Thirteen's teeth dug into his thumb until the nails turned white and the tip bruised. He paced inside the hall, jostling the dread weighing in his gut. The rest of the section waited with him, scattered in the tables. None of them prayed, but some had faith. He didn't care otherwise. They were entitled to believe.

His boots wore out a path across the stone floor, kicking the dust no one bothered to clean. The last time a broom touched the ground was after the first counter. When one was busy trying to survive, that was the expected outcome. Chores could go eat itself up.

He stomped out of the command center a second after he heard the static from One's comm. He tried the other lines in the fighting unit, and it connected to Eight's. What he heard couldn't have been more distressing. Eight's usually breathy voice was scratchy through the speakers. She sounded as if she carried something twice her weight, that, even with her propulsion, she struggled.

"Ambush," she rasped. "One's with me. They're hurt. Six..."

The line cut off in time for the counter's alarm to fade into striking silence. What about Six? He rushed to the single window facing the direction of the arena, squinting until his vision danced with black spots. Beyond the line of fresh mounds torn by the shells, he spied a couple of black dots growing larger by the second. He wasn't Fourteen, but even from there, he saw something was wrong.

He scrambled back, whirling to the rest of the crew behind him. "Three, get ready," he said. His finger tapped the comms, switching to Fourteen. "Cover them. I don't care if the counter's over."

An uncertain cough rang from the other line. That was more than enough. Thirteen had been pacing since then. He waited for the confirmation of his fears, characterized by the faint thuds of footsteps echoing from the corridors outside the doors. When the mechanism loosened and the hinges turned, Thirteen stepped back as the rest of the section scrambled forward.

They were survivors, or at least, they brought back the well-defined trait. Eight collapsed to the side upon delivering One's unmoving body to the ground. Ten followed suit, laying Twelve gently down first. Only Sixteen was unscathed, but nothing could excuse her hollow cheeks and empty eyes. Whatever happened there, they'd been through hell incarnate.

"Status report." Thirteen crouched in front of Eight and laid a hand on her shoulder, steadying her.

A shadow pushed past him and Five's waist-length hair brushed the top of his black curls. "Lay off, will you?" she snapped, barely sparing him a glance. "Let the girl breathe."

Eight shook her head, waving Five's hand away. Her chest heaved with breaths catching up to her, but she swallowed. "It's Section H," she said, her voice a throaty scratch. "They found us. We...we couldn't..."

"Save your breath," Five ordered, as if she was the one in charge. Maybe she felt better by being a little bit human even when it would do them no good. "Three!"

A mousy boy squeezed through the ranks and joined them. He was about to touch Twelve who was the closest, but Eight's hand closed around his wrist. "One. She needs it more."

"What's with her?" Thirteen asked as the boy followed the advice and extended his ability towards One's graying form. "What hit her?"

"Poison," Eight replied, glancing at One as if they shared more bonds than as comrades. Thirteen never understood that, tried as he might. "One of them is a poison user."

How was that possible? Like Five, he could somehow manipulate his blood composition to resemble toxins fatal to humans? Or did his organs naturally produce these chemicals and he transmitted it through blood?

A more pressing issue leaped out in the open now. "That's not in the records," Thirteen blurted. His thumb was back between his teeth, and his pacing came back to life. Whispers rose around him. They'd been played for fools, and he had been too eager to see that coming. Section H was indeed on another level, and with Section M flattening the curve with the shell-spectacle, it was only a matter of time before Karrel turned her eyes towards the central region.

He cursed. "You were saying something about Six." He faced Eight again, being the only one who could still form complete sentences. The others were utterly useless or giving Three a run for his ability by being at death's door. "Where is he?"

"He stayed behind," Eight said. "He thought his barrier was the only thing that could stop the electric blade, but every time they struck the barrier..."

"They struck him too," Thirteen finished for her, reality finally sinking in. Every ability had a weakness, and only a handful were useful in full-fledged combat. Just in Section M alone, he could pinpoint which ones would survive in a frontal assault and those who wouldn't despite their efforts.

It was the way of the world. Some people were born with luck on their side, while others were given with mediocre cards to play. Expecting them to win at life was the same as hoping a pig would sprout wings and learn to fly.

The records didn't say that either. There was an electric blade user, and those grew out of the boy's forearms, but the records didn't betray the additional clause. And Six's barriers were supposed to be infallible. So why did it fail now? Was it weak to electricity?

"Well, that's that," Thirteen muttered, moving away from the chaos. "I just need to recalibrate my calculations in lieu of Six. An hour, give or take."

Silver streaked in his periphery before the sound of a dagger embedding itself against the wall thwacked across the hall. Five had her fists clenched by her sides, face red with nonsensical rage. Did she...throw a blade at him? He reached up and touched the trail of warmth blossoming on his cheek. Red. Huh. She did throw a pointed thing at him.

"Would it kill you to feel for once?" she seethed. Taking this personally was the best way to start crying, and Thirteen wasn't going to have that. Not when he already had enough messes to clean up. "We just lost someone, and you're thinking of...of numbers? Where's your shame?"

Thirteen leveled his gaze. "Shame will not get us through this," he said, keeping his shoulders flat and his fists relaxed. He wouldn't benefit from losing his temper, not when they could kill him in a snap. "We agreed to follow my instructions. Six needn't die."

"So much for your instructions," One spat, groaning against Eight's assistance. "Following you will lead us to our deaths."

