Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chance was in deep shit.

Less than a day ago he had gambled away all of his life savings and then some, and made a deal with a man dressed all in black (albeit with adorable bunny ears) to get more money.

Then guess what he did with that money.

Go on. Guess.

He gambled it all away again.

Man, what an idiot he was - and still is. An idiot for gambling and even more of an idiot for taking a business card from some sketchy salesman in a much nicer suit than his.

An idiot for having any hope left in his body while dialing that number and an idiot for getting in that car.

Look where that got him. Stuck in a stack of uncomfortable beds, in a place he doesn’t know, in some weird tracksuit that does him zero favours in the looks department.

At least they let him keep the sunglasses; everything else he had on is gone with the winds now. Including his gun, which would’ve been really nice to have just in case.

Oh well, now’s not the time for wallowing in self-pity, especially when he’s pretty much just been kidnapped and dragged off to who-knows-where.

He sits up and slides out of the bed, walking down some rather convenient metal stairs to join a crowd of similarly dressed people with the same confused expression on their faces. Okay, so he’s not alone here. That’s good. Maybe they can all help each other.

The room is absolutely massive and the edges are stacked with uniform bunk-beds that reach almost to the ceiling. In the middle of the beds, a pool of people all in the same green uniform are standing there looking lost. 

Strangely, he notices that everyone has a different number on both the front and back of the tracksuits, as well as on the shirt underneath. He looks down at his own.

077

Oh! His lucky number. It’s a shame it wasn’t 777, but it really doesn’t seem like the space they’re all in could fit that many people. Anyway, he already knows how many people there are here, what with the massive screen above them showing a large, glowing 456.

He scans the crowd and notices a few people who stick out: a tall man with electric blue hair bearing the number 137 and a slightly shorter man with shoulder-length brown hair and purple glasses with the number 007 printed on his back.

Before he can question anything else, the doors underneath the screen open and a few people in hot pink uniforms and masks with circles painted on them step out, accompanied by one with a square mask.

Instantly, an uproar begins; people are screaming at the masked people to let them go home and asking why they’re all numbered as if they are cattle.

The noise refuses to stop, and even without seeing their face, Chance can tell that the square mask is getting annoyed at the crowd.

The guard raises his hand for silence, and it is only granted when the screen above flashes into a reel of videos.

Videos of every last participant getting the shit beaten out of them for being terrible at ddakji - the very same game Chance played with a salesman before being given this place’s business card.

It looks like every last person here is struggling, and he knows that’s bad news. He’s lived near dangerous people all his life - he practically lives in the casino - and he knows firsthand that cooping up a bunch of desperate, indebted people together will never end well.

The video reel stops on a few, singling out some of the loudest objectors. The square guard’s voice carries across the room effortlessly now as he names every single one of them along with how much they owe.

Gods, and Chance thought his debt was bad. Some of these people have double that, if not triple.

Desperate.

One short clip catches everyone’s attention, however. It’s of the same man he saw earlier - the one with the number 007. Strangely, he isn’t in a train station, or even inside for that matter.

He’s standing outside in the dark with strong wind blowing through his hair and a tear-streaked face, clearly on one of the tall bridges scattering the city and holding a small bottle like a lifeline.

The reel ends with the man warily taking a business card, then the screen turns back to the number of players. Chance looks over and notices player 007 looking down in embarrassment and shame.

Poor guy; he should talk to him later.

The square guard’s voice carries through the room effortlessly now that the uproar has been subdued.

“All of you here will participate in a series of six games to earn money. Before we begin with the first game, you will each have to sign a contract stating that you agree to play.”

Okay, not so bad then. Chance steps into one of four lines that have formed around stands at the front of the room.

As he approaches the front, he sees a neat contract along with a pen perched on a lectern, waiting for him to sign. Because he isn’t that stupid, he skims through the contract before signing.

CLAUSE 1: Every player agrees to play a series of six games. A player is not allowed to stop playing at any point.

CLAUSE 2: If a player refuses to take part in the games, they will be eliminated.

CLAUSE 3: If the majority of players agree, the games will be terminated and everyone will be sent home.

Eliminated, huh? Do they mean sent back home? They do, surely. Chance takes the pen and signs along the line with a flick of his wrist before rejoining the crowd forming at the back of the hall.

The doors at the end of the room open and guards lead the players into a huge open space. Chance looks up and... oh god, this place is massive. There are at least 4 floors above him and there’s most likely more below.

They each take turns taking their photo, for which Chance flashes one of his award-winning smiles. They file through a colourful corridor and up some stairs, then meet three doors.

