twisted at the bottom. Sand and grit mixed in her hair, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"In here."

Killer's voice distracted him and he looked over, the guard stood by a corner that dipped off into an open top boxy room with odd angles. It was slightly more hidden than other locations. Dream stepped towards it, his feet guiding him almost past the threshold before a voice spoke. He froze.

"Dream."

Body turning slowly he stood before Blue, the man's face twisted in anguish. He frowned sharply, drawn to the handful of rocks that lay resting in his palm. "Blue? What happened?" The lack of Ink's presence concerned him.

"Player 103, passed."

Dream felt the yell flee his lips before the sound could form in his voice box, the shadow of a red dressed guard a bloody red against white. Blue reached towards him, lips forming in one silent word before the shot rang out. His body convulsed, crumpling in on itself as his knees hit the ground. Blood bloomed at his chest, rocks scattering across the ground as his palm fell open, bones slapping soil. The life drained from his eyes quicker than Dream ever hoped to remember and he took a step forwards. "blUE-"

Hands yanked him back sharply, kicking and gasping as he was dragged away from the man's lifeless body, bloody lips still resting in the poise of his last ever word.

Traitor.

His eyes widened and he looked up, managing to catch a glimpse of him. Ink stood there, arms crossed over his chest as he stared Ink down, smirk sharp and playful. He'd killed Blue, and he'd enjoyed it. Dream snarled, the last sight of him being his stupid grin before Killer yanked him round the corner out of sight. "Dream- snap out of it-!"

He turned to hiss at him only to freeze, met face to face with the barrel of a gun. The words died in his lips instantly, soul rigid in his chest. "Wh- put that thing down-"

"No, you lost. Do you not remember-?" The safety catch flicked off and he looked to the side. "You need to listen- this is all going to happen very fast."

Suddenly the memories came flooding back. "You- you tricked me-! You made me lose on purpose-"

"Shut up and listen-" Killer's voice raised in a tone he hadn't heard before. For whatever reason his body instinctively snapped to obedience, eyes wide as he stared at the gun. He swallowed, nodding. Killer spoke. "Those that die get put in boxes where they then get incinerated three hours later. You're supposed to be dead- I'm going to need you to play your part. Act like you're dead and don't leave that box. Even if you feel the flames licking at your body you can't leave- you stay still until I come get you."

Dream's mind was rushing, his fingers twitching as he took it all in. Pretend to be dead? "I-I can do that-"

Killer stared at him, a smirk forming at his lips as he nodded behind the mask. "I know you can. See you on the other side angel." Before the other could form a protest he pulled the trigger, a bullet scraping the others skull and cracking the right side. Dream fell like a brick, body slamming into the floor with a thud. Blood dribbled from the bullet wound, his pupils rolled so far back in his skull it looked as if he had none. Good. Killer crouched beside him, fingers lightly fingers lightly dipping into the blood. "Not convincing enough, consider this a precaution." He couldn't afford this mission to go bust.

The blood smeared over the others chest and collar to make the wound look more fatal, his legs soon straightening, gun resting at his hip. He somehow managed to look pretty when 'dead', all the anger, tension and frustration having fled from his features to leave them calm and neutral. He decided he still preferred him alive. Stepping away from his body he passed two circle guards, a brief grunt being all the orders they needed for them to rush to the body with one of the black pink-ribboned boxes to deposit his body in. He pat the corner as he passed, a bloody handprint left imprinted on the black surface. That's how he'd find him.

Walking past bodies and already full coffins he kept his back straight, hand gripping at his gun. The security footage would have seen most of that; the sight simply conveying a final conversation before death. Whether it was enough or not wasn't his concern. Dream would be gone by tonight. Humming to himself he stepped past all the gathered survivors, Ink's eyes on him like a laser. He couldn't help but smirk for knowing the other couldn't see, gun swinging at his hip. Oh he loved to trick those who had the most power - it was how he got his kicks after all. And how he'd ended up in this position in the first place.

Some egos never took well to being degraded.

—————

When Dream's eyes opened he found there was no difference. Black when he closed them, black when he opened them. He went stiff, arm raised to reach for his eye socket and rub at it. He couldn't. His arm hit against wood, elbow jarring against it painfully in a way that had pins and needles rippling down his entire body. He grunted, knee pushing up to try gain some purchase. That too collided with wood, left to crumple beside his other leg. He shifted to the left. He met wood. He shifted to the right. He met wood.

