Five came limping through the foliage, cursing under her breath as she massaged her hip. "Remind me to never get on Eight's bad side," she murmured. Thirteen tucked his bloodied hands into his pockets. She noticed the motion, stopping a few steps away. Slowly, her gaze landed on the body sprawled at his feet.

"It's over?" She inclined her head at him. When he nodded, she pouted. "Damn. You didn't have to hammer it home that much, you know? Really, three?"

Thirteen glanced at the gaping wounds on Karrel's forehead, throat, and chest. "Spur of the moment," he said. "I played it safe, in case the first two missed. You know how elusive she is."

Instead of being horrified at that, Five chuckled. "I can agree with you on that."

Silence filled the space between them, thickening into a sticky wall. A moment passed. Two. Five cleared her throat eventually. "I have a question though." She raised a finger in the air. "What did Karrel mean about stealing abilities? Did you really do that?"

Thirteen blew a breath. It would have to come out eventually. "I had to, if I were to survive," he said. Let him hope Five gathered all she could with that, or if she gathered anything at all. These people weren't good at reading between the lines nor guessing what was implied. He had long given up using cryptic language too. "Got any issues with it?"

Five's jaw clenched. "Just that accusation of causing some people's deaths for you to get their abilities," she said. "You didn't do that, right?"

"What if I did?" Thirteen challenged, raising an eyebrow in her direction. "Will that change anything?"

She crossed her arms, tilting her head to one side. Her bobbed hair told him she probably used a ton of strands to fashion something for herself. Medicine, maybe. Having Three around had been a convenience none of them appreciated until now. "Between us, or between the rest of Section M?" she quipped.

Thirteen grinned. Five might not be on the same level as him, but she could be an interesting verbal spar partner from time to time. "Depends on what you're looking for," he said. "For whom are you asking? For your conscience or for camaraderie?"

"What if I wanted it for myself?" she answered.

"Then, I did it for my own benefit," Thirteen replied. Crossing his arms over his chest was a far-off fantasy, knowing the blood on his wrist probably coated half his pant leg by now. He wouldn't die through blood loss, and he could always use Three's chip later. He just had to last that long. "You, of all people, understand what I told you in that dingy room. I ensure the maximum number of survivors. Through every means necessary. Even through stealing abilities."

He resisted the urge to start pacing. This wasn't a damned lecture, not when Five probably had enough of those from him already. "For all you know, that move was the best I came up with in my calculations," he said. "I am merely acting upon what I believe is right."

"And I'm not here to tell you you're wrong," Five said. "Like in solving your equations, there are multiple ways to reach a conclusion. We just have different methods."

Thirteen turned away from her and craned his neck to the sky. "Want to know what I would have said if you chose camaraderie?" he said more to himself than to Five.

She hummed. "I figured you'd tell me anyway," she answered. "What would you have said?"

"I did it for you." He watched her in his periphery. She was on her way to mirror his stance—with her head and gaze nailed to the expanse of burning clouds signaling the sunset—but when he said that, her eyes swiveled towards him. Her neck forgot it was on its way to a tilted angle. "I had to survive because I had to give you your chance. I need to survive so you can survive too. And if it meant pulling a few loose nails, it would be done."

"How many do you have now?" Five asked.

Thirteen shrugged. "I haven't checked, nor do I plan to. Karrel did a number on them when she kept throwing me around."

She opened her mouth, and he was on his way to meet her gaze, when a new blaring tone ripped across the grounds. This wasn't a counter. When the searchlights scattered around the grounds lit up, they were redder. Angrier.

Deadlier.

And unlike any counter they have been in, an androgynous voice streaked from unseen speakers, determined to reach even the ones in the darkest corners of the grounds.

Attention, Section M. Congratulations on reaching the end of the Game. However, this is only the beginning. To find out who is truly the victor among you, there is only one thing left to do: make sure you are the last person standing! There will be no counters, no alarms, and no allegiances beside yourselves. May the best ability win!

Let the Game begin!

The tone and the voice terminated after a click. His gut sank, weighed down by the realization of what was about to happen. They would kill each other. People who were once comrades—they would have to turn on one another for the vague promise of getting out of this hell. It wasn't over. Thirteen hasn't reached the end.

And worse, he didn't gain friends. All he had were enemies.

He lowered his gaze towards Five whose eyes flitted here and there, trying to process what had just happened. If anyone was to win the game, it would be Five. His initial calculations pegged her for that role. But if she were to win...she would have to kill Thirteen with her own hands. No way in hell would he let that happen. Before she could kill him, he would have to kill her first. And fast.

The same realization passed across Five's face. Confusion and dissonance danced in her eyes. Thirteen wasted no time deciphering every glint in them. He retreated, scanning every direction for any sign of his ex-comrades. Did they hear the same message? If so, what did they think of it? What did they think of doing to Thirteen? Slate's plan and state of mind, he had a clue. Everyone else's...he literally promised them he'd meet them after the counter.

Five didn't pursue him. No one did. But he ran anyway, punching through the undergrowth and putting as much distance between him and Section M's rendezvous point before anyone realized they would never see him there.

He craned his neck to the sky, frowning at the clump of canopies blocking his view of the sky. Karrel was right. Someone watched them from somewhere in the grounds. They directed all of this, from the sections, the counters, and now, the individual matches. For what? He didn't know. The command center was a thousand miles away. Going back there would be suicide. Everyone knew he could never part from his screens. He was useless without data. There would be no conclusions if a hypothesis wasn't present.

If he was to survive and get out of this hell, he had to go beyond the grounds. He had to uncover everything about the Game and who was behind the lights. Who put them here and set them off against each other? Why? What was the Founding Chip, and who came up with it?

Questions swirled in his head, none coming closer to a concrete answer. His legs gave out the moment he noticed he hadn't really stopped running. He collapsed next to a trunk, noting the familiar landscape of the northern quadrant. His fingers brushed against the rough trunk. Sweat drenched the sides of his face. When he raised his hand to his face to wipe it, a flimsy chip stopped him cold.

He stared at it for a long while, remembering where, when, and how he got it. A plan started brewing at the back of his head. The synapses in his brain started firing, running through the calculations, the costs and benefits of pursuing several paths. Secrets were a currency, and for the first time, he was glad he hadn't disclosed everything he knew even when Five asked him.

Thirteen didn't dare grin, nor feel the relief washing over his system at the sight of what lay on his palm. Because he might have been the most disadvantaged in this Game, but he had just stumbled on the key to sweeping the rug under their feet.

He stared at it, and Karrel's chip stared back at him.