The Survival Games

Chapter Five: The Rotten Game

The four of us walked in silence—me, #5, and #13 forming a tight cluster, with #11 trailing behind, keeping her distance. The only sound came from our feet crunching through withered leaves and the faint electric buzz that always lingered in this unnatural world.

I stared ahead, but my mind was spinning behind my eyes.

The rules of this game were never meant to help us.

At first, we were told the roles of Cat and Mouse would be discovered in the field—as if they were preassigned, hiding somewhere among trees and ruins, waiting to be found like hidden treasure. But that was a lie. A trick. A way to lull us into movement, to create chaos, to sow distrust.

The truth was simpler. Blood earns the role. Death decides your fate.

We were being watched, manipulated, and forced into a performance none of us volunteered for.

That thought simmered in my chest like acid.

Ahead, the trees opened to a wide field covered in pale grass that shimmered faintly, as if frosted by something unnatural. And standing in the center—like he'd been waiting—was a man.

He wore a spotless black suit. Glasses. Neatly combed hair. A soft, calculated smile curled on his lips.

His tag read #1.

He looked like a professor, or maybe a CEO—completely out of place in a world built on carnage.

But what surrounded him was far from clean.

Three massive, gooey, smelly tumors pulsed and twisted on the ground around him. They were about the size of full-grown men, shaped like bloated, twitching sacs of meat, dripping pus and steaming in the sun.

#5 gagged and pinched her nose. #13 swore under his breath.

I tried not to recoil, but even the air stank of rot.

#11 hesitated behind us, her face contorted in disgust.

Only #1 remained calm. Peaceful. Like a shepherd standing beside three bloated sheep.

"You've arrived," he said smoothly, smiling at us like an old friend.

#5 narrowed her eyes. "How did you know we'd be here?"

#1 adjusted his glasses. "This is the only place Cats are drawn to. The system always pulls us toward one another eventually."

He turned slowly and looked down at the tumors.

"I killed them."

We froze.

"What?" #13 said.

"They were players," he said, like he was explaining the weather. "Now… they're something else."

As he spoke, the tumors began to twitch.

I stepped back. My pulse rose.

From the corner of my vision, I saw something move in the trees.

A shape.

A man.

Then he charged.

It was #22—bloodied, wild-eyed, screaming with a jagged rock raised above his head. He ran straight toward me and #5.

We dove out of the way.

The rock slammed into the dirt.

#5 scrambled to her feet, her face pale. "Why is he alive?!"

I stared at the thing that used to be #22.

"So it's true," I whispered. "They're not dead. They… grew back into humans. From those tumors."

Behind us, the other two tumors began to stretch and rip. From their pulsing forms, human shapes began to emerge—twisted, half-decayed versions of the players #1 had "killed."

#13 swore again and backed away.

#11 stumbled behind him, face white with panic.

"Run!" #1 yelled.

And we did.

We ran through the field, the smell of rot chasing us, the snarls and laughter of the resurrected players close behind.

But something was wrong.

My lungs weren't burning. My legs weren't cramping.

I was running faster, longer, harder than I ever could before.

We weren't human anymore.

And they—those monsters behind us—weren't either.

I looked back and saw #22 laughing, his movements sharper, faster. His skin was pale and veiny, and his fingers looked clawed.

They are running faster and faster. It's a matter of time that we are going to be caught by them. I need to do something to stop them...but what is it?

Suddenly a light flickered in my eyes

The longer they live… the stronger they become.

If we ran, we'd be hunted down sooner or later. The only way is to try to kill them to prevent them from becoming stronger and stronger.

I stopped running.

"Don't run!" I yelled. "They get stronger the longer they're alive!"

#5 stopped beside me immediately, trusting me without question.

But the others—#11, #13, even #1—kept running.

"Fight now!" I shouted. "It's the only way!"

I grabbed a rock, then a crumbled piece of concrete—maybe a fallen brick from the dome structure. As #22 charged again, I threw the rock at his face.

It cracked against the wound he had. He stumbled, shrieking "YOU...JUST YOU WAIT. I WILL CATCH YOU AND TORTURE YOU!"

#5 picked up a heavy branch and began swinging it at one of the half-formed players crawling from the tumors.

Finally, the others stopped.

#1 turned and narrowed his eyes, watching.

#13 gritted his teeth. "Screw it."

He ran in, fists swinging.

#11 followed reluctantly, muttering curses under her breath.

The fight was chaos.

Blood flew. Rocks cracked bone. Bricks crushed limbs. The resurrected players shrieked and clawed like wild animals, but their strength waned the longer we struck them down. 

"Participant #22 .Status: Dead

Finally, #22 is dead. I puffed and looked around to see what is happening around me. #5, #13 and #11 all had killed the resurrected players that were chasing them. Then I looked around to find #1 calmly—walked over, sat on top of the twitching body, and began punching it in the face. There was a large smile on his face as he punched the resurrected player...

Over.

And over.

And over.

Blood sprayed his glasses. His smile never faded.

We all stared and stood still.

#13 looked horrified. #5 trembled beside me. Even #11 stepped back.

He wasn't calm.

He was crazy.

Eventually, #1 stood up, breathing hard, his hands drenched in gore.

#11 took a cautious step forward.

"I want the Cat role," she said. "Let me kill that one."

#1 tilted his head. "No."

She grew angrier. "Do you know who I am?! My family controls half the corporate sectors in the country. Energy, biotech, weapons, political security—we own the people who own everything."

She stepped forward, her eyes blazing. "If you let me take the kill, I'll owe you. Anything. My family can make your name disappear. Or make you famous. You choose."

#1 didn't move.

"I'll agree to any condition," she added, her voice trembling with rage and entitlement.

That made him stop.

He stood up. Spread his arms wide with his blood-soaked hand, smiling like a gentleman welcoming a guest to a banquet.

"By all means," he said.

#5 looked down, muttering. "If I knew that letting her have the kill I should've let her kill #22… could've gotten that money…"

She stepped forward, practically vibrating with fury.

She stepped forward, rage lighting her face.

She knelt on top of the mangled body of the resurrected player

Behind her calm facade was a boiling storm.

She grabbed a large rock with both of her hands and smashed it on to the body. Blood gashed over her pale white face and she smashed the rock again and again onto the body. 

She raised the rock above her head "I could have had the first kill. That pathetic boy—#17—shouldn't even be alive. He should be the killed by me."

She brought the rock down—once. Twice.

The blood sprayed up her arm

"Why does someone who lives in the slums get the role of Cat"

She repeatedly smashed the rock until she was tired. 

She wasn't just trying to kill the body.

She was venting every emotion—her hatred of being denied, her disgust for the lower class, her frustration that she hadn't been the one to kill me earlier.

The system buzzed.

"Participant #11 — Role Update: CAT.Number of Eliminations: 1Status: Active."

#5 and #13 looked away from the scene in disgust. #1's expression could not be seen as he placed his face down.

I sat next to a tree away from the participants, watching it all unfold. It looks like she does have something hidden in her sleeves. 

Now... I need just to think of a plan to find out what she has....

To be Continued....