Everyone sort of splits up to examine the doors before they finally open. They’re about twice the height of Chance and at the top have three shapes carved into the deep green metal in a pattern.

Eventually, they open and Chance steps out with the crowd into blinding sunlight. With the sunglasses on, he adjusts to the light in half the time of everybody else and scans the arena.

Sand. Sand blocked off in a rectangle by fake walls painted to depict outside scenery. There’s a red line painted into the dirt a few feet from where he’s standing and on the opposite side of the court there’s a similar red line, along with a tree, some guards and-

Is that a doll?

Okay, that thing is seriously creepy.

Suddenly, a voice blasts from some hidden speakers around the arena,

“In this first game, you will be playing Red Light, Green Light. You may move when it shouts out Green Light, and must stop when it shouts Red Light. If your movement is detected after a Red Light, you will be eliminated.”

They have got to be joking. Chance has played this game since he was a kid and he’s not half bad if he does say so himself. With this many people, how are they even going to tell if he does move, though?

The doll turns around and a large digital clock above it shows 5 minutes. To cover that much ground? They’d have to all move fast.

The timer starts ticking down, and Chance - along with a couple others - take the opportunity and dash forwards, covering a bit of ground before the music stops and ‘Red Light’ reverberates through the field.

Luckily, Chance is able to stop and stay steady on his feet. However, one of the other first runners wasn’t so lucky and slips over onto his face.

The guy - donning the number 042 - stands up and laughs at who seems to be his friend, who also relaxes and steps forward to greet him.

Chance is about to do the same thing when a loud gunshot cuts off the guy’s tinny laugh and he falls to the floor, a steady stream of blood gushing from his head.

Oh.

Oh no.

The guy’s friend yells and turns to run but isn’t fast enough and takes a bullet to the chest, spraying Chance’s face with a stream of blood before the guy falls at his feet.

Don’t move.

Don’t move.

Don’t move .

Poker face, Chance. Stay silent. Stay still. Ignore the screams behind you. Ignore the gunshots and the sound of bodies falling.

Close your eyes until-

“Green Light!”

Chance shakily steps forward, settling into a steady speedwalk. He can’t afford to look behind him to assess the extent of the damage the initial panic caused, but the eerie silence clearly isn’t a good sign.

At the next red light, there are only a couple sounds of a gun being fired and he can’t help but wonder if that’s due to people realising what this ‘game’ truly is and standing still.

Or if there just aren’t any people left to shoot.

This time, he sacrifices precious movement time to look behind him and survey the scene.

Many people are still upright and moving, evidently terrified. So, so many lie unmoving behind them, clearly having been ‘eliminated’.

Chance is still one of the ones in the front, but with the rate everyone else is moving he may not be for much longer. Too quickly, he turns around and slips over just as the doll turns around again.

Unluckily for him, however, he catches himself. Now instead of being face-down in the sand, he’s in a press-up position and has to hold that for who knows how long.

His arms are beginning to tremble slightly and for a split second, for the first time in his life, he feels as if his luck has run out.

“Green Light!”

This is the point where he falls down face-first into the sand. He shakily gets to his feet but is suddenly roughly pulled up and half-dragged a couple of paces. He shakes off the hand and jogs beside the person on his own.

“What was that for?” Chance asks, clearly annoyed at the gesture.

“Saving your life. You might not have, Mr ‘I ran first and asked questions later’, but I had to watch at least a hundred people die there and from your reaction back then, you’re too valuable to let die.”

His question is answered by a man around his height with yellow skin and golden curls that seem to have frizzed slightly from the earlier panic. On his uniform is the number 317. He notices the small smirk Chance now has on his face and scoffs another response,

“Don’t get too full of yourself, pretty boy, I just didn’t want your blood on my shoes.”

“Awwww, you saved me because I’m pretty?”

“Shut up and move.”

They continue like that for around two minutes of the remaining time, running alongside each other and grabbing each other’s arms so neither fall during a red light.

At one point, a larger man ends up in front of the two, but stops in an unsteady position at the red light. Him overtaking them tripped up Chance a bit, and he ended up moving slightly to catch himself.

He stops and braces for the inevitable shot, but it never comes. He warily opens his eyes and sees that the guy is blocking the doll’s view of both him and part of his friend.

Speaking of the friend, he looks pissed that some rando just almost accidentally murdered his new ally. So much so that he reaches a hand forward and twists his fingers tightly into the man’s hair, causing him to look backwards and move his arm to dislodge him.

317 only grins as a loud gunshot rings out and the guy falls down onto the sand, staining it crimson.

