Thirteen stared at the screens showing him where everyone was. He didn't blink. He might miss something that way. His comms crackled and Eight's voice poured through. "Confirming personnel report. Two pins in eagle eye, east. Three in the sparrow wing, west. I count two more in the star buckle, north."

Of course, all in code. The words corresponded to the coordinates, and they could be anything, so long as the number of letters matched the exact coordinates. Using comms was enough risk, especially when he didn't know if there was someone who knew about these things in Karrel's ranks. Safe. He was playing it safe.

"Confirming," Thirteen answered, eyes flicking through the screens. He frowned. "You sure about sparrow wing?"

A pause. The wind boomed in random bursts. "Affirmative," Eight answered. "It's...a bloodbath here. Only two remain."

Did Karrel beat them to that quadrant? Why would she attack there? She could track the rest of Section M if she wanted to, and they would have to square off blind. They have knowledge of some abilities, and they weren't that impressive. Most of the fighting unit could handle them with their eyes closed.

So, what about that spot?

"Can I get a read around this area?" Thirteen circled a finger on the spot Eight pointed out on his way to turn to Nine.

Nine closed her eyes and laid a hand on the rim of the table. "Affirmative," she said, opening her eyes after a few seconds. "There are masses of bodies interfering with the thermal waves, but only two of them betrayed life."

Thirteen shifted from his seat, a frown pulling at the ends of his lips. The map showed him no pins in that area, so why were Eight and Nine telling him differently? He glanced at the players he dropped into the elaborate board. They could handle it. He just needed to check something.

"I'm going out." Thirteen pushed away from the table, letting the legs of the stool grate against the stone floor. "Keep the command center busy."

Nine whirled to him as she took her seat before he finished speaking. "Where are you going?"

He put a finger to his lips and winked. He slunk out of the room before Nine could ask more. On his way out, he stopped by his old room and opened the cabinet door. The gun Five gifted him from the second or third quarter blinked back at him. The metal mechanisms chinked against each other as he snatched it up.

Turning the gun against the dim lights of the cubical room, he checked the cartridge, the magazine, and the trigger. Nothing would jam. Good. He stuck it into the band of his trousers and ducked out. He made it to the sewers and unlocked a hatch there. Everyone thought he'd closed off this way when he extracted it from Two's mind, but the spies found a better way of moving in and out of the surface. He couldn't pass this up.

The underground functioned both as a toxic sewer and an extensive bunker. Should all else fail, Thirteen could run here and get lost in its tunnels until forever. But first, the sparrow wing. West. He picked his way through the darkness. Arrays of various colored pipes ran across the arched walls, disappearing around corners and protruding towards the surface. Every once in a while, he would pass shafts of sunlight streaming from hatches above. They were too muted, courtesy of the grass roots and tree shades which had overrun them a long time ago.

He arrived at the only hatch with detachable rungs with it. With all his strength, he hefted the metallic ladder above his head, edging it closer to the ledge meant to hold its hooks. After much trial-and-error, the metal claws sank into place. It was faster than his first time. A great improvement—having taken him only six trials today.

His clambering up was short-lived. Too soon, he punched through the only hatch he dared to have uncovered. He pushed the finely-railed metal out of the way and hefted his legs out. Then, he replaced the hatch before brushing the carpet of dried leaves over it.

Sparrow wing loomed over him, with its numerous towering buildings. Flora was scarce in this area. Maybe it was supposed to be an industrial hub or something. Whatever. He pursed his lips and tapped into his comms. "Eight, where are you?" he asked.

She answered right away. "Flying to rendezvous point. Why?"

"Help Five out, will you?" he said. "Don't engage Section H unless they come for you first."

"Got it," Eight said.

Thirteen sighed and closed his eyes and the last of the connected comms to his earpiece. "That's that," he said. He plucked the bud from his ear, turned it over, and switched it off with three fast taps. Whatever he was here for, nobody could know. He had a feeling it was going to be worth it.

He headed deeper into the complex, squinting against the sunlight slapping the side of his face according to the spaces between the high-rises' roofs. Where was the bloodbath? There.

The trail of blood was the first clue. What was next was the silence, disturbed only by the flutter of paper peeling from the windows, the walls, and the boards scattered around. His boots tapped against fancy pavement, laden with marble-like bricks. They have gone a murky shade of beige and gray over the years, and a faint smell of rot mixed with acid hung heavy in the air.

Then, the bodies started appearing. The first one was slumped against a bench. Snapped planks sprouted from his chest, getting blood all over the floor and the wood. What a way to steal a seat. The next one was flat on the ground, a huge, bloody gash drawn down her back. Her red hair mixed with the pool of blood underneath her. Must be hard, kissing the dirt for eternity.

