Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter Seventy-Eight | Third World

[ 78 ]

"—and you're dead. Again."

Hansel grunted. He'd been flattened more times than he'd care to admit, and although he was getting better, Jakob never let-up. The man adjusted whenever Hansel began to adapt to the strikes, jabs and quick parrying movements.

Compared to the rest of the group, they were doing what could be considered 'advanced training'. Which ultimately meant that Jakob was teaching Hansel more brutal and effective techniques. Which resulted in those bystanders wincing at the sound of Hansel's body hitting the ground.

After the previous day's moment of truths, where they witnessed the barbaric nature of what humanity had inevitably turned into, it was understandable when a few of those in-training, dropped like flies. Instead deciding to turn their efforts towards aiding the horticultural department. Hansel didn't blame them, he wondered if that would be a safer bet.

But in the end, if the walls were breached, there was no way he was going to be able to fight off a hoard of Rotters with a plant.

Someone had asked Hansel whether or not he and Jakob were friends. Which Hansel had once pulled a face at, but as he lay on the ground trying to catch his breath, he could officially state— that he fucking hated the long-haired bastard. Jakob, once releasing his hold, jumped to his feet and sauntered off whistling. He'd got his knives back that morning, so he was over-the-moon.

Everyone got a front-row seat of how the normally dangerous Jakob— plus various knives— equalled someone to stay well-away from. But Hansel could be considered borderline insane; he was tired and exhausted.

Pushing himself up off the ground, Hansel steadied his breathing as he glared in Jakob's direction. The man was minding his own business, predicting that Hansel was finished for the day, and not even entertaining the thought of someone else doing a sneak-attack.

Waiting for a particular moment, Hansel remained in a crouched position. As soon as Jakob stored his favourite blade away, Hansel pounced. Immediately attracting the wide-eyed attention of those around them. If anything, he could rely on his stamina which had rapidly improved over the short time of training.

Jakob, witnessing everyone go still, turned around slightly— before being tackled to the ground. Two bodies hit the ground with some force. Hansel wasn't under any impression that he'd be able to keep the other man pinned for long, so after recovering, reached to Jakob's leg and withdrew the very same knife that was once used on him.

"Dead." Hansel spoke through gritted teeth.

The one lying on his back took a short while to realise what had happened, and when he did, his dark blue eyes narrowed dangerously, but his mouth didn't match the look of anger. His lips instead twisted into a maniacal grin as he regarded Hansel. Eventually, he chuckled.

"You might just be able ta' survive on your own now, Gretel."

"Really?" Hansel eyed sceptically.

Jakob sat up so their bodies were almost pressed together, "Not a chance." He whispered and gestured downwards. Both of them looked, and Hansel cursed out loud when he spotted yet another knife poking at the fabric of his shirt; over his rib-cage. Just another push and it would puncture a lung.

Even amidst being tackled to the ground, Jakob was still fluid in his movements. It really made Hansel question what occupancy the man had before the first Rotter selfishly appeared. With a mumble, Hansel jumped up and waited until Jakob was standing before handing back his knife.

"You've improved." Someone else entirely emerged.

Although his words were apparently some semblance of a praise, Niklas' tone was flat. He was standing, wearing full greens instead of the usual toned-down version which consisted of a bland-coloured shirt, trousers and military-assigned boots. It reminded Hansel of when he first saw Niklas, he was wearing the same uniform then— just without pants.