At the next green light, Chance is about to ask him what the hell that was for, but instead looks up at the clock which now displays a very scary 10 seconds remaining.

They share a look of ‘Oh shit’ and both grab each other and sprint towards the finish line where many other contestants are also waiting for the game to end.

They pass it just as the final ‘Red Light!’ is announced and collapse on the sand, laughing like schoolchildren.

They lie there for a couple seconds before the adrenaline of their near-death experience wears off and the minor aches start settling into their legs from the running.

“Damn.” 317 breathes, “We are covered in blood.”

He looks down to their sides.

“And holding hands.”

Chance quickly sits up and pulls his hand back, nervous that he might have made his new friend uncomfortable at the accidental gesture. The other man just laughs and helps them both to their feet.

He stands about an inch shorter than Chance and has dark brown eyes. Slightly closer now, his hair appears slightly frizzier and in bigger curly coils than previously.

“My name’s Elliot, by the way. What’s yours? I mean- I assume we’re going to team up now and I’d rather not just call you 077 the entire time.”

“Chance.”

“You here because you gambled all your money away?”

“I- yeah.”

“Ironic.”

A flurry of loud gunshots interrupts their short conversation. The timer on the game has ended and everyone left in the area has been killed for failing to make it across.

Everyone left is either shaking and crying or swaggering their way between the guards leading them out; Chance and Elliot are definitely the latter, laughing and chatting their entire way back to the main rooms.

When they return, they make their way over to one of the beds on the inner circle of the room, surveying the scene before them.

People are yelling and crying at the guards to release them and to let them go home. Everyone is yelling all at once, bloodstained bodies pushing against one another to be the first to complain.

However, everything falls silent when the room is bathed in gold and a large glass piggybank is hung from the ceiling. Every time the player count on the large screen drops by one, a stack of cash falls into the golden glass with a satisfying thud.

The number stops at an even 290 and another number appears below it on the screen.

£16,600,000

Holy shit. That’s enough to pay off Chance’s debt and leave enough for him to buy a mansion. If he got his hands on that money-

How are people still asking to be let go? He gets that they might, y’know, die , but that money would be enough to cover almost everyone’s debt. Wait- overall it is, but if it’s shared, then… that’s nowhere near enough.

Someone interrupts the commotion, addressing the guards in a deep, calm voice.

“The third clause on the contract stated that if the majority rules, we all get set free. Is that correct? Why don’t we all take a vote?”

The man who spoke stands quite a bit taller than the others surrounding him and he does seem to contrast them quite a bit. He has charcoal-black skin and his torso seems to be glowing a sickly shade of green underneath his shirt. Long white braids hang from his head in a high ponytail and the one eye visible underneath his hair is a deep red.

The guards along with the players agree to the idea of a vote, and soon a small table-esque structure stands in the front of the room, just below the staircase leading out.

The players all gather at the back, with Chance and Elliot somewhat near the front. Now that the space is cleared, Chance can see two lines glowing faintly on the floor in blue and red, and outlines of an O shape and an X shape on each respective side.

The guard calls out the numbers in ascending order - well, if they’re still alive - beginning with 001. The woman steps between the red and blue lines as she approaches the podium, and hesitantly presses a button that glows a bright blue.

On the screen above, a vote count begins. 0 for the Xs, 1 for the Os. She is handed a blue patch which she attaches to her tracksuit, pushing her magenta hair out of the way as she walks over to the blue side of the room. The order continues.

Chance turns to Elliot,

“What are you going to do? Stay or go?”

“Stay. I need that money and what they’re offering to split among us isn’t nearly enough for what I need to do.”

“Same. That isn’t enough to cover a third of what I need.”

Not long after, the guard at the front calls 077 and Chance walks forward, confidently pressing the blue button imprinted with a large O. He attaches a blue patch also bearing an O onto his uniform and walks over to the blue side, giving Elliot a thumbs up and a wave as he goes.

The vote takes a lot of time, and Chance is getting bored waiting for Elliot on the O side. They’re only into the 200s, and with Elliot’s number being nearer the end he has a lot more waiting to do.

Someone walks up and stands right next to him, snapping him out of his bored daze. It’s the same guy from the start of the day - with the blue hair - and he stands there in silence, seemingly waiting for something. It might be for the end of the vote; it might be for Chance to turn around and talk to him. He’ll take that risk.

“Uh, hi there. Do I know you?”

The man turns to him as if surprised by the question, but relieved he was spoken to.

“No, but I was wondering - since you also voted O and seem to have nobody around you - would you like to join my team? I saw you run out first in that game we just had, and I think it would help to have that bravery in our team.”

