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Chapter Text

—KISHI bobbed her head to the static of the song coming through the headphones, her hands moving across the generator and regulator tank. Her tools were crude—nothing like the precision instruments she once had access to—but they served her well enough. Aguni had gone to "great lengths" to find these materials, according to Hatter, so she should "be grateful".

Yeah, well, they should be grateful she didn't care about upholding her code of ethics nowadays. Her license would have been revoked instantly for what she was allowing to slide down here.

Lucky for her, if and when the place did blow up (the chances were rather high), people would just blame the shit luck they'd all been granted since coming here. And honestly, it may be doing them all a mercy.

The unsteady hum of the generator overpowered the headphones for a second, a reminder of how tenuous the setup truly was. Propane wasn't meant to sustain this kind of operation, not at this scale. The inefficiencies were glaring: energy loss through heat, inconsistent pressure from the aging tanks, and the strain on a system jury-rigged from salvaged parts. This wasn't engineering—this was what they, in the field, called an abomination and a human hazard.

Fitting, she supposed, for the operation they were running here.

Abominable.

Her bare fingers traced the frayed edges of a wire. The infrastructure of the city was a corpse, its veins of power severed. Whatever event had brought them here had obliterated the grid—an EMP, maybe, or catastrophic failure across the network. 

However, that didn't explain away the disappearance of literally everybody except for less than 1% of Tokyo. Mass evacuation, maybe.

But then, why had they all missed out on that announcement from the government, if true? 

Fishy, if you asked her.

But she chose to stop dwelling on the how's of everything after her third game where there was an obvious breach in Newton's laws of motion. If she could no longer rely on physics, she could no longer rely on anything.

The propane hissed faintly as she adjusted the regulator. She glanced over her shoulder at the stockpile of tanks the militant group made up for her. Every trip they went out to retrieve more, and every time they came back with a little less. Soon enough they'd come back empty handed.

Hatter had once asked if she could get the processing plant up and running, so they could have an infinite supply of fuel. She had given him quite the disappointed stare, channeling all of her dwindling faith in humanity into it. Sure, she had gone to school where he hadn't, but anybody with two cells to rub together in their brain knew that was impossible.

Without resupply, this fragile lifeline would run dry, and the lights would go out for good. Solar might work if she could scavenge enough panels, but the city's unnatural haze in this other-world made that an unreliable solution. Wind turbines were laughable with the materials she had, and hydro? There wasn't a drop of moving water nearby. The bay didn't receive enough wave action for that, and no way was she conjuring up some way to transport energy from hundreds of kilometers away where it did.

"Would you consider, I don't know," she shrugged, even though she did know, "telling people to turn their room lights off before leaving for the day? Or, Kami forbid we limit the parties to 23/7."

Hatter blinked at her, and she got the feeling he was going to say no.

"I mean, the last thing you want is for everything to shut off right as Daisuke's about to crowd surf again. That would be a hazard in the pitch dark." She was appealing to a part of him that she wasn't sure actually existed. "We're going to be running on fumes in a month, and that's me already counting on Aguni to come back with at least 3/4 of what he brought back last time."

Hatter smiled at her then, in a placating way. "You're telling me a lot of sad things, Kishi."

"Sorry to bring a bad vibe to paradise," she muttered.

"How, with the suggestions you've given me, are we supposed to uphold Rule 2?" he asked, as if that should be her main concern.

Rule 2: You are free to give yourself alcohol poisoning, and have as many bad trips as you want. Oh, and you can simultaneously be having the best sex of your life. Killing is not entirely off the table, even. Whatever you want whenever you want!

"I don't see how those things are mutually exclusive," she said lowly. "Having sex in the dark is fun, right?"

At this, she could see a vein pop in Kuzuryu's forehead. He pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. Poor guy; he really should have been used to the vulgarity by now.

"You're saying I need to give my people a curfew?" Hatter surmised.

I never said that. "I mean, a curfew could definitely lower—"

"Blasphemy!" he rudely cut her off, and she gaped. He was gasping in shock at his own idea!

"Danma, I don't think she was proposing a curfew," Kuzuryu came to her rescue, though it seemed like he was still going to burst a blood vessel. "Perhaps just a small cut back on the strobe lights...and the black lights...and the neon lights...and the—"

Oh, he would like that. Kishi was pretty sure he once led a quiet, strictly regimented life. He probably despised the constant parties.

"Kuzuryu, that's worse than the curfew!" Hatter cried.

"What if I do some recon in the next week to see what hours of the day would be less affected if we restricted the light-show and the waterworks and the music?" she asked, offering herself up for a job that she definitely didn't want to do. Quieter, she said, "Maybe the Beach will benefit from some quiet."

Kuzuryu was practically begging with the back of Hatter's head to agree.

"Fine, if you must," he sighed dramatically. "But as soon as I hear an uproar of complaints, we're going back."

"Sure," she offered. "I'll get back to you with my findings."

"Dismissed." He waved her away, as if swatting a fly—which she imagined he did think of her as such. "And go put on a proper uniform, you look ridiculous."

She had already begun walking to the door when he said this, but she slowed and looked at him for the last comment. Looked him up and down. Twice.

And he was calling her ridiculous.

As soon as she exited the room and shut the doors, she swore to herself. She did not want to count bodies at the pool and in the ballroom club at the top of each hour. Why had she offered that?

Honestly, she could probably get away with fudging some numbers. He'd believe her if she said no one was wanting to light up and fuck bitches at 6AM everyday. That was just not acceptable behavior, even in this hellhole.

Passing a mirror in the hall, she stopped to look at the ridiculousness. 

Surfwear was swimwear. She needed the long sleeves for some sort of protection from stray live wires in the basement. And the cargo shorts were utilitarian—all the pockets for her tools. Ridiculous, she scoffed.

But...she did have to change out of this particular set, anyways. The gasoline smell tended to drive people off, and that wouldn't be a bad thing, but they tended to drive off in the direction of Niragi. And Niragi was none too eager to taunt her with a lighter. This also wasn't a bad thing, because she knew the fumes would not be enough to catch fire. The bad thing was Niragi's presence itself.

Like it was so bad.

Like so so bad.

"What's that ugly look for, Demon?" he asked, returning her sneer in equal fervor.

He had been walking up the stairs as she was going down. And she couldn't help the expression as soon as she caught sight of him.

"I was hoping you'd perished in your game last night. This is the face of lost hope." She pointed to her grimace.

He stomped up the remaining four steps between them and got in her face.

Too close, her frown deepened. She could practically taste his nasty ass cologne.

"Say that again," he spat.

"Oh, sorry, was I mumbling again? I said," she continued in a much more enunciated voice, "I was hoping you'd—"

The barrel of his rifle went straight into the soft pocket under her jaw, painfully jabbing there. She glanced down without moving her head—the safety was off, as he was in the habit of keeping it. Never knew when he had to beat somebody in a quick draw. She dearly hoped he misfired one day while he was making out with it.

"Shut up, Demon," he said through gritted teeth.

"But you—"

"I'm about to paint the wall with your brain," he swore. He dug the barrel further into her skin.

"Well, alright! Maybe the sight of my brains could then inspire these people to become smarter." She grinned. "Goodness knows this place could use some more intelligence."

And he was not going to argue with that. Because he couldn't. He was a psychopathic genius—emphasis on the psycho, but he was still a genius. He knew they were in the presence of intellectual inferiors.

"You're lucky you've got diplomatic immunity," he said lowly. "Or else I would have rid this world of you weeks ago."

Ah, the hidden benefits of being the only one with the capability/willingness to run the place (mechanically and electrically speaking). She was certain that the moment someone came around with even half the experience she had, her position would de-stabilize, but for now, she was untouchable.

She did have to maintain that she never joined any games with Niragi, though. He was not above strangling her at the earliest possible chance, and then blaming the game for her untimely demise.

He gave one last shove of his gun into her jaw before shouldering past her. She brought her thumb up to rub at the sensitive spot, feeling the indents of where he'd been pressing.

What a dick.

Looking over the stairwell railing to see who—if anybody—had caught a glimpse of that animalistic display, she found the newcomer blatantly staring.

She remembered his induction two days ago, and he'd been quite the obedient kidnappee in Hatter's interrogation chair. He brought a couple cards to the table, one of which they already had, but the executives only turned people away if they truly seemed like a lost cause or if they posed too much of a risk.

She didn't move from her spot nor did she look away. It was less of a challenge for him than it was for her to maintain eye contact, she could tell.

He lifted his hand in a wave, a small smile coming and going so quickly that she knew she would have missed it if she hadn't been so focused on the staring. He walked off, flipping up his white hood to cover his platinum dye-job.

She snickered at the sound of his new rubber slides squeaking with every step.

The trek back to her room was not long; the executive rooms were all near the head honcho's. Ready to all move over one space as soon as someone kicked the bucket, like roly-polies. She hoped it didn't happen anytime soon, because she'd made a real home for herself in this current room.

Decor that she'd filched from all over the city. Little gadgets that could probably earn her some suspicious glares from the other execs. A Heckler & Koch MP5K that she'd disassembled for fun (a passion project she quickly lost steam for, but she was planning on returning to any day now).

It was a right mess, but she liked it that way.

She changed out of her gasoline-infused, long sleeve wetsuit and cargo shorts, trading them out for a near identical top, only this time, in a different color, and a pair of bikini bottoms. The colors and patterns hardly matched, but she was down to the dregs of her supply; she would need to bring her dirty clothes down to the washing rooms, lest she risk leaving herself no choice but to wear an actual complete bikini.

She walked over to her balcony, unlocking the double doors (yes, she knew locking them was pointless when the main doors' locks were all disabled, but it was the principle of it) and stepping out. She liked this vantage point; it gave her ample people-watching opportunities.

It gave her a good feel for what kind of talent was coming in and out.

The pool was a tangle of bodies, limbs thrashing and drinks spilling. A lifeguard would struggle to find a drowning child screaming for help. Kishi could not recall anyone drowning so long as she'd been there, despite their lack of a lifeguard—proven by the graffitied 'Pool Rules' sign. It was a miracle, really, considering how drunk minds thought they were capable of anything and everything—including breathing underwater.

The perimeter of the pool was equally as packed with people, grinding and twisting to the bass in ways that the lifeguard-they-didn't-have would have whistled at them for.

There were easily eighty people down there, and likely that, or more, in the ballroom club. Then she guessed another hundred wandering around the premises, out on searches, or sleeping the day away to party all night.

She frowned.

Whenever the numbers swelled like this, there always—coincidentally—happened to be a high-value culling game around the corner. It was the universe's (or whatever the controlling body was) way of keeping the numbers down to a manageable amount. She wasn't going to say that this was good news, but places had occupancy limits for a reason.

She'd once offered up the idea to Hatter to find another location—a second branch for the spill-over. He had shot it down instantly, sure that it would open the door for rebellion. Paranoia was his best pal.

She carefully rolled up the sleeve of her right arm, finding her checkboxes nearly all filled up. Clicking her tongue, she rolled it back down.

Bad luck.

She would be in the game-roster tomorrow night.

Maybe she could hope the high-value card would skip over her. But hope, she found, had jinxing properties in this other-world.

With a sigh, she turned away from the balcony, letting the sound of the yard fade into the background. 

Inside, she settled into her makeshift desk, picking up the napkin sketch she'd drawn that morning—a rough design for a hydraulic grapple—and inspected it. The materials weren't hard to come by, in theory, but retrieving them without someone questioning what she needed them for was difficult.

She could only use the excuse of "making improvements to the network" so much before Aguni got wary. And when he got wary, he went to Hatter. Which brought us back to the paranoia.

Setting the napkin aside, she would work with what she did have.

From the dresser, she retrieved her heavy duty pipe bender. She contorted three rebar she'd picked up at a destroyed arena into fishhook shapes and set them on the ground near the door—a reminder to take them down to the basement where the welder was.

Next, she grabbed a set of brake calipers from a deconstructed bike, screwing them onto the spool and handle of an old fishing rod. She unwound the fishing line, testing the mechanism as she worked. Later, she'd have to replace it with a thinner steel cable, but for now, it would do.

Finally, she tinkered with a hydraulic pump, disconnecting and reconnecting high-pressure tubing to the spool's piston and the calipers.

Gently clutching up on the brake calipers, the pump whirred to life, spinning the axel. A smirk tugged at her lips as she set it down.

The main body of the device was complete. She still needed a few more components to perfect it, but it was a start.

A loud knock at the door made her jump.

"Kishi? You in there?" A vaguely familiar voice traveled through.

She stood, glancing at her greasy hands before using her foot to pull on the handle of the door. Beyond the door stood a girl that might have been named Tsubame...or Saori...or maybe something entirely different.

"Hi," the girl smiled prettily, "Sorry to bother you, but there are a couple...toilets in the main floor girls' bathroom by the club that are clogged...and the normal maintenance guy is nowhere to be found. Niragi said to find you."

Kishi would kill him. She would give him a swirly in a clogged toilet, and then kill him.

She was not a plumber.

Blinking and biting back the immediate urge to slam the door and pretend she hadn't been there, she sighed. This girl seemed nice enough. "I'll be down in a bit."

"Thanks, you're the best!" The girl—Tsubame or Saori or whatever her name was—grinned and flounced back down the hall.

It turned out someone had tried to flush a swimsuit in one stall and the other just had a faulty flapper that she replaced. She thanked her stars that that was it.

She got a round of cheers from a passing group of girls as she exited. Across from her, the door to the men's room was nudged open and White Hoodie appeared.

He took one look at the small toolbox and the plunger and raised a brow.

Seeing no other option than to make it more awkward, she said, "I'm not a plumber."

"Ah." He nodded, as if that answered a question, even though it hadn't.

"So don't come to me for stuff like that," she insisted, pointing at him with the plunger. "You go to Aki-san for that stuff."

He nodded, eyes betraying an amusement that his mouth didn't show.

"Glad we established that." She clicked her tongue, giving him a nod. "Well, welcome to the Beach."

And she left him and his non-smirk behind.

Chapter Text

—ACCORDING to the algorithm, the arena they were hurtling towards at breakneck speed was going to be a Diamond arena...and it probably wasn't going to be too high-level. The algorithm was wrong sometimes, of course—it was susceptible to blind spots just like humans were and Kuzuryu could only be so perfect in his assumptions—but it was rare.

She sincerely hoped this would not be one of those times.

She'd asked specifically for a Diamond or Club. Spades she avoided as much as possible. She was not unfit, but she also knew her chances of success significantly dropped when she was surrounded by militants (Coincidence? Probably not. Niragi was most certainly all up in their heads about how she was the devil incarnate).

Hearts always happened to be the ones that trumped the algorithm, popping up where a Diamond or a Spade was supposed to be. Kishi was never all that happy on those occasions; Hearts involved great perception and the ability to trust while being trustworthy. All of those things she was quite lousy at.

She slammed her hands against the headrest in front of her, bracing herself as the car careened into a sharp turn. Pressed uncomfortably against the door, she felt the jarring force of inertia pulling her further into the cramped space. Beside her, the newcomer, seated awkwardly in the middle of the backseat, tried his best not to lean into her. His body stiffened, resisting the inevitable collision of their shoulders.

But as the car reached the apex of the turn, he gave in to the physics of the moment. His arm shot out, bracing against the door like hers, his movement forcing him to stretch awkwardly across her front.

Her gaze dropped to his arm, positioned mere inches from her face. The faint scent of polyester—a sterile, slightly sweet chemical tang—rose to meet her nose. He kept his head turned deliberately away, as if pretending the contact didn't exist.

As soon as he was able, he yanked his arm back into the safety of his bubble.

The car straightened out, but that was only for a moment before their driver took another sharp turn. This time, Kishi was the one pressed up against the white jacket of her seat mate.

"You don't suppose five above the speed limit is fast enough?" she called to the front seat. The dude in charge of this Datsun 510 glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "At this rate, we'll be waiting at the game table for a half hour twiddling our thumbs."

"I'm sure we can find something to occupy our time," he said, grinning maniacally. The man riding shotgun cackled, loud and unrestrained.

It was an innuendo, she was sure, but his expression was a little too deranged. Maybe instead of sex he was suggesting they commit arson. A favorable alternative, actually.

"Disgusting," came a quiet mutter from her left.

When she glanced over, White Jacket was looking down at the center console, head swaying with the driving. She smirked and looked back out the window. In the distance, the arena came into view—a gleaming, towering structure of glass and steel. Corporate looking.

Enclosed enough to be a Diamond, sure.

She was not a business-forward thinker, really. Certainly wasn't communicative—not in a conducive way, at least.

The car screeched to a halt outside the venue, skidding halfway onto the curb. The sudden stop sent her careening forward, but she didn't wait for the driver to cut the engine. Swinging her door open, she stumbled out of the death trap, grateful to be on solid ground again. Old cars were not built to maneuver like that.

A fleeting, dark thought that she hoped the man would not be the one to drive them back came and went. She didn't wish death upon him, but maybe if he broke a leg or suffered a concussion...

It wasn't a likely thought, considering how these Diamonds typically went. Most of the time, it was a live or die sort of game; you either knew the stuff or you didn't. But again, they could still get unlucky and waltz right into a Spade or Heart.

She was first through the barrier, hearing the little chirp of registration. Five more chirps followed in quick succession, and she paused. Their car could only hold five people—unless someone had been stuffed in the trunk, which, disturbingly, wasn't unheard of. Turning to glance over her shoulder, she spotted an unfamiliar face trailing them nervously. A high school girl, judging by her uniform and the wide-eyed panic etched into her expression.

By the blood on her blouse, she must have already competed in something since arriving here. She looked relatively unharmed, though. Perhaps she'd stick it out a bit longer.

Kishi was rooting for her, truly.

The front reception desk had all the cellphones. Only six set out.

She wondered how it—God, the universe, the game makers, what have you—always knew how many were going to participate. Never had she seen too many or too little cellphones. Cameras were involved, probably. Watching people around the arena. Or it was proof they were living in a simulation. Or maybe it truly was an omniscient being—and everything was predestined.

Kishi was still trying to come to terms with which theory she wanted to gaslight herself into believing. She was leaning toward predestination; it took the pressure off. Whatever that was, would be.

She grabbed a phone and quickly wandered to a comfy lounge chair as the facial recognition loaded in the app interface. She'd really rather not get caught in the clutches of the driver, not after his strange suggestion.

An immediate, "Registration has closed," erupted from the speakers.

So much for arson.

Participant limit. That didn't bode well for the chances of survival for more than one player. Well, she supposed, she'd rather that than witness the massacre that was likely to occur across the city in a few minutes.

"There are a total of 6 participants."

And for the part everyone held their breath for.

"Difficulty: Five of Diamonds."

A happy medium in the suit that she preferred. What a relief, she smiled. However, it was a repeat card, and that always put Hatter in a foul mood these days. Whatever, she was not in charge of keeping him pacified—that was left up to the four idealist execs ahead of her.

Looking up, she found White Jacket in a corner, one leg up on the wall behind him. She wondered if he already knew what suit...suited him. She had no trouble imagining this was right up his alley. Just seemed like a Diamond guy: observant and a little unsettling.

Driver and passenger also seemed okay with the difficulty—they'd been placed in the Diamond group for a reason, no doubt. The other member of their car—ag girl in a one piece bikini and shorts—was fidgeting over by the coffee machine—perhaps a random placement. And the younger girl...well, it looked like the card made no difference to her; she was shivering.

"Game is 'Ascension Protocol'."

"Rule: one participant per elevator. Find clues to develop a sequence to the top floor. Wrong sequence input will result in a drop. Participant may continue after a drop. Do not exit the elevator until you reach the top floor. Game clear when you reach the top floor. Time Limit: 5 minutes."

Kishi closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the her-of-three-minutes-ago walking inside. Had she looked up while walking in? About how many floors did she see? Forty?

How slow did modern elevators move?

Each answer or clue very well could only allow for a split second of thought.

And if you answered wrong, you dropped. How far was the drop? A few floors? To ground level? The latter seemed more likely with the ominous wording 'Participant may continue...' if they were physically able. The human body could probably survive a ten floor drop, but any more than that might be fatal. And as you neared the top, the clues only got harder, she imagined. More likely to fall thirty, forty stories. And then, even through miraculous survival, the elevator's functionality probably suffered.

"After 5 minutes, all elevators will be dropped."

"All participants, please proceed into the elevators."

Kishi brushed herself off after standing, having not realized the amount of dust she'd just sat in. She was sure her back was covered in it. She heard a quiet snicker behind her.

Beyond the turnstiles, six elevators stood. Three on each side of the room. Kishi chose one on the far end, and White Jacket took the one across from it. Driver and passenger took the middle. And the high school girl and the fifth member of their car took the elevators closest to the entrance.

Kishi pressed the 'Call Elevator' button, and all six elevators dinged! open.

As she stepped in with a sweep of her eyes around the interior, she turned back around to face the door. White Jacket was looking at her. Or, more likely, he was just looking forward and she was the only thing he could look at.

To the room of closing doors, she yelled, "Good luck!"

She heard nothing in return, prompting her to shrug.

From within her back pocket, she heard a chime and a muffled, "The game will now commence. Five minutes left remaining."

Kishi did not hesitate to press the button for Level 2, knowing if it dropped her now, she would not go anywhere and if it dropped her once she reached the next floor then she would only fall that one floor.

Luckily, the elevator did not drop as soon as it dinged! at the second level.

Her door opened, just as she saw White jacket's do across from her and the driver next to him. In front of her door, a sign read: 'I am a single digit, and I am the square of a number.'

Kishi leaned over and pressed the floor for '9' and then the close door button. White Jacket faded from view.

She counted the time between floors just as she had counted the amount of time it had taken the door to slide open just enough for her to see the sign. She couldn't know how many stops there would be in a sequence, nor could she guess yet whether there would be clues that brought her further back down. Her counting was useless.