A sharp breath sucked through his teeth and he gasped, realising that he couldn't breathe. Air didn't pass through him fast enough, his fingers clawing at the walls that trapped around him frantically in a panic. His skull felt as if it had been split in half, neck sticky with a substance he could only think to be blood. Twisting in the tight space he heaved down dry air, feet kicking at the wall that they rested against. He realised that his shoes had been removed, feet left bare to press against the wood.

Never before had he realised how much he hated tight spaces. He writhed, bruising bones as he elbowed, kicked and struggled against inside of his coffin. He was trapped - maybe even buried 6ft underground and he wasn't dead. They'd buried him alive and left him to suffocate alone and trapped in this dark and cramped space where he couldn't even flex fingers without stubbing them on something. A scream built up in his throat but it came out as nothing more than a dry whisper lost into the darkness. He'd been scared of death many times in the past week, but this was truly terrifying.

After what felt like an hour of kicking and whispering his throat raw he lay stiff and rigid in his coffin, eyes straining against the darkness to make out something - anything. Occasionally he thought he could make out the sight of gnarls in the wood above him, but then he'd blink and the pattern would move somewhere else. His eyes were playing tricks on him. Breathing shallowly he waited, mind scraping to try recall what Killer had told him.

Act like you're dead and don't leave that box. Even if you feel the flames licking at your body you can't leave- you stay still until I come get you.

He repeated those words over and over in his skull until they bounced around with the vivacity of a ricocheting bullet, words jumbling and tangling together in a complicated weave. By the time his mind had unpicked and twisted them he wasn't even sure what the original message had been. He clung go the last phrase at least, eyes falling shut as his breathing calmed. He just needed to stay patient and wait. He needed to keep his calm.

Something nudged at his box and he went rigid, eyes flashing open wide. "Killer..?" The whisper was broken and gravelly, his throat feeling like handfuls of sand had been shoved down it. Another bump came soon after and Dream frowned, mouth opening. Before he could speak the box was yanked, dragged sharply off of whatever surface he was on and left to be suspended in air by strong hands. He gasped, skull slamming into the side of the box. For the first time in hours he saw colours, eyes exploding with spots of white, red, green and pink. He reeled, a strangled whimper of pain spilling from his lips.

He felt like a leftover nail in a box, being rattled around roughly by whatever was carrying him until he was dropped on a new surface, his back cracking against the wooden base. Wherever he was now it felt hotter, his clothes sticking clammily to his neck in an uncomfortable way with the stickiness of the blood. He could hear something metal bang, as if a door had shut behind him. And then he heard crackling.

At first he wasn't sure what was happening, his skull burning hotly with a sudden flow of heat that he couldn't quantify. It was only when he felt flames lick at his feet that he realised, a yell tearing from his throat.

He was in the incinerator.

Kicking sharply he thrashed, knees slamming roughly into the top panel in a desperate attempt to dislodge it. It stuck firm, his only success being the allowance of smoke to pour inside and clog his rib cage, poisoning his soul. He could feel a sob tear from the back of his throat, breaths messy and choked as he felt bile build in his throat. They were cooking him alive. Ramming his fist to the wood he yelled at the top of his lungs, calling out into the blackness for help that wasn't coming.

It was when his body started giving in that he heard the clunk over the snap of fire devouring his coffin. A jar ran through his body before suddenly he felt the structure plummet and slam into a new surface. His spine cracked, pelvis snapping in numerous places. He was sure his elbow was broken too. Heaving down air he sobbed, feeling the heat that had consumed his body slowly ebb away to a dull ache tingling in the tips of his bones. His face was damp. Whether it was from tears or sweat he didn't know. He didn't care.

He must have lay like that for hours, body frozen from shock. He was alive, but for what? He'd been given a second choice and all he could think was that his life was pathetic and useless. What a wasted effort.  He managed to manoeuvre his hands as he waited, fingertips pressed to his ribcage gingerly to inspect the damage. On rib was broke for certain, the others simply ached with the kind of pain that promised bruises.

Keeping track of time when alone in a dark coffin was difficult, but he was sure it had been at least three hours later when he heard footsteps. He stiffened, an involuntary gasp tearing from the back of his throat. If someone found him they'd most likely shove him back into the incinerator where he'd really be burnt alive. He couldn't have that-

"You alive in there, American?"