“Oh- I.. uhh. I would love to have a team, but I’d have to ask my buddy first. We’ve already grouped up. It’s 317 over there - his name is Elliot, and mine’s Chance. You don’t mind?”

“Of course not! Safety in numbers, right? My name is Guest 1337, and this-” He beckons over the other man from the start of the day, number 007, “is 007n7. The number’s ironic, I know, but he’s a good guy.”

Chance introduces himself to them some more and gets a steady conversation going when Elliot walks up and casually interrupts the conversation with his presence.

He ends up getting along really well with Guest after introducing himself, but as soon as he sees that 007n7 is also in their group he stops talking and pulls Chance aside.

“I don’t think grouping with them is a good idea.” Elliot whispers with a serious look on his face.

“Why not? They seem nice enough for now.”

“That n7 guy. He’s a hacker.” Elliot sighs and explains more after seeing the blank look on Chance’s face, “He practically destroyed the place I work at a few months ago with his son. That’s the whole reason I’m here; we need more money to rebuild properly and get the place out of debt. Not to mention my own.”

“Oh. That’s… not good. But are you sure he’s a real threat here? He doesn’t look scary, just kinda sad.”

They talk for a couple more minutes, Guest and n7 watching in confusion at the heated whispering. Eventually, Chance manages to convince Elliot to tolerate 007n7 being within two metres of him and they walk back to the other two.

Guest leads them both over to a corner where he’s already set up a sort of base with unused, upturned beds guarding an area that has its floor scattered with mattresses.

At least they’ll be safe.

They grab a small box of food from the line and spend the rest of their night in their corner of the O side of the room, chatting about their lives and what they think the next game will be.

“You know,” 007n7 says through a mouthful of rice, “That first game was one we all played as kids, right? What if they’re all like that?”

“Possibly.” Elliot, for once, agrees with him, “So what could they be?”

His question is meant with deafening silence. Nobody really has any idea of plausible children’s games, let alone games that could kill people. In the middle of their little thinking circle, the lights on the room suddenly shut off, plunging the hall into darkness save the light glowing from the X and O lines in the centre.

007n7 gasps slightly at the sudden light shut off and is met with an “Oh, shut up.” from Elliot. The group seems to take this as an invitation to go to sleep and each find a blanket. They lie down on one of the mattresses strewn over the floor and sit in silence for a while.

“Hey guys. Guess what.” Chance whispers suddenly, waking up half the group.

“What. And this better be important.” Guest responds, clearly annoyed at the lack of sleep.

“All of our numbers end in 7. Isn’t that cool?”

There’s a pause where everybody lies in silence once more.

“Go to sleep, Chance.” Guest sighs, sounding disappointed.

“Yep, alright. Sleeping now. Look how not-awake I am.”

“Chance.”

“Sorry.”

Chapter Text

Noob can’t really remember how they even got here.

All they know is a whirl of mishaps and one incident that left them and their good friend in a lot of debt. It didn’t help at all that not long after, that friend disappeared, leaving all of the problems with Noob.

And now they’re stuck in some twisted ‘game’ where 166 people have already died.

Even though the whole ordeal isn’t really Noob’s fault, they still feel like it is.

They jolt awake at the sound of tinny music reverberating throughout the hall. Rubbing their eyes, they look to the small ‘team’ of people they were lucky enough to find.

Two of their teammates - 141 and 282 - were already arguing. Noob was never amazing with names, but could remember 1x1x1x1’s. He was the one to initiate the vote to leave, so Noob kind of clung to his side for his bravery and surprisingly, 1x let them.

Shedletsky was 282’s name, and he’s been nonstop arguing with 1x ever since they noticed each other in the game. Noob can’t help but wonder why they even teamed up, but they suppose it’s because it was too much work to make new ‘friends’.

Yeah, 1x definitely seems as if he’s waiting to use Shedletsky as a meat shield later.

Taph sits behind them, silently fiddling with a bit of string he likely pulled off a spare mattress, the number 404 partially obscured by a bandana tied around his head as a makeshift hood. He’s been very quiet, only communicating through sign language to Noob, but as long as they can understand him, they don’t mind how they speak. It’s not as if they’re the most talkative either.

The group stands around semi-awkwardly until the pink guards re-enter the room for the morning. Noob shudders at the prospect of another game and wonders how on earth people actually voted to stay in this thing - the vote is so close to an even 50/50.

They’d live a whole lifetime in crippling debt if it meant leaving this hellhole for good.

After a small breakfast, the guards announce that it’s time for the second game to begin, and lead the remaining players out of the doors and back into the colourful halls of the massive building.