So she vowed to answer each question as quickly as she could.

The elevator dinged at floor 9, and this time she steadfastly ignored White Jacket. 'I am twice the sum of my digits.'

She pressed '18' and door close.

'I am the same number when reversed, and I am less than 30. The sum of my digits is 4.'

'22', door close.

'I am an odd number, but if you remove one letter, I become even.'

'7', door close.

'I am a two-digit number. If you swap my digits, the new number is 27 more than me. My digits add up to 9.'

'36', door close.

'I am a number between two perfect squares. My digits add up to 5.'

'23', door close.

Distantly, she heard the crash and bang of an elevator dropped from a far height. She ignored it.

'I am the square of the difference between the square of 4 and the square of 3.’

'49', close door.

'I am a two-digit number. The sum of my digits, multiplied by 4, equals half of me minus 5.'

'50', close door, pull out phone, check time, hold breath.

She was pressed up against the door, and as soon as it pinged, she leapt out. Her back foot had only just passed over the threshold when she heard the sound of a large steel cable snap. Her elevator, just as all the other elevators did, crashed to the ground floor after a long moment of plummeting.

Looking around, she found the only other one to have made it was White Jacket. He was leaning against the wall next to his door, looking at her.

"Close one," he crooned.

She breathed in deeply and released a deep, whiny sigh. "Uah, that brought me back to mathlete days."

His brow raised, amused.

"This is something my club advisor would have come up with," she said. "He was evil beyond belief, used to force us to do our daily sudokus upside down.  We could only sit up for a moment after completing a row or region."

"Perhaps this game was made just for you," he said offhandedly.

She rubbed her temples and peeked at him with one eye. "Not if you finished long before me. Looked like you were up here for hours. Made for you, I'd say."

He seemed to turn smug at this, but then he admitted, "The sequence was written out beneath the rug."

Their phones chimed, though neither one of them bothered to take them out.

"Game cleared. Congratulations."

Kishi stared at him, blinked, then groaned dramatically again. She should have known, honestly. The time limit just felt a little too unrealistic—clearly, by the rest who were dead on the ground floor. She didn't get on him for not holding back a second or two to tell the rest of the group so they could all make it out, but it was there in the back of her mind.

"Made my brain work for nothing," she mumbled and walked off.

Taking a look around, she didn't see anything immediately worthwhile other than a pad of sticky notes in a cubicle. After stuffing it in a lower pocket of her shorts, she headed in the direction of the emergency stairwell that could be found on the fire escape map. White Jacket followed behind, hands deep in his pockets. She pushed through the door and held it open for him.

"What's your name, anyway?" she asked, taking the stairs at a leisurely pace. It seemed he was content to do the same. They did have a whopping forty floors to descend.

"Weren't you at my induction?"

She turned a corner and used the chance to glance at him. "I was. But we get new members every other day. Forgive me for not committing every new face to memory when most of them don't return after their next game. Besides, I've heard Hatter's speech hundreds of times now."

He smirked faintly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the stairwell. "Chishiya."

"Right, Chishiya," she said, testing the name out loud. She did remember now when he had revealed it at the induction meeting. She continued on down the stairs. "I'm Kishi."

"I did have that figured out," he mentioned. "The Beach is a gossip-fest."

"Human nature, isn't it?" She shrugged.

He was silent at this, and she figured he just didn't have anything to add on the matter rather than contemplative.

"Anything good you've heard on me?" she asked, merely curious.

He hummed lowly. "You're pretty protected among the execs. For your engineering, I presume." She nodded in response. "Niragi hates you."

"The feeling is more than mutual," she cut in.

"So I saw," he agreed, referencing her run-in with the militant on the stairs that he'd been privy to. "You...stink."

She paused, and then chuckled. "The propane. I spend a lot of time working with the propane and generators. The smell sticks, unfortunately."

"Ah."

"Unless, of course, they were saying that I stink in the sense that I just suck, generally." She frowned for a moment. "In that case, I have no defense."

"I believe it was the former," he assured.

"Oh, good," she said. "Not sure my heart could handle it otherwise."

This was a lie. She couldn't give two fucks what others thought of her. She wasn't aiming to be in anyone's good graces, not anymore. Good graces didn't exist here.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, continuing to converse, despite the faint feeling that he probably did not want to.

"A little less than two weeks," he answered.

"How many games does that make, then?"

"This is my fourth," he said.

"What were the three before this?" she pressed on, knowing he was not going to ask her the same questions. She imagined he probably thought the common courtesy of asking someone how their day was if they had done so first was dumb.

"Six of Diamonds, Three of Spades, and Three of Clubs."

A Diamond man, she knew it. Once you started passing the upper-levels, it became clear you had a niche.

"A game of blackjack, winner takes all," he continued without her prompting. "Climbing a tower crane in a set time. A couple puzzles while all the participants were tethered together."

"Hm, blackjack, that would have been fun," she mused.

"With a noose around your neck?" He sounded amused.

"I think most gambling addicts have an invisible noose around their necks, to be fair," she said. "I, myself, prefer a good game of craps. Better odds against the house."

"I had never gambled before that," he confessed.

"Smart man; slippery slope," she commended. "You must have caught on quickly then. You a secret genius?"

It was a tease...mostly. She could already tell he was rather intelligent. Both a five and a six of Diamonds under his belt now. She mostly just wanted to dig a little more into that smug underbelly that she saw a minute ago.

"Just clever," he said, not even trying to sound humble. Irritating, but it was clearly warranted.

"'Just clever'," she echoed wryly. She waited a couple quiet moments, tilting her head back and forth pointedly, their footsteps the only sound. She gave up with the hints and clapped, "Oh, me? Well, my first game was a—"

"Oh, you're just going to—sure." She heard him mumble.

"—Four of Spades. Long corridor in a warehouse that closed in behind you. Since then?" She clicked her tongue and rolled up the sleeve of her left arm to look at the tally marks. "Seven games, 36 days total."

From the sound of his slight stutter step, she figured he wasn't anticipating a timeframe that long. Honestly, the days passed so quickly, she hardly believed it either.

"When did you join the Beach?" he asked.

She smiled to herself. So he could be engaged when he wanted to be.

"Mm," she hummed in deep thought. Time moved so strangely there—stretching and compressing, blurring details. "After my third game, a Six of Clubs. But I met Hatter and Aguni in my second, a Seven of Clubs. The Seven was a bomb defusal, and the Six was a bridge build. I think they appreciated that I was able to carry them and their members through both. At the time, the Beach was just a hideout, like any other place around the city."

She paused for effect, shooting him a sidelong glance. "I was told to reconfigure their energy grid to run on propane, so I did. After that, recruitment really kicked off."

Some might even call her a founding father.

"Been stuck ever since," she lamented dryly.

"Stuck?" Chishiya tilted his head slightly, gaze sharpening.

Her smirk deepened. She spun suddenly on her heel, forcing him to sidestep and grip the railing to avoid colliding with her. She stopped inches from him and held up three fingers, mimicking Hatter's theatrical cadence.

"Rule 3; Death to all traitors."

She laughed at the subtle flicker of surprise that crossed his face before spinning back around and continuing down the stairs.

"Defectors, spies, members hiding cards," she rattled off over her shoulder. "It's all the same to him. They catch wind that you want out? They'll put you out."

"You want out?"

She let the question linger as she reached the next landing.

"Well, no. I wouldn't have anywhere else to go. I'm resourceful, so I'm sure I would get by, but not easily. At least at the Beach I'm somewhat of an asset, so many things are made better for me. But it boils down to the fact that the choice was taken from me—from everyone."

"I see," he said. "Are you not concerned that I could go to Hatter about what you're telling me?"

"I wouldn't bother." She waved him off. Just the fact that he asked told her that he wouldn't, or, rather, that he would think twice before doing it. But it didn't matter, anyway: "He knows how I feel about it. He doesn't like to hear my complaining, though, so I avoid bringing it up."

They passed the 15th floor placard.

"So..." she started up again, physically unable to remain silent.

He gave her a sound of acknowledgement.

"Has anyone told you about the patterns of the cards in correlation to the games? Or did you figure it all out from context?"

He thought for a moment. "No one told me, but I did work it out for the most part. The number scale: higher numbers mean harder challenges. The suits: Spades are physical tests, Diamonds are mental tests, Clubs are a balanced mix...."

She filled in the blanks as he trailed off, "Well, from my experience, Clubs are about cooperation and sometimes involve separate teams pit against each other. Win as a team, lose as a team. Hearts are meant to test trust and loyalty, they're based in psychology. I don't recommend going into one with a friend. I don't recommend going into one at all, really. Now that you've successfully completed two mid-level Diamonds, you'll probably be assigned game arenas that are likely to be Diamonds."

"Who assigns the arenas?"

"There's a small faction within the executive board that does. Technically, on paper, I think I'm a part of that group, but I haven't been to one of their meetings in a while. They have this algorithm that can calculate when a high-value card is going to appear, and another to determine likely suits. And they've got scouts that check out the arenas as they pop up."

Honestly, they should be including this in the induction meeting. Seemed a little deceptive to force people into surviving for you only to withhold the tools to do so.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For telling me all of that."

"Sure." She shrugged it off. "I don't see how it's any benefit to keep you in the dark about that kind of stuff. I'm sure you would have figured it all out, given another day or two of snooping around the Beach."

She gave him a pointed grin just as she opened the second floor door. He paused, looking down at the remaining steps to the ground floor then back to her. But she was already moving.

Kishi walked over to the elevators, pulling a top pick from one of her shorts pockets.

She heard the stairwell door open and close behind her. Chishiya stopped right in her peripherals, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, watching her.

Wedging the pick into the upper gap of the elevator door, she felt around the resistance as it slid into place. She shifted on her toes, trying to get leverage, and then worked the lock-arm into the unlocked position. The door creaked open, and she gave it a push, stepping aside as it slid easily.

A cloud of dust poured out, an emergency light flickering in the wall cavity.

She pocketed the top pick and pulled out some cable cutters. Lifting the hem of her shirt over her mouth and nose, she hopped down onto the crumpled elevator with a loud bang. Behind her, Chishiya hovered near the opening, gaze fixed on her silently as she worked.

"I'd cover your mouth and nose," she advised, not bothering to look up as she inspected the mess of cables and wires strewn around. "Silica dust can—"

"Cause cancer and lung disease, I know," he interrupted, lifting the hem of his jacket.

Kishi gave a small grunt and turned her attention back to the tangled mess before her. The main steel cables were too thick to cut with the tools she had, but there were smaller, more manageable wires—8mm in diameter, perfect. She carefully began cutting through the smaller cables, pulling out what she could.

She glanced back at him, tossing a coil of wire in his direction. "Wind this up for me, will you?"

She didn't wait for him to respond, her hands already busy with the electrical wires. She only managed to collect a meter or so, but it was enough. Carefully, she wound it up and shoved it into her pocket, all while keeping one eye on the rest of the mess in case something popped out to her. She didn't look at him again until she'd finished.

When she finally did, she saw the coil of wire still lying at his feet, untouched.

Kishi pouted and threw her arms up. "See if I ever offer up helpful information again."

Chishiya raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching ever so slightly. He leaned forward just enough to pick up the wire, wrapping it neatly around his hand and elbow.

He stood back as she easily jumped up to the first floor ledge. She grabbed the coil of cable from him. "Thank you."

"Sure," he replied.

Down the stairs and at the reception desk, Kishi picked up the Five of Diamonds and pocketed it.

"Do you drive?" she asked as they walked out to the street.

"I can," he answered.

"Do you want to?" she followed up, sensing...something about that response.

"No."

She knew it.

"I'll drive, then," she said, not minding. She actually preferred it. Fate in her own hands, and all that mess.

Feeling an odd sense that she was the one who manifested this outcome where they were without their previous driver, she grabbed the keys that everyone was told to put in the gas cap—in the case of a death where the body was irretrievable.

She drove five over the speed limit, following a law that no longer existed.

Chishiya didn't seem to mind.

Chapter Text

—AS she'd suspected—and as the algorithm had predicted—a high-value Spades game had taken place simultaneously with their Diamond game. It had been a brutal weed-out, and the aftermath sprawled across the Beach's front lobby, now doubling as a makeshift triage area.

The polished floor was slick with smears of blood, tracked in on shoes and dragged bodies. Bodies, only seconds from being called corpses, were leaned up against walls, waiting for their turn to receive medical attention.

And that attention amounted to two cups of hard liquor: one for the mind and one for the wound. Then some haphazard bandaging, or if you were unlucky, some messy stitches and then bandaging. Beyond that, you were told to walk it off. And if you couldn't walk it off, then you'd crawl. And if you couldn't do that...then what use were you to the endgame of the Beach?

Beside her, she could see Chishiya staring at the carnage. He seemed detached, but his eyes were glued.

"Kuzuryu said they were anticipating a Nine or Ten of Spades," she told him, not sure if that was meant to comfort him or fill a silence that didn't exist with all the moaning and screaming.

He was silent.

"I'm sure Hatter's huddled up in his room with the others, avoiding this. I'm going to go drop off the card...if you want to join?" she offered. She wasn't sure she liked the way he was looking at the wounded.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then, wordlessly, he nodded and followed her.

The royal suite doors creaked open, revealing a cluster of executives huddled in tense conversation, mostly the Idealists. Kishi had expected as much. The execs were always there for damage control—not for the wounded, but for the Beach's image and internal order.

"It was a damn repeat," Hatter said as soon as he noticed her walk in. Ah, a sour mood, and only going to be made worse in a second. "What a wast—oh, hello."

Chishiya waved, rocking forward and back on his heels twice. He looked otherwise indifferent.

The execs glanced between the two of them, their eyes lingering warily on Chishiya. Hatter, however, barely spared him a second glance, already turning his attention back to her.

"What a waste," Hatter said, throwing his hands in the air. "Tell me you've got some good news for me, Kishi-chan."

The room went quiet, all eyes falling on her.

Ah, she hated to be the constant disappointment.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the Five of Diamonds onto the coffee table. It landed with a dull snap.

"I can't control what I'm dealt," she said simply as they all glared at the face up Five of Diamonds.

Kuzuryu glanced at her from behind his steepled fingers. "'We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.'"

So philosophical. She glanced over at the Hatter, ready for the rage he was steeping in to boil over.

He stared at the card, his expression tightening as though it had personally insulted him. His lips twitched, and for a moment, it seemed like he might try to laugh it off, but the tension in his posture gave him away.

"A waste!" he shouted suddenly, slamming a fist onto the arm of the couch. An and Mira flinched across from him, and Kuzuryu shifted slightly, his calm facade unbroken but watchful.

Hatter stood, pacing back and forth in agitated strides, his hands running through his wild hair like he might rip it out. "Another game! Another loss of resources! Another night wasted for this!" He gestured wildly at the card as though it were poison.

The room froze, everyone too cautious to interject. Even Kishi, who had braced herself for the tirade, found herself holding her breath as Hatter's pacing grew erratic. His manic energy filled the room, drowning out the muffled sounds of their wounded down the stairs.

Then, abruptly, he stopped. His shoulders sagged, and his hands fell to his sides. For a long moment, he stood there, silent, his head bowed.

When he finally looked up, his face was pale, his eyes glassy. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice a strange, detached murmur. Kishi thought this side of him was the spookiest—the calm after the storm. "I'm not sure what came over me." He blinked, taking a deep breath as if physically shaking off the moment.

The tension in the room began to ease, though no one moved.

Hatter looked toward Kishi and Chishiya, his gaze lingering on the latter again. A faint smile touched his lips, forced but polite. "We have a guest, after all," he added, his tone smoothing into something more presentable.

Chishiya, leaning lazily against the wall, raised a single eyebrow but said nothing. The faintest hint of amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Hatter's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, as though sizing him up, before he turned back to the cluster of executives. His smile was stretched thin, like he was barely holding himself together.

"Well," he said, clapping his hands together in a gesture that rang hollow. "Let's not dwell on tonight's... setback." His voice was upbeat, but there was an edge to it, a brittleness that no one dared to address as it would only push him over the edge.

They all walked on egg shells around him.

But Kishi was never known for being graceful, gentle, nor light-footed. And she would make them dwell a little longer. "How many gone?"

Hatter glared at her fiercely. She shrugged, as if she hadn't purposefully asked that to set him off again. He pointed at her with a crooked finger, a threat of...something if she didn't cut it out. He was capable of a great many things, killing her discretely among them.

"Eighteen."

Mm. Kishi didn't flinch, her expression unchanged as she looked over at An, who spoke with a quiet resignation. "And...Niragi...?"

Was it too much to hope?

"He's fine," Mira chimed in, sounding a little too pleasant, like she was delivering good news rather than the worst news of the night.

Dammit. "Fantastic," Kishi gritted through her teeth, matching Mira's positivity. "What a relief the beast still lives."

Hatter's eyes flicked to her, and for a moment, it almost looked like he might say something. His gaze softened, but only for a split second, before he turned back to the others, a fleeting hint of control coming back to him. "Kishi-chan brings up something I meant to discuss with all of you, actually."

Everyone's eyes flickered to the doorway, where Chishiya stood.

He lifted his hands defensively, taking the hint and exiting the room. The door clicked shut behind him...well, mostly shut, Kishi huffed in amusement. Let him listen to the ramblings of a madman.

After grabbing a selection of candies from the decorative centerpiece bowl, she heaved herself into an armchair and kicked her legs up over the arm. Hatter sat back down next to Kuzuryu, grabbing a few hard candies for himself. When he popped them in his mouth, he bit straight down on them.

Hopefully a dentist stumbled upon the resort soon.

"I fear the militants are going to rise against me—against us," he said quietly to the group, eyes shifty.

Kishi's mouth puckered at the sour lemon ball she sucked on. The old man's been off his meds too long, and that's made him paranoid, but she knew, at least in this, he was right to be fearful. The militants were steadily gaining traction, power, and respect among the Beach members. And they were getting antsy.

She stared at the ceiling as the other three tried to calm him down from another oncoming meltdown, twirling the candy in her mouth absentmindedly. She wasn't surprised. Power was a fragile thing, and the Beach had been unstable from the beginning. She had seen this brewing for a while now—the factions splitting, the dissent growing.

They were devolving back to the early days of the Beach, when suicide, drug abuse, violence and sexual assault ran rampant.

And Hatter had nothing to offer them, anymore. He had already used his trump card.

"Aguni is keeping them in line, I thought," An said. "Is that not his role as head of the militants? And as Number 2?"

"Has anyone even seen him recently?" Kishi asked. "Last I saw him was at last week's meeting."

"He has been distancing himself!" Hatter pointed at her furiously. "Which is why I've been thinking about this."

Probably distancing himself because he no longer recognizes you as his friend. You've gone loony, she thought, throwing her head back against the other arm of her chair.

His face grew dark. "I need those cards."

So he can be rid of this place he'd made, this false-paradise, this Utopia built on lies. It was no longer about escaping the Borderlands, it was about escaping his own abomination.

Kishi rolled the candy between her teeth, staring at Hatter with a mixture of pity and contempt.

She stood to her feet suddenly, cutting off whatever Mira had been doing to console the grown-ass-man. "We'll get you your cards."

When his head lifted to look at her, he looked downright pathetic.

She smiled, ignoring the sour taste in her mouth as she stared down at him knowingly. "And when you've finally got that whole deck in your hands, I'm sure everything will fall into place."

"Oh, Kishi-chan," he looked to be near tears, "you truly are my biggest asset. I believe you."

As she was leaving, she repeated the words in her head.

...everything will fall into place...

Her lips curled into a wry smile, but there was nothing pleasant about it. It was bitter, burning through her tongue. To fall into place in the Borderlands meant to lose yourself completely—to be swallowed whole by the madness, the violence.

As she was descending one floor to the executive suites, she caught a glimpse of a white jacket hood turning a corner further down the stairs.

A sneak, huh?

She changed course, bypassing the executive hall and continuing down the stairs. She sidestepped a few drunken bodies upon reaching the ground floor, deliberately ignoring the drying blood on the ground. A couple yelled in her face, congratulating her for a game well won, their words slurred.

Kishi gave them a half-smile, more a reflex than anything else, and hopped over the receptionist desk. Entering the backroom, she turned on the light—only to immediately turn it off after a chorus of "Hey!"'s and the sight of three nude bodies.

"Sorry!" she called, making her way to the backdoor by memory in the dark. She mumbled to herself, "I knew sex was still fun in the dark."

She pushed through the second set of doors and descended into a stairwell that was far less glamorous than the rest of the building. The air down here was damp, the lighting flickering overhead due to faulty lightbulbs.

She walked down the long hallway, her boots making the only sound, until she came to a room improperly labeled as "Records Room." The label was intentional—no one would think twice about it. With a few solid shoves against the door—one that she'd reinstalled to fit snugly, deliberately too tight to allow easy access—she pushed it open and slipped through.

Kishi flicked on the overhead switch, and the fluorescent lights buzzed to life above her. She walked to the nearest control box and powered up the system, watching as the monitors around her flickered on, revealing rows of camera feeds.

The screens filled with distorted, grainy images, some showing the bustling common areas, others focusing on quieter, more private corners of the building. She scanned through the feeds quickly, her eyes narrowing as they settled on one particular image—the white jacket.

'Lobby'

He stood in the far corner, leaning casually against the wall, his gaze fixed on the receptionist desk.

She smirked.

She gave him an inch earlier, and now he was going to try and take the mile.

Heaving a sigh of impatience, she collapsed into the rolling chair and waited, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest.

On the screen, Chishiya finally made his move. He drifted closer to the desk, his movements unhurried, almost lazy. He glanced around the corner, checking for the actual door to the backroom, clearly hoping to avoid the hassle of hurdling the desk like her and the earlier intruders.

