If it wasn't through the small shaft of light, Thirteen wouldn't have found the bug. He had been at it since morning, squinting at the dark and tapping on his portable screen as fast as his padded fingers would allow. A sigh flitted out of his lips. He wasn't one for sentiments, but he couldn't deny he missed the comforts of the command center.
The bleak truth now settled on him as he set his screen aside. The back of his head knocked against the tarp covering his dingy hideout. It wasn't even a full week since the first part of the game concluded and a new one immediately started. In a span of days, he had to conceal most of his activities from the rest of Section M, find a place to catch a few hours of sleep, and work out a way to survive this period without...well, dying.
It was bad enough that he wasn't given a functional ability in the first three quarters of the Game. Now, he had to juggle mastering his "stolen" abilities, unearthing everything the Game's supervisor hid from him, and fighting his able-bodied ex-comrades who knew everything about him and had an inkling about how he thought.
Worse, he had no one but himself to rely on. It dealt an enormous blow to his calculations. So much so that he scrapped the original models and started anew. It took a hefty few hours, but it was better than nothing. The next days were spent fortifying this hovel he found in the middle of the Northern region. Most of his ex-comrades lounged in the Western and Eastern regions. Some popped up in the Central region for a bit before moving to the South. It would be a while before any of them thought of looking for him. And when they did, he'd better be ready.
Hence the primary reason for choosing a nondescript building out of the thousands in this part of town. Apart from the randomness, he ensured the beams looked as if they were crumbling down and the joists, as if they were caving in. Nobody would think twice about not hanging out in this complex. Upon doing the calculations, he had better chances of weathering every day inside an unstable structure. At least here, he wouldn't be killed on sight if he poked a foot out.
The decrepit building could have been an apartment complex in its prime. In a haste to redevelop it to something else, it was left hanging when something happened to the city as a whole. History—another one of his must-knows. Would the chips betray even what happened to the residents of this city? Intriguing.
Since the redevelopment was halted by some magical reason, Thirteen found leftover construction materials, and much to his relief, some brittle and crinkly tarps. Yet another full day was dedicated to shaping his fort while making the least noise and movements in case someone passed by from the sky. And soon, he holed up inside a blue tent, held up by bolts drilled into the nearest beams. From the outside perspective, the fortress resembled a second floor that caved in and was covered to hide the wreck.
It was perfect.
Thirteen now had a space for himself, away from prying eyes and hopefully, his enemies. Just yesterday, he sat down with himself and assessed his situation. His inventory, too. A gun with nine rounds left, his portable screen with a stark crack in the sides, and four ability chips. Karrel did a number on most of them during their altercation. A real shame, having lost Caden and Ikerne's abilities. Three's and a couple others weren't spared either.
Now, all he had left was Slate's, Four's, Abelle's, and the most important of all, Karrel's.
What about his enemies, then? If they weren't going after each other out there, they would be coming for him. They knew better than to approach him head on. He had taught them as much in the Game's early parts. When one didn't know enough, it was best to hold back.
Information was power, and it held here more than anywhere. What did they know about him? Apart from his knack to direct others into doing what they never wanted to, not much. He made sure of that. They knew he stole ability chips, but they didn't know how many, which abilities, or if he still had them. They knew he had a knack for instrumentation, technology, and getting into places he shouldn't, but they didn't know how much he discovered, what he planned to do with that information, and what his goal was.
All of them weren't even aware he didn't have an ability.
Five came so close to knowing, but he had the announcer to thank for cutting their conversation short that day. The only person he had to worry about was Two. A frown crept into Thirteen's lips when the boy's orange mop of hair flashed into his memory. The esper was more of a nuisance than Seven was, and unlike everyone, he knew everything there was to know about Thirteen. And if not for the threat Thirteen hung above the boy's head, Two would be strutting around, brokering information to those who could promise his safety.
Up until now, Thirteen waited for some retaliation or even some interaction where Two's chip resided. Nothing. The boy wasn't actively scoping for him either. He could widen his telepathic range and fish out Thirteen's location. He could rile everyone up, spill Thirteen's secrets, and twist them around a finger. If he tried hard enough, he could kill everyone without lifting a finger.
That was, if Thirteen had Two's ability, he'd do it. But Two's brain worked differently, despite all the thoughts and knowledge he had siphoned off Thirteen's head. The boy was quiet, and none of his secrets spilled. Which prompted the next question—why?
If Two still harbored fear from the last threat Thirteen flung his way, shouldn't he know by now Thirteen couldn't do anything to him anymore? If he was concerned for his life, Two would have gotten Five or Eight's protection in exchange for getting out of the Game alive. At the end, he could just shoot them in the back and emerge as the winner.
It was a clear-cut path. To make that happen, Thirteen just had to march towards Two, knock him upside the head, and slit the boy's wrist while he was unconscious. Then, the plan could ensue.