Noob wonders if the entire place is actually really deep underground; they haven’t seen any windows yet while walking through this place.

Everyone left alive walks in a line through the pastel corridors of the building to reach the room many of them would never leave. Noob stays close to his groupmates, walking between Taph and 1x as they approach the doors.

When the doors eventually open, the players are let loose into what looks like a massive playground, with climbing equipment, swings and slides dotted around a large room with a sandy floor.

At the edge of the room are what looks like four doors with different shapes on them: a triangle, circle, star and umbrella.

The players are given about a minute to survey the area before the same voice comes back over the speakers to explain the rules of the game,

“Players. Please choose one of the four shapes on the wall. Once you have made your selection, please stand in front of it.”

Noob stands awkwardly with their group, wondering which shape to choose when nobody even knows what the game even is.

The triangle seems good- no, it looks too simple. The umbrella looks the most complicated, but what if it makes the game harder? It would be best to go somewhere in the middle, like the circle or the star.

They turn to their group, who seem to be looking at the shapes with the same expressions on their face, trying to figure out what they’re actually doing with them.

1x is the first to address the team, gravelly voice snapping everyone out of thought,

“Well, we’ve got two options here. Stay together or split up with one person going to each shape.”

“I think we should stay together,” Noob says quietly, “That way we can all use the same strategy.”

Shedletsky interrupts, “I disagree. Splitting up will guarantee we all do different things, but if we all pick one shape we could all die if whatever we're doing is too difficult.”

The discussion continues for a while longer, until the time limit is up. They agree on a mix of the ideas; they pick two shapes - star and triangle - and two people go to each.

Noob waits in line with Shedletsky in front of the star until the door eventually opens, revealing a circle-masked guard standing in front of a table stacked with small metal discs, most likely containers of some kind.

When Noob reaches the front of the line, they are given a small circle case, the metal cold against their already sweaty palm. They make their way underneath the slide in the middle of the room, lying down their jacket to sit on. The number 006 faces upwards for a moment before they lay the case on top of it.

“Players, please take a moment to open your containers and check the contents.”

Noob obliges, silently twisting open the lid that pops open with a little bit of force. Inside is a thin circle of brittle sugar candy marked with a star along with a needle.

A wave of memories crashes over them, bringing them back to a time where they would sit with their best friend in the grass as kids and crack apart these same sugar cookies, trying to break out the shape untouched.

Dalgona.

Noob drops the container, hands shaking and tears threatening to spill over. They always failed this game as a child. No matter how simple the shape, they somehow always managed to break it.

And now, with shaking hands, a timer and a gun practically pressed to their head, there’s practically zero chance of them surviving this.

“The second game is dalgona. You must remove the shape you have chosen entirely from the cookie. If you break or crack your shape, you will be eliminated. The time limit is ten minutes. Let the game begin.”

Noob lets out an audible sob this time, sitting down and trying not to look at the star shape that will get them killed. Even if they really tried their best, it would take far longer than ten minutes to get that shape out.

It would have been even worse had they gone for the umbrella.

Speaking of, they crane their head to look in the direction of a loud expletive yelled from another direction, only to see a man with grey skin, hair and black sunglasses with his hand over his face while his golden-haired friend laughs. Someone clearly got the umbrella, and while they do feel a little bad, Noob’s just glad it wasn’t them.

They wipe the tears from their cheeks and go back to looking at their star, only to see 1x inches from their face, making them jump. They wordlessly slide their container containing a triangle cookie towards Noob, then take their star shape.

“Cmon. Don’t waste more time sulking and get going.” 1x says, picking up the case and scratching at the shape with his needle, “They’ll still kill you if time runs out.”

“Is that.. allowed? Swapping with me?”

“They never said it wasn’t, so they can’t kill me for it. Should've been more clear with the rules if it was a problem.”

That sounds fair. Noob sits next to him and starts scratching at the indents in the cookie, glad for the easier shape yet wondering why 1x even swapped with them. Probably because they were sitting under a slide and crying like a little bitch. Yeah, that sounds about right.

They sit there in silence for about a minute before a loud gunshot rings across the room, making Noob jump and almost break the triangle. They hear a loud crack from next to them and look nervously to their right, where 1x is effortlessly removing half of the cookie surrounding his star.

He makes it look easy, and Noob is stuck there wondering how he doesn’t seem scared of breaking the shape at all.

More gunshots interrupt the silence of the room, startling every player and even causing some to lose the game. However, at about the 4 minute mark, an announcement is called not signalling a death.

