The forest descended into an eerie hush after the climactic demise of the Witch. Her body lay motionless only feet from the Jeffrey brothers and I. Her pungent odor of moldy dough lingered in the air.
"Backstage medical?" I angled my head at the boys. "You've been backstage?"
The younger brother cocked his eye to his companion. I could see them debating what level of trust lied between us in their facial expressions.
The older, lightly bearded one returned the improvised staff to his brother as he spoke to me, "You're the vagrant, right?"
"No, the activist. At least that's the label they chose for me," I responded, acknowledging the weight of my brass blade and cuff on my forearm. It served as a constant reminder that all of us were constantly on edge in this brutal game. "But you can just call me Kam." I stepped forward, offering a friendly hand to gauge their interest in forming an alliance.
My effort to come across as approachable quickly fell flat when he frowned, causing me to retract my outstretched arm and return to my previous stance.
"Don't," the tall one went on. One hand gripped his thorny baton in defense. "Just stay back, okay? We were forced to work together in that challenge. That's it."
I paid close attention to his warning, especially considering their imposing presence as they stood shoulder to shoulder.
"We're not like some of the other ones here," his brother continued, his deep complexion slightly fairer and containing the supple look of youth compared to his brother. "We play fair and will only take you out if we have to."
"Dylan!" The bearded brother responded with a scoff, clearly unimpressed by his sibling's honesty and bluntness.
I gulped, instantly intimidated by their straightforwardness, but reminded myself this was a game. A deadly competition where only one pair of siblings was expected to survive.
"Same." I nodded, choosing to maintain a non-threatening distance. "I'm not here to hurt anyone. I'm just trying to find my sister Millie. I can't let her fight through these games alone. She means too much to me, to our parents. I just wish I had the guts to show her and my folks that before she decided to secretly sign up. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here."
I reflected on the trivia question that suggested my parents had disowned me for joining the Games. Mom and Dad had instilled a strong sense of responsibility in me from a young age, both for myself and for those less fortunate, especially my sister. Wouldn't joining the Grimm Games to bring Millie home safely be a part of that duty?
Wouldn't they be proud of how far I was willing to go to protect my sister and ensure her safety?
"I'm Spencer." The taller, unshaven one nodded, maintaining the awkward distance between us and the lifeless body of the Witch. "This is my little shit wad of a brother, Dylan."
"Asshole," Dylan murmured loud enough to show his dissatisfaction but low enough to tame any possible confrontation.
Spencer ignored his brother and gave me an inquisitive once over. "Our stories sound similar," he continued, lifting his chin confidently, making me feel as if he softened a bit due to a newfound sense of relatability. "Producers contacted me after this soggy sack of nuts signed himself up like a fool. They were looking for siblings for their fifteenth season special or some bullshit."
So, did he despise Grimm Games and Arcanum Entertainment too? Did he not care for the jackpot and the winning spot either?
"Yeah, they really know how to reel us in, don't they?" I agreed, allowing my guard down just a bit when I saw his once tense shoulders relax.
"They can easily hook us especially when all your brother's mental nuts are loose." He sneered at Dylan, obviously not impressed with his choice to enter the Games.
"Are you calling me stupid?" He shook his head, visibly saddened by the analogy. "That's just mean," was his only response.
"But it's true," Spencer went on. "We could have been working on our football scholarship and been athletic royalty, doing way better for ourselves in this country, until you wanted the easy way out."
"Fuck an easy way out," Dylan said in defense. "That shit doesn't exist. And no one cares about sports, or school, or medals. All they care about is the amazing Grimm Games. Win that and then you become royalty worthy."
"Whatever." Spencer rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"The only way out of this crumbling, run-down shit country is to win the Games. And we could do it. It won't be easy but we're more prepared and trained than any of these people."
"We're trained to get a football into the end zone. Not murder." Spencer shrugged.
"We haven't murdered."
"Not yet!"
Dylan smacked his lips in annoyance. "One thing we have that they don't is stamina, agility, strength, speed, and overall physical health. Those skills matter especially in Grimm stats."