She chuckled softly to herself. That door was jammed—on purpose. A little insurance to keep out the less persistent types. It hadn't worked flawlessly, considering the pleasure seekers had climbed over earlier, but it was enough to deter most.

Chishiya tried the door, gave it a firm push. When it didn't budge, he frowned. She watched as he circled back, his head tilting slightly as though assessing the next step.

He paused for a moment, then rolled his eyes. She couldn't see it clearly in the grainy footage, but she could tell.

With a deliberate slowness, he hefted himself over the desk. His movements were precise, controlled, and he didn't so much as knock over the cluttered pen holder. She watched as he wandered to the backroom door, testing it cautiously, as though he might slip in unnoticed.

Body half in—

The abruptness of his reaction made her grin. He jerked back, tense, and quickly shut the door. No doubt he'd gotten the same welcoming treatment from the threesome.

He retreated back over the desk, returning to his waiting post in the corner. He didn't try again until the three men finally emerged, disheveled, sweaty, and visibly worse for wear. Swim trunks backward. Hair matted. They were quickly swept up in a crowd headed toward the pool.

The moment they were gone, Chishiya vaulted back over the desk, wasting no time. He moved with purpose now, slipping into the backroom and flicking on the light. She switched cameras, following his progress.

He scouted the room, methodical and thorough, but all he'd find in there were cleaning supplies and old files. He barely lingered before heading toward the only other exit.

Kishi switched feeds again as he entered the stairwell.

Another click. He was walking down the hall now, his pace measured. He inspected the plaque to every room, but never stopped to check the door. He knew what he was looking for.

As soon as he was a step within the mislabeled door, she spun in the chair to face it.

He would have no issue pushing through this door.

She had left it open a crack for him.

He no longer tried to sneak, pushing the door open wide.

Chishiya stepped inside with the calm, detached air of someone who had already anticipated every part of this encounter. His sharp eyes swept the room, taking in the humming monitors, the tangle of wires, and Kishi herself, seated languidly in the rolling chair, her legs crossed as if she were waiting for an old friend.

"Ah," he said simply, a nod acknowledging her setup. It was as much approval as he was willing to give, though she could see the subtle flicker of interest in his gaze.

Kishi leaned back, her fingers idly tapping the armrest, her smirk unbothered. "You're a sneak."

He didn't deny it. How could he, when he willingly walked into getting caught?

"Maaan," her face fell into a pout, "you know I'm going to have to tell Hatter you're snooping around, right? Listening into our private meetings...he won't be pleased."

"He sounds mentally unstable," he said frankly.

"Know a lot about that, do you?" she asked, aware that her voice upticked defensively.

"Enough," he answered with a shrug. "It sounded like BPD."

"Who's to say? I'm not a psychologist, and you don't strike me as one, either. You're far too cold." She sighed. "He wasn't always like this. He was a decent guy, actually, when we met. Whatever it is that he's got, it's making him go mad—like, more than others. Thinks everyone's out to get him, which, he's not wrong...but it's making him desperate and angry."

"And since he's in charge, he can send hordes of these people out to the games to fetch the cards for him."

"He's chipping away at the numbers that support him. It's sad, really..."

Seeing a friend go mad. Because that was what she considered him...once. When he quoted Ghandi and actually lived by his ideals and just wanted to create a place where people could forget about their miserable existence.

"And if...when the militants try to take charge, it'll be far worse," she let out lowly.

"The lesser of two evils," he asserted.

"You get it," she agreed.

"You're not going to tell him," he surmised.

She looked up at him, studying him. He had his ulterior motives, but didn't they all? "No."

"Why? You're already worrying about Hatter and the militants. Why add more?"

"Because I think you are the lesser of three evils."

Oh, and the look he gave her for that told her she should not have spoken so.

Chapter Text

—KISHI'S said it before, and she always knew she'd say it again: she hated Hearts.

"There are a total of 18 participants."

"Form groups of two and take a seat to proceed to the rules."

"Difficulty: Eight of Hearts."

"Game is 'Obedience'."

"Rule, one partner will be the 'Authority,' and one will be the 'Subject'. 'Authority' figures will administer a shock to the 'Subject', at least once, every five minutes. More shocks may be administered. It is Game Over for the 'Authority' if no shock is administered within five minutes. Game cleared when time is up."

"Time limit: 1 hour."

Kishi administered another shock, and their personal timer reset to 00:05:00.

The woman screamed, shrieked really, to the point of going hoarse. Her face was soaked with sweat, tears, and spit, and Kishi could only bare to look at it for a second.

It had been like this for the past half hour: Kishi pushed a button, and the woman shook as what looked like 75 volts ran through her system. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

What a foul game. Inflicting torture, enduring torture. It was awful no matter how you looked at it. And Kishi had to stop herself from feeling exceedingly lucky for pulling the long stick.

There was a series of blubbered pleading to her right:

"Please, please, Haru, I can't take it anymore! Please don't press that button, please!" The restraint was unforgiving around his front, keeping him pinned as the man squirmed.

"If I don't press it, I'll die, Keita" the 'Authority'—Haru—was equally as fitful with tears. His hand shook with tremors as it hovered over the button on the armrest.

"But I don't think I can handle another shock! Please! I'll do anything. Anything!" And then he puked down his front, continuing to dry heave even through his disjointed pleas.

"Oh my god," Haru gagged, turning his head away. "Please, I don't want to, but I must! We can both get out of here! You can withstand it, please."

"Please," Keita was spitting. "You will kill me."

"I—I—Keita—" And then he sagged, fully sobbing. "If I don't, you'll be killing me."

"Don't, don't, don't do it, I'm begging you!" Keita screamed at the top of his lungs.

"You're my best friend, Kei. You know I don't want to do this, please! I know you're hurting, but this will end, I promise, and then we can both walk out of here!"

But Keita would not see sense, not in his pained delirium. "Fuck you, Haru! Don't press that fucking button! You're fucking killing me! Is that what you want?! Don't press that button!"

...

And then Haru didn't. In the end, he stared his friend down as the timer ran out. The laser flashed through his skull instantly as his screen lit up with a red '00:00:00', and he slumped in the restraining chair.

And Keita puked again, horrified, but he was not shocked. He was not released from his chair, but he was not jolted for another round. He began sobbing, screaming at Haru to get up and that he was sorry. But Haru was gone.

All of the 'Subjects', realizing now that they could be rid of their suffering if only their 'Authority' killed themself, began their hysterical pleading.

Kishi's partner, an older woman she hadn't known before entering the school building, was howling at her to let the timer run down. They had chosen to team up after having a pleasant conversation about the ramen shop down the street, just before registration closed. As everyone else had done with the vague instruction to partner up, they had chosen the one they trusted most—even if it was very little.

They should have known.

Kishi should have known.

Hearts would always pit friends—humans—against each other.

The timer reached ten seconds, and she looked resolutely up to the ceiling.

Another half hour of this?

None of the 'Subjects' could survive that.

It was always rigged in the 'Authorities'' favor.

"Please, young girl, you cannot do this to me. I have a family at ho—"

Kishi pressed the button, eyes never straying from the fluorescent light above. Not even as the woman wailed. She hardened herself to the fact that she truly would have to kill this woman if she wanted to live.

There hadn't been a game, yet, where she was forced to make that choice. Perhaps, some of her actions in the games had indirectly caused death. But never had she been faced with something as direct as this.

She always knew it was inevitable, though.

Through the 'Subjects'' begging and imploring, Kishi saw one of the 'Authority' figures take advantage of one of the rules:

"More shocks may be administered."

The 'Subject' was dead after a full thirty seconds of pain.

The pleading died down substantially after that.

Nearing the end of minute 55, the woman was hardly cognizant at this point, silent tears racing down her cheeks as she lolled left and right.

The rest of the 'Subjects' were much the same. But they were all living—breathing, at least. The same could not be said for one other 'Authority' figure who had followed in Haru's footsteps.

And that meant one thing.

The task would not kill the 'Subjects'. It would shock them within an inch of their life, but it would not kill them, so long as they were administered with only the minimum number of shocks.

That...well, it didn't make Kishi feel much better. Torture was torture.

Just as she was about to reset the timer one last time, the button collapsed into the chair, disappearing into the mechanics of the side compartment.

She jolted, knowing time was up and she had not administered the shock.

...Game Over.

But then a button, the very same, rose out of the armrests of the 'Subjects'.

One man, a 'Subject' down the line and conscious enough to realize what that meant, pressed it without a thought, without a word, without a second glance at the 'Authority'.

But instead of a shock, the Authority was pierced through the skull with a laser. The 'Subject' gaped, but at that point, it appeared there had been no love lost.

Oh.

"Participants, the 'Subject' will now have the power to end the game for the 'Authority'. This is not a required administration. Time remaining: five minutes."

Screams erupted.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Kishi awaited the laser. She awaited that instantaneous death that it promised. And she heard at least three shoot down the line of 'Authorities'.

She had just tortured this woman for near an hour, and hadn't even deigned to look her in the eye while she did it. Kishi would deserve it. She had wanted to survive, and that meant she deserved to die.

That was the core of a Heart, wasn't it?

But nothing came.

She looked up from where she had bowed her head, seeing the woman's hand firmly laid over the button.

But she had not pressed down.

An aftershock wracked through the woman, and Kishi tensed at the sight of her hand nearly adding pressure.

"You're...not even...going to beg?" the woman croaked, voice gone.

Kishi shook her head, heart palpitating in the worst way. "I would not blame you, if you pressed it."

"I want to," she rasped. "I would have...inflicted this last hour of pain...upon you, gladly. But I am no killer."

A laser went off down the line. There were only two 'Authority' figures left. Her and one other.

"This game...this land...wants me to be one," the woman continued, "but I will not. I am...playing my own game. Rules: escape or die...without feeling I had turned into what it wanted me to be." She took a deep breath and lifted her hand away just as another aftershock hit her. "I am glad you did not...let the time run down and kill yourself. It would have cost me...my own game."

"Game clear. Congratulations."

Kishi walked out of there, steps sluggish.

The few who came with her from the Beach, minus one, followed on hands and knees. The one they lost had been one of the 'Authorities' to be killed by their 'Subject'--said 'Subject' being the girl sobbing loudly in the backseat. Kishi didn't blame her, for the killing and the crying.

The other two had also been 'Subjects' to others. She did not ask after their 'Authorities', not caring if she was in the presence of three fresh murderers. She didn't blame them.

She drove them all back, listening to their whimpers and groans until she cranked her window down and let the sound of the rushing wind drown them out.

She helped them into the lobby one by one, leaving them in someone else's care.

The cheering caused by their return died a little as one of the men started seizing.

Kishi turned to the stairs quietly, not looking back.

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself before reaching for Hatter's door. Just as her fingers grazed the handle, the sound of the knob turning on the other side froze her in place. She stepped back as the door opened, revealing Chishiya.

He walked through with his usual unhurried confidence, his gaze locking onto hers for a brief, charged moment. They both lingered, neither breaking the connection until the last possible second. Then his attention shifted, and he disappeared down the hall.

Her eyes stayed on the empty doorway for a beat longer than necessary.

Why was the sneak here?

Pushing the thought aside, she slipped into the room. Hatter lounged on a loveseat, cradling a card in both hands and smothering it with exaggerated kisses. The scantily clad woman seated beside him looked somewhere between exasperated and mortified, inching closer to the edge of her seat. As Hatter's lips left the card's surface, it tilted just enough for Kishi to catch its face.

Five of Clubs.

Her thoughts flicked back to Chishiya.

Interesting.

"I think your lady friend's getting jealous," she said, breaking the silence.

Hatter jolted, clutching the card like a lifeline. The woman next to him recoiled as he turned to her, grinning. "Don't be jealous, my dear. You can kiss it, too."

The woman blinked, staring at him and the card as if deciding which was more absurd. Without a word, she scooped up a robe, tied it tightly, and stalked out the door, brushing past Kishi without a backward glance.

"Don't feel bad, she probably has a Six of Clubs waiting for her to kiss back home," Kishi quipped, smirking—until she realized her mistake.

Hatter's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "She has a card?"

"No," Kishi said quickly, rolling her eyes. "No. It was a joke."

"Wasn't funny," he muttered, now stroking the card like a prized pet.

"It was," she mumbled under her breath, too low for him to catch. Shaking her head, she walked further into the room. Her gaze momentarily caught on a small box on the side table: Olanzapine. The lid was flipped open, and a few blister packs sat inside, some empty, some half-used.

She didn't know what the medication was for, but something about it tugged at her; she hadn't thought Hatter the type to take meds—despite her often making jokes that he should. She filed the detail, handing Hatter the Eight of Hearts. "Another repeat. Sorry."

Hatter took the card reverently, his expression softening. He pressed a chaste kiss to its surface, holding it up to admire. "Not to worry. High-value cards are hard to come by, Kishi-chan. Thank you. I'm sure the next in line will be grateful for this."

The room faded doe just a second, replaced by the phantom screams of the 'Subjects.'

"Of course," she replied, though her eyes kept drifting back to the Five of Clubs. "Did Chishiya collect that?"

Hatter blinked, then grinned as realization dawned. "Ah, yes. Chishiya. Promised me the same as you—to fill out my collection. He's already proving himself."

A conniving sneak.

"If he keeps this up," Hatter continued, his grin widening, "we might have to find him a spot on the Ten's floor."

Kishi's lips tightened. The sneak certainly knew how to ingratiate himself—and quickly.

"Now, if there's nothing else, shoo. I need to put these somewhere safe."

"Right. Goodnight, Hatter," she said, turning to leave.

Once outside, her steps slowed as her brow furrowed. Despite the crazy makeout sesh with the cards, the guy was having a rather lucid time of it. She hadn't seen him quite so calm in a while when talking about the cards.

Olanzapine.

Hm.

This time, when she wandered down the stairs and caught sight of the white jacket, she continued to her room as she intended. Obviously, he was not swayed by the threat of death in the games so why would he be discouraged by the same threat from a mentally unstable man?

So long as he didn't try to kill her, he could do as he wished.

And honestly, she might have jinxed it.

The next day, while tinkering away in the basement where she kept many of her bigger power tools, she was visited by a ghost.

At least, she thought it was a ghost.

A soft shuffling noise at the base of the stairs caught her attention, and she nearly stabbed her palm with the screwdriver she was holding as her head snapped up. Standing there, draped in white and eerily still, was a figure she hadn't heard come in.

Yanking out her earbuds, she shot him a withering glare. "Don't do that," she hissed.

"Do what? Exist?" he asked, his tone as dry as the air in the room.

"Sneak up on people," she corrected sharply.

He shrugged, hands slipping casually into his pockets. "I knocked. Pretty sure you were too busy blasting your music to notice."

Ah. That tracked. She held up her earbuds and the clunky Walkman attached to her belt. "BUCK-TICK. Needs volume to appreciate properly."

His brow furrowed slightly. "Rock?"

"Mm-hmm." She popped the Walkman open, carefully sliding the tape out. "Not my favorite band or even my favorite album, but it's a challenge finding tapes that still work. Gotta take what you can get. You into music?"

His gaze lingered on the Walkman, unreadable. "Sometimes."

She laughed softly, setting the tape on the table. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, the stuff they play upstairs is atrocious," he explained.

"Ah," she grinned, pointing at him with the screwdriver. "But I totally had you pegged for an EDM guy."

Chishiya gave her a long, unimpressed stare, his lips barely twitching into something resembling a smile.

"What do you like, then?" she asked, trying to hide her curiosity and failing.

Before he could answer, she made a mental list of guesses: traditional Japanese music? No. European classical? Maybe. Alternative rock?

"...Pop," he finally said, smirking just enough to make her suspicious.

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. "You're fucking with me."

His smirk softened into something more genuine. "Clearly. Alternative, mostly. And instrumentals, soundtracks—when I'm working."

She knew it.

She probably had an alt tape somewhere in her stash that he might like.

"The world makes sense again." She tilted her head toward him. "So...what did you sneak down here for?"

He paused, his expression neutral but calculating before he replied, "Do you have a power bank?"

She did. "Why? What do you need it for?"

"I don't suppose you'd trust me at my word that it's for a toothbrush?" His voice carried a playful lilt, but his expression remained impassive.

"Not a chance," she replied, and then grinned wolfishly. "Buuut...if you told me it was for a sex toy, I could be convinced to relinquish it without another question."

With a resigned sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something bulky. Her heart skipped as she braced for the worst—was he pulling a gun? Over a mild sex joke? But when her eyes focused, it turned out to be a strange black box with wires haphazardly sticking out of it and two sharp prongs at one end.

She blinked. "A taser?"

"Improvised," he said coolly. "It doesn't hold its charge."

"I can see that," she said, looking at the hokey pokey device. "You know, weapons generally aren't allowed here if you aren't a militant. I'm sure you were told."

"You have a gun in your room," he said blandly.

The fuck? "Disassembled." She shot back quickly, narrowing her eyes. "When were you in my room?"

"Still a weapon," he said. His tone remained infuriatingly casual as he continued, "I stopped there before coming down here. Didn't find you, so I checked the surveillance room. It led me here. You've got a lot of... interesting things."

Her grip on the screwdriver tightened, her tone edging toward disbelief. "You went through my stuff?"

He shrugged, entirely unapologetic. "I was looking for you."

"In my drawers?" she shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, congratulations, you found me. And no, I don't have a power bank. Sorry to disappoint."

"You just said you would 'relinquish it'," he said matter-of-factly.

"Did I?" She arched a brow, a sharp edge to her words. "Seems you have no problem going through my things, why don't you go dig around and find it yourself?"

"I considered that," he admitted with a faint smirk. "But then I thought I could practice common courtesy for once."

"You're failing miserably at it," she muttered even as she dug into her pocket. She fished out the power bank and, without a second thought, tossed it at him with more force than was necessary, silently hoping it might smack him square in the face.

No such luck.

He caught it effortlessly, his reflexes maddeningly quick. His lips curved into a self-satisfied smile as he turned the device over in his hands.

"I'll need it back soon," she said.

"Of course." He slipped both the power bank and the makeshift taser into his pocket. He hummed thoughtfully, leaning slightly against the doorframe, clearly not in any hurry to leave. "Are you in a game tonight?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing back down at her work. "I assume you are, again. Hatter was singing your praises last night."

His smirk faltered for just a moment, and his eyes flicked to hers. "I'm just trying to find cards."

"I gathered that," she said, her tone sharp. "But every night? Do you have a death wish or something?"

"No," he replied with a shrug. "At least, I don't think so."

"A secret adrenaline junkie, then?" she guessed, though she knew better.

"Not sure I've ever felt that kind of rush, so no."

"Plain stupid?" she jabbed, hoping to needle him.

"Nice try." His smirk returned, catching onto her.

She sighed, letting her screwdriver clatter onto the workbench as she turned to face him fully. "You're trying to get into an executive spot."

"Isn't that what everyone's trying to do?" he asked, lifting his wrist to show off his pool locker key. "Isn't that the whole point of the numbering system?"

"Most people were taught to wait their turn at the water fountain in yochien," she quipped.

"We are not in yochien, and this is not recess," he countered smoothly.

"No sense of imagination," she said, rolling her eyes. "But you know that's not what I'm getting at. You want those cards."

"Again, I ask, is that not what everyone wants?"

"You're being underhanded about it," she accused, her gaze narrowing.

"Well, I'm not going to be overhanded about it, am I?"

Despite her best efforts, she cracked into a snort. What was she even doing? She knew from the start that he was plotting; he had even confirmed it the other day. She already said she wasn't going to go to Hatter about it, and she stood by that.

"Get out of my basement, Chishiya," she said, but her tone held less bite than before.

He gave a mock salute, his smirk never faltering. "As you wish."

He turned toward the stairs, his footsteps light, and he disappeared.

Chapter Text

—HATTER loved when people matched his crazy.

A wedding? In the Borderlands? That was certifiably insane...for more than one reason.

But he loved it. He declared himself the officiant as soon as word got around to him about the plan. It was unclear whether he was ever legally registered—but as was established, this was a lawless land. If Hatter said he could officiate, then he could.

"Higher, Kishi-chan! It's not symmetrical!" Mira's sharp voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Kishi gritted her teeth, the bundle of red tulle trembling in her hands. Mira had taken it upon herself to be the planner, maid of honor, and mother of the bride—all rolled into one, and with enough perfectionism to drive anyone mad.

Kishi loved the girl, but this was ridiculous. Her arms burned from holding the fabric aloft for so long and her back was aching from bending over a ladder. They'd been decorating the ballroom for hours, contorting the space into a vision of Mira's making. It wasn't even clear if the bride and groom cared—last she checked, the happy couple had been prematurely celebrating their honeymoon in the bathroom down the hall.

"I'm going to throw this tulle out the window," she muttered under her breath, her patience fraying.

"What was that?" Mira called, her sweet smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"Nothing." With a sigh, she adjusted the tulle a fraction higher and pinned it in place.

From across the room, Hatter twirled on the marble floor, a champagne bottle in hand and his eyes alight with glee. "Oh! Look at this masterpiece we're creating! A wedding for the ages!"

Kuzuryu strolled into the room a second later, arms weighed down with wildflowers Mira had sent him on a goose chase for. After dropping the bushels of roses and lilies on a table, he stopped next to Kishi on the ladder. His hands slipped into his pockets as he used his foot to keep the ladder from tipping.

"You look like you're one step away from setting this place on fire," he remarked quietly.

"Don't tempt me," she shot back, glancing down at him.

He tilted his head, watching Mira berate another poor soul over improperly tied ribbons. "What's stopping you?"

"Well, I'm not completely heartless," she muttered. "I do think it's sweet, that the couple wants to get married before dying...in some morbid way. Till death do they part, and all that."

Before he could reply, Mira clapped her hands twice. "Alright, everyone! Break's over. Let's rehearse the procession!"

Since when were we on a break?

