Alice in Borderland: The Cycle Continues

28) Eight of Clubs [4] ✮

===Zakū Raisunei===

A loud whistle sounded. I stirred, bristling as a lone figure ran up to the base. I cursed, preparing the lobby for a fight. I grabbed the table by its edge, pushing my weight onto it, toppling it with a thud against the entrance.

It was someone from Team C, a man who I hadn't seen before. He wielded a sledgehammer, his face grim, with a dustpan hung from his belt. I charged, swinging the bat; metal clanged against nails, as his blow threw me aside like a paper ball. I hurled into the wall, my back soaking the pain of the impact, and I crumpled onto the floor. The man brought his sledgehammer down, but not on me.

On the pots.

He broke one, the soil puffing up clouds of dark brown, as two coins glimmered in the fluorescent lighting. He retrieved his dustpan, scooping up the pile, and dumping it into his inventory. His vest changed, registering a new value of 125.

'Smart.' I thought, sprinting at him again. I raised my bat again, bringing it down to where he stood, slamming another pot into shards, but he ducked out of the way, and my strike met only concrete as the vibration of the impact traveled up my arms.

I released the bat, cringing at the sensation, as the man retaliated with his own swing of the sledgehammer. I gasped, jumping to the side, the force of his attack leaving a woosh in the air. I dropped to the ground, crouching, my chest rising rapidly and my arms burning. I faced up; the man didn't have so much as a single bead of sweat. This wasn't going to work.

The man didn't bother with me again, collecting the remains of the second pot with the dustpan, and dumping it into his inventory. He groaned in frustration, the pot didn't contain any coins. 'He's stronger than you, but we are both equal in terms of attack speed due to our heavy weapons.' I analyzed. 'But I can do something about the second point. Plus, he's more preoccupied with the coins than me. These two factors are what I need to exploit.'

I faced the man again; only about three seconds had passed, and he had scooped up the insides of a third pot. I waited, getting into position, before running forward. I pulled my fingers into a fist, striking the man's head, but he dodged, swerving to the right.

Yet in the moment, he dropped his dustpan's contents, the dirt and coins scattering all over the floor. With the opening created, I jumped over the table, running down the hallway, scanning the floor for any weapon of use. I stepped over a garbage bag, eyeing some bricks.

'Can these do? What can I do with them?' I shook my head, turning around, running the other way, passing the base again. I eyed the bushes; condensation lined the leaves, and the soil was dark, a sign of moisture. Another pile of tools laid nearby–a broom, a pair of gloves, and another pile of wooden boards. 'Brooms, gloves, boards. If I can... Wait.'

The plants had dew on them, meaning they must've been watered. I turned back to the wall, scanning for a hose. My hope dwindled as I came to the end of the wall, but I turned the corner. A faucet stuck out, a hose connected to it slinking into a circular pile, and connected to its end was a sprinkler. I dove for the sprinkler, ripping it out from the grass, the spike laced with traces of moist dirt. I ran back to the base, grabbing a handful of muddy dirt from the flowerbed.

"Hey asshole!" I screamed, as the man prepared to run out with a full inventory of dirt and coins. I raised my handful of dirt, opening up my palm, letting the muddy dirt fly and splatter across his glasses lens. He slowed, disorientated, turning his head. I gripped the sprinkler, my fists turning an icy white, and brought it down, spearing it through his ankle.

He howled, a spray of blood staining my vest, as I brought my foot forward, nailing him on his other thigh. He fell, and I reached into his inventory, fishing out its contents. A sharp pain pierced my hand, and I hissed, drawing my hand back; a ceramic shard had slit a gash into the back of my hand. The man seized this opportunity, pressing his weight against mine. I slammed my fist into his neck, reaching in again, this time with my jacket sleeve over my hand, retrieving additional stolen coins. While under my weight, the man extended his arm, grabbing hold of his sledgehammer. He swung it towards my hip, and I loosened my grip, rising from his collapsed body and backing out of the way. He staggered up, limping away, his sledgehammer in hand and still facing me.