A groan escaped his lips when he shifted positions, jostling the throbbing wound on his leg. Damn Seven for the stab. Maybe they got their retribution on that cold locker, or if he was unlucky, they'd be back with vengeance. With how everything was going lately, he'd say it was his tribulation.

Everyone seemed to be eager to kill him even though he was the reason they were still alive, walking, and flaunting their flashy abilities around. If he shifted his calculations just a bit, he could have carved a hearty number out of them. But he didn't. Why? Because he wasn't a killer. He hated the idea of killing if it wasn't going to add anything to his survival rate and his safety. Even for his safety, getting blood on his hands was an unnecessary bit. Especially when water was scarce and wounds hurt like hell.

He glanced at the cloth tied around his thigh. The muscle felt stiff, and he couldn't move as much without it shooting a hailstorm of pain into his entire system. It was sort of a miracle he made it back to this tarp wonderland without passing out. The blood he lost over the months would have killed him eventually.

It was back to humid in the building. Having peeled back all the ice himself, he had gotten rid of the numbing cold as well as Fourteen's body. A shame, really. Seven shouldn't have gutted the girl, but it was what it was. No going back from it now.

He had to be wary of Seven, truly. During the first part of the Game, he had pegged the boy as tame. Seven didn't appear he could hurt a fly, always staying out of the drama One and the opposition stirred, going as far as telling people off whenever they strayed out of line. But Thirteen should have seen it coming when he watched Seven slit Kalyani's throat like she was nothing more than a rag doll. He had been so focused on defeating Section H and getting the entire section to win that he missed the most important clues. It had been a mess he hadn't foreseen. And without foresight, his calculations wouldn't be accurate.

Which was why he spent his waking hours tinkering inside his tent. Metal and glass chinked against each other as he crafted a slot for the chips to enter his system without having to unwind the bandages and cause himself to bleed every time. The skin and flesh on his arm didn't look like it would hold out longer too.

Time wasn't an issue. He'd simply lock everyone out with Four's ability should they come knocking. He doubted Seven and Slate would come any time soon. The others weren't as decisive as the three, and if they haven't made a move now, it was because they were busy hunting the others down. A brief respite, and a badly needed one.

By the time the sun had gone down and the stars replaced the light blue expanse, he had completed the device he started. He held up the repurposed reader into the stuttering bulb he found in one of the upper floors. Instead of inserting straight into the muscles, he would make the ability's miscellaneous system pass through the bloodstream. Having Karrel's ability helped him realize the true nature of the chips and the abilities they donned. His body wasn't reacting to the chips' placement. His cells would respond to the chips' codes as long as one system was in contact with it. Perhaps the chips were installed internally because they needed to be unseen. Unnoticed.

Unknown.

Thirteen slotted Four's chip into the reader and tied the device at the back of his arm. The small needles he soldered into the back dug against his skin, drawing the appropriate amount of blood. After the punctures healed, he wouldn't have to worry about spilling more. With a sigh, he flicked the device's switch on. He waited. And waited.

Four's ability coursed through his system, granting him the heightened sensitivity to the air's moisture. He plucked the chip off, and the heavy feeling disappeared. Next, he slotted Slate's chip in. The malleability of his skin and flesh couldn't have been more apparent. Next, he tried Abelle's and swiped an arm in a wide arc. The drag was absent, at least. It was enough to know it worked. Lastly, he slotted Karrel's chip inside and let it stay there.

He retrieved the portable screen and fished Slate's chip from the pile he made on the makeshift table. In the cramped space of the tent, the small stool was the only thing he could come up with to hold his daily needs. The floor had become a suitable table in lieu of a proper one. He propped the screen on the stool and inserted Slate's chip into the side. After a few upgrades, even the gadget could run the algorithms he needed to decrypt the rest of the chips.

He shifted his position again, and another stab of pain traveled up his leg. His teeth clamped down on his lips as he slumped forward, his insides coiling. It wasn't just from the pain of the wound. His gut churned, threatening to return the meager meals he had eaten the past few days. He had been feeling like this since he used his other ability on Seven. Twice.

It was a marvel, but he couldn't understand it either. He could make people freeze while he stayed in motion, as if their perception of time and his suddenly glitched. He would have practiced with it as many times as it took, but the stupid side effects kept him. It wasn't a far-fetched correlation. If he used his ability, he would suffer the consequence for it. Which was an underhanded way of telling him he didn't really deserve an ability, and everything that happened to him was anomalous.

Just great.

Not even that could make him stop working, though. He tapped away at the screen, accessing the chip's file system and running an algorithm or two. It would take longer for him to get anywhere with limited devices, but he'd get there eventually. If he had to launch these programs while running for his life, he would. Nothing should stand between him and the truth, especially if it was about the Game itself.

When his consciousness snapped to alertness, the bulb had sparked off and sunlight baked the tarp's blue lamination into a bubbling mess. He rubbed his eyes off the sleep that snuck into him and heaved his body off the ground. His body must have keeled sideways as he nodded off. The stool brought good news, though. Through the night, the algorithm had unlocked another layer of encryption, giving him access to the deeper parts of the chip's data.

He scoured through the new files that popped up, scanning through them. More battle logs, credited to Slate's activities before Thirteen made them remove it from their system. After that, the files just stopped. Thirteen's usage was unregistered. He'd be concerned if those had been. It would mean the chips have some sort of tracking program in them, possibly a camera or a motion sensor.

The chip was also declared unresponsive, proving his hypothesis further. These plastic devices were being used to keep track of them, and there were people watching them. Who they were and how many—those were the next pressing questions.

He scrolled through some more, coming up with a file with an encrypted file name at the end. Why would the contents be available but the file name wasn't? Thirteen accessed it, scanning through the mounds of redacted data. With the parts he could read without being nauseous, he gathered this was part of the series of reports that led to the finalization of the chip for Slate's body. Details upon details were blacked out and left alone until he reached the last page and a single name caught his attention.

In response to the previous models, we have achieved the maximal rate of operation since the project's starting date. Calling the attention of "The Corrector". Read the latest reports on █████████ , █████████ , █████████ , █████████ , and █████████ . To forward to the Office of Territorial Defense and Relations once "The Corrector" gives the green light. Project is safe to proceed to trials. Requesting assistance from the Office of Sanitation and Human Affairs of █████████ Laboratory to handle pending and future issues regarding the procurement of samples and data.

The Corrector? Who the hell was that?

His question was answered by the sound of the tarp ripping. The tip of a familiar dagger protruded from the hole torn into his tent. Thirteen shut the screen off and shoved it inside his jacket. He didn't need to look at it to know who came for him next.

Five.