Kishi groaned, letting the tulle drop to her side. "Rehearse? Mira, the couple isn't even in here."

"We don't want to stress them out before their big night!" Mira's eyes narrowed, her smile razor-sharp. "Now, positions!"

Kishi shot Kuzuryu a look that screamed help me, but he merely smirked and took a step back as she climbed down.

As the "procession" began, Hatter led the way, his tuxedo robe billowing behind him. He waved his champagne bottle like a scepter, calling out, "Behold, the most divine union in the Borderlands!"

Kishi trudged along—somehow made a bridesmaid, despite not even knowing the bride's name. But as she glanced at the others, even Mira, a surprising realization hit her: despite the absurdity of it all, this was the closest any of them had come to celebrating something that wasn't just living through a game.

She couldn't help the faint tug of a smile at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. It was insane, yes—but it was also strangely human.

Love was human.

Vows were human.

As the mock procession reached the front of the ballroom, Mira grabbed her by the wrist and shoved a bouquet of mismatched flowers into her hands. Kishi stared at the bouquet, her fingers tightening around the stems.

"Now, Hatter, try your speech again, but with more... gravitas," Mira said.

Hatter placed a hand over his heart, his expression solemn as he turned to address the imaginary couple. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the spirit of—"

The ballroom doors creaked open, cutting him off.

Everyone turned to see the bride and groom—disheveled, breathless, and looking more than a little guilty. The groom was hastily tying the strings on his shorts, while the bride's hair was a chaotic mess.

"Finally," Kishi muttered under her breath, though she couldn't suppress her grin.

Hatter lit up like a kid at Christmas. "Ah, my dear lovebirds! Perfect timing! Come, come, let us rehearse your grand moment!"

As the couple awkwardly made their way to the front, Mira clapped her hands again, her enthusiasm undeterred. "Alright, everyone! Back to your places! We're doing this right!"

By the time the sky outside turned from twilight to inky black, the game departure party had left, and the rehearsal was finally deemed "acceptable" by Mira's impossibly high standards.

Mira clapped her hands one final time, her tone crisp. "That's enough for tonight. Take your break, everyone. But remember—this has to be perfect when the game-goers return later!"

Kishi felt a surge of relief as most of the group scattered, eager to take advantage of the brief reprieve. She was halfway to the door when Mira's voice snapped her back like a whip.

"Kishi-chan! Not so fast!"

She froze mid-step, letting out a low grumble. "You've got to be kidding me."

"You still have bridesmaid duties," Mira chirped, her grin widening. "Along with An and me."

Kuzuryu passed by, finding amusement in her misery. "Good luck," he murmured, smirking as he made his escape.

Kishi glared after him before reluctantly turning back to Mira. "Fine...um, what's her name again?"

The woman gasped and leaned in with a reproachful look. "It's Risa-chan."

"Risa-chan," Kishi repeated flatly, earning herself a sharp jab in the arm from Mira. "Got it. Risa-chan. The love of...what's-his-name's life."

"It's Hiro," Mira said with an exasperated sigh, shaking her head as if Kishi's lack of dedication to their sacred mission was a personal affront. "Honestly, Kishi-chan, you're a bridesmaid. Show some enthusiasm!"

Kishi muttered something unintelligible under her breath about being bone-tired but followed Mira and An to Risa's room. The makeshift bridal suite was one of the nicer rooms in the Beach, with its large windows and balcony—practically executive level, and she wondered who it really belonged to before Hatter kicked them out for the night.

Risa was sitting in front of a dirty mirror, absently brushing out the tangles in her hair. Her cheeks were still flushed from earlier, and she seemed utterly oblivious to their arrival until Mira clapped her hands.

"Risa-chan! We're here to get you ready!" Mira announced.

Risa blinked up at them, startled, before offering a sheepish smile. "Oh...thank you. Sorry, I didn't realize we were starting already."

Mira was already digging through a box of mismatched accessories and supplies. "An, help me with her hair and makeup. Kishi, get the dress ready."

Kishi unzipped the garment bag with a sigh, revealing a dress that made her pause. "Oh," she breathed, almost involuntarily. It wasn't just elegant—it was downright extravagant, with cascading layers of lace and tulle that shimmered faintly in the dim light. "It's... beautiful."

Risa turned to glance over, her eyes widening with a mix of pride and nervousness. "You think?"

Carefully, Kishi lifted the dress out of the bag, her fingers brushing over the delicate fabric. "This looks couture, like designer..."

"That's because it is," Risa chuckled, a trace of mischief in her tone. "I had the whole store to myself, why wouldn't I pick my dream dress? There's a veil in there, too."

Kishi rummaged deeper into the bag and pulled out the veil, delicately unfolding it and splaying it across the bed. She plopped down next to it, her fingers skimming the fine, almost ethereal material, lost in thought.

This wasn't the sort of dress she would have chosen for herself. The fabric, the frills, the overwhelming splendor—it wasn't her style. She also wouldn't have gone for a Christian wedding; her family would have thrown a fit. She wouldn't have chosen red and white as her color scheme, surely not after all this. And she certainly wouldn't be marrying a man she hardly knew.

She wouldn't be here, in this surreal makeshift ceremony, surrounded by people who didn't know her and didn't matter.

And yet, as her fingers traced the veil's edge, she felt the faintest pang of something deep and aching. Regret? Jealousy? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was just the quiet reminder of what she'd forever miss out on since coming here—a wedding, a normal life, a future.

She wasn't even the type of girl to dream about those sorts of things in the real world, but it was in the back of her mind—here and now, of all places.

Once Mira and An had finished the girl's hair and makeup, she was released to Kishi who led her behind a makeshift privacy screen. As Risa slipped out of her casual clothes and into the dress, Kishi found herself asking with closed eyes, "Are you really sure about all of this?"

It wasn't with the intention of scaring the girl or making her second guess anything; it was mostly to satisfy Kishi's curiosity.

Risa's voice was quiet but steady. "I know it's ridiculous...but it feels nice to have something normal for once. Even if it's just pretend. Even if it might end tomorrow when we renew our visas. I love him, and he loves me. And I want to go into the game tomorrow, and every game after that, feeling no regrets."

Kishi didn't respond immediately, but she couldn't help feeling a pang. "Yeah," she said finally. "I get that."

But she didn't. At least, she didn't think so. But she could pretend.

"Thank you for understanding," Risa continued, and poked her in the arm. Kishi opened her eyes to see Risa's bare back to her. "Can you lace me up?"

"Of course."

Once the laces were tightened to the point of being uncomfortable (per Risa's request), the girl turned to her with a shy but genuine smile.

Kishi's breath hitched as she took in the sight of Risa in the dress. It fit her perfectly, the layers of lace and tulle cascading like a waterfall, delicate yet striking. The veil framed her face, softening her features and giving her an almost ethereal glow.

"You look..." Kishi hesitated, her voice uncharacteristically soft for a woman she didn't even know. "Incredible."

Every bride deserved to feel their best on their wedding day. Wasn't that the rule?

Risa's cheeks flushed, and she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mira peeked her head around the screen. "Perfect!" she declared, clapping her hands. "Risa-chan, you're stunning! Kishi-chan, grab the bouquet—time for the finishing touch!"

Kishi snapped out of her reverie, grabbing the small arrangement of flowers from the bed. She handed it to Risa, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "You're going to knock him dead out there."

Risa laughed, though it sounded pretty forced.

Kishi cringed internally. Bad choice of words.

An stepped in, adjusting the veil the smallest bit before nodding in approval.

The ceremony itself was...moving, in its own way. Kishi didn't shed any tears—not for a couple she didn't really know—but her heart did swell with something like joy.

The assembled "guests," a mix of boarders both familiar and not, watched with expressions ranging from genuine warmth to barely concealed amusement.

Risa walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Kuzuryu, who played the role of an impromptu escort. Her dress shimmered faintly in the low light, the veil framing her radiant smile.

Kishi stood with the other "bridesmaids," clutching a bouquet of Kuzuryu's hastily gathered wildflowers. She watched as Risa reached the altar, her groom stepping forward to take her hands. His smile was genuine, his nervousness evident in the way he shifted his weight, but his gaze never wavered from Risa's.

It certainly looked like love.

But what did Kishi know about that?

Hatter raised his arms, his robe swaying dramatically. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate a love so bold, so brilliant, that it defies the very laws of this twisted world!"

There were chuckles from the crowd, but Hatter continued with unexpected sincerity. "In a place where survival is fleeting and tomorrow is uncertain, love is a rebellion. A defiance. And today, these two rebels have chosen to stand together, no matter what comes next."

Kishi found herself swallowing hard, an ache settling in her chest. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen something so...pure.

The couple exchanged vows—simple, heartfelt words that felt more genuine than anything she'd heard in ages. Risa's voice trembled slightly as she spoke, but her words were clear, filled with emotion.

When Hatter declared them "husband and wife" with a dramatic flourish, the room erupted into applause and hoots and whooping. Hiro lifted Risa's veil and kissed her, the crowd cheering louder as Hatter raised his hands, as if in triumph.

Kishi clapped along with the rest, her lips curling into a faint smile despite herself.

The reception was just like any other night at the Beach, just...condensed to the ballroom. All the chairs had been throw to the side to make room for a dancefloor, Daisuke had carried his DJ equipment up there (though, he was asked to only play tracks from the CDs the couple had scavenged for), and the booze was flowing.

Kishi leaned against a corner table, sipping her drink—a questionable cocktail someone had shoved into her hands—while watching the crowd lose themselves to the celebration.

Her gaze drifted toward the bride and groom, who were locked in their own little world. Risa's head rested on her new husband's shoulder as they swayed to a slower song, their smiles soft and unguarded.

"Still want to burn it down?" Kuzuryu's voice broke her thoughts.

"Eh. Too much work," she said with a sigh.

He followed her gaze to the dancefloor, nodding slightly. "Even in the worst places, people find a way to hold on to something good."

Before she could respond, Mira appeared, her energy as relentless as ever. "Kishi-chan! You're not just standing here, are you? Come dance!"

She groaned, but Mira was already tugging her toward the dancefloor. Kuzuryu chuckled quietly as she handed him her glass, staying where he was. The night wore on, and despite herself, she found bits of genuine enjoyment.

She managed to slip away from the dancefloor after Mira became distracted by someone else a few songs in.

She found her way to a quieter balcony, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the humid warmth of the ballroom. Leaning against the railing, she let the noise of the party fade into the background. For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe, her gaze sweeping over the dark, lifeless cityscape of Tokyo.

The sound of soft—though punctuated with squeaky rubber—footsteps behind her broke her solitude. She glanced back to see Chishiya emerging from the shadows, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket.

"Ah. You're here," Kishi commented, her voice light but her gaze curious.

She would have thought he'd be one of the few to avoid the wedding, like the militants—who were probably not even told about it, actually. No one wanted a gun at a wedding.

Chishiya stopped just short of the railing, a faint smirk curling his lips. "Wouldn't miss it. I was...curious, to see how far people would go to pretend this place isn't what it is."

She hummed thoughtfully, her fingers brushing against the cool stone of the railing. "And? Did it live up to your expectations?"

"People are predictable," he said simply. "Even here, they cling to whatever scraps of normalcy they can find. It's fascinating, in its own way."

She turned her gaze back to the city, the faint hum of the party fading further into the background. "Risa and her guy seem happy," she said quietly. "Even if it's temporary. I don't think that's such a bad thing."

He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"You disagree," she pointed out, keeping the tone of accusation from her voice.

"Not to what you've said," he started. "If I were married—in the real world—and had ended up here with my spouse...wouldn't I be at a disadvantage each game? I wouldn't be looking out for just myself; I would need to watch out for them, too. And these games are not all built for that. Sometimes, you can only look out for one life. To willingly bind yourself to someone after arriving here, knowing this, is dumb to me."

"Ah," she hummed, nodding.

"I didn't understand marriage in the real world. And I understand it less, here," he confessed.

"Maybe..." she began, knowing she was about to argue a point that she didn't truly grasp, "...it's not about practicality. Maybe it's about hope."

He finally turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. "Hope?"

She nodded slowly, turning her gaze back to the city. "Hope that, even in a place like this, there's something worth holding onto. Something that reminds you who you are and why you're fighting to survive."

He let out a soft scoff, though it lacked any real disdain. "And what happens when that 'something' gets you killed? Or worse, when it's the reason they don't survive? Hope doesn't win games."

"Maybe. But it can keep you human," she countered.

He didn't counter her point further.

She studied him in the silence, the sharp angles of his face backlit faintly by the ballroom behind them. His expression was as guarded as ever, but the tension in his jaw had eased slightly. She hesitated, unsure if pressing further was wise, but the quiet felt too heavy to leave untouched.

"Have you been to any weddings?" she asked, her tone light, hoping to nudge him into a different direction.

"One," he answered simply.

"A friend? Family?" she followed, curiosity threading through her voice.

He glanced at her briefly, his eyes flickering with faint amusement at her persistence before returning to the skyline. "One of my father's coworkers."

"Oh, were you young, then?" she asked, pressing just enough to keep him talking.

"Maybe nine." He shrugged, the movement small but deliberate. "I don't remember any other kids being there...But they had a chocolate fountain."

The corner of her mouth lifted at the faint flicker of light in his eyes at that last bit. "Well, at least it wasn't completely lame."

"And you? Many weddings?" he asked, and she could have sworn his gaze dropped briefly to her left hand, as though searching for something.

"Oh, lots," she said, her tone brightening. "I come from a big family, so I always had a cousin or a sibling or a distant relative tying the knot. More traditional Shinto weddings, though."

He nodded at that, the gesture slow and thoughtful. She noticed his fingers brushing the railing, the faintest trace of distraction in the movement, as though he were sorting through his thoughts.

"You want to dance?" she asked suddenly, not because she wanted to—she didn't—but because she was curious. What if he did? Maybe he secretly liked to, and wasn't brave enough to ask anyone.

"No," he almost snorted, the answer coming out too quickly.

She bit back a smile. Well, that was expected.

He turned to her then, side-eyeing her with faint suspicion. "Did you want to?"

This time, it was her turn to snort. "No. I've had my fill of that for the night."

"You didn't look miserable out there," he commented casually, but the implication lingered: he'd seen her. Watched her, even.

She cocked an eyebrow. "My dancing or my attitude?" she asked, fully aware that her dancing left much to be desired.

"Both."

Eh, he was liar. But she already knew this about him. "It's called acting. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"I'm familiar," he drawled.

Yeah, he was bad news. But she knew this already, too.

She sighed, looking over her shoulder. "I need to go find Kuzuryu. I gave him my drink to hold, and I know he's probably been guarding it with his life somewhere in a corner."

Chishiya nodded. "I will probably turn in, then."

"Ah. Goodnight. Thanks for coming," and then she decided that seemed weird for her to say, and clarified, "for talking to me...out here."

"Anytime," he said. "Goodnight, Kishi."

And she left him out on the balcony.

Chapter Text

—BACK in high school, Kishi had briefly entertained the idea of studying marine biology. For a time, she was obsessed with those freaky creatures of the deep. But like most teenage obsessions, it faded, and her path had taken her elsewhere—into the arms of the non-living. Now, it was just another fun little icebreaker fact about her—that she worked at an aquarium for a summer as a teenager.

This was not the same aquarium she'd been employed at. Its tanks were massive, designed for far larger creatures. The sheer scale of it dwarfed any memory she had of her old summer job. And now, standing on a suspended walkway high above the tanks, Kishi felt she had chosen the correct calling.

This was utterly horrifying.

The group of participants fidgeted uneasily, glancing between each other and the murky waters below. Even before the game announcement, the setup was clear: they'd be jumping in for one reason or another.

Lucky them, huh, that most of the Beach members were wearing some form of swimwear.

"There are a total of 12 participants."

"Form groups of three."

She looked over at the group she had arrived with. There were four of them, including her. Awkward.

Two of them stepped up to her immediately, probably knowing she was a statistically good ally to have in group games. That was, if it was a club game—if not, it was hit or miss.

Chishiya, the fourth member of their car, missed the memo and blinked. She watched as he gave a small shrug and turned to join another pair behind him.

Kishi frowned but said nothing, focusing instead on her current teammates. She bent down and began unlacing her shoes, a little wary that they may just be dropped in unceremoniously.

"Can you guys swim?" she asked distractedly, trying to gauge their usefulness.

The girl nodded enthusiastically. "I was on the swim team for a year back in high school."

That was...not a very long time. Kishi smiled at her answer, anyways.

The boy looked nervous, but he nodded shallowly. She couldn't tell if he was bluffing or just scared.

Kishi glanced over the railing at the water. The surface was dark, algae floating thickly on top. It was impossible to tell what was below. "I'm not sure what tank this is," she admitted, her voice low, "but let's assume the worst—large predators. Sharks, maybe. And considering how long it's been since anyone's fed them..."

Her teammates exchanged horrified looks, but she didn't bother backtracking or sugarcoating.

At this point, all the teams had been formed and were discussing strengths and weaknesses much like them.

Chishiya ended up with one other Beach member and another young man who seemed fit and smart. Lucky him.

The two other teams were a little less awe-inspiring, with older members or the standoffish type that had a tendency to throw people under the bus. You know the type.

"Difficulty: Seven of Clubs."

"Game is 'Tank Dive'."

"Rules: each team must retrieve five glow sticks hidden throughout the tank. Only one member of each team may be alive in the tank at one time. Deposit glow sticks in your team bucket on the walkway. Stealing buckets or from buckets is prohibited. It is Game Over for a team if five glow sticks have not been collected by the end of the time limit. Game Cleared when team collects five glow sticks."

"Time limit: 35 minutes."

"The game will commence in two minutes."

Kishi straightened and toed off her sneakers entirely, unbuttoning her cargo shorts and slipping them off to reveal her bikini bottoms underneath. Around her, the other participants were doing the same, stripping down to whatever swimwear or underwear they had beneath their clothes. A few stubbornly remained dressed, though she couldn't imagine why. Even Chishiya had unzipped his jacket and kicked off his shoes.

There was no room for shame here—no place for modesty. The Borderlands had stripped them of everything else; dignity was just another thing to discard in the name of survival.

She grabbed the arms of her teammates and pulled them closer so she could whisper. "Not that I'm going to put the thought into the world, but it will be hard to tell if one of us has died down there, so what I propose is one of us dives, one of us is on deck to trade out, and one of us goes to the viewing area to check if they can see what's happening. I'll bet it's clearer underneath the algae growth."

The boy, as she expected, volunteered immediately. "I can do that."

"Okay. And you should have a code for us if...if you see one of us die, okay?" Kishi said. "Just a single word. A color, maybe."

"Red?"

"Sure, red," she agreed, though cheesy. "You can probably head there now."

The boy nodded and bolted, weaving past the other participants as he hurried toward the public viewing area. A few people watched him go with confusion, but Kishi ignored them, focusing instead on the girl. If they chose to copy her plan, then she'd try to feel flattered.

Kishi turned to her teammate and immediately caught sight of trembling hands as she twisted her hair into a tight bun. The fear was written all over her face, her eyes darting nervously between the water and the people around them.

She reached out and placed a steadying hand on the girl's shoulder, softening her voice. "Hey, I'll take one for the team and go first, okay? Check out what's going on down there." She forced a lighthearted smile. "Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and find all five glow sticks in one go."

Unlikely.

The girl swallowed hard and nodded, though her breathing was shallow.

"Just focus on watching the water and listen for that other guy. I'll come back to swap with you when I need it," Kishi continued, trying to keep her tone confident. "I'm not the best swimmer, but I can hold my breath pretty well."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "One more thing—other teams might try to fight or sabotage us. The rules had obvious loopholes about stealing, and it said nothing about violence or killing. Less competition for them to find the glow sticks, you know? So...avoid everything and everyone. Stay alert."

The girl exhaled shakily but nodded again. "Okay, okay. Good luck, Kishi-chan."

Sometimes, she hated being an executive purely for the fact that everyone knew her name.

Her eyes scanned the walkway, landing on the break in the railing near their team's bucket. She padded over, the grating cold against her bare feet, and curled her toes over the edge. The waterproofed phone she'd left by her pile of clothes back on the platform sat silent for now, but she knew the timer was about to begin.

Instinctively, she glanced across the tank to where Chishiya stood with his team. They were focused, quietly discussing strategy—or so it seemed. Chishiya wasn't saying much, of course, just watching with that unflappable expression of his. He caught her glance and raised an eyebrow.

She mouthed a quick, 'Good luck,' to which he nodded once in response.

"The game will now commence."

Around her, three splashes echoed in quick succession as the first divers from the other teams leapt into the water. Kishi, however, remained rooted to her spot. Her teammate hissed behind her, "What are you doing?!"

Kishi didn't answer, her eyes locked on the water's surface. The ripples expanded outward, obscuring even more of her view beneath.

And then—

Near the group that had been standing behind them, the water exploded in violent splashes. A muffled scream echoed around the room, garbled by the tank. A dark shape thrashed beneath the surface, too large to be a person. Whatever it was, it moved fast—powerful and predatory.

Kishi sprinted down the walkway to the furthest edge from the commotion, brushing right by Chishiya. She reached the farthest corner, grabbed the railing for balance, and dove.

The icy water swallowed her whole.

The world above vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, greenish murk. Kishi's body stiffened instinctively at the shock of the temperature, but she forced herself to keep moving, kicking her legs to orient herself. Tiny bubbles slipped from her lips as she adjusted her breathing, and the dim light filtering through the water barely illuminated the space around her.

The water burned her eyes, but there was nothing for it. She couldn't see much, just the dark, hazy expanse of the tank stretching endlessly in every direction. Algae clung to the walls, undulating slightly with the distant movement. A faint, acrid taste lingered in the water—salt, metal, and something faintly decayed.

Then she saw it.