I blinked, trying not to take offense. But a shuffle in the darkness to my left alarmed me, bringing my attention back to the bloated, lifeless body of the Witch bleeding out from her severed arm and the center of her neck just a few feet away.
The brothers were startled by the rustling too, arming their weapons and scanning the trees in the direction of the noise.
The younger one kept me and my actions in his periphery. As if he anticipated me using the distraction to attack them. I didn't want to do anything to cause an unwarranted confrontation. It was important that I didn't come off as a threat, especially since my weapon seemed more advanced than theirs, which could be the cause of his intimidation.
But Sonya was another story. And she was somewhere out there, possibly the source of the nearby rustling.
The sudden realization that Sonya was willing to eliminate anyone for her own gain sent shockwaves through me and possibly the brothers too. They had to know how ruthless and serious she was about winning the Game. They had to have encountered her before this challenge.
If a blade to the neck of a pleading witch wasn't enough to make her hesitate, nothing would.
Trust, fragile at the best of times, shattered entirely with the nearby sounds that sprung from behind darkened trees and brush. Without another word, the brothers scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving me standing alone in the eerily still forest.
I couldn't blame them. My first instinct was to seek refuge in the supposed safety of the nearby safe zone, an attempt to shield myself from whatever was approaching. It was a natural response, the yearning for the familiar comfort of safety when danger looms.
But doubt clawed at me like sinister whispers in the dark. What if the impending menace wasn't some looming adversary from the Games, but rather Sonya herself? Taking shelter within the safe zone might offer little protection from the threat that Sonya represented.
It was then that a rapid forming fog met the brothers and swirled around their feet as they darted away. The thick vapor creeped through the trees like a ghostly presence. The air suddenly grew heavy with an overbearing humidity.
Something about the sudden appearance of the fog wasn't right.
Suddenly, Dylan paused and glanced back at me from between the thick trees, panic etched on his face as he was overcome by the advancing mist. It was as if he struggled to communicate a warning just before he succumbed to the enveloping fog, collapsing beside Spencer on the mulch covered ground, both snoring heavily.
My heart pounded, realizing the terrifying situation we were in. As the ominous shroud of rancid vapor swept ever closer, a memory flashed into my mind—the vivid images of my time in the office escape room.
Once again, they were going to render me unconscious.
Thinking quickly, I dropped, pressing my back against the base of a tree, sitting upright to maintain a view of the scene. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with a substantial amount of not yet tainted oxygen, and held it in. I remained completely still, pretending to pass out.
Almost immediately, a group of four individuals, wearing peculiar gas masks and protective suits, materialized within the dense fog. They originated from the direction of the collapsed Jeffrey brothers and united at the fallen Witch, their movements eerily synchronized. It was as if they knew exactly where to find her, further deepening the mystery of the Games.
With bated breath, my chest tightened, and my lungs screamed for a breath of fresh air. But as my eyes burned and watered due to the vapor, I watched in silent dread as the four-person crew, lifted the lifeless body of the Witch by her limbs and hauled her away. Their bright headlamps cast distorted beams of light through the fog.
They retraced their steps toward the path they had taken, bearing the lifeless body of the Witch. The burden of carrying the side missing an arm weighed heavily on the one tasked with it, yet they pressed on, disappearing into the fog-shrouded woods.
"Backstage green room," was barely heard from the suit and distance of one of them, chilling words that sent shivers down my spine along with a numbing sensation. They were words that should have had no place in the eerie depths of this cursed forest.
I clenched my fists, my determination to stay aware surged despite the generous vapor burning my eyes. I exhaled slowly, finding a brief sense of relief as I took note of the direction they disappeared toward.
Curiosity and fear battled against my oxygen-deprived lungs, and I couldn't resist gasping for a desperate breath of the foul, rotten-egg-scented air.
There was no escaping it. I had to give in. I had to allow the mist to do its thing, and as my arms and legs became dead weight, I regretted and feared every second of it.