Thirteen lounged in front of his screen, waiting for his program to finish comparing the documents for differences. No one would be meticulous enough to maintain progressive reports across hundreds of people over a long period of time. Some mistakes were inevitable and, to Thirteen's advantage, invisible.

He shoved a spoonful of milk into his mouth, scowling when no fleck of cereal made it. How hard was it to stick a spoon in a bowl and scoop a soggy flake? Well, the probability was inversely proportional to the total number of samples in an aqueous mixture. Or in any pool of things to choose from, really.

When he looked down, he found no flakes in his bowl. These damned things were so tasty he couldn't get enough of them. Compared to the dry pastries in the red packets, the cereal Eight brought from somewhere were heaven on earth. He snatched the box with the top ripped open and upended it into his bowl. A total of three flakes slid out. Great.

He was about to bring the bowl to his mouth and drink the milk straight up when a figure strode inside the room. The others stayed on the same floor after piling all the unnecessary desks and clutter in the lounge outside. Most of them were out on exploring duty, in search of something that might lead them straight to the Corrector, or at least something that would bring them closer to it. It has been a few days, and progress was slow to stagnant.

He set the bowl on the metal desk and regarded Five. "What's up?" he asked. "Are the others back yet?"

One glance at the sky beyond the solid glass panes of the room told him it was almost sunset. He had eaten his lunch the whole afternoon. No wonder he felt like sleeping, like the lazy ass he turned out to be without the stress of running for his life.

Five didn't answer. Instead, she brandished a dagger and lunged for him.

Thirteen scrambled out of the stool, throwing it in her way. Her boots thumped against the dusty short loop carpet after she leaped past it, never breaking her stride. He cursed, backing up and digging inside his jacket for any ability. Five closed in, thrusting her dagger into his gut. A chip went inside, and he swept his arm forward. An ability swirled out, clanging against the knife's tip. His shoulder dug against the glass as his body absorbed the recoil of the collision. Seventeen's ability was no joke. It wasn't for the frail.

Edging the ball of compressed force between his fingers aside, he cast Five aside as he dove the opposite way. He rolled away and eyed the door. By some miracle he got out, where would he run to? The lounge, where miles of clutter awaited him? He glanced at the window. A web of cracks spread out from where he slammed against the glass. It wasn't as thick as he expected. Should he jump out that way?

Five's white hair zipped into his periphery. Her dagger slashed and thwacked against the concrete wall and the carpet. No time for daring escapes. The only way past this was to fight her. His finger went up to his ear, instructions ready to fire from his lips. No comms awaited him. Everyone else was out.

He was alone.

Okay, then.

Without Abelle's chip, it was a miracle he lasted this long. He ducked and dodged, steps catered to getting out of the room. The hallways were crowded, making it harder to swing a weapon. It would also shorten the distance between them and increase his chances of getting impaled. Fun. A fist rushed towards his jaw, the knife still clamped in the closed fingers. He dropped to his knees, throwing his weight into Five's legs. Together, they toppled down. One of her knives skittered out of her reach.

Silver whizzed towards his temples. He ducked, his face coming so close to Five's chest. Her blade sailed past his head just as she kicked up, ramming her knee into his spine. It made him collapse over her further, coming close enough to smell the sweat and blood rolling off her.

No time to think about that. He blocked the other hand swinging towards him. His fingers closed around her wrist and he twisted it behind her, rolling her body so that her cheek hit the floor. She squirmed, her free hand scrabbling for her fallen blade. Thirteen prised the other blade from her contained arm and chucked it towards her hand. Both daggers clattered and drifted away from both their reaches.

Before he could grab her other arm, she lashed back. Her fingers closed around a fistfull of hair and pulled. Pain exploded in his scalp, giving him no choice but to follow the motion. His world whirled when she flipped him off her back and sent him crashing into the floor. Air ripped past his lips as his spine hit the ground. Never mind the carpet. It still hurt.

Five staggered up and drew her arm back as if to punch his nose in. He brought his arm up, and Seventeen's ability lashed out. A blast of invisible force knocked Five backward, launching her from the floor towards the wall behind her. The recoil drove him across the floor, a trench forming on the carpet in response to his trail. Five slammed into the wall just as the top of his head knocked against the desk's melamine side. Ow.

The tension in his shoulders never eased even as Five slid down the wall, eyes fluttering. He watched her topple sideways, her hair getting all over her face in a shower of white strands. That was...well, strange. Five wouldn't attack anyone like that, not when she had full agency to agree to what they were doing. And why was it only Thirteen? She could have gone after the others who went out. Why would she target someone who was clearly minding his own business?

The cereal he had been gorging on since noon threatened to climb up his throat. He scrambled up and fixed his breathing. Next, he picked up Five's fallen knives and set them on the table. An idea popped up into his head.

Keeping Seventeen's ability in the reader, he stalked towards Five. He nudged her arm. When she didn't stir, he dropped to his knees and started patting her pockets for any sign of her chip. The search revealed nothing, even after searching the belt bag around her waist. If he had that, he wouldn't have to lug things around with his hands. It was an efficient tool.

He strode back to the desk and retrieved one of the knives. Her sleeve rumpled on the elbow as he drove it back. As expected, bandages enclosed her wrist. Five, as always, with her upright tendency to stay the way she was. Another proof she'd never go back on her words—a trait they'd agree on no matter the circumstance.

The knife slashed through the bandages before digging into her skin. Five would have to find another chance to forgive for what he did. He pulled out her chip and cleaned it a little with the frayed strips of cloth. Upon loading it back to the screen, he pulled up the level where the progress reports were stored. His eyes narrowed. There was a new report. It registered because Five inserted it back to her system. Was that supposed to tell him something? Did Five notice something wrong with her as well?

He accessed the report and skimmed through it. The words morphed into a convoluted mass of jargon, but he forced his brain to understand it. Something about making the mind open to suggestion and a command was issued to start attacking. In simpler terms, she went berserk, and knocking her out was the only way to stop it. He scrolled further down, and a familiar paragraph popped up as a closing remark.

Upon reading the latest reports on █████████ , "The Corrector" gives green light to start the Project. To forward to the Office of Territorial Defense and Relations once the Project is deemed successful. Requesting assistance from the Office of Internal Defense and Ordnance to handle pending and future issues regarding the progress of the Project.

The Project?

"Holy flying sheets." Someone whistled from the door. Thirteen looked up from the screen to find Seven and Two walking in. Their collective gazes landed on Five's unconscious form then back to Thirteen. He didn't need to explain to Two, but Seven looked as if his head was about to burst with confusion. "What happened here?" Seven demanded.

Thirteen showed him the screen, pointing to the closing remark. "That's what," he said. "We've got ourselves more problems."

Because Five, and most possibly Eight, were being tasked to kill everyone with their abilities, and now that the Corrector was giving the green light for whatever the Project was, the others weren't safe either. They might be given a choice on how to play the Game for as long as possible, but if they didn't hurry, that choice would be taken away. Soon.