Something massive passed below her, a vague, hulking shadow that sent her heart into her throat. It moved silently, gliding through the gloom with an eerie grace. She froze, her muscles tensing as the figure disappeared around a large coral stack, leaving only a ripple of bubbles in its wake.

A flicker of movement to her right drew her gaze—a fin cutting through the water like a knife. The realization struck her like a physical blow. Tiger sharks. And not just one. There were at least two circling the tank, their bodies coiling like predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

There would be no fending them off if they caught you.

She exhaled a small stream of bubbles, steadying herself as she scanned the tank for any sign of the glow sticks. The algae-coated walls gave way to coral formations and patches of thick seaweed.

Kicking her legs, she propelled herself downward, aiming for the dense coral reef below. The water resisted her, thick and heavy, and her lungs began to ache with the effort. She knew she couldn't stay under for too long.

Her fingers brushed the first cluster of coral, and she craned her neck to peer into the cracks and crevices. The water stirred around her, and her heart raced at the thought of something brushing past her leg. She turned sharply, but there was nothing—just the vast emptiness of the tank.

She had to go deeper.

With a deep exhale through her nose to make herself sink faster, she plunged further into the tank, the pressure building against her chest. The coral below was larger, spreading like a jagged maze of stone and life. Tiny fish darted between the cracks, their movements quick and skittish.

A faint glimmer caught her eye, and she kicked harder, reaching for the source of the light. Tucked beneath a tangled mess of seaweed and algae, the unmistakable shape of a glow stick gleamed faintly.

Her fingers closed around the plastic tube, yanking it free from the strands. The moment she had it in her grip, a ripple of surged past her. Kishi's head snapped upward, and her stomach dropped.

One of the sharks had doubled back. Its sleek body cut through the water, closer than before. Too close.

Her lungs screamed for air, and panic clawed at the edges of her mind. She kicked off the coral, pushing herself upward as fast as she could. Her chest burned, her vision narrowing as she broke the surface, gasping for breath.

"Kishi!" her teammate shouted, waving from the walkway.

She turned toward her teammate, kicking hard to keep herself afloat. Her muscles were trembling, her grip on the glow stick slippery from the cold water. "Shark!" she shouted awkwardly, her voice breaking as she forced herself to swim toward the edge of the walkway.

Behind her, the water rippled violently. The unmistakable shadow of the shark was rising, its streamlined body cutting through the murk like a missile locked onto its target.

She pushed through the burn in her legs, each stroke an act of sheer willpower. Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline driving her forward as the walkway loomed closer. The shark was faster, though—she could feel the pressure of its pursuit, the displacement of water surging closer with every second.

The edge of the walkway was within reach now, just a few strokes away. Her teammate leaned over the railing, arm extended, desperation etched into her face.

"Kishi, hurry!"

With one final burst of energy, she lunged for the platform, her fingers gripping the cold metal of the railing. The glow stick slipped from her other hand, but she caught it against her chest, clutching it tightly as she tried to hoist herself up.

The shark's fin broke the surface behind her, a jagged black blade slicing through the water. Her stomach twisted in terror.

"Pull me!" Kishi screamed, her voice raw.

Her teammate grabbed her forearm with both hands and yanked, her face strained with effort. Kishi scrambled against the slippery edge of the walkway, her feet kicking wildly in the water as she fought to pull herself out.

The shark surged forward, its jaws breaking the surface with a snap that sent a cold shiver down her spine. Kishi screamed again, her panic fueling one last desperate push as her teammate dug her heels in and pulled harder.

The shark's snout grazed her foot, and she felt its rough, sandpaper-like skin before they managed to drag her body fully onto the walkway. They both collapsed in a heap, Kishi gasping for air, her chest heaving as the glow stick rolled from her grip.

The shark thrashed violently below them, its powerful tail sending water spraying upward in a final show of frustration before it disappeared back into the depths.

Kishi's teammate grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently. "Are you okay? Did it get you?"

Kishi couldn't speak yet, just shook her head, her body trembling from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She forced herself to sit up, eyes darting back to the tank.

"There's more than one," she finally croaked, picking up the glow stick and handing it to her teammate.

The girl deposited it in the bucket and hesitated at the edge before she quickly slipped into the water for her turn.

Kishi breathed harshly on her back for a moment, trying to calm herself down.

The girl got lucky, and she returned rather quickly with another glow stick. As Kishi pulled her up, the girl said, "The sharks are over in that area." She pointed to the opposite end of the tank. "I think—I think they got one of the players."

The other teams standing on the walkway looked over, one of them asking, "Do you know who it was?"

The girl shook her head. "No, sorry."

Kishi patted her wet shoulder and got ready to dive in, feeling better about knowing the sharks were further off this time. She steadied herself at the edge of the walkway, taking a deep breath as the cold air bit at her damp skin.

She dove and kicked downward, the murkiness slowly giving way. As she plunged deeper, her hand brushed against something solid. A flash of light caught her eye—a glow stick lodged in a tangle of seaweed. Relief surged through her as she reached for it, but the moment she did, a presence loomed nearby.

She froze, her heart pounding. It wasn't a shark. It was a man—one of the other participants. His rugged features and hardened eyes were visible even underwater.

And he didn't look particularly friendly.

Her instincts screamed at her to retreat, but before she could act, he surged toward her, cutting water like butter.

She kicked hard, pushing herself backward, but the man was fast. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her back toward him. The glow stick slipped from her grasp, drifting downward into the depths.

Panic set in as his grip tightened. He wasn't just trying to stop her or steal from her—he was trying to drown her.

She thrashed, twisting her body and kicking out with as much force as she could muster. Bubbles streamed around them as she clawed at his arms, her nails scraping against his skin. He was relentless, his other hand pressing down on her shoulder, forcing her downward.

Her lungs burned, the need for air becoming unbearable. As his arm crossed in front of her face, she stuck her neck out and bit down on the inside of his forearm. He recoiled, bubbles clouding the water as he released her and clutched at the wound. Kishi didn't waste a second—she kicked off him, propelling herself upward toward the surface.

The water felt heavier than before, the pressure in her chest almost unbearable. She broke through the surface with a gasp, coughing and sputtering as she clawed at the edge of the walkway.

"Help!" she choked out, her voice hoarse and desperate.

Her teammate was already there, grabbing her under the arms and hauling her up. "What happened?" the girl asked, wide-eyed.

"Another player," Kishi panted, collapsing onto the walkway. "He tried to drown me."

She looked back at the water, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Looking at the teams, there were two older folk who didn't look too concerned. She could guess at their team's technique, dirty as it was.

"I'll go back in. I just need a breath," she said. And as soon as her lungs stopped aching, she pushed herself back in.

She kept an eye out for the man, but he must have taken her dropped glowstick and moved on to wrestle somebody else. She retrieved another glowstick easily enough, and the girl helped haul her back up.

During the girl's turn in the water, Kishi looked at the walkway, seeing the absence of a platinum blond sneak. He still had two teammates on the walkway, which meant he probably wasn't dead. She still felt uneasy.

She looked at the time remaining—00:13:51.

Her teammate resurfaced, and Kishi pulled her out. The girl shook her head as she said breathlessly, "I didn't get a glow stick, but I saw one. I just need to breathe. I'll go back in."

Kishi nodded.

There was a large commotion of splashes where the girl had just been, and they both took a step away from the edge. 

Kishi nudged her and pointed away from all the splashing. "How about I go over there and look for a different one in the meantime? We don't want to lose too much time."

The girl reluctantly nodded, and Kishi ran off and leapt over the side with a dive.

The cold water swallowed her again as she kicked beneath the surface. Her body had grown accustomed to the frigid shock, thankfully. She kicked toward the rocky terrain near the tank's large glass wall, the faint lights from the observation area casting eerie shadows below.

As she neared the bottom, movement caught her eye. Through the thick glass, her other teammate stood, waving frantically to get her attention. He jabbed a finger downward, pointing to a spot on the rocky ground just a few meters from her.

Kishi narrowed her eyes, scanning the area he was indicating. At first, she saw nothing but jagged stone and a tangle of seaweed, but then she caught it—a faint green glow, barely visible in the sediment.

Her teammate pressed a fist against the glass in an exaggerated thumbs-up gesture, his grin wide and encouraging. She felt a surge of gratitude and nodded back before kicking toward the spot.

The glow stick was partially buried in a crevice, wedged between two jagged rocks. Kishi reached out, fingers curling around the smooth plastic. With a firm tug, it came free, sending a puff of silt into the water around her.

As she turned to ascend, her eyes darted to the edges of her vision, wary of anything moving too quickly. The water felt strangely still—too still. She pushed the thought aside, focusing on reaching the surface.

Kishi's lungs burned, the familiar ache signaling her need for air. She angled her body upward, kicking hard, the glow stick clenched tightly in her hand. The glass wall loomed beside her, and she caught a glimpse of her teammate following her progress, his hand pressed to the glass as if willing her upward.

The surface broke with a satisfying rush of air and light. She gasped, gulping in oxygen as she treaded water.

"Kishi-chan!" her girl teammate called, running to her spot on the walkway.

She swam to the edge and tossed the glow stick into the bucket before letting her teammate pull her out. Her chest heaved as she collapsed onto the grating, wiping water from her face.

"That makes four," her teammate said, her voice trembling with relief as she deposited the glow stick in their bucket. "One more, and we're out of here."

Kishi nodded, still catching her breath, her body aching from exertion. She leaned back on her elbows, glancing at the water, which seemed deceptively calm.

"I can get the one I saw before," the girl said, wringing her hands nervously. "The sharks might have moved on. I think... I think I can get it if I'm careful."

Kishi looked at her, assessing the fear and determination warring on her face. After a moment, she gave a firm nod. "All right. Be smart. If anything feels wrong, you come right back, got it? We've got some time."

The girl swallowed hard and nodded. "Got it."

Kishi helped steady her as she slipped into the water, the sound of the small splash echoing against the tank walls. She watched the girl tread water for a moment, steeling herself, before diving beneath the surface.

She stood by the edge, her eyes fixed on the water, the seconds dragging on like hours.

Movement on the far side of the walkway caught her attention, and she glanced up to see Chishiya. He was soaked from head to toe, his hair plastered to his head, and his eyeliner smudged into faint streaks under his eyes. He looked like a miserable, drowned cat, but he was alive.

For a moment, their eyes met across the distance. There was no smugness, no sarcastic quip in his gaze this time—just a quiet acknowledgment. Relief, maybe. Or curiosity.

Kishi's lips twitched in a faint smile, but before the moment could solidify, a piercing scream tore through the air.

"Red!"

The word rang out from the direction of the exit, shrill and panicked. Kishi's blood turned to ice, and her head snapped toward the water.

No. No, no, no.

Her heart hammered in her chest as dread clawed its way up her throat. The girl...

Kishi scanned the water's surface frantically, looking for any sign of movement. It was still.

She hesitated for the barest moment, but then she hardened herself, pushing away the crushing fear of being torn to shred by rows of razor sharp teeth, and dove in.

The cold water enveloped her again, and she kicked downward, forcing herself to focus through the murky currents. She moved along the terrain, her vision narrowing in the gloom. And then she saw it—a faint green glow wedged between two rocks. Relief surged through her chest as she swam toward it, fingers outstretched.

Her hand had just closed around the glow stick when movement caught her eye. She turned sharply, and her stomach twisted into a knot.

It was him. The older man from before. He surged toward her with powerful strokes, his face twisted in a grimace of rage. Kishi instinctively kicked backward, clutching the glow stick to her chest.

He reached her before she could put much distance between them, grabbing for her arm again. She twisted, trying to wrench free, but his grip was like iron. He yanked her closer, his other hand reaching for the glow stick.

Kishi lashed out, her elbow connecting with his ribs, but he didn't let go. His hand came up, catching her square in the nose. Pain exploded across her face, sharp and blinding.

Her vision blurred, and she saw a dark cloud billowing in front of her. Blood. Her nose was bleeding.

Panic clawed at her as the realization hit. The sharks. They'd smell it.

Desperation fueled her as she fought against him, kicking and twisting with every ounce of strength she had. He was stronger, but she was faster, more agile. She managed to get one arm free and shoved hard against his chest, creating a brief gap between them.

But before she could swim away, a shadow passed over them. Kishi froze, her eyes darting upward. A sleek, menacing shape glided through the water, its movements slow and deliberate.

The man saw it too, his grip on her tightening as he tried to use her as a shield. Her heart pounded in her ears as she made a split-second decision.

She curled inward and, using the momentum to turn so the man was between her and the shark. All the movement caught the predator's attention. It turned sharply, its body rippling with terrifying grace as it zeroed in on the older man.

He screamed—a muffled, garbled sound underwater—and released her in panic as the shark charged. Kishi didn't stay to watch. She swam as fast as her burning lungs would allow, clutching the glow stick like a lifeline.

The surface seemed impossibly far, her lungs burning as though they were being crushed. Kishi kicked harder, her legs straining with every stroke. The sounds of thrashing faded behind her, muted by the water pressing in from all sides.

Finally, she broke through the surface, gasping, her throat raw as she gulped in air. She could feel her arms trembling as she treaded water, the glow stick clutched tightly in her hand.

Her head snapped toward the walkway, and her heart stuttered at the sight of Chishiya leaning over the edge, his hand extended toward her.

"Come on," he said.

She didn't hesitate. She swam to him, her arms heavy and aching. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her up with surprising strength. Her knees scraped against the grating as she collapsed onto the walkway, coughing and retching up the water she'd swallowed. The glow stick rolled from her trembling hand, but she grabbed it again and held on tight.

He crouched beside her, his wet hair dripping onto the walkway as he patted her back twice.

She reached over and deposited the glow stick in the bucket and she heard a chirp from her pile of clothes.

"Game Cleared. Congratulations."

Kishi let out a rasping laugh, spitting out more water before forcing herself to sit upright. She wiped at her face, then glanced at him with a faint smirk. "You look like a raccoon."

He raised a hand to rub at the smudged black streaks under his eyes, his expression unbothered even as he took in her bloody mouth and chin. "And you look downright scary."

Kishi snorted, though the motion made her wince. She wiped at the blood still trailing from her nose, her fingers brushing tender skin.

Before she could say anything in rebuttal, he leaned closer, narrowing his eyes as he tilted her chin up slightly. "Hold still," he muttered.

"What—"

Without asking, he pressed two fingers gently against the bridge of her nose. She hissed in pain, jerking back instinctively, but his grip was firm.

"Relax," he said, not bothering to look at her reaction. "I'm checking to see if it's broken."

"Pretty sure I'd know if it was broken," she shot back, though she didn't pull away again.

"Not necessarily." He pressed lightly on another spot near her sinuses, his touch clinical despite her obvious discomfort. He tilted her head to the side to inspect the swelling. "Not broken. Swollen, though."

"Pleasant," she grumbled, pulling away.

A loud clunk echoed from further walkway. One of Chishiya's teammates had just deposited their final glow stick, securing their team's victory within the time limit.

"Oh good," he muttered, barely sparing them a glance as they secured his victory. His gaze flicked back to her, scanning her face one last time. "You should ice that when we get back. Septal hematomas are hard to reverse."

She scoffed, too tired to argue.

"One minute remaining."

She exhaled through her nose, immediately regretting it when pain flared through the swollen bridge. Her fingers twitched at her side, itching to press against the ache, but she resisted. Instead, she braced herself against the walkway railing, eyes flickering to the timer as it continued its slow countdown.

Somewhere in the distance, there was a strangled yell, a final thrash of water—then silence.

She didn't look.

The remaining players were running out of time. Desperation set in. A few of them lunged toward the water for any glow sticks they hadn't found. But the rules had been clear. The lasers fired one after another, clean and precise. No screaming. No fighting. Just instant, inescapable death.

The time ran out.

Three flashes of red light.

Then nothing.

Kishi's stomach twisted—not from guilt, not from horror, but from something colder, something resigned. The lasers had done their work, leaving only the stillness that always followed.

Her eyes flicked toward the bucket of the team that had given her the most trouble—the two older players and the man who had nearly broken her nose in the water. Their bucket sat untouched. Completely empty.

She didn't smile, but something in her tightened, a quiet, bitter satisfaction curling in her chest. Poetic, really.

"Game Cleared. Congratulations."

The survivors from her and Chishiya's teams had already begun peeling away, gathering their scattered clothes. No cheers, no relief—just the mechanical process of moving forward, of surviving.

She rolled her shoulders, feeling the exhaustion creep in like a weight pressing against her bones. The water had drained her more than she realized.

Chishiya, standing beside her, gave her a sidelong look. "Let's go."

Kishi nodded, tugging her cargo shorts back on over her bikini bottoms, the damp fabric clinging uncomfortably to her skin. She didn't care.

Chapter Text

—THIS might be the hottest Kishi's ever felt in her life.

Her skin burned, damp and sticky as sweat poured from every inch of her. She'd stripped down to her sports bra ages ago, but even that felt oppressive, clinging uncomfortably to her chest. Her hair, once tied back, had long since given up the fight, plastering itself to her neck and cheeks in rebellious strands.

The air was stifling—thick, heavy, almost alive with heat. Breathing felt like trying to swallow fire. Every inhale scorched her throat, and every exhale felt shallow, as if her lungs were rationing the oxygen.

Her vision swam, a persistent haze settling at the edges, making it harder to focus. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the sound merging with the faint, persistent hum she couldn't quite place.

"There are a total of seven participants."

"Difficulty: Four of Spades."

"Game is 'Pressure Cooker'."

"Rule, survive the increasing temperature of the chamber. Game cleared when lethal temperature of 100°C is reached."

"Time limit: Not Applicable."

"What is that in Fahrenheit?!" the foreign man yelled in English.

"212 degrees," Kishi muttered.

Far beyond what the human body was capable of withstanding.

Which seemed a little unfair for a low difficulty game.

Even now, after just starting, it was enough to send people into a heat stroke.

Kishi's eyes flicked to the pressure and temperature gauges, her brow furrowing as she watched the needle climb. It was rising at an alarming rate—at the pace it was going, the dial would hit critical levels in just a few minutes. But it was a few minutes too long.

"I feel like I'm going to melt!" a girl pressed against the cool concrete wall said.

"They can't expect us to live through this! This is unsurvivable!" another man said. "They're going to cook us in here."

She looked to Chishiya, his jacket and shirt discarded along with everyone else's. His chin was tilted back as he fought the heat. He'd tied his hair up and off the long column of his pale neck.

She could see the telltale signs of heat exhaustion creeping up on all of their faces—shaky hands, flushed cheeks, the signs of dehydration setting in. Panic was starting to leak into their movements, their breathing becoming shallow and erratic.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she scanned the fixtures of the room next. The walls were lined with pipes, a faint smell of rust mixing with the stifling heat. There were no windows, no vents, nothing that could help cool the room down.

"You!" the foreign man pointed at her sternly. "You keep looking at the gauges. Can you figure out how to reverse this?"

"I'm thinking," she said quietly. "And stop yelling, you're just going to tire yourself out more."

"Well, think faster," he demanded, not really heeding her words.

"Yeah! Kishi-chan can figure it out! She's an engineer!" one of the girls said.

Everyone started chiming in their support, but it all felt a bit more like a pressure cooker of its own. The words, meant to be encouraging, only made her feel more exposed, more responsible.

Kishi wiped the sweat from her brow, her hands slick as she looked back at the temperature gauge. The needle was still creeping up relentlessly.

The only option now was to figure out a way to tamper with the system itself—and hope that that didn't earn her an automatic game over.

She grabbed a wrench from a low pocket of her cargo shorts. There was a way to divert the heat, or at least slow it down—if she could find the right connection, the right valve to release. There was a coupling in one of the pipes—a large, industrial-sized one—that seemed like it could be messed with. It was shinier than the rest, newer.

"Everyone, back up!" she called out, using what little strength was left in her to shove a couple of people out of the way as she knelt by the pipe. The foreign man gave her an irritated look, but said nothing.

Using the wrench, she began twisting at the coupling to slightly dislodge the pipes from each other. But after breaking the seal, she didn't hear any hissing or whooshing to signal that this pipe was even being used for anything. She twisted the coupling back, just in case something did come through at some point.

A red herring, probably.

She looked back at the gauges.

"Would you stop looking at those and get back to actually figuring this out?!" the man yelled.

Kishi's jaw tightened at the foreign man's words. She shot him a glance, about to tear into him for being a dickhead when peace and clarity could really do them some good.

Someone beat her to it, however.

"Oh, shut up and let her work," Chishiya retaliated. He hadn't even moved his head from where it leaned back against the wall.

"We're going to die if she doesn't figure it out," he said gruffly, getting in Chishiya's face.

"I think she knows," he said, unbothered.

A sudden wave of heat caused them all to groan.

The man looked at her, expression fading into desperation. "Just...get us out of here."

She pulled at the ends of her hair. Think. Think faster.

"Adversarial attack," she heard a whisper to her right.

She looked over, seeing Chishiya glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes. His mouth sat open, taking in deep and steady breaths.

Ah.

If they couldn't beat the machine, fool it.

If she couldn't stop the temperature from rising, she had to trick the system into thinking it was already at a lethal level. The system was only reading the temperature, nothing else. If she could manipulate the signal, even just slightly, she could make the game think it was over before the heat ever reached that threshold.

It wasn't without its risks. There was no telling how the system might react, or if it would detect the manipulation and kill them before they could escape.

Kishi's hands shook slightly, her eyelashes blinking away dripping sweat from her forehead. She had done this kind of thing before, albeit not with the lives of so many people on the line, but the principle remained the same.

She crouched next to the temperature gauge, her eyes tracing the system's wiring. It wasn't the most sophisticated setup, and that made it both easier and more dangerous. The system likely wasn't designed to withstand any tampering, but it wasn't particularly high-tech either.