Dream's eyes widened and he slammed his foot against the base, voice a tortured whisper as he tried to speak to him. I'm here- I'M HERE! He wanted to scream it but he couldn't, and an awful moment of silence had his gut screaming that the other had left him abandoned in the box, thinking he was dead. But a splintering crunch rang out, something metal splitting wood and prying the top panel up slowly. Faint light flooded the coffin and Dream flinched, eyes squeezed shut before he could acclimatise. The lid was wrenched off suddenly, the clang of metal  following.

Thin hands gripped at his waist and pulled him out until his body fell to the floor. He found that his legs couldn't work, left to collapse in on themselves until he was left bent over on the floor retching up the contents of last nights scotch egg. It was lumpy and yellow coloured, clumps of meat and egg mixing in a distasteful fashion. In fact he was sure he could see little remnants of the paper message he'd swallowed in it.

Killer stepped back, staring down at him in surprise. He saw the tears smeared across his face but didn't comment, standing silent as the other wiped them with the hem of his sleeves hurriedly, mouth following. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

For a moment he thought the other was about to launch at him, spitting filthy words of how he'd been left to suffer for hours thinking he was going to die in every second that passed. But he simply sat back on his heels, burying his face in his hands for a long moment as he mustered a response. "Thanks for.. for coming t-to get me."

Killer couldn't help but let his mouth twitch in a smile, a hand outstretched to which Dream gratefully took, climbing shakily to his feet. "I had to wait until lights out to slip away - tricking the security cameras can be hard;
I had to bribe some newbies."

What bribing included Dream didn't want to know. Maybe it was similar to what he himself did to Killer - he didn't care to think about it for too long. Gagging back the urge to throw up all over again he rested against him, eyes shakily glancing around the dark room. It looked like they were in a sort of underground bunker; pipes and large generators chugging away steadily around them. It looked like a maze of industrialisation, a trapping embodiment of machinery. "How do- how do we get out of here?"

Killer grinned now, his hands reaching to fit his mask back on before he tugged him along past the pipes swiftly. "There's a secret escape route reserved for the VIPs - they'd have come to watch you play if you'd made it to the next game. It's like watching football live at a stadium, except they're watching players fight for their lives instead of to score goals."

Dream simply nodded at his words, feeling like his body was turning to mush by the second. Adrenaline was running out and he was feeling the burden of his broken ribs and damaged spine with each step he took. "Wh-where does this tunnel lead?"

"The ocean." Killer yanked him round to a large metal door with a circular twisting handle, his hands spinning it with a low groan until the rusty door gave in and cracked open. Dream blinked, arm screaming in pain. "What?"

"The ocean, you heard me didn't you?" He peered in through the doorway and looked up then down, his eyes following the long ladder that traveled all the way down to sea level at the island. He wasn't sure how well Dream would take the long climb.

"So.. we're escaping via boat?" It made sense in his mind - if they had a small and silent enough one they could get away undetected.

Killer laughed, the kind that had his blood run cold. It reminded him of Cross' and Nightmare's. "Oh there's no boat angel, we're swimming."

He paused at the door, words spinning around his mind heavily. "We're what-?"

"Swimming. There's scuba gear down here - it's used by a few newbies that like to sell dead  player's organs on the black market. This is how they escape from the island to sell them. We're going to do the same."

"Swim- I can't swim Killer- I can hardly walk." The idea sent his gut twisting anxiously and he watched as Killer climbed down the first few rungs of the ladder. He beckoned for Dream to follow, expression blank behind the mask. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there - for now hurry up or I'll have to leave you here to be found later by guards and burned to death on the spot."

That was enough prompting for the taller, his body turning to step down onto the first rung. His legs felt shaky, knees struggling to hold his own weight as he lowered himself down the first rung. With his last free arm he grabbed the swinging door, dragging it shut behind them both with a bang. Immediately he was thrown into darkness and for a moment he panicked that he was back in the coffin, but Killer's voice dragged him from that worry. "Keep going Angel- just don't fall on me."

He managed to climb down without snapping his neck, the effort slow and painful. With each descended rung his feet ached, bare bone grating against metal. His broken arm refused to give him any purchase, left to slide uselessly if he tried to do too much with it. His pelvis ached and his back yelled with complaints, vertebraes grinding together in such a way that had his mind fall to pieces. Never before had he longed to curl up on the floor - any surface would do - and sleep. But there was so much further to go, the climb down feeling as if it took away five years of his life. By the time he got to the bottom he was all set to crumple, legs shaking as he stood. But Killer didn't let him rest, grabbing him by the good arm and leading him to an opening.