“Player 404: Pass.”

Noob and 1x turn their heads to where Taph is holding up a perfect triangle in front of a pink guard and is promptly led through the doors leading back to the main room. Lucky.

Quite a few other players pass in the time it takes Noob to almost finish the triangle, making sure to be extra careful in case they crack it in an unexpected place.

1x finishes the harder shape long before them, and stands up to present it to the triangle guard standing almost right next to the pair. As soon as the intercom buzzes with a loud “Player 141: Pass”, 1x then proceeds to snap the cookie clean in two and eat it, turning to Noob with a smirk and a thumbs up as he’s led away.

They’re alone.

With barely any time remaining, even the guy from the beginning with the umbrella has already left. And here Noob is, struggling with a triangle and most likely the only one left with the easiest shape in the game. There’s just one final bit left…

10,

9,

8,

They’ve almost done it. They reach up and put pressure on the corner, trying to pry off the excess sugar cookie.

7,

6,

5,

It snaps, and Noob closes their eyes for a second, terrified just in case they see it broken in two.

4,

3,

2,

They open their eyes. A perfect triangle shape is sitting in their outstretched hand and they hurriedly show it to a guard.

1,

0.

“Player 006: Pass.” The intercom buzzes with the final pass of the game, “Your time is now up. All players who failed to complete their cookie in time are now eliminated.”
Noob lets out a breath they didn’t know they were holding and retrieves their jacket from the ground, shaking the sand from it as they walk down the pastel halls to reach the main room.

It’s different walking back alone. Everything feels so surreal and this is where Noob really realises just how alone they are in the game. Sure, they have a team, but what’s stopping them from turning on them just for some extra cash? They silently walk through the door held open by a guard and find their way to their team.

The group sits haphazardly on the top of one of the stacks of beds, and as Noob approaches they see Taph tap 1x and Shedletsky on the shoulders and point to them.

As they come down from the beds, the room is once again bathed in gold light and a sound akin to the insides of a casino plays as the raised piggybank is filled with even more money than before.

The number on the screen drops to 192.

Noob thinks back to all the people they left in the dalgona room after they passed the game, including more that died before due to cracking the cookie. All those people reduced to nothing but numbers; nothing but a stack of cash dropped into a glass pig.

Noob spaces out as they wait for this night’s vote to end, the numbers being called in reverse order meaning they have to wait an extra long time before being able to hit X again.

One by one, their groupmates leave to cast their votes and once again Noob is left alone. They cast a glance up at the score of the vote and it seems very close to the Xs winning it. If just a few more people vote X, then it would be a secured victory.

Noob snaps out of their trance as their number is called, walking forward unsteadily before hesitantly pressing the X button, being met with boos from the O side.

With only one more player voting - that being 001 - and her choosing O, the vote is split at an even 50/50.

96 players on each side.

There’s assorted murmuring on each side, everyone wondering what is going to happen. Will the games keep going? Will they only let the Xs back home and keep the rest? Does everyone leave?

A guard with a square mask steps forward, addressing the restless crowd.

“As the vote has ended in a tie, we will keep you all here overnight and recast the vote in the morning, in case any of you change your minds.”

They then step back and out of the room, leaving only a few circle guards manning the lines for dinner. Luckily, Noob and their group are near the front of a line and grab a small foil bundle before leaving to climb the bunk beds again.

As they open the foil wrap, they reveal a roll of sushi evenly cut up and ready to eat. How lovely.

Shed is the first to notice that something is wrong with the food - or more accurately what came with the food.

“Hey, I’m not amazing with this stuff, but you don’t need a fork to eat sushi, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Noob replies, holding up their own fork, “Why do you think they gave these to us then? A mistake maybe?”

“Okay, think.” says 1x, clearly already knowing what's going on, “What could a fork be used for other than eating?”

He makes a disappointed face at the blank stares and silence and points to the board, showing the voting results.

“ What do they want us to use the forks for, guys? ” he says as if addressing a trio of five year olds.

Taph makes a slight gasping sound, grabbing everyone’s attention before making a stabbing motion with his arm. 1x nods, and Noob feels a sense of dread wash over them.

There’s no escaping danger this time; there’s most likely not going to be anyone to save them but themself. There’s going to be a fight tonight and they don’t want to find themself in one of the pretty black coffins tied with a pink bow at the end.

The vote will not be equal by morning.

The lights turn off.

Chapter Text

Two Time is here for a single purpose.

The Spawn has blessed them with a golden opportunity: to bring hundreds of people into their arms as sacrifices and convert many to their beloved faith.

They refuse to waste that chance.