Thirteen's nose scrunched. What a nasty scent too. Hasn't even been that long, has it? He was about to pass by the third one when a familiar blinking light caught his attention. His steps screeched to a halt, his curiosity latching on to where it originated.

Blue. It was something he saw before but never thought about. Why didn't he? It was by far the most interesting thing since waking up in this place. He approached the body, only to realize two more lay beside it. Two girls and a boy. The blue light came from the other girl. He prodded her body and made her turn face up. He followed the blinking to the wrist. The left one, specifically. What...

Something shifted behind him. His hands closed around the gun's handle, fingers flicking the safety off. He turned to his aim. Huh, he was right. He leveled his gaze with the tip of the muzzle. The other girl sat up with her palms towards him in a sign of surrender. Her hair was so dark he almost missed the hint of blue there. The strands sat in a tangled mess on her head. How long was she lying here?

"Name and business," he rasped. "You have three seconds. One."

"Slate," the girl blurted. "My name is Slate. I'm from Section J. I'm...playing dead."

"And the gifted pin?" Thirteen prodded. "Where did you put it?"

The girl's eyes widened. "Do we need it? We threw it because we had a feeling we'd be decimated today. Section H is not playing around."

Thirteen never lowered the gun, but he snorted. "I agree," he said. "So, are you planning to stay here until the counter terminates?"

"We planned to run and vanish," Slate answered. "We can watch the game unfold from the sidelines without being a part of it."

He narrowed his eyes. " 'We'?" He tightened his hold on the gun, finding comfort in the trigger. "How do you plan to do that?"

A groan echoed next to Slate and a boy bolted up. He scratched the back of his head and blinked at Thirteen's gun as if it wouldn't fire at him the moment he made a suspicious move. "I'm Flint," he said. "And we're going to remove our chips after this counter. That's the plan."

Thirteen knitted his eyebrows. " 'Chips'?"

Slate extended her wrist towards him. "There's one in all of us," she said. "Or at least, that's what we were able to gather with all the others we've seen die. I think it's a tracker or something, but we can't be sure. We'll have to see what would happen if we remove them without dying."

"It'll hurt," Flint said. His expression never matched the implication of his words.

Thirteen's mind worked double time. Then, he clicked the trigger, plunging a bullet into the asphalt between Slate's legs. "Join our section," he said. "I won't kill you if you do."

Slate's eyes were wide, but she scoffed. "We're done with this whole horseplay," she said. "You want us to go back?"

"I could just kill you right here," he said. "Whatever your abilities are, they can't compare to mine."

Flint moved his hand up. The familiar glint of his ability awakening flashed in his eye. Thirteen clicked the gun. Smoke curled from the hole on Flint's boot. Let Flint thank his gods he wore oversized footwear and Thirteen noticed it the moment he saw the fake corpse.

"I'm not kidding, as you can see," Thirteen hissed. Slate and Flint put their hands up, both looking more lost than ever. "A deal has to be made, and here are my terms: join my section and be under my command. In return, I will give you what you wish."

"Tough one, that is," Slate muttered.

Thirteen cocked an eyebrow. "I'll take your chips," he said. "Give them to me and be presumed dead. I will only be calling on you when I need you. The rest of the days, you can do what you want. You can watch most counters from the sidelines. The only price was that you get to do me a few favors here and there. I'll keep your secrets, and at the end of it all, I will help you win."

He lowered his gun and stood up. His muscles stayed tense. Who knew what move they might pull next? They were at a losing end, with Thirteen standing to gain everything with this deal. Not only did he get a crucial clue to the heart of the game, he earned himself sleeper units to catch Karrel off-guard.

But humans were inherently driven to oaths promising their survival. These two proved that when they drew knives from their comrade's dead body and slit their wrists. Groaning and wincing from the pain and the...gore, they stuck two fingers into the gash and squelched around. Then, simultaneously, they drew identical squares as long as a finger's foremost phalanx.

They deposited the chips into Thirteen's hand. Blood dripped and weighed against his skin. Deep breaths. It was fine. It didn't bother him at all.

He closed his fingers around them and latched the safety back on the gun. He offered them his comm—the one he turned off—and flicked it on. "I will contact you through that," he said. "Don't stray from each other. I mean it."

"What are you going to do with those?" Slate jerked her chin at his hand.

Thirteen smiled. "First rule in Section M," he said. "Don't ask me questions."

Flint snorted. Slate, to her credit, just applied pressure on her wound and hauled her comrade away. Thirteen watched them go. He already knew what he was going to do tonight.