They came out in a shallow cave, it's roof just high enough to stand comfortably. But you wouldn't want to jump or push up on your toes. Before them lay a dark lake of water, it's colour looking as if it colour swallow up light and never spit it back out. It lapped at the edges of the rough stone, seeping over the surface occasionally to chill his already frozen feet. The stone offered no warmth, and his tracksuit and jacket were proving poor heat sources. To his left he could see oxygen tanks and scuba gear laid out meticulously, a heavy looking vehicle sat at the end of it all. He breathed out, shaky.

"This is how it'll go," Killer started. "We'll use the scuba gear and the water machine to escape undetected. I'll take you half way until the mainland is in sight and then I'll leave you and return. From then on you're on your own to go back to your old shitty life or make a change, I don't care. Point is that you'll be free." He turned to grab a scuba suit but Dream stopped him, gripping his wrist and tugging him back.

"Why are you doing this-? I mean- really- why? I know you said that it was to give me a fair chance against the other players but- it's beyond that now. I just- I need to know." He spoke with as much authority as he could muster but it turned out sounding piteous. He stared at Killer and without really thinking he reached out to rest his fingers on the front of his mask, slowly lifting it from the other's face. He wanted to see it. "There's a reason for it.."

The guard stared at him for a long moment, grey pupils flickering up and down his face as he perhaps thought of a response. "At first it was just for that. I've done this for a few years now and it gets boring- I wanted to be involved. I guess with you I just got a little too involved." His wonky smile was unlike the smirks and grins he'd seen beforehand, and it left him with far more questions than they'd ever have time to answer. He opened his mouth to ask, but Killer had already moved on to the diving equipment, shoving a suit into his arms. "Now strip off and put these on."

"Wh- you can't just-"

"Angel, I've already seen you naked and your body is pretty, let's get over the whole 'embarrassment' thing and get out of here." He unzipped his own suit in a fluid motion, folding it neatly before letting it rest on the rocks where he'd later return to put it back on. "Hurry."

Dream hissed under his breath, their moment from before lost as he struggled into his suit quickly, clothes crumpled in a heap on the floor. He wouldn't need them. In fact, he never wanted to wear them again. They could die along with this place, left to be locked up in his memories forever. The material was damp and skintight, a combination that wasn't very pleasant (or easy) to get into. It took at least five minutes before his pelvis was covered, the rest a struggle.

Already dressed and fully kitted out with oxygen tanks and masks Killer stepped round, fingers gripping the rim of the suit and yanking it up so fast that Dream was sure his feet left the ground for a second. Zipping him up quickly he shoved a mask into his hands, the heavy oxygen tanks doing nothing to assist his broken back. "Thanks."

"C'mon." He hauled the machine into the water, the following splash so loud that it had Dream throwing anxious glances towards the ladder they'd came down. "No one's coming, hurry and help me." Killers voice snapped him to his senses and he hurried to help him push it out into the deeper water. Once done Killer gripped his hand, yanking him until his balance gave out.

Dream hit the water with a splash, the urge to push to the surface for air overwhelming. But he managed to stop himself, a deep sucking breath of tank-air filling his chest. He'd never liked swimming, even with snorkels. His brother could spend hours with his face in the water looking at rocks and little fish, but he himself could never manage to breathe through the little pipe without convincing himself he was suffocating. Twisting in the water he looked for Killer, feeling something tug at his waist. Hands guided his own to the handles of the machine and he gripped on tight, suspended in the water only for a moment before the engines powered to life and they were sent streaming through the water.

Never before had he experienced something so surreal before in comparison to this. His body felt heavy yet weightless at the same time, slow yet fast, safe yet vulnerable. He knew there could be all sorts of creatures lurking in the water that might find them interesting, and he hated the fact that his mind conjured up the image of a shark surging to bite his ankles. He didn't dare look back, closing his eyes. The ocean was so dark that it didn't make a difference anyway.

They drifted through the water for miles, and he was certain it must have been at least an hour before he felt Killer tilt the machine upwards towards the surface. They broke it with a gasp; the oxygen mask torn from his face so he could gulp down fresh, salty air. Casting his head about he saw only ocean for miles, eyes straining on the slightest bump of darkness in the distance. Land.

Beside him Killer tore his mask off, panting. "That's half of our oxygen gone. I'll take you no further. This is where I turn back, and you swim for it."

Dream nodded, his fingers shaky in the cold as he tread water, legs kicking. God he wished he'd taken up Night's offer of how to swim doggy paddle now.