Thirteen shook his head. The road towards Two, passing through both the Central region and the Western quadrant, was danger personified. It maimed him from the back. If he wasn't careful, it would pin him to the ground and swallow him in a blink. New plan, then.
Should he wait for Two to make a move? A good plan. The others knew by now he wasn't the type to make a move without being sure of certain things first. That included each of the targets' motivations, drive, and sole need. Without the threat of the counters, the only drive remaining would be being declared the Game's victor. Or they hated Thirteen so much since Karrel blurted out one of his thieving secrets and Five's monologue about sticking together didn't work.
Both seemed plausible. Some of them might want to make it out of the Game alive not because they wanted to live for themselves, but for others. Maybe their memories told them they had a family to go back to, people waiting for them in places away from these abandoned ruins. Seventeen and Sixteen perhaps wanted to get out together and continue their relationship beyond murder and games. Or, if the watchers were cruel enough, they would be forced to kill each other and both of them would end up dying after all. What a waste.
Thirteen chewed on his lip as he picked up his portable screen once more. With his eyes renewed, he glimpsed the coordinates and the smaller characters in it again. Tapping away in the darkness of the tarp haven could do wonders to one's vision.
It wasn't like he had a choice either. The command center's screens were an entire lifetime away. Everyone knew Thirteen had every tendency to trek back to the old, whitewashed fortress and take back his work. If they thought harder, they would realize Thirteen had more hidden plans up his sleeves, and some traces of those remained in the Central region. There was more than one way to get rid of things he didn't need anymore or those who could do him more harm than good.
He zoomed into one of the quadrants, monitoring the active chip in that location in his periphery. One finger swiped across the interface to bring out a menu of codes and files stored inside the screen. The earlier program was fixed, the bug being a missing punctuation in the call method. That was one line, and it messed the whole thing up. Ugh.
None of that, though. The next program waited for him. He needed to keep Seven and Sixteen from reaching him. Even if Two sold Thirteen to everyone, none of them should be able to approach a set radius around the building. Seven was troublesome enough, with his invisibility, but Sixteen was a different beast. How could one kill someone who literally couldn't die? If only he could analyze her biology and figure out a way to stop her cells from multiplying at such a rate. If only.
That was what kept him up all night yesterday. He didn't even notice the sunlight streaming past the insect-bitten holes punched through the tarp. It was only when his vision blurred and his eyes stung did he stop and rest. Just a bit. Eye strain was an annoying companion.
He pulled out the cord connecting his portable screen to an exposed electric line. It might have been abandoned, but it was live. Enough to power his gadgets whenever it ran too low. Another reason why he missed the command center. He wouldn't have to worry about low batteries there. Unless he developed a way to charge this hunk of metal and glass without wires, he had to stick to this ancient method. At least the watchers were sensible enough to never cut the power throughout the city. Otherwise, Thirteen was really screwed.
He was about to write another line when the screen's interface lit up red. A counter? No. They were a long way past that. Frantic fingers swiping and tapping, he arrived at the system errors flashing beneath all the running applications. Someone tripped the movement sensors? He swiped up to bring up the map once more. A curse flitted out of his lips. He should have paid attention to the chips at the borders. Not only did they cross it, but they were on the way towards Thirteen's building. Who talked?
Curses piling one after the other, Thirteen straightened and crawled out from underneath the tarps. His black clothes shone white with plaster dust. Streaks stained his fingers and nail beds. Some had made it into his scalp. He couldn't deny he had eaten a fair amount over the course of time spent here.
Screen in hand, he stalked towards the edge of the building. He squinted, searching the horizon for anyone who might have tripped the sensors. A breeze rose from the south, rushing towards him in a flurry of howls and tearing leaves.
"Oh, shit." Thirteen scrambled back, veering sideways to avoid the storm aimed for him. Eight? What was she doing here? How was she here? The bolt of wind slammed into an exposed RCC slab from the second floor. Cement groaned. Metal rods whined and snapped. Santa Elena, she'd bring down the whole complex on them.
He knew what they were doing, though. Flushing him out into the open where a more direct force would pin him down. The question was who? Eight was here, but who was the other one? And who tripped the sensors? Were there three people? Really?
Despite better judgment, Thirteen rushed out of the building. Eight's black hair blew against her own wind, slapping her in the face. She should really cut that. But maybe not. Thirteen wouldn't help her get rid of him quicker. He craned his neck to the sky, scanning the line of trees, the plains of grass and concrete stretching to forever, and the blades of wind screaming for him. Nothing. Eight was alone...
A force dug into his back, sending him to the ground. His cheek hit the dirt. The taste of rust shot across his lips. Oh, God. Not again. The sound of a gun cocking behind his head rang in his ears.
"Don't bother begging for your life." Fourteen's heavy timbre flooded Thirteen's senses. "It ends now."