The Survival Games

Chapter Six: Predators and Powder

"Update: #11

Status: Cat"

I took a slow, measured step back.

Then another.

No one noticed—not yet.

#11 still basked in her moment of triumph, her breathing heavy, her hair matted to her temples with sweat and blood. She stared at the mutilated corpse she had turned into a stepping stone. The system had assigned her the role of Cat now.

But the way that the system hadn't stated anything else made it clear—this game wasn't finished.

A shiver crawled down my spine. This isn't going to end until only one of us is left. The game is making us hunt each other down now.

The realization wasn't new. It had been whispering in the back of my mind since the first elimination. But now, with the number of survivors shrinking and the word "Cat" echoing like a curse through the field, it was a sharp certainty.

We were being guided. Herded. Played.

The system had lied when it said we would find our roles through exploration. That was bait. What it really wanted was blood. Conflicts. A spectacle of survival.

We weren't players—we were predators in a cage.

I took another step back.

This time, someone noticed.

#5.

She was watching me from the corner of her eye, pretending to still look at #11. But I saw her glance flick toward me, then away, then back again. #5 also knew that the game isn't finished. She'd survived this long because she watched closely, listened better, and followed the right people.

And right now, that person was me.

Her fingers twitched at her sides as if uncertain, then slowly she mimicked my movements, subtly retreating into the tree-line one small step at a time, away from others.

Then it came.

The voice of the system echoed across the sky:

"Update: 5 players remaining. All others have been eliminated. Now Hunting Time"

No thunder. No dramatic music. Just cold, mechanical truth.

This update just proved that we are going to have to hunt each other down.

The air shifted. Heavier. Sharper.

Like the jungle had begun to breathe.

I didn't wait.

Run.

I turned and sprinted into the forest.

The sound of crunching leaves behind me told me #5 had followed, going in a different direction.

Leaves whipped past my face, branches scratched at my arms, and the undergrowth grabbed at my feet. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. My chest heaved, lungs begging for air. I didn't look back. But I knew that the rest of the players were running like animals chased by predators.

My jaw clenched as I broke left through the brush and looked around for something I could use. I knew I couldn't keep running around like a headless chicken.

I dove behind a tangle of low brush and curled beneath a large hollowed-out log, my chest rising and falling like a drumbeat in my ears. Sweat dripped down my back. The silence around me was deafening. Every snapped twig, every leaf shifting in the wind, felt like a trap.

I needed to find somewhere to rest so I could restore my stamina and think about my next step.

I hid behind the large trees and sat down puffing heavily.

The current situation was a disadvantage for me.

They'd come for me.

#11 would want an easy kill—and I was going to be her target since I looked like the weakest. Physically, at least—slim arms, lean legs, no bulk. She would also want to kill me because she couldn't do it before. And with her secret weapon, she'd be confident she would win. That's what she would think.

But I wasn't defenseless.

I opened the system screen with a flick of my hand. The screen had a home screen with a shop and skills button. A flicker of hope lit my eyes. I sat upright and clicked on the shop button. A list of various weapons appeared as I scrolled down.

My hand paused at a small gun, and I looked at the description. "Can be hidden easily, used for quick combat and for faraway enemies."

This could be something I could buy. My hand flinched when I saw how much it was—$1,000 game points. My eyes moved to my balance: $10 game points. I clicked on other weapons, and they were all in the $2,000 to $950,000 range.

I quickly closed the shop. The weapons weren't something I could afford. Then I clicked on the skills button.

The Cat Role panel pulsed at the top, a soft golden glow. I tapped it.

Unlocked Ability: AGILITY

– Enhanced speed

– Rapid directional shift

– Precision balance and acceleration

– Reflex adaptation

So this was what saved me earlier.

I hadn't had a chance to test it fully. But now… now I needed every edge I could get.

I stood slowly, looked at a narrow opening between two trees, and focused.

Agility.

The world bent slightly as power surged through my limbs. I felt as if my body had become lighter.

I moved.

I became faster.

Left. Right. Up a moss-covered log and down again without losing balance. I darted through a tangle of hanging vines, rolled beneath a jutting tree root, and climbed halfway up a slope without slipping once.

I smiled. My chest burned, but my legs were stable. My footing sure.

This was it. This was my advantage. I could survive with this.

...

Seven minutes passed and the system broadcasted the death of #5 and #13.

It wasn't long before I encountered him—#1.

He was leaning casually against a tree, but as soon as our eyes met, he straightened.

He looked even worse than before—more blood, cracked glasses, shirt torn, but his eyes were still calm. Too calm.

"#17, you're going to be my kill."

I didn't reply. I observed him and wondered how he could still be alive with all those wounds.

He rushed me.

Faster than before—stronger.

Surprised at how strong he had gotten, I leapt backward, using agility to flip over a root and land behind him. He turned, swinging a rock.

I ducked, slammed my foot into his knee, and heard a crunch. He screamed and collapsed.

Without hesitating, I tackled him and wrestled vines from the ground, tying his arms and legs tightly.

He didn't struggle. He just laughed, soft and eerie.

"You figured it out, didn't you?" he asked.

"So you've died," I said. "You've turned into the tumors, right?"

He nodded, blood bubbling at the edge of his mouth.

"It's the only way," he whispered. "You die, and then you're stronger. Better. Your body is rebuilt."

I didn't hesitate anymore.

I grabbed the sharpened rock and drove it into his chest. Deep. Again. Until he stopped speaking.

The system broadcasted:

"#1 Eliminated"

I stood slowly, panting, covered in blood again. I didn't even shake. Not anymore. Just a dull, distant ache somewhere in my chest.

I clenched the sharp rock in my pocket, turned, and ran back toward the clearing where I'd last seen #11.

I was done running.

She would come for me anyway.

I may as well finish it.

...

When I returned to the clearing, #11 was waiting.

She turned, smirking when she saw me. "Back already?"

I said nothing.

She walked forward slowly, hands behind her back.

Her movements were smooth, rehearsed.

I stepped sideways.

She mirrored me.

"Why are you avoiding me, #17?" she asked in a mock-hurt voice. "Are you scared of little old me?" she taunted. "You think running will save you?"

Her left hand remained clenched. I didn't speak. I just moved—darting to the left, then right, keeping distance between us, watching her hand.

She was hiding something. Waiting to get close.

But time was ticking. I had to act to get her to show her cards.

I moved first.

I dashed toward her, then veered at the last second. She tried to match my motion, but I was too quick. I feinted again—then stopped just short of her.

Then she exploded forward, her hand flying open.

A white powder burst out.

Reflex. Instinct. I caught her wrist mid-throw.

She gasped.

She screamed, reeling backward.

I stopped breathing and quickly moved away from her. #11 looked dazed for just a few seconds. But that was enough.

She shook her head and snapped out of it, snarling. "YOU—" anger blazed across her face. "You bastard!"

So that's what it was.

A dazing agent. Not fatal. But enough to make someone freeze. To let her strike.

She'd planned to use it up close, when someone trusted her, when they let their guard down.

She came at me, shrieking, "I deserve to win! My family built this country! We own people like you!" slashing a hidden knife from her boot—I barely sidestepped it.

Her rage was blinding her. It made her slow.

Still, every move was a risk. A heartbeat from death.

I feinted left. She overcommitted.

I circled around her, quickly dodging her every move.

She spun, panting.

"You think you're better than me?" she snapped. "You're nothing! A background character! I was born to survive!"

I didn't respond.

Let her scream. Let her burn her stamina and strength.

I just watched.

Waited for the perfect time.

And then… I moved.

To be Continued....