And now, with a pitch black hall and a sharp fork gripped tightly in their hands, they are ready to do whatever it takes to please their Spawn.

They were brought here for a reason, and the games ending early will surely make the Spawn disappointed in them for failing their task.

It’s no sacrificial dagger, but the silver fork will suffice.

Sneaking silently through the darkness, Two Time manages to find a small huddle of people - around two curled up in a corner. Stepping closer, they see that they both have an X marked on their uniform. Perfect.

Unfortunately for them, their face is now slightly illuminated by the glowing red X marked on the floor, and one of the two bolts. At the same time, Two Time lunges for the remaining X, grabbing their collar and pulling them down roughly to the floor.

They raise the fork, pointing it downwards at the man’s throat, but…

It might’ve been something about the look in his eyes, or the way his hair fell over his face or the way he barely struggled, but it reminded Two Time too much of someone they had killed before.

Someone very, very important to them. Someone who-

Two Time is shoved harshly to the floor, forcing them to let go of the man and almost discard their fork. No! There’s no time to think about Azure now. They’re gone. They are with the Spawn now, to grant Two Time a second life.

Wallowing in grief and despair now will only displease the Spawn and cause them to let people go. To fail their Spawn again. They can’t do that or it will all have been for nothing!

In the corner of their eye, Two Time spots a small huddle of people far on the X side. Four of them, to be exact. The tallest of the four seems to say something to the others before running off to the other side, leaving the three defenceless. 

Another leaves for where the bathrooms are - Two Time will remember to check that later - and the two remaining look relatively weak. One has a bandana over his head as a makeshift hood, meaning Two Time can’t see his face to judge his expression. However, the other, a thin person with short-ish yellow hair, looks absolutely terrified.

Two Time wants to tell them that it will be okay in the end; they want to tell them that it will be over soon and they will see the Spawn in the afterlife.

Instead, they prowl over to where they are sure not to see them and sneak up behind them. They grab the person’s collar and yank at it, making them lose their balance. The person’s dark eyes shine with terror as they shake on the floor, and Two Time mutters a short prayer to the Spawn before raising the fork high in the air.

They would’ve brought it down quickly. Painlessly. Instead, their wrist is grasped firmly as they let their arm fall, making them miss the stab. It grazes their sacrifice’s cheek, drawing blood as the person cries.

Snapping their head back to see who stopped them, Two Time sees the hooded man from earlier who, surprisingly, is decently strong.

They wrench their arm from his grasp, forgetting about their previous victim for a split second. Which is all the person needs to run away. The loud sound of heavy breathing and rapid footsteps from behind them notifies Two Time that they are gone, leaving all of their attention on the hooded figure.

The man is distracted for a second, waving frantically to their tall teammate from earlier, and Two Time takes full advantage of their diversion, lunging forward and sinking the fork into the person’s chest.

He stumbles back, gasping as blood spurts from his chest. The taller man sees this and runs over, tackling Two Time to the ground.

A large, clawed hand pins Two Time’s hand above their head, stopping them from attempting another stab. They catch a glance of the player’s number - 141 - and mutter out a small curse before addressing him directly.

“Player 141, may the Spawn curse you for stopping Their divine will.”

“What in the world are you on about?”

Of course he responds with blasphemy. The Spawn will surely make him repent in the future. Fortunately, the hooded man from earlier whom Two Time noted as ‘Taph’ from the yellow-haired person’s shout, has collapsed on the floor. 141 has turned to look at his almost unmoving body and Two Time uses his distraction to squirm away from him and drive the fork into his shoulder.

They slide over to Taph, rolling him onto his back and placing one knee on his chest as he gasps, dark blood soaking Two Time’s trousers. They raise the fork high and thank Spawn for the wonderful sacrifice before letting their arms fall, the fork finding a home in Taph’s neck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

007n7 stands in the corner, shaking horrifically.

Oh god, why has he gotten himself into his mess? Blood has already been painted over the walls near him and all he hears are screams as people ruthlessly attack each other to clear the vote.

He takes a shaky breath to clear his mind. He’s doing this for his son. C00lkidd means everything to him and he needs this money if he has any chance of caring for him.

He almost gave up once. This is his second chance - his chance to prove that he deserves to have a son.

Someone grabs his shoulder firmly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Chance stands next to him, smirking as always. Elliot is next to him, haphazardly attempting to juggle both of their forks and failing miserably.

“What are you waiting for? Guest’s already gone off on his own and me and Elliot can’t leave ya here!”

“Why not?” 007n7 responds, clearly wanting to curl up in a corner and cry.

