♢ JACK OF DIAMONDS ♢
ROUND THREE
START
"It's you."
It's a hum that echoes. A sound of acknowledgment as if his eyes weren't already stabbing at your skin, taking note of your heavy breaths. "Did you know?"
"I assumed."
"Assuming will not ensure your survival."
You swallowed, more unstable now than when the game had first started. Your confidence dwindled down to low effort, childish scoffs.
"If you were in my shoes, I doubt you could've figured it out either," you sass, only to bite your tongue.
You weren't taking this very well, resorting to sarcastic comebacks to hide the nerves that you were drowning in.
And he wasn't pleased.
Not very happy with your inability to take charge and work through your panic, like all the times he's heard you've done from the King of Diamonds.
But he'd stretched out the game as long as he wanted. Just because he could; he could take his time during his turn, counting his points up, one by one, even if the suspense choked you.
He had the power being the Jack of Diamonds. He flaunted it proudly. And maybe the way he watched you lose your cool was enough of a motivator for him to continue.
Especially when you sighed loudly and placed your hands down on the table, hard enough to expressed the childish annoyance that stretched across your face.
"You had the highest points. For both past rounds. Most likely, you'll have the highest this time, and I'll die, and you'll continue being the great Jack of Diamonds."
Wow, you were really losing your cool.
Normally, it would be no problem. You'd slap on your classic smile, sit back, and play the game.
Then let a few minutes pass and you'd walk out unscathed.
But, now you had no confidence.
Just barely did you escape death the past two rounds. Majong was not a game you played in the past.
And it seemed to be the cause your downfall. Because there's no way you'd make it out of here alive. You'd join the two corpses by your side, unalive and drenched in blood.
So, yeah, you weren't processing your possible death as well as you have in the past.
The constant picking at your nails was getting painful and the tightness in your chest was enough to make you gag.
The Jack stared at you.
You stared back, only more exasperatedly.
Was your previous answer not good enough?
What more did he want?
"Look... you had the highest points. And there was something about you-your face." You ignored the slight raise of his brows.
"You looked bored, well, not bored, but disappointed. Like you were waiting for someone to have the highest points. Now it's obvious, if the other two were the Jack, the game would've ended."
Despite your wide eyes, stressed breaths, he just... stared. His face didn't waver. But for a second, his lips twitched.
"You're very observant," he finally said. "I'll assume that means you're smart."
It only takes a moment to ignore him, a second moment to see his purposeful hesitation in picking his pieces, and one more moment for your head to hit the table with a thud.
"Don't do this," your voice comes out whiny and muffled. "Just rack up your points, and kill me before the suspense does."
He chuckles and you hear the click of the pieces as they settle at his side. "How long have you been here? In the Borderlands?"
You pout childishly and lift your head, quickly surveying the pieces before picking two more, but you weren't sure for how many points.
"Two months."
"How many games have you played?"
"Too many."
"Name a few."
"Three of Hearts, five of Spades, seven of Diamonds, ten of Clubs."
Despite barely paying attention to what you replied, you didn't miss the way the Jack sat back in silence, nor could you miss the feeling of your stomach drop.
"Ten of Clubs," he repeated, finally showing emotion as his eyebrows raised in surprise. Then he leaned forward, elbows touching the table. "Do tell. Was it fun?"
Fuck you.
"No."
Again, he silenced himself, awaiting your answer for as long as it would take to pull the words from your throat, or push them out along with the vomit of your nerves.
So, you rightened your posture and glared. "No, it wasn't fun. We had to create this...this antidote to a serum injected into us at the start of the game. It attacked our senses, and we each lost one."
You remember walking out of there, hearing the shuffling of Aguni as he dragged a limp Niragi after him, unable to hear his own grunts of effort.
Then Last Boss, who was usually quiet, now unable to speak, silent as a mouse as he helped you along.
And you couldn't see for days.
The Jack silence was nerve racking, enough to make you shuffle and hope something in the room would fall. You needed some sort of noise.
So you sighed, loudly and aggressively.
"Can you just kill me already?"
"Well do you want do die?"
If you could stand (thanks to the seatbelt around you waist you couldn't) you would've done it right then and there.
But you resort to slamming your hands down, shaking the table and its contents, and letting your anger (mixed with a fair share of trepidation) spill from your mouth.
"Isn't it obvious?! No! I don't want die, but I have no choice, DO I?!" You practically scream, letting your fear get control of you for the first time in a long time. "You're going to kill me, and-"
But before anymore can rip its way from your panting chest, your wrists are grabbed, your torso is slammed into the table, splaying the pieces all over the floor, and weight is pressed against your back, pinning you down like a predator after its prey.
And its the Jack who speaks first.
"For a psychiatrist, you seem to lose your temper easily," he mutters, elbows digging into the meat of your shoulders to keep you in place.
"And if you'd given me a second to formulate my thoughts, you would've learned that I, unlike you, don't want to live."
You shift under his weight, breath fanning over the table. "What?"
His chuckle resounds as he lets you slip from his hands. He slides back into a more comfortable position while you crash against the back of your chair.
"Do you need me to repeat it?"
You almost reach over and slam his face on the table, hopping a few of the pieces break his teeth.
He sees your face drop and raises his hands in defense. "Sorry," he apologizes. "We're the same in the way we use sarcasm to protect are true emotions."
If this were any other situation, you'd scoff and argue that 'you and him were nothing alike'.
But maybe the way his eyes soften were enough to shut you up.
"I'll keep this short, because..." he tosses his pieces away, letting his points go down the drain. "I forfeit."
Suddenly you tense, unable to breath.
What? He's forfeiting the game?
"Why," you ask. Absentmindedly, your fingers fidget with the belt around your waist, as if trying to get out. "Why would you do that? You're supposed to kill me! You're supposed to win!"
He doesn't look at you.
No. He exhales, letting his head fall against the chair, eyes now teary as they close, locking you away from his feelings.
"I'm tired of killing. I'm tired of winning. I just want to move on, either in this life or the next."
His hands grips the edges of the seat, brows knitting together, showing the slightest bit of fear at his upcoming death. "I'm not fit for our real world, I'm not fit for this world. I believe in equality."
Then he smiles.
"And what's more equal than the powerful dying for the life of the poor?"
There isn't time to answer.
The laser pierces the ceiling faster than you can react, leaving no time to process the situation.
It's like a harsh storm. Thick droplets hitting your skin, soaking you, seeping into your clothes, making them cling to you uncomfortably.
But it's not rain.
It's gooey.
It's warm.
It's blood.
And for a second, you wish it was you.