Were they joining hands on this? "I told you to not engage Section H in any frontal assault. We simply don't know enough. Trust me when I say you don't want me gambling on chances and good luck with your lives," he said. "I told you to run. At all costs. Why didn't you?"

Silence. Thirteen couldn't read minds nor could he see what they saw in the field, but he knew enough to reach a conclusion. During that moment in the field, they have been given enough time to think of running. One. She thought she could handle them, showing the others the chance they thought they had. They could win against enemies they knew nothing about, and that was their downfall.

That was the second time they went out of the plan. Had they turned tail on the way back, they would have reached the mounds by the time the counter's time ran out.

But who was to say Section H would stop there? Even without the counter, they would be plotting to bring down the other sections, and today, they met their match. A section with only three deaths so far? That was enough to grab Karrel's attention. She was a witch, and Thirteen might have to work twice the hours to figure out the things he needed to bring her down.

Shame could only bring them far enough. This time, they needed to be firm. United. They couldn't be fighting over silly things like this. If they truly wanted to win, they would follow him. Questions should have come later.

The command center should have been called a basement or something more fitting. Thirteen sighed and rested his hand on top of his knee. A soldering iron fueled with One's embers sat between his fingers. He had been at this task for as long as he could remember. Damn, he could use a break.

A knock resounded from the other side. A swirl of light shimmered through the faint blue light from the only screen kept alive. Then, like someone stepping out from behind a mirror, Seven materialized. "Sorry about that." The boy scratched the back of his head. "Why did you call me?"

Thirteen yanked the nearest box and slid it towards Seven. "Take that in every remaining section's hideout," he said. "Those are spywares."

Seven reached inside and drew a back pin. He turned the unseeming thing in the light, watching the faint glint reflecting from its surface. "Won't they notice something was off if we give it to them?"

"Perhaps," Thirteen replied. "But we're not the ones giving those away."

The boy's eyebrows creased. "What do you mean?"

Thirteen stuck a lip out. "What if it's the higher ups' congratulatory gift?" he said, taking pleasure at the confused look Seven flashed at him. "There's layers upon layers of assumptions with this move. The first one would be the assumption that there are really higher ups who watch our every move and keep track of who's who in this game. Secondly, there is an assumption that the trick would work, and we would be using that trick to our advantage. After all, who wouldn't want to wear this badge as a symbol of their vanity and tenacity? The third assumption will be Karrel and Section H springing the trap and falling into the scheme."

"And if one of those assumptions isn't true?" Seven asked.

Thirteen grinned. "There is a ninety-four percent chance it will work, and I have the calculation to prove that."

Seven laid a hand in the air. "No thanks," he said. "There's still a six percent chance one or two of those assumptions wouldn't work."

"The probability is much lower for all three assumptions to be false, provided what I know of human behavior, the social stigma of this game, and other factors I care not mentioning," Thirteen answered. "I also have the calculations for that."

"I'll trust you, Thirteen." Seven retreated towards the door, bringing the box with him. "Call me again when you're finished with the other batch."

"This is the last one," Thirteen replied. "But sure."

The door couldn't have opened and shut that fast. He was alone again. By the time he hunkered back to his work and finished sealing the microsystem, another person dropped by, looking worse than she did yesterday.

"Listen, Thirteen." Five's eyes trained to the ground. Her boots were interesting—that much they could agree on. "I apologize for yesterday."

His attention went back to the gauze taped on his face. After refusing Three's help, telling the boy to conserve his ability, Thirteen recalled the first-aid kit he came across in what could only have been this building's infirmary. It did wonders.

He straightened and dusted his pants. "You don't need to do that," he said. "I am an asshole, and I probably deserved it. But know I meant every word I said."

"That's what I don't get about you," Five answered. "You don't say what you do, and you don't do what you say."

His eyebrow cocked up. "Isn't that one of humans' greatest mysteries?" He stalked towards the table nailed with the humongous screens and tapped a series of keys on his keyboard. The blank but blue interface blinked to life. "The mind can't be summed up in a meager arrangement of letters and sounds."

"You say that," Five said, stalking towards him and peeking over his shoulder as he configured the pin in his hand to the network. "Yet it is simple with you."

"Hmm." He flashed her an apprehensive look before going back to pulling threads from the mainframe and connecting them to the finer ends of the pin's programming. "How so?"

"You're still working even though everyone was upstairs, having fun," Five replied. "How about joining us there?"

Thirteen typed something with one hand. "I thought it's simple with me?" he said. "You should know by now that isn't my sort of thing. I'd rather work."

"Or maybe your ability lies somewhere in these wires." Five elbowed him. Just a few hours ago, she was more than ready to gut him. Humans, despite their foolish make-up and predictable reasoning, could be strange. "You're way too talented at this for it to not be your ability."

"Maybe I'll confirm that someday." Thirteen faced Five fully. Her hair was back to her bob today. Must have cut it this morning. "For now, they may need you up there."

Five pursed her lips but stalked backwards to the door. "You really won't join us?"

"Who knows?" he said. This time, he didn't fight the grin itching at the ends of his lips. Five was kind, and it was that kindness that clouded her judgment. If she was a bit ruthless as him, she would see every statement flying out of his mouth were lazy placations, manipulations for the weak mind.

It was her kindness that would someday doom her. And if he wanted to avoid going down that path, he'd have to cut a trail that would destroy it. Smash it to smithereens. The world wasn't built for the kind. Thirteen knew that. Karrel did too. It was only a matter of time before Five realized it for herself. Without Thirteen's help, it might be too late then.

He wasn't a savior, but he sure as hell could be the devil if he wanted to.