The foreign man was still pacing—likely contributing to the rising temps—his eyes flicking between her and the other participants. The girl who had been panicking earlier had her back pressed against the wall, clearly trying to keep herself upright. The remaining members of the room had taken to lying as flat on the ground as they could get, the concrete just barely cooler than the air.

Chishiya, though, was watching her, his sharp eyes calculating.

Oh, she felt the pressure alright.

Her fingers worked deftly as she carefully pried open the panel beneath the gauges and exposed the wiring inside. She was careful not to break any seals, to keep everything as subtle as possible. The system couldn't register that something was off in case it was capable of self-adjusting. She needed to send a message to the main control unit, a falsified signal, something that would force the system to believe it had already hit its threshold.

She found what she was looking for—a small relay that connected the temperature sensor to the rest of the system. If she rerouted it, just for a moment...

A gentle tug to some exposed wires and they came loose, their copper threads gleaming under her fingertips. She saw the dial fall to zero celsius. Kishi's lips curled into a slight smile as she spotted a nearby power source—a dormant cooling unit that had likely been left unused for this game specifically.

Rather convenient.

She yanked at the cooling unit's casing, dislodging a few screws with a quick twist. The inner wires were exposed now, crisscrossing in a way that reminded her of a complex network of veins. She tapped into the unit's electrical flow, careful to avoid any sparking. Her fingers worked quickly, connecting a wire from the cooling unit's output to the relay circuit she had already tampered with.

The cooling system's low-level power would now feed a false signal into the system, simulating a rapid, dangerous rise in temperature. Her mind calculated the precise rate at which heat could increase, ensuring the system would register it as gradual. She didn't need to overdo it—just enough to trigger the system's threshold.

Her hands flew over the connections now, soldering a makeshift bridge between the cooling unit's output and the relay. The connection hummed with power, and she could see the gauge next to her beginning to twitch, the needle moving ever so slightly.

The heat in the room continued to rise, but the machine was no longer registering it. The system was reading the new signal she had created.

The girl in on the wall swooned and fainted, and Kishi was pretty sure one of the dudes on the ground had passed out after puking in the corner.

Kishi grit her teeth as she pressed the last wire into place, feeling the burn of the superheated air clawing at her skin. The gauge wavered, the needle inching upward at an unnatural pace, following the false signal she had created. Her pulse thundered in her ears. If the system caught on, if she had miscalculated even slightly—

The room shuddered.

For a terrifying second, nothing happened.

Then, a loud mechanical click reverberated through the space, and the oppressive heat stopped climbing. The vents overhead hissed, releasing a gust of cool air, but Kishi knew better than to trust it completely. She kept her eyes locked on the door they'd come in through.

"Game cleared. Congratulations."

The electronic voice rang through the sweltering room, and relief crashed into her so hard she nearly collapsed.

Someone let out a hoarse, broken laugh—maybe the foreign guy, maybe one of the others still conscious. Kishi barely registered it. Her whole body trembled from the adrenaline crash, sweat rolling down her temples and stinging her eyes. The cooling unit let out a faint hum as it finally kicked in, a halfhearted attempt at stabilizing the temperature.

The doors creaked open, revealing the corridor back to the main lobby.

The foreign man, still panting, dragged himself forward and outside.

Kishi snorted, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. Not even a thanks for saving his ass. Her head swam from the heat exhaustion, but she forced herself to stay upright. The others who hadn't passed out were stirring, groaning as they tried to process their survival.

She didn't waste another second. Stepping over the unconscious, barely sparing them a second glance, she strode toward the exit. The air outside was still thick and stale, but it felt downright freezing compared to the oven they'd just escaped.

Looking over her shoulder, she spotted a figure staggering along the wall, using it for support. She paused, taking a deep breath of the stifling, cool before striding over.

Grabbing their discarded shirts and jackets, she draped them over her shoulder and hooked an arm under the man's to support him.

He groaned, leaning heavily against her, his sweat-slicked skin pressing against her own. The sensation made her cringe, but she said nothing.

"I'm probably going to faint," he muttered, voice slurred and small. His head lolled toward her shoulder. "Just forewarning."

"Don't," she ordered, her tone sharp. "I can't carry you out of here if you do."

"It'll only be for a few seconds, I think," he assured.

The next moment, his full weight slumped against her as he went completely limp.

She turned into a puddle under his weight, and she tried to lower them both to the ground as gently as possible. Despite her efforts, his head thunked against her knee with a dull sound.

She hunched over him, using every shaky exhale to blow cool air into his face. The strands that framed his face didn't quite fit in his ponytail, and with every gust they fanned out. Eventually, his nose wrinkled and his eyes fluttered open.

His voice came, scratchy, "You're breath stinks."

"Sorry," she said weakly. "Dry mouth does that."

His eyes gently closed again and she dug a finger into his cheek to keep him awake.

"You good to move?" she asked after a beat, trying to mask the concern in her voice with her usual bluntness.

"Define 'good,'" he quipped, attempting to sit up. His movements were sluggish, and he winced as he braced himself on one arm.

"Better than dead," she shot back, rising to her feet and offering him a hand.

He eyed it with a raised brow, then reluctantly took it. "Barely."

Together, they stumbled toward the exit at the top of a staircase, Kishi keeping a firm grip on his arm as they navigated the last few steps. The cooler air hit them like a blessing, and for a moment, they both just stood there, catching their breath and reveling in the reprieve.

Outside, in the main lobby, the table that had once been bare now held the card marking their victory—and a water station.

How considerate, Kishi thought bitterly, her teeth clenching.

The other participants were already crowding the dispenser, greedily gulping water straight from the nozzle or splashing it onto their overheated bodies. Paper cups sat untouched on the side.

Kishi eased Chishiya down against the wall, where he slumped without protest, his head tipping back against the concrete.

"Stay," she ordered, though he didn't look like he was going anywhere.

Shuffling over to the table, she pocketed the card and grabbed one of the abandoned cups and filled it to the brim. Three large gulps later, her throat felt less like sandpaper, and she refilled the cup before bringing it back to Chishiya.

"Here," she said, crouching to hand it to him.

He stared at the cup, his expression unreadable but faintly suspicious. "You already drank from this," he noted, as if announcing a crime.

She rolled her eyes, her patience running thin. She started to rise. "Fine, I'll get you another one."

"No," he said abruptly, stopping her mid-turn. "It's fine."

Before she could respond, he took the cup and drank from it, his throat bobbing as he downed the water in a few gulps. He held it back to her, looking mighty helpless and pitiful—a new look for him.

She took the cup back to the dispenser and repeated what she had before. This time, she also splashed some water on her hand and rubbed it on the back of her neck, sighing. Dousing her hand once more, she walked back to Chishiya. He drowsily lifted his head as she approached.

This time, he took the cup without hesitation.

As he savored this cup a little more, she hovered there, letting the heat of her hand cool in the air before she placed it on his forehead. The action was gentle, almost reflexive, and her fingers brushed his skin lightly. He immediately flicked it away, his movements sharp with disinterest, and she pulled back, not surprised but slightly amused at the reaction.

But then, a beat later, he reached out and pulled her hand back to his forehead, letting it rest there as he closed his eyes. She could feel his skin growing warmer beneath it.

"Do you faint often?" she asked.

His eyelids twitched, but his voice was steady when he answered, "No, but I know the feeling." He allowed her hand to fall from his forehead, his grip loosening.

"Ah," she murmured, mulling over his words as she sat back slightly, hands resting on her knees. "Is it like falling asleep?"

He shook his head, his gaze distant as he spoke, eyes still closed. "No. Your vision tunnels, and your head feels very light. Then your heart rate speeds up... and then you're gone."

She nodded, processing his words, a slight shiver running down her spine. "Hm, scary."

He gave a noncommittal shrug, the movement sluggish, like even that simple gesture took too much effort. "I guess."

They sat in quiet for a bit, the room gradually growing emptier around them. Most of the other participants had left the building, probably to take advantage of the fresh air or recover from whatever hell they'd just been through. The water dispenser had emptied too—no reason to stick around any longer.

Kishi let out a small sigh, her eyes briefly lingering on the door that led outside. "I'm thinking this may have been enough to convince me to get in the pool," she blurted.

Chishiya gave her a look, one brow arched, that said You're not serious?

She chuckled at the disbelief in his expression. "Yeah, probably not. That water's more infested than the toilets. Cold shower is fine, I guess."

To this, he simply nodded, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he carefully pushed himself to his feet. His movements were a little unsteady, but he managed to stay upright. She handed him his shirt and jacket, slipping into her own.

Once outside, they saw the car still parked at the curb and sitting idle. The girl who hadn't fainted earlier was standing by the vehicle, her expression a little more composed now.

"Ah, good," she said, her voice surprisingly cheerful considering what they'd just been through. "We can get going now."

The driver, who had been sitting on the trunk of the car waiting, nodded silently before sliding into the driver's seat. Kishi and Chishiya climbed into the back, settling in beside the girl who'd fainted. She still looked woozy, her face pale and her eyes half-lidded

Kishi looked at her for a moment, wondering if she should be prepared for the girl to hurl. She could almost feel the queasiness in the air. Chishiya seemed to be thinking the same, leaning further her way.

"No," Kishi whispered harshly, her hand flying out to press against his shoulders, positioning him between her and the girl. "You get to be the shield."

His whipped his head to look at her, clearly caught off guard.

"I just nursed you through a fainting spell," she added with a huff.

He gave a low, muttered reply. "You'd make a terrible nurse."

She smirked. "Yeah, well, so would you."

Her words had an...odd effect. Chishiya froze, and a shift passed over his features. His face turned slowly away from her, his expression unreadable. Kishi immediately felt a change in the atmosphere, a subtle shift in the air. She could tell by the tension in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw that she'd hit a nerve. Her hand instinctively pulled back, the weight of her comment settling in the silence between them.

Touchy subject, apparently.

The car rumbled along the street, the motion of it lulling her into a quiet kind of contemplation. The silence in the backseat stretched out, and thankfully, the girl beside them didn't make any moves to empty her stomach.

Kishi glanced over at Chishiya, who had turned his focus out the window, a little too stiff for the relaxed ride home.

She hadn't meant any harm in what she'd said. Honestly, it was just a deflected tease. He had no right to be icy and butthurt about it.

Maybe he'd been rejected by medical school or something.

He certainly would have failed at bedside manner.

Whatever, she probably wouldn't bring it up with him. It was obviously a sensitive topic.

She only extended an olive branch as they were parting ways in the lobby of the Beach. "Congrats, by the way. On your promotion."

"Ah," he said. "Thanks."

And the olive branch shriveled up in her hand.

Welp, no one could say she didn't try.

Chapter Text

—SHE had planned for a quiet day. Maybe sit in the lounge, drink something that wasn't borderline toxic, and pretend, just for a little while, that she was actually at the Tama Pacific Beach Resort Hotel on vacation.

Instead, Kishi found herself elbow-deep in the guts of a broken ice dispensing machine, swearing under her breath as the thing refused to cooperate.

"Come on, you piece of—"

She smacked the side of it, and a sad stream of warm water trickled out.

For not the first time that day, she cursed Hatter and Kuzuryu for storming into her room at an ungodly hour just to dump a massive stack of maintenance work orders—haphazardly scrawled on sticky notes—onto her desk. Apparently, playing in the games meant she was "shirking her other responsibilities" and "leaving the brainless to fend for themselves".

She exhaled sharply, pulling her arms out of the machine's guts and wiping a smear of dust and grease onto her already-ruined tank top. She was pretty sure these machines were just reaching their useful end-of-life cycle, and maybe that came from the fluctuating time field they found themselves in.

This was her third repair of the day, and it wasn't even noon.

The hot tub jets were turning off after just twenty seconds. (Fixed, though she didn't understand why people were even using the hot tub when it looked positively foul.)

One of the showers on the third floor was possessed and spraying water sideways. (She fixed it, but now it just gurgled ominously when turned off. Unavoidable, she told the guy when he asked about it, but really she just didn't have the tools nor patience to caulk the pipes in the wall.)

And one of the sinks in the kitchen had leaked so badly that someone just shoved a stack of towels underneath and called it a day. (She replaced the pipe. The towels stayed.)

"You look like you're having fun."

Kishi turned her head just enough to catch Chishiya standing nearby, his usual half-smirk in place, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

She exhaled through her nose and turned back to the ice machine, picking up a wrench. Ignore him. Ignore the smug little bastard.

She really had no reason to be short with him, but she was in a bad mood. He would be able to tell, the observant fuck. And if he was smart, he'd leave her to it.

But, apparently, he wasn't as smart as she thought.

"Mm." He leaned against the counter, watching her struggle. "I didn't realize you had such a strong sense of duty to the Beach."

Kishi gritted her teeth, yanking on a bolt that wouldn't budge. "There's a reason I'm an executive."

"In return for benefits, you are bullied into manual labor?" He hummed in amusement.

Exhaling sharply through her nose, she rolled her shoulders and tightened her grip on the wrench. "I'd call it strategic delegation—on their part, anyway. I just sort of gave in."

She yanked on the wrench again. The bolt finally gave way with a creak, sending her off balance and nearly toppling backward. She caught herself just in time, muttering a string of curses under her breath.

Chishiya lifted an eyebrow. "Elegant."

"Shut up."

Still, she twisted the last few components into place, closed the panel, and stood up, dusting off her hands. With a triumphant beep, the machine hummed to life and, at long last, began dispensing ice cubes.

Kishi sighed in relief. Finally.

She grabbed a handful of ice, pressing it against the bruise on her cheek from the other day's game.

He just watched her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

She scoffed, tossing a stray ice cube at his chest. "If you're just here to heckle me, go find something else to do."

He didn't flinch as the ice bounced off his hoodie. "This is something to do."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her stack of sticky notes, peeling off the next one. Front door hanging off its hinges--won't close properly. What?

Kishi blinked at the note, then flipped it over, as if the back would somehow explain how the hell the front door of the Beach had come off its hinges and who was responsible. Nothing. Just the same half-legible scribble.

She sighed, shoving the note into her pocket with the others.

Of course, as promised, Chishiya followed her as she grabbed her toolbox and trudged down toward the lobby. The sound of rushing wind outside the resort filtered through the broken front door—which was indeed barely hanging on for dear life. The hinges had been completely wrecked, one side of the door sagging like it had been through a hurricane.

Kishi stared at it for a long moment. “What the fuck did they do to it?”

“My guess?" Chishiya clicked his tongue. “Someone threw a tantrum.”

She groaned, setting her toolbox down. “The amount of structural damage that goes on in this place is ridiculous. I swear, if it’s not the doors, it’s the pipes. If it’s not the pipes, it’s the electrical. If it’s not that, it’s some idiot getting drunk and throwing a chair off the damn balcony.”

“You sound surprised,” he said dryly.

“I am surprised. We're adults.” She crouched down, inspecting what remained of the hinge screws. Rusted. Loose. One had snapped clean off. Fantastic.

She reached into her toolbox, pulling out a screwdriver, only for Chishiya to crouch beside her, eyeing her tools with mild curiosity.

"What?" she asked absentmindedly as she got to work.

"Can I borrow this sometime?"

Kishi paused mid-turn of the screwdriver, giving him a suspicious side-eye. "Why? So you can make more of those sketchy tasers?"

His lips curled ever so slightly. "Sketchy is a strong word."

"It's the right word," she muttered, twisting the screwdriver and yanking out another stripped screw. "And no, you can't borrow it. If I lend you tools, I'll never see them again."

"That implies I'd steal from you."

"That confirms you'd steal from me."

He hummed, neither confirming nor denying, and leaned his elbow on his knee, watching her work with an expression that made her feel vaguely like a specimen under a microscope.

With a grunt, she yanked out another broken screw, only for the entire door to groan in protest, tilting further. She yelped, throwing herself back as it threatened to collapse completely.

Chishiya, naturally, did not move.

"Yeah, okay," she panted, staring at the now even worse door. Her gaze slowly slid over to her uninvited partner, question unasked.

He held her gaze for a moment before he sighed, as if personally offended that he might have to exert effort. "I knew this was going to happen."

"What? Helping me?" she almost chuckled.

He didn't respond to that. Instead, he asked, "If I help, will you let me use your tools?"

"All you'd be doing is holding it up so it doesn't crush me," she stressed.

Chishiya tilted his head slightly, looking the door up and down thoughtfully. “That still sounds like work. It looks heavy.”

“God forbid you lift a finger.”

He hummed, but despite his initial unwillingness to engage in anything physically demanding, he stepped forward and braced the door with one hand. He barely looked like he was putting in any effort, yet the door steadied immediately.

She eyed him for a moment, wary of how easily he complied. “You must really want to use my tools.”

“I must really want to see what you’ll do if I break them.”

Kishi froze, an impact drill and fresh screw hovering over the hinge. "You do realize I have a hammer, right? And you have mighty exposed toes."

She looked pointedly at his rubber slides, and she resisted a smile as his toes curled in on themselves with a squeak.

He recovered quickly, shifting his weight as if to casually shield his feet from potential blunt force trauma. "Noted," he said dryly.

She smirked but returned to her work, finishing the last few screws. She tested the door, giving it a few pushes and pulls. It held steady. No longer a death trap. A victory.

She wiped her hands off on her pants and exhaled. "Alright. That should do it."

Chishiya nudged the door with his knuckles, watching it swing properly on its hinges.

"Now, what are you trying to build, anyway?"

His lips quirked slightly. "Who said I was building anything?"

Kishi narrowed her eyes. "You wanted my tools for a reason."

He shrugged, stepping back, hands tucked back into his hoodie. "Just an idea."

"It's a bomb, isn't it?" she joked. Sincerely, it was a joke.

But his face, though it was already pretty blank, dropped in a deadpan.

"You're joking," she breathed, seeing him in an entirely new light.

She had experience with bombs. And by experience, she meant in diffusing them, not in getting blown up by one. Bombs were not to be messed with.

Chishiya tilted his head slightly, his silence stretching just long enough to make her extremely uneasy. Then, finally, he said, "You have a very active imagination."

"That’s not a no," she pointed out, gripping her toolbox handle a little tighter.

He exhaled through his nose, almost amused, and took a step closer, tilting his head at her toolbox. "You have all sorts of interesting things in there. Wiring, soldering tools, adhesives… Things that could be used for any number of applications."

Her eyes narrowed. "Uh-huh. And would these applications involve sudden, highly flammable combustion?"

His smirk returned, subtle but there. "That depends. Would you like them to?"

She stared. "Chishiya."

"Kishi."

She groaned, rubbing her temples. "If I ask what you’re actually doing, will you lie to me?"

"Yes."

At least he was honest about that part.

"You're not blowing this place up," she declared. Maybe she should have taken more heed into his nosiness instead of brushing it off.

He didn’t answer right away, but his lips pressed together, as if suppressing a smirk.

"It’s just science, Kishi."

"That’s what people say right before they blow off their own eyebrows or obliterate a whole city."

"Good thing I have a steady hand, then."

Kishi scoffed, shaking her head, but a thought surfaced—one she’d been twisting around in her head since their last awkward encounter, a thought she probably should have just let go.

She didn’t.

"So, you are a nurse," she said suddenly, pivoting away from the bomb talk entirely.

For the first time in the conversation, he blinked. Not much, just a flicker of something in his otherwise unreadable face.

"See, I figured there was a reason you were so responsive to the nursing comment," she continued, now fully running with it. "I kind of assumed you were a med school dropout or something. Explains a lot."

"I'm not a nurse," he denied, voice still infuriatingly even. "But you're close."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She tapped her chin twice, only to realize she still had grimy hands and winced. "You're too young to be a doctor."

No reaction.

"Successful med student, then?" She tilted her head, studying him. "Not a dropout?"

Chishiya just nodded, confirming it in that infuriatingly quiet way of his.

She exhaled sharply, almost impressed. "Huh. That makes so much sense, and yet, somehow, it makes everything about you so much worse."

He smirked. "Flattered."

He would be.

"I'll need this for a couple more hours, but you can come by and pick it up later. Or whenever, I guess," she said finally, swinging the toolbox lightly.

His gaze flicked to the toolbox, then back to her face, his smirk settling into something more amused than smug. “How generous of you.”

She shrugged. “I figure if I don’t give you at least one tool, you’ll just steal it anyway.”

His expression didn’t change, which only confirmed her theory.

She huffed in exasperation, shaking her head as she reached for another sticky note. Just as she peeled it off, she noticed him shifting, weight rolling onto the balls of his feet. He was getting ready to leave.

“Have the day you have,” she said absently, eyes scanning her next repair job.

Chishiya was already turning away, but she caught the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll try.”

Then, without another word, he wandered off, disappearing down the hall as quietly as he’d arrived.

Something wrong with the washing machines. No one knows what. Fix it?

The Beach’s laundry room was a humid hellscape of half-working machines, the smell of mildew, and questionable stains that no one wanted to take responsibility for.

Kishi stood in the doorway, surveying the disaster zone before her. Someone—probably a desperate and sleep-deprived fool—had tried stuffing way too much into a single washer, and now the thing was making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying animal.

With a resigned sigh, she trudged over, kneeling in front of it. “Alright, what’s your problem?” she muttered, wrenching open the access panel.

As she worked, a few other residents passed through—some coming to dump their laundry, others just there to loiter. The Beach had no shortage of people who avoided the games, preferring to stay inside the resort as much as possible. They had their own cliques, their own routines. Kishi mostly stayed out of it.

One of the loiterers, a guy she vaguely recognized from past repairs, leaned against the wall and whistled. “Damn, they really got you doing everything, huh?”

She didn’t even look up. “You volunteering to help?”

“Hell no.”

“Then go away.”

The guy laughed, but he got the hint and wandered off, leaving her alone with the malfunctioning machine.

After an hour of fighting with rusted parts, unclogging what she really hoped wasn’t an old sock, and avoiding getting electrocuted, she finally got it working again. She leaned back on her heels, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.