"You need to get back to the mainland and to your apartment; from there grab all your stuff and leave. The boss thinks your dead, but he knows you. He might check. Take your belongings and flee to another city, another country, I don't care. You relocate, and you start a new life."

Staring at Killer now Dream's soul twisted, emotions so out of whack that it hurt his head more than the gunshot had. "I don't- I don't know what to say.."

"Then don't." He gave another one of those smiles; a wonky one. It shifted something inside of him, something he never voiced. The guard looked him up and down, offering one last charming wink before the mask was pulled back over his face, the machine angled downwards and away. Away from land, towards the island. Away from him.

Dream stayed in that same position for longer then he should have, staring at the spot of choppy water where Killer had just been. He felt like he should have said something; done something. But he was gone, left too as only a memory in his mind. Turning on his shoulder he cursed, mouth sucking in oxygen from his tanks, he swam.

The journey took nothing short of an entire, gruelling hour, his arms aching, his legs cramping, his back screaming. The moment his feet had sank into sand he'd sobbed, the oxygen tanks discarded to litter the beach where they'd drift back out to sea eventually, sink to the bottom and remain a relic. Staggering forwards he fell to his knees, fingers scraping through the moist sand and gripping it tight, not caring for the shells that scratched his fingers. He'd made it. He'd escaped, and he was alive.

Falling on his back he laughed, a manic, wheezy laugh that had his broken ribs complaining. He lay there forever, the water soaking his frozen feet and sand scratching the back of his skull, wiggling it's way into the joints of his fingers and rubbing them raw. He couldn't care less, continuing to laugh.

Above him the stars shone bright and he took a moment, just a moment, to wonder if he'd ever really looked up to see them. He'd always walked with his head down, shoulders hunched to look at the ground beneath him instead of the wonders of what was above. Spreading out his limbs slowly he sighed, hand stretched to pinch one of the pretty stars from the sky. They'd lived a thousand lifetimes. They'd seen hundreds born and die before him, and they'd no doubt see hundreds more after him. Their immortal power was unfathomable, and with years of learning they only grew more experienced.

Lying there, with stardust in his fingers, salt in his eyes, Dream wondered if he would ever truly understand the meaning of fate. It had fucked him over more times than he could ever quantify, hitting him with negative blows over and over again until he felt crushed into the floor by shoes, a piece of gum to be scraped and thrown aside. But lying there now, his laughs drifting across the sea where an island lay with people living in an alternate world, he wondered if fate had finally sent him a good score.

——————

It had been six months.

Dream was still in Korea; he couldn't afford to leave. But he was in a new city now, as far away from the old one as possible. Before he'd lived in the South of the country, but now he was almost at the North border. His new apartment was larger than the last, but that was only because the block he'd moved to was so run down that they couldn't legally charge above a certain rate for rent. The bathroom had mildew in the corners and his sofas were littered with mould that he didn't dare touch. He preferred to sit on the floor anyway, with his little knee height table to eat off of. He was becoming more accustomed to Korean traditions, but he still didn't consider himself to be one.

But walking through the streets he felt like less of a stranger, odd glances lessening with each day as he blended in with the crowds. He'd managed to get a new job in the time; one in another factory - this time making cars. It paid a fraction of the price better than his old one, and the workload was ever so slightly less mundane because he found cars more interesting than clothing irons. With todays earnings tucked in his pockets he walked down a wide alleyway, noticing a group of children gathered at the end. Before the games he'd never really payed attention to the kids that played games in their little tight-knit groups. Stepping past now he noticed how they were positioned - one child with their face to the wall, the other five at the opposite end stood still. The kid yelled out, the others running.

"Green light-!"

In the moment Dream froze. His foot dragged across concrete pavement, eyes glued on the kids as they sprinted towards the child. They were all laughing and giggling.

"Red light-!"

They skidded to a stop sharply, feet skittering across the floor and arms wobbling. Not one of them could stay truly still, swaying or shifting in one way or another. Dream's expression darkened, gunshots ringing in the back of his mind. Stupid kids. They'd all be dead. Not a single one of them could quantify the consequences of their actions. The players weren't taking it seriously enough; they were laughing still, shuffling in tiny footsteps despite the red light being called. They'd all be dead.  And the kid with his back turning back to the wall. His eyesight would condemn his best friends to death. Maybe they were just kids having fun, but Dream knew what these games could really be like in the adult world.