“‘Cause Guest will probably get mad at us if he comes back and you’re dead,” Elliot interjects, “Also, we need the extra O vote.”

Even without being able to see through the sunglasses, 007n7 can tell that Chance just rolled his eyes. He swears under his breath as he hears a scream from across the room and starts to pull N7 with him and Elliot to the other side of the hall.

However, before they’re able to make it over, a stack of beds crashes down in front of them and a group of terrified Xs clamber over the wreckage, clearly just having escaped from a team of Os.

“Jackpot. C’mon!”

Chance grabs Elliot’s hand and the two rush after the escapees, leaving 007n7 alone in the middle of a pitch-black brawl armed with nothing but a fork.

He makes his way silently over to nearer the bathrooms, checking that he isn’t being followed before slipping inside, running through a narrow pastel hallway before diving into the men’s bathrooms.

And instantly wishes he didn’t.

At least three bodies lie on the floor, surrounded by pools of their own blood. One lies half face-down with a fork still buried in his throat. All around, people are fighting viciously, teeth to nails to neck to fork.

Guest is among them, attempting to drag a cat-like man with greasy hair off of him. 007n7 spots him and runs over as fast as he can without slipping in blood that has already saturated his shoes.

That is, he was running towards Guest. He was , until he found himself being smacked right in the face with a urinal divider. Hard.

It would be comical if it weren’t so painful.

He hits the ground as the wind is knocked out of him. Someone climbs on top of him, knee digging into his chest. He reaches to his side for his glasses which somehow found their way onto the floor in the commotion, pink edges making them easy to find.

The person raises their fork above their head with a sick grin, and 007n7 feels his stomach drop as he realises this is where he dies. In some random place with some random people. Insignificantly. And he’ll never see his son again.

He closes his eyes and tries not to cry right there. It seems to be taking a while before the impact, and he wonders if the guy is just hesitating or trying to toy with him.

The pressure lifts from his chest and a yelp comes from the guy previously pinning him down. 007n7 cautiously opens his eyes to see Guest 1337 holding the guy off the ground.

The other man manages to squirm out of his grasp and makes a feeble attempt to attack him before being roughly shoved against a wall. This continues for a few minutes more - the guy makes attempts to attack or escape and again, Guest throws him back.

It only ends when the guy steps too far, slipping in a pool of blood and pushing into Guest on his way down, leading to Guest shoving the man away and into one of the mirrors on the wall, shattering it.

The guy hits the edge of the sink as he falls to the floor, and as soon as he hits the slippery tiles N7 can see that he’s gone completely limp. With blood leaking from his head and evidently not breathing, it’s no surprise that he’s dead.

007n7’s hand is grabbed and he’s hoisted upright, coming face to face with a tired, bruised Guest. It doesn’t look like he’s had a good night. Dried blood spatters over his face and he seems as if he’s aged about a decade from the beginning of the night.

“Are you okay?”

Is the only thing 007n7 manages to hear through the ringing in his ears and his own heavy breathing. He shakily nods, still trembling from the ordeal.

Chance’s luck must be rubbing off on him though, as not 30 seconds later four pink guards storm the bathroom, guns pointed at every survivor of the fight.

They lead everyone out and into the now lit bed hall, where many of their teammates are waiting. The walk back seems to go by in a blur for N7 and he doesn’t register that he’s safe until he’s sitting on one of the beds. A square masked guard calls out that for the rest of the night, player violence is prohibited, leaving everyone to get some well-needed rest.

In the few minutes before the lights turn back out, 007n7 surveys the damage done in the hall.

Pools of blood with streaks across the floor clearly indicate where someone was killed, and many people - mostly from the O team - look annoyed and even disappointed that they aren’t allowed to fight anymore.

In one corner of the X side, a small trio huddle: one sitting down looking dejected while one comforts what looks like a small pile of tracksuit on the floor that upon further inspection is someone curled up in a ball crying. The taller one looks to have just laid his jacket over the crying figure in an attempt to make them feel better, most likely about a teammate’s death.

In a different area of the O side, a lone figure sits at the top of a stack of beds with their head down and hands clasped. They look to be praying to some deity, and their bony tail sways gently behind them, stilling as they end up falling asleep with their head between their knees.

Chance and Elliot sit side by side, muttering excitedly about the night and still breathing heavily from the adrenaline. They seem to be mostly unharmed; only Chance looks mildly hurt with a split lip and Elliot seems perfectly fine, if a little shaky.

The lights turn off once more, and even though he wasn’t expecting to, 007n7 finds himself drifting off into a dreamless sleep.