The afternoon passed in a blur of repairs.

She fixed a leaking sink in one of the communal bathrooms, only for another to start leaking two stalls down.

She patched up a shattered window someone had apparently decided to throw a beer bottle through.

She re-secured the leg of a wobbly table in the common area, only for someone to immediately plop down on it like a bench. She didn’t have the energy to yell at them.

By the time she found herself on the rooftop, fixing a loose railing, she was exhausted, sweaty, and mildly considering quitting her entire existence. It would be easy to do in this hellscape.

She sat back on her heels, staring out over the city.

The view was nice, at least.

Kishi exhaled slowly, rubbing her sore neck.

She should probably wrap up soon.

One more task. Then she’d call it a day.

Her one more task turned into three.

By the time she finally stumbled back to her room, the sky was completely dark and about half the beach had run off to the games.

She dropped her toolbox on the floor with a satisfying thunk and flopped onto her bed, limbs screaming in protest.

For a while, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Her brain felt sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion. Maybe she should’ve just ignored Kuzuryu and Hatter and gone to a game.

Then again, she was still alive. And that counted for something.

A knock at her door broke her out of her daze.

Kishi groaned. “What now?”

Dragging herself up, she shuffled over and yanked the door open, already prepared to tell whoever it was to go away.

But it wasn’t another work order.

It was Chishiya.

And he was holding out his hand.

She blinked at him. “What.”

“Tools,” he said simply.

She narrowed her eyes but sighed, stepping aside to let him in. “Fine. Take 'em and go.”

As he stepped past her, she caught that faint whiff of new polyester from his jacket. It didn't linger, and she was glad for it. She shut the door behind him, rubbing at her sore shoulder as he decided to make sure the tools he needed were in the box.

He snapped it shut after a minute, seeming satisfied.

Chishiya, apparently and thankfully not in the mood for conversation, turned and sauntered toward the door. But just before he reached it, he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

"Uhuh." She nodded.

Then, just as silently as he’d arrived, he turned and strolled out, disappearing into the hallway.

She shut the door and let her forehead rest against it for a moment, eyes slipping shut.

Finally. Alone.

With a groan, she pushed off the door and dragged herself to the bathroom.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, hair damp and skin still warm from the water, exhaustion had settled deep in her bones. She barely had the energy to pull on fresh clothes before collapsing onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow.

Her muscles throbbed from a full day of crawling under things, lifting heavy tools, and dealing with the never-ending nonsense.

She let out a long sigh, shifting onto her back to stare at the ceiling.

Her thoughts drifted as sleep pulled at the edges of her mind.

Somewhere in the building, laughter echoed from the common area. Music thumped distantly, the usual mix of people drinking and pretending.

Kishi didn’t bother wondering if Chishiya was down there, lingering in the background, watching people like they were puzzles he could solve.

He probably wasn’t.

And if he was, well…

Not her problem.

And it wasn't her problem if he decided to blow this place to smithereens.

She was pretty sure that went against the Hippocratic Oath, but he must be in that flux grey area before graduation where he hadn't taken it yet.

Maybe it would be a mercy on them all.

With one last deep breath, she let the exhaustion win, eyes slipping shut.

Chapter Text

—SHE took exactly one look at the occupants of the open top car she was supposed to be getting into, and turned away.

"Where are you going, Kishi-chan?" Chouko called, her voice lilting as she nestled comfortably in the backseat. She patted the empty spot beside her invitingly, almost mockingly. "Aren't you supposed to be coming with us?"

"No," Kishi replied curtly, already walking away. "I'm in a different game."

"Nonsense! I saw your name listed right under mine," Chouko insisted with a laugh. "Come on, don't be shy!"

Kishi's pace faltered slightly, but it was Niragi's voice that truly stopped her.

"If the Demon wants to be a coward, let her," he drawled, his arm slung lazily over Chouko's shoulders as if he owned the space around him. His smirk was sharp enough to cut, his words dripping with mockery.

Dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.

Massive dick.

He wasn't even originally supposed to be in this group. Why was he here?

Kishi turned, settling a flat, unamused stare on him. She wasn't a coward—far from it. But self-preservation dictated that willingly stepping into a confined space with him would be the very definition of idiotic. Protecting her peace of mind and literal life meant avoiding him whenever possible, especially when games were involved.

She shook her head and continued toward the other end of the parking garage without another word.

Wherever they were going, she hoped he perished.

At the far end, she found a car with only four people climbing in. It was quieter, less chaotic—a much better option. She knocked lightly on the car's passenger door as they slowly rolled by her. "Hey, what group are you?"

Tatta peeked out from the front passenger seat after cranking down the window, blinking at her. "Group Three. For the Spade."

Spades. Not ideal, but it beat dealing with Niragi in a Club game. He'd sooner sabotage the group than help it.

"Can I join?" she asked.

Tatta glanced back into the darkness of the car. "Uh, let me check." He disappeared momentarily, muffled voices spilling out before he reappeared with a sheepish shrug. "Aguni gave me a grunt. I think that's a yes?"

Ah, Aguni.

Aguni in a Spade game.

Even more reason to join.

"Sweet," Kishi said, stepping forward to open the backseat door.

As the door swung open, she froze. Sitting in the backseat and gaze expectantly on her, was Chishiya. Her stomach flipped in surprise, though she forced her face into an unreadable mask.

A slow smirk spread across his face, the kind that made her want to shove the door shut and run back the way she came.

"Well," he said softly, his voice laced with amusement. "Didn't take you for a stalker."

Her grip tightened on the door handle as she shot him a sharp glare. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," he replied smoothly, shifting just enough to make room for her. "But by all means, join us."

Kishi hesitated. Her peace of mind had already been shattered the moment she spotted him. Still, it was too late to back out now. With a resigned sigh, she slid into the seat and shut the door behind her.

"Welcome aboard," Tatta said cheerfully from the front seat, oblivious to the tension crackling in the back—if that was what you could call it.

"Thanks," she muttered.

She did like the guy, so she probably could have matched his enthusiasm a little more. He was a member of the gasoline provisional team, so she interacted with him often. Additionally, he was a car mechanic in the real world, so they had plenty to talk about. Tatta was cool, and for his sake, she hoped the game was nice to him.

This car ride was far calmer than the one she and Chishiya had to the Five of Diamonds game, thankfully. Aguni was a reckless human, but not a reckless driver.

Speaking of, she glanced at his side profile, sharp and focused as he maneuvered the car through the debris-littered streets. She hadn't seen him in a while, as she'd mentioned to Hatter recently. He was as scary as ever.

Still: "Thanks for letting me tag along," she said, leaning forward and maybe a little purposefully into Chishiya's space.

Aguni didn't respond immediately, but after a moment, he grunted something that could be interpreted as acknowledgment. For as long as she'd known him—which was going on about two months now—he had never been chatty, nor did he respond well to her usual joking and teasing. Still, they'd never been at odds. The man was just stone cold.

She leaned back in her seat, satisfied.

The rest of the ride was quiet, the kind of silence that made her feel like they were all tiptoeing around Aguni's unspoken rule to keep it that way. Even Tatta, usually the most cheerful, refrained from any attempts at small talk.

They wound through side streets, the glowing billboards and neon signs of the Borderland casting garish light across the cracked asphalt. Kishi absently read the directional arrows as they passed, leading them closer to their destination. Eventually, the car rolled to a stop in front of an apartment complex.

The building was in bad shape—cracked walls, broken windows, and an air of decay that probably preceded the Borderland. She took in the surrounding streets and other dilapidated structures. It wasn't hard to imagine that, even in the real world, this wasn't a place you'd want to live.

Toei Sendagaya Apartments, she read on the sign just before stepping through the game barrier with a chime.

Seven stories, open floor concept. L-shape.

Not much space to run.

Maybe it wasn't a Spade and the algorithm got it wrong. It happened sometimes.

She scanned the area as they entered, her eyes locking onto the table of phones set up under the first overhang. A few players had already gathered: two women clutching handbags and teetering on impractical heels, and a pair of men still in business suits. Kishi shook her head slightly. Some people really didn't grasp where they were yet.

And they all looked stuffy and tense. Even two of the girls, who seemed to be friends, weren't talking to each other.

She grabbed one of the phones, tucking it into her pocket as she moved aside to make space for her group. The automated voice crackled to life.

"Please wait until the game commences. Five minutes until registration closes."

Kishi sighed, the tense silence grating on her nerves. Waiting wasn't her strong suit, and the oppressive quiet of the group only made it worse. She glanced at Tatta, hoping for a bit of friendly conversation to ease the mood, but found him lingering near Aguni. Yeah, not exactly the cheerful company she was looking for.

Resigning herself to the solitude, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the old Walkman and headphones she'd pocketed in the Beach's basement before the departure party.

Slipping the earbuds into her ears, she pressed the play button. The tape resumed mid-song, a steady beat filling the void. She bobbed her head to the static-y rhythm, letting the music drown out the tension around her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement. Chishiya was approaching, his steps unhurried and deliberate. He stopped beside her, leaning against the wall with his hood pulled low over his face, gaze firmly fixed on the ground. Kishi glanced around, quickly piecing together his choice of proximity. The space was cramped, the other participants were just close enough to make standing alone awkward. That, or he'd decided her bubble was worth bursting once more.

His dreary mood seeped into her, and she frowned, the music doing little to shield her from the weight of his presence. With a small sigh, she plucked out her left earbud and held it out to him.

For a moment, he didn't react, his posture unmoving. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he glanced at the offered earbud. He hesitated, his expression unreadable, before reaching out and taking it from her hand. Wordlessly, he placed it in his ear.

The music wasn't alternative or instrumental—nothing particularly deep or introspective—but Chishiya didn't seem to mind. His face remained impassive, and for a fleeting moment, Kishi wondered if he was enjoying it at all or merely enduring it out of politeness—or something akin to it, since he seemed to struggle with the concept of manners.

A minute later, another participant arrived, a man in a stylish hat and button-down shirt, looking oddly polished for the circumstances.

Shortly after, a girl appeared, her athletic clothing drawing Kishi's attention. Finally, someone who seemed prepared. Practical. Common sense wasn't dead after all.

The timer ticked down. With less than a minute to spare, two boys wandered in, their hushed conversation breaking the stillness. Kishi didn't linger on them long. The chime of her phone pulled her attention, signaling the end of the registration period.

She glanced at Chishiya who kept his hands steadfastly stuffed away, then leaned slightly toward him, tilting her screen so he could see the message flashing across it.

"Registration has closed."

He glanced at it, his eyes sharp despite the lack of expression.

"There are a total of 14 participants. The game will now commence."

"Difficulty: Five of Spades."

Expected.

Kishi scanned the group, noting their reactions. The fifth member from their car—the militant—glanced at Aguni, seemingly waiting for approval or guidance. The general, however, didn't even acknowledge him, his stare fixed somewhere in the distance, radiating indifference.

The girl in athletic gear began to stretch. Kishi decided it wasn't a bad idea and subtly lifted one leg behind her, feeling the satisfying pull in her quad before switching to the other leg.

"Game is 'Tag'."

"Rule: Avoid whoever is 'it'."

Kishi's gaze flicked back to the girl doing deep lunges. She looked fast. They'd get unlucky if she was named the tagger.

"Clear condition: Discover and touch the symbol hidden in one of the building's rooms within the time limit. You clear the game when this objective is fulfilled. Time limit: 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, the time bomb hidden in the building will explode."

She must have spoken bombs into existence.

Chishiya handed back her earbud, snapping her out of her thoughts. She wound the cord around her fingers and stuffed it into her pocket absentmindedly.

"The game will commence in two minutes."

The announcement sent a ripple of movement through the group as they dispersed into the complex. Chishiya broke off first, heading for the elevator with unhurried steps. Kishi watched him briefly, guessing he was aiming for the top floor. Smart—it was a solid strategy to avoid the tagger for as long as possible. But survival alone wasn't the endgame; they needed to find the room with the symbol.

Opting for a different approach, Kishi took the stairs to the second floor. She positioned herself at the corner of the 'L'-shaped hallway, where she could see both directions while staying partially hidden. She planned to work her way upward but didn't want to risk starting too low in case the tagger began at ground zero.

Because 'caught' meant dead, most likely.

And Kishi generally tried to not be dead.

From her admittedly poor vantage point, she couldn't see anyone else, but the thin floors and open hallways allowed sound to travel. She could hear footsteps and faint murmurs from the levels above.

If she managed to track the tagger's movements by sound and kept herself directly below them, she might avoid detection. The plan wasn't flawless—if the tagger dropped to the first floor, she'd be trapped. Still, logic suggested the safe room was higher up, while the bomb was likely stashed on the ground floor.

And the tagger? They'd probably only bother going down if provoked.

At least, that was the logic.

"The game will now commence. Time limit: 20 minutes. Commence now."

The loud speakers around the complex buzzed to life and the sound of trumpets spooked her. It sounded to her like a bugle call.

"The tagger is on the move."

Kishi immediately silenced her phone, muting both the ringer and volume.

A distant elevator ding echoed through the building. She glanced at the floor indicator.

Six.

Keeping her footsteps as light as possible, she began climbing the stairwell.

By the time she reached the fourth floor, she paused to listen. Nothing.

One more floor.

Booted footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed above her and to the left.

Bingo.

She spotted the boys and the man in the hat on the same floor, their movements loud and aimless as they rattled doorknobs without care. They hadn't realized the tagger was nearby.

Kishi sighed, slipping past them as quietly as she could. She focused on the tagger's movements above her, tracking the sound of those deliberate footsteps while cautiously testing doorknobs. Any resistance, and she immediately moved on.

The boys and the man eventually caught up, huddling near the stairwell when the first shots rang out. The sharp crack of automatic fire reverberated through the walls.

Submachine gun.

Kishi looked down the length of the longest leg of the hallway. She estimated it would take her four seconds, at least, to sprint it if need be.

That gun could unload a whole magazine in half that.

Unfair didn't even begin to cover it.

Kishi didn't wait for confirmation. She was already halfway down the flight to the fourth floor. If the tagger descended, the boys and the man would likely be the first targets, buying her a few precious seconds.

But their panicked retreat would push the chase right into her path.

Sighing, she raced down the hall, slipping back to the elbow of the hallway where she could keep an eye on them.

More gunfire. The boys' shouts echoed as they scrambled down the stairs, bolting for the third floor. Kishi watched from her shaded corner as they disappeared, their hurried footsteps fading.

Then she saw it.

The tagger emerged, following their path with mechanical precision. For a fleeting moment, the horse-head mask came into view, its hollow eyes fixed forward as it stalked downward.

Horse mask... Disturbing.

But it explained the trumpets.

Kishi waited until the tagger disappeared below, then cautiously descended her own stairs, staying at least a hallway's length away.

He continued down to floor one, where it seemed the man in the hat had broken off from the boys. One of the businessmen was also on this level, trying doors.

She observed from her hidden spot as the man in the hat was ruthlessly gunned down. The businessman, seemingly resigned, stepped out of bounds intentionally. His death might not have been intentional, but it was instantaneous.

A mercy.

Kishi stayed silent in the center stairwell, listening intently for any signs of movement. When the footsteps didn't come her way, she peeked out. The tagger was ascending again.

Above her, the rapid click of heels and panicked screams echoed. Two girls were sprinting toward her up above.

Kishi darted from her hiding place, positioning herself beneath where the tagger now stalked his prey. She tracked his movements, shadowing him from below as he pursued the girls.

Gunfire.

Pleading.

The sound of a magazine being reloaded. About three seconds of time.

More pleading.

Gunfire again.

Silence followed, punctuated only by the dull thud of two bodies hitting the floor. The tagger lingered over them, likely scanning the area for further movement.

Taking advantage of the moment, Kishi checked the closest doors on her floor—the ones the businessman had missed before stepping out of bounds.

Locked.

Sudden shouting erupted from above, cutting through the tension.

"Everyone! He's up here! Over here—he's on the second level! He can't see properly because of his mask! Tell us where he is if you see him, and let's all work for the symbol!"

The plan was reckless, Kishi thought, but not without merit. Still, she wasn't about to risk broadcasting her location or strategy. She stuck to her own method, moving cautiously as she followed the tagger's footsteps up another two levels to where the shouting had come from.

More shouting echoed: "He's in the fourth-level hallway in the central building! Anyone there should get out!"

The tagger adjusted course, climbing to the fifth floor toward the noise.

Running.

Shouting.

Gunfire.

Another body hit the floor.

Kishi's attention was drawn to a rattling gutter pipe. She peeked out and up to see the girl in athletic gear scaling it, ascending to a floor above the tagger with practiced ease.

Lucky she's not the tagger, Kishi thought grimly.

Scanning the complex, she spotted Chishiya still on the top floor where he had started. He hadn't moved, content to observe. Even from this distance, she caught his casual wave.

With a reluctant sigh, she waved back, though her irritation simmered. He was no help—he probably hadn't checked a single door around him.

Kishi started checking doors on the fourth floor, keeping her movements quiet as the tagger roamed the short leg of the fifth floor above her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Tatta stepping out of the stairwell onto her floor.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she watched him join her, tentatively testing doors along the longer leg.

The momentary calm shattered when gunfire erupted directly overhead. Tatta yelped and dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding being riddled with bullets.

Kishi cursed under her breath. The relentless gunfire continued, even though they were both out of sight. She ducked down, inching her way toward him.

"Tatta," she whispered harshly. "Tatta!"

He didn't respond, his head buried in his hands as he whimpered softly.

"You have to move," she hissed, her voice sharp but quiet. "He can see you from where he's standing."

Tatta remained frozen, paralyzed by fear.

Frustrated, Kishi knocked her forehead lightly against the half-wall railing. With a sigh, she dropped to all fours and crawled toward him. Grabbing the back of his collar, she gave a firm yank and growled in a low voice, "Move."

To her relief, Tatta snapped out of his stupor and followed her, crawling to a safer blind spot.

The gunfire continued, ripping through the area they'd just vacated, as if the tagger was determined to hit something—anything.

Kishi glanced back at the spot where Tatta had been moments before.

The tagger hadn't shown such erratic behavior before. Submachine guns weren't accurate for sustained bursts, especially at range. The muzzle climb alone made it impractical for precision firing. Yet, the tagger kept going, wasting bullets as if hoping to hit an invisible target.

...

Tatta had found the door.

Or he'd just been an unlucky fellow to receive such a harsh gunning.

Unfortunately, as the time was winding down, that meant the tagger would be watching that door closely now. Probably staying on the higher levels of the short leg as he was now.

Someone needed to draw him somewhere else so they could access the door.

Tatta was breathing harshly in her ear, making it difficult for her to think. She turned to him, swatting the brim of his baseball cap gently. "Breathe, you're okay. He didn't hit you, right?"

He inhaled shakily, trying to calm down. "No, I just—"

"I know, it was terrifying." Kishi softened her tone, trying to reassure him. "Here's what I need you to do, okay? He's on the sixth floor now, right above us. Go to the fifth floor and stick close, right under him. Stay out of sight and shadow his movements. No need to check doors anymore—just focus on staying quiet and unnoticed."

Tatta nodded quickly, his panic giving way to determination. "What about you? What are you going to do?"

She glanced down the hall at the bullet-pocked door. "I'm going to find the symbol."

And pray she did it while the tagger wasn't looking.

He snuck away, leaving her behind.

Thankfully, someone had either been of the same mind or they were just trying to provoke the guy, but someone was shouting in the stairwell at the end of the long hallway, taunting the tagger. Heavy footsteps followed overhead as the gunman gave chase—or gave stalk; he didn't really run.

She waited for a moment, making sure it wasn't some fleeting grab for attention. But then she heard quite a bit of gunfire far above and shouts of what sounded like a fight.

No doubt Aguni had decided he was just going to brute force the game.

Perfect. She moved cautiously toward the door. Behind her, footsteps approached. Kishi spun on instinct, ready to leap off the balcony and risk some broken limbs, if necessary.

But it was only Chishiya, strolling toward her with his usual detached demeanor.

Over her other shoulder, she saw one of the boys from earlier also approaching.

"Figured it out, too?" Chishiya asked casually.

The boy nodded. "Yeah, the symbol's in here."

Kishi reached for the doorknob, but the boy stopped her with a raised hand.

"Wait. Something doesn't add up. Why was he chasing us?" The boy glanced at Chishiya before turning back to Kishi. "He could've just waited."

She considered his point. The tagger could've locked down the fourth floor entirely, forcing everyone to come to him, and it would have been virtually impossible to stop him. So it did beg the question...why was he not puppy-guarding?

Pressing her ear to the door, Kishi strained to hear any sound—movement, ticking, buzzing. She caught a faint hum, but it matched the sound of the fluorescent lights in the hallway.

Chishiya also nodded a little at this. "Guess there's something we don't know. Except," he pulled out his phone, "there's not much time left."

Kishi checked the screen: 00:03:07.

She shooed them out of the way of the opening, and they stepped away obediently. When she flung open the door, she kept behind it, just in case a trap was set off and any projectiles came at them. Hearing nothing, they all peeked around and inside.

The apartment was barren and lifeless, void of color or furniture, save for a sink in the corner.

Kishi moved straight for the inner door, determined to find the symbol before it was too late. Just as she reached for the handle, a voice shouted, "Look out!"

She was yanked down, the sharp crack of gunfire slicing through the silence.

The bullets missed her head by a hair.

But at least one found her arm, slamming into her bicep with a burst of pain.

"Shit," she hissed, hitting the floor hard. She twisted onto her back, just in time to see another tagger step into view, also wearing a horse-head mask.

Before she could react, Chishiya lunged from the side, his crude taser sparking. He drove it into the tagger's thigh, sending the gunman crumpling to the ground in a convulsing heap.

Kishi pressed her hand firmly against her arm, trying to stem the bleeding from the entry wound. Blood squelched between her fingers, warm and slick. Unsteady, she pushed herself to her feet, standing alongside Chishiya and the boy. They both stared down at the fallen gunman, who lay twitching from the taser's residual shock.

Chishiya held up his weapon, expression annoyingly smug. "Relieved you gave me that power bank?"

She scoffed, her gaze dropping to the gunman—just in time to see their hand twitch toward the MAC-10. Instinct kicked in, and she rammed her good shoulder into Chishiya, shoving him through the open doorway that led back outside.

The room exploded with gunfire again as Chishiya stumbled but quickly recovered, slamming the door shut and bracing it with his weight.

Kishi slumped against the low wall behind him, her breath hitching as she gripped her arm tighter.

"The guy—" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"He's fine," Chishiya said, his ear pressed against the door to listen. "Locked himself in the backroom."

"The game hasn't stopped," Kishi muttered, fumbling for her phone with her bad hand. Her fingers felt clumsy, and she grunted as she finally managed to pull it out. She let it fall to the ground. The screen displayed '00:01:12'.

From somewhere behind the building and muffled through the door in front of them, the boy's voice rang out, panicked and urgent. "Someone get over here! The symbol's up here! Room 406! I can't clear the game alone—we need two people!"

"Seriously?" Chishiya muttered, rolling his eyes.

Kishi groaned, her head thudding back against the wall. "Spade game, my ass."

"One minute remaining in the game."

With a frustrated exhale, she pushed herself to her feet, nudging Chishiya aside as he crouched by the door.

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing as well.

She gave him an incredulous look. "If you're not going in, and no one else is stepping up, that leaves me, doesn't it?" She gestured toward the taser. "And I know that power bank has more juice than that."

He sighed, pulling it out of his pocket. "Let's go."

Kishi kicked the door open, hoping to catch the gunman off-guard. Instead, more gunfire erupted—it seemed the tagger had already broken into the backroom.

"Someone! Help me!" the boy's desperate shout echoed from inside, followed by the sound of a struggle and more shots.

Peeking around the doorframe, Kishi saw the boy grappling with the gunman, barely managing to keep the weapon pointed away.

The girl in the athletic clothing rolled in through the open window, landing with an ease that made Kishi rather jealous. Her voice cut in, breathless, "You called?"

"Five seconds remaining."

Kishi's eyes darted to the two buttons on opposite walls. She nodded at the girl, who returned the gesture.

"Four."

It had to be simultaneous.

Chishiya lunged toward the grappling pair, taser crackling as he aimed for the gunman. The boy held on, using all his strength to keep the MAC-10's barrel away from the others.

"Three. Two."

Ignoring the pain in her arm, Kishi vaulted over the scuffle and reached up, slamming her hand down on the button just as the girl did the same on the opposite wall.

"One."

"Game cleared. Congratulations."

The game announcement rang out as Kishi collapsed to the floor, her heart pounding. She pressed her hand firmly against her injured arm, blood still warm beneath her palm, and leaned heavily against the wall.

The room was deathly quiet except for their heavy breathing. They all watched as the gunman stirred, their movements sluggish and disoriented. The mask slipped from their head, revealing a tear-streaked face. Her wide, terrified eyes darted around, lips trembling as she whimpered incoherently.

Kishi turned her head, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to look any longer.

The explosion came a moment later, sharp and final. The collar detonated with a sickening crack, and a spray of red coated the floor where the gunman had been. The force rattled through Kishi's chest, and she clenched her jaw against the metallic tang of blood and the faint, acrid scent of burnt flesh.

Silence followed. It was deafening, broken only by the faint ringing left by gunfire and explosions. No one spoke.

Kishi dragged herself upright, wobbling as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. Her body screamed in protest, but she pushed through it. She nodded toward the girl and the boy, her voice clipped but steady. "Thanks. I'll see you around."

She stepped over the bodies, her movements mechanical, and picked up the submachine gun from the floor. Her grip tightened.

She didn't much care for the feeling of getting shot.

Outside, the crisp air hit her like a slap, though it did little to clear her head. She sank onto the hood of the car, exhaustion pulling at her limbs as Tatta wrapped a medical-grade tourniquet around her upper arm. The pressure sent a sharp jolt of pain through her, and she hissed but said nothing. She was lucky—that all the cars were stocked with supplies, that she hadn't been shot somewhere more fatal.

Aguni's heavy footsteps crunched against the gravel as he approached. Without a word, she held the gun out to him. He took it silently, checking the magazine with practiced efficiency before tossing it and another into the trunk.

When he turned back, Kishi finally got a clear look at him. A deep, jagged gash ran from his forehead to his chin, crusted with drying blood. It looked brutal.

"Badass," she muttered, her voice a mix of admiration and exhaustion. She flinched as Tatta gave the tourniquet a final, brutal tug to secure it.

Aguni grunted, his expression unreadable as he crossed his arms.

"Where's Jin?" Tatta asked, breaking the silence. Probably the other militant.

"Dead," Aguni replied, his voice flat.

Kishi swallowed the lump in her throat, the weight of that single word settling heavily in her chest. Unfortunate.

The power in the building flickered out entirely a few minutes later, and Chishiya emerged at last, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. His steps were slow and deliberate, and he didn't offer any explanation for his delay. No one asked.

Without a word, they all piled into the car.

Kishi leaned her head back against the seat, her arm throbbing despite the tourniquet.

Chishiya buckled himself in beside her, his sharp eyes flicking toward her arm. He examined the makeshift bandage for a moment, then gave a small, approving nod before leaning back, his usual smirk absent.

Chapter Text

—KISHI and Kuzuryu shared a...unique rapport. Every other morning since the first week of establishing the Beach, they took breakfast together in the recreation room, sometimes exchanging a few words, but more often than not, they'd fall into a quiet rhythm—Kishi sketching new designs and Kuzuryu immersed in his literature.

She would bounce ideas for gadgets off of him, and he would provide input without looking up from his philosophy books. She quickly learned that he was just an all-around genius—having taken far-reaching electives in college just for fun (who takes classes like differential equations and molecular biology when pursuing law?). He often had to pull her back down to earth, nudging her away from the ledge of ambitious concepts:

"That's a little sci-fi, don't you think?" he'd quip, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Normally, I'd say yes, but we're currently in a dystopian hell that rejects the laws of physics," she'd retort, but she valued his pragmatism all the same. Because, truly, some of her ideas did have the capability of blowing the place to smithereens.

After a session of brainstorming or semi-comfortable silence, they'd switch gears to one of the games in the room. To keep their minds sharp, they insisted, but Kishi knew he just wanted to have fun like the rest of the Beach occupants sometimes.

Chess had once been their default, but by the fifth match—and Kishi's fifth loss—she demanded to play something else. He had "caught onto her patterns," apparently, though she had no idea what that even meant when she used a different strategy every game. It wasn't long before they shifted to Sugoroku at her suggestion, where luck played a larger role. This game leveled the field, and she managed to win her fair share.

They also dabbled in Go, but it soon became a source of frustration as their games continually ended in stalemates.

To train her arm back up after a day or two of healing, they switched to playing carom billiards on the table.

A shot went wide, grazing past the intended target. Kishi sighed, tapping the stick against the table's edge in mild frustration.

"Three degrees off, I'd say," Kuzuryu commented dryly. He adjusted his grip on the cue stick, his eyes scanning the table with calculating focus.

She gave him an exaggerated glare but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "Your face is three degrees off."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're very hostile this morning," he observed, unfazed, as he took his shot. The yellow ball rolled across the table, hitting all three cushions before gently tapping the red ball.

Kishi blinked, her gaze narrowing on the table as she processed what had just happened. "You're practically a machine."

She leaned against the table with a huff. This guy could have been a world-class player... Honestly, he probably could have been anything he wanted if he set his mind to it—like an astronaut or famous scientist.

Instead, he chose corporate law...

Yuck.

Not that she had met many lawyers before—and that was rather purposeful.

Kuzuryu seemed okay enough, though. Okay enough to not fall prey to Hatter's many attempts to indoctrinate him into some mad ideas. She wondered what the Beach would be like without him there; without him there to yank their leader down off his high horse.

The Beach would be a far darker paradise, no doubt.

"Kishi?" His voice cut through the air, his gaze locking with hers, his expression unreadable. "It's your turn."

She blinked. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking."

"About what?" His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to read her. Trying, and likely succeeding.

"I'm back to the games tonight," she said, instead of explaining whatever the heck her brain had been on about.

"Ah, yes. A Club," he replied. Then, he fixed her with a stern look, the weight of it made more intense by his glasses. "Unless you plan on running off with another group again."

She bristled at the accusation, her eyes flashing with the barest hint of defensiveness. "You don't like going into games with him, either," she shot back, her words sharper than she'd intended.

He didn't try to deny it. Niragi was a skilled Diamond player, his expertise in the game undeniable. That often meant Kuzuryu found himself paired with the volatile player, a situation that rarely went smoothly. The two of them coexisted the way anyone with half a mind coexisted with Niragi—against their will.

"Fair point," he muttered, eyes flicking away briefly as he set up his next shot. "I'll be supervising Chishiya in a Diamond tonight. Hatter is looking to push him into top fifteen."

"Ah," she responded, trying not to sound too positive or negative on it.

His gaze flicked up to meet hers, sharp as ever. His words came slowly, carefully. "I know you've participated in a few games with him now." He paused, studying her. "Do you vouch for him?"

Kishi felt a twinge of hesitation before her mask of indifference settled back into place. The question wasn't a simple one; it wasn't just about Chishiya's skill or even his character. It was about trust—because the executives had to have some sort of tentative trust in each other—and that was always a complicated thing. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back slightly, feeling the weight of the question pressing down on her.

"Chishiya... Chi-shi-ya," she said slowly as if thinking, her tone casual but tinged with something a little less certain than she'd like. "He's smart."

"I figured," he said, looking a little too amused.

"I don't know all that much about him," she said honestly, yet also...not.

Her fingers tightened around the cue stick for a moment, her gaze drifting to the table before she let her mind wander too too much. She didn't know what drove him—what he wanted from this world or from anyone. She knew things, small things that barely scratched the surface. He liked alternative music, though it didn't really fit his persona—too many sharp edges for that kind of soft, introspective sound. He was good with his hands, or at least he had to be, given how he'd crafted that ridiculous mock taser. And that was likely because of his medical career path in the real world.

He could be pushed to help others when it suited him, and maybe that made him more... human than she wanted to admit. Still, it wasn't enough for her to put her faith in him, and that was the part she wasn't sure how to navigate.

Kishi knew she could never fully trust Chishiya—not because he hadn't earned it, but because she hadn't figured him out yet. And maybe she wasn't supposed to. Maybe some people were meant to stay puzzles, half-formed and unpredictable.

"But he's a good player," she finished through tangled thoughts.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, and for a moment, Kishi couldn't tell if he was genuinely considering her words or if he had already moved on to his next thought because her answer had been pitiful. He gave her a brief glance, then nodded toward the table. "Take your shot."

He won.

And she was a little sulky about it.

Afterwards, she agreed to follow him to Hatter's royal suite, finally deciding she would get back to their Number One about the energy use thing after sitting on it for two weeks. Sticking with her initial plan to lie and say 5AM to 9AM should be quiet hours, they came up with a few notices to put up around the Beach and a line about it for Hatter to announce at the departure party that night.

Hopefully, they would see a downward trend in energy consumption. If not, Kishi would just let it be.

She could always maintain a personal generator and let the others flounder.

She spent the rest of the day in the basement, actually getting the chance to weld a few parts for projects she had been putting off. She would only need another hour or so on her hydraulic grapple before it was usable, or at least in the testing phase. She wasn't dumb enough to use one of her gadgets for the first time in a life-or-death situation...or maybe she was.

It was a rather productive afternoon, and her arm was only stinging slightly by the end of it.

Last Boss had wandered into the basement at some point, his presence enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. He moved through the space with that eerie stillness, eyes flicking over her as he offered no words, only a cold, silent stare. Kishi watched him for a moment, trying to gauge if he'd say anything—if he would give her any clue to what exactly he was doing here. But then, as if she weren't even there, he turned and left, vanishing as mysteriously as he'd appeared.

Creepy guy.

And he was definitely up to something.

It was like he was born here—if such a thing was possible (she had yet to see anyone get pregnant, despite the many, many opportunities the Beach presented for it. It was for the best, and that was undebatable).

She arrived to the evening banquet a little late and a lot greasy, but she typically ate and dashed, anyway. Taking her spot in between Mira and Last Boss (who acted as if he hadn't been a weirdo earlier), she piled her dish with rice, scallops, and mushrooms. Their selection was always based on what they could find in cans around the city. This too, Kishi knew, would run out at some point.

Mira's warm presence interrupted her spiral of thoughts. The woman gave her arm a cheerful squeeze, her smile as bright and unsettling as ever.

"Hi, Kishi-chan!" Mira chirped, reaching across the table to plop something onto her plate. "Here, try this. I think you'll like it."

Kishi glanced down at the caramelized fruit. It looked oddly out of place against the rest of her meal, the sweet syrup pooling around her scallops. Still, she managed a polite smile, grateful for Mira's attempt at kindness.

"Thanks," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure she'd eat it.

Just as she began to dig into her food, a familiar, drawling voice cut through the air.

"Hey, Demon."

She didn't look up.

"Demonnnn," he sing-songed, his tone grating like nails on a chalkboard.

She took another bite of rice, pretending she hadn't heard him. Maybe if she kept her head down—

A sharp nudge to her injured arm broke her resolve. Pain flared, and she hissed under her breath, jerking away as her glare shot to the culprit next to her: Last Boss.

Seriously?

She shot him a quick, murderous look before finally turning to meet Niragi's gaze. His grin was wide and wolfish, amusement dancing in his dark eyes as if he'd just won some private game.

"What?" she snapped, her patience already wearing thin.

Niragi leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at her like she was the most entertaining thing in the room. Familiar, yet oh so foreign.

"Just wondering how the little Demon's day was," he said smoothly.

His tone was mockingly sweet, but the edge in his words made her bristle.

"Yeah," she replied dryly, shoving a forkful of mushrooms into her mouth. "It was a day. Yours?"

Niragi's smirk widened, obviously pleased to receive a response. "Full of revelry. Caught some traitors snooping around looking for cards."

"So you just did your job, congrats," she said flatly. She didn't scratch the itch that urged her to look down the table to where Chishiya normally sat. If he died—and dragged someone else down with him, too—she would be pissed.

"And what a fine job I did of it." His voice dripped with sadistic glee. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"I got 92 on my exam," he'd said as he dragged her into his dorm. It was a bit of a mess—clothes and food wrappers scattered—but she was used to that. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"Yes, so proud." She'd rolled her eyes. She'd let her backpack drop by his desk covered in gaming consoles. "Wasn't it open book and open note?"

"Besides the point." He'd used a single pointer finger to push her back onto the twin sized bed. "You said you'd reward me for anything above a 90."

"I thought we agreed the reward would be dinner at Ukai-tei?" she'd asked, though not resisting his nudging. The bed was stiff as stone, the sheets barely enough to cover it, but she was used to that too.

In one fluid motion he'd taken off his shirt. "That is a reward for both of us, Kishi-chan. I'd like this one to be just for me."

And so he'd reaped his reward.

She didn't humor him, knowing he was doing that on purpose, turning her gaze away to the opposite end of the table as casually as one could. With an odd sort of relief, she found Chishiya sitting next to a girl who Kishi believed had a Kansai accent, though she was unfamiliar with her name.

Niragi tapped her knee with the barrel of his rifle beneath the table twice before she finally turned back to him. He was still expecting an answer.

"What, you want a reward?" she asked finally, a little tauntingly.

This got his attention, and he smirked darkly. "There is nothing you can offer me that you haven't already given, other than your sweet demise."

This motherfucker.

"You wish," she hissed.

Mira, ever the peacemaker—or instigator, depending on her mood—chimed in from next to her. "Now, now, let's not start a fight before the night's even begun. We've got a departure party to enjoy, don't we?"

Her words were light, but there was an edge of authority in them that even Niragi didn't dare challenge outright, despite technically ranking higher than her. He gave a mock salute, his grin never faltering. "Of course, Queen Mira."

The woman's smile tightened marginally, but she said no more.

Kishi let out a slow breath as he finally turned his attention elsewhere, his voice carrying over the din of the room as he started goading someone else. She pushed her plate away, appetite long gone.

Ugh, but wasting food was so wasteful here.

She took the plate and slid it over in Last Boss's direction. He glanced down at it, grinning through a mouthful of food. She cringed, but thanked him internally for wordlessly agreeing to finish it off.

Her gaze, almost involuntarily, drifted down the table to Chishiya again. He was still there, idly prodding at a lump of tuna on his plate, his expression as unreadable as ever. Come morning, she had no doubt he would be top fifteen as Kuzuryu had said.

Unless he made a complete fool out of himself and died.

Which seemed inconceivable.

"What? You're done already?" Mira's voice pulled her back to reality. The woman jabbed a chopstick at the plate now firmly in Last Boss's clutches. "You didn't even touch the caramelized peaches!"

Kishi forced a weak smile. "Sorry, I just wasn't that hungry to begin with, I guess."

"Well, here." Mira plucked a slice of peach from her own plate and leaned over with an almost maternal insistence. "Try this."

Kishi leaned back slightly, skeptical. "This feels...very demeaning."

"Oh, hush," Mira teased, moving the peach closer.

Resigned, she opened her mouth and let Mira pop the slice in. She chewed, grimacing slightly as the overwhelming sweetness flooded her taste buds. "Delicious," she said with forced enthusiasm. "It's...definitely a peach smothered in sugar."

Mira beamed, clearly pleased. "Mhmm!"

Kishi turned away, feeling awkward under the bright warmth of Mira's gaze, only to catch Niragi watching them with a sneering, salacious expression.

"Ugh." Fed up, she finally pushed away from the table. "I'm out."

There were scattered farewells from the table: "Bye, Kishi-chan!" "Good luck, Kishi!" and, predictably, "Till next time, Demon."

Asshole, she thought but didn't bother to respond. She was already halfway to the door.

An hour later, Kishi stood in a cold, dimly lit warehouse that stank of rust and sweat. The walls stretched up into darkness, unadorned, industrial, and unwelcoming. No exits in sight—which was definitely against safety regulations. Just five people and the sound of their own breathing, echoing too loud off metal and concrete.

"There are a total of five participants."

Kishi's eyes swept across the others. The Kansai girl who had sat with Chishiya at dinner—introduced as Kuina— stood calmly with her thumbs in her jean pockets. Then there was a girl barely out of high school, trembling, shoulders drawn in tight like she wanted to vanish. A man with arms like tree trunks and a set jaw that said he was ready to break whatever got in his way. And a twitchy, pale teen who kept biting the inside of his cheek, eyes darting like prey.

"Difficulty: Nine of Clubs."

Kishi's stomach sank.

"Game is 'Weight Divide'."

The air in the room seemed to thicken.

"Rule: Participants must move the object from one end of the room to the other. Ropes will be provided. Object must remain intact and cannot be broken apart. Game over if object does not reach the other side in the time allowed. Game cleared if object successfully reaches other side of the room within the time limit."

"Time limit: Two Hours."

The announcement echoed through the room, followed by a deafening clang as the object in question dropped from the ceiling and landed with an earth-shaking thud. Kishi's stomach sank as she took in the sheer size of the block—easily a ton of unforgiving metal.

"The game will now commence."

Silence followed. A long, paralyzed beat of it.

"Is this a joke?" the burly man muttered, his voice low with disbelief.

"No wheels? No pulleys?" the wiry teen asked, already pacing around the block, his voice shaking. "How the hell are we supposed to move that?"

Kishi stepped closer to the object, her boots crunching grit beneath them. The block was scratched and pitted—solid steel. The edges were sharp. Industrial.

This wasn't just heavy. It was deliberate. This game wanted to break them, body and will alike.

She touched the cold metal and exhaled slowly. Fear was coiling in her gut, whispering that she should start saying her goodbyes now.

But she'd been in worse. And she hadn't died yet (though, there was still that theory in the back of her head that she was, if fact, dead and this was hell).

She glanced at the ropes scattered around the floor, their presence practically mocking in their inadequacy. But even with nothing but ropes and raw manpower, there were ways to make this work. Obviously, she would have been more optimistic with three more of the big guy, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Once it starts moving, it'll be easier to keep going," she said aloud, mostly to herself. "But the first inch... that'll cost us."

Kuina had moved to her side silently. "Ideas?"

"Not good ones," Kishi replied. She turned to the others. "Tie the ropes low, as close to the bottom as you can so we're working with its center of mass. Then wrap it around your waist. Don't pull with your arms, use your legs. Think leverage, not brute strength."

The burly man squinted at her. "You saying I shouldn't use my strength?"

"I'm saying if you waste it and burnout on us, we're all going to die."

His mouth tightened, but he nodded once.

Kishi didn't bother assigning positions again—she just moved. Kuina followed her lead. The others hesitated, but joined in, their movements jerky and anxious.

When the ropes were tied, she looked across the block at the group. "Pull slow. Pull together. And don't stop once we start."

They nodded, all except the teen. His hands were shaking. Kishi caught his eye and said quietly, "Just walk forward. That's all."

He nodded.

She braced herself, the rope tight across her hips.

"Now," she said.

Nothing.

Then—an inch.

"Keep going!" Kishi shouted, voice cutting through the groans.

Every muscle in her body burned. Her legs felt like paper. Her shoulder—bad one included—had gone completely numb, which was somehow worse than pain. Somewhere in the back of her head, a voice that sounded like her own whispered: We're not going to make it. This is how we die. She crushed the thought like it was something she could grind under her heel.

Minutes passed in slow agony. When someone faltered, she barked their name or just barked in general. When they slowed