He stepped past them, interrupting their game and earning irritated cries and yells of "hey mister-!" "You're ruining our game-" and other childish cries that went ignored. He continued through the alleyway, not wanting to see any more games that could haunt his mind. He'd never seen Ink or any players again; he didn't know who'd won, and he didn't know how many had died. He assumed whoever had won was currently spending their money on a luxury yacht or a twelve bedroom mansion. They could probably leave Korea at the snap of their fingers, fly in a private plane all the way to Spain if they wanted. God how he wished he could do that.

Turning a corner he made his way down to the marketplace in the centre of town. There was one every Wednesday and Saturday - he was here on the latter. It was the best place to buy cheap foods, and at this time of day the vegetable rejects would have dropped even further in price. It was the optimum time for his suffering bank account to take the least possible amount of damage. There was a particular store he went to more than the rest; particularly for the reason that the woman who ran it claimed he reminded her of her son who'd died three years ago. She gave him 10% discounts.

The red tent roof of the market stall came into sight and he sped up his pace slightly, fingers brushing over todays wages that rested in his pocket. He'd spend only what he had to; he couldn't be greedy like last week when he'd treated himself to a hot meal and then found he couldn't pay the electricity bill for the month and therefore worked with candles and flashlights until he could scrape together enough money to pay it back.

The woman smiled at him and he managed a weak attempt back. Smiling hadn't been his thing for years, but he found if he managed to crack one at her, the discount could sometimes even get to 15%. They made idle small talk as he chose, taking two bruised tomatoes, a misshapen pepper and the offcuts of fish that were usually thrown to the cats. The first few times he'd eaten fish heads had been disgusting, but he found if you added enough tomatoes you could focus on them instead of the eyeball squishing between your teeth.

The bag was passed to him, change exchanged. As he took the plastic handles between his fingers he felt water drip at his skull, eyes cast up to see the dark clouds rolling over the sky above. Sighing lowly he reached for his umbrella, muttering in improved Korean that he hoped she had a nice day. Umbrella opened he turned, struggling to carry both the bag of food, the umbrella and his box of resources he needed to bring to work every day. As he wasted time the rain fell harder, dampening the floor beneath him until it turned black. Back in the alleyway he could hear children shrieking, all sprinting in their separate ways to run home before their mothers scolded them for ruining their new dry clothes that they'd probably ironed with a machine Dream himself had made a few months ago.

Turning back towards his apartment he sighed, moisture leaking through the poor quality fabric of the umbrella and leaking down the pole to his hands. He needed a new one, but he couldn't afford the luxury. Shoes stepping through puddles he looked up, eyes lingering over the crowds of people huddled under bus shelters for safety. For a moment he considered joining them, but the thought was dismissed. It was too crowded.

He saw someone had a bright red umbrella. He only took notice to it because everyone else's were black. It was one red dot among a sea of crawling darkness, one shining red beacon he was inexplicably drawn to. The person stood beneath it was male. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. They dressed in dark cargo pants, a heavy white sweater hanging from their torso in a disproportionate way. His eyes were sharp, grey, connecting with his.

In that moment time seemed to still. Dream stood, arms rigid, fingers clenched around the umbrella handle. They held each other's contact, breath hitching in his throat as the other tipped his head, cheeks stained black with tears. It was a face he could never forget, a permanently engraved vision in his mind, all features crystal clear. They beckoned for him, fingers curling in a motion Dream knew all too well.

His legs followed before his mind could put thought to it, his soul almost lurching out of his chest. He knew that look better than anything. That dangerous, oh so charming grin was bound to lead to nothing but trouble.

Reaching out, they connected. What happened next was simply a matter of fate.

"I missed you, American."

————————————————————————
The unbeatable game
The ultimate Gamble
T.U.G

38,877 words holy moly

REEEEEEEEEEEEE I ENJOYED WRITING THIS SO MUCH I HOPE YOU DID TOO

Little bonus pointers:
-obviously I didn't write the full game ect but despite Ink being the boss he probably would have won if I'd have continued
-Cross and Nightmare would have died like that glass bridge scene, betrayal led to revenge stuff
-no Dream doesn't get to save his brother they're still all in crippling debt and he left the games just as broke (if not more) than before the games
-semantic field of triangles 😩😩

I hope you like the plot twist I gave it, favouritism is used loads but it's such a good trope you don't understand 😩 PLUS this way neither of them got killed off (which is what usually happens with Kreme when I write it I've realised🤨🤔).

🔆💯‼️OKAY COMMENT;‼️💯🔆
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updates may go back to every other Friday now, but I might take a slight break first we'll see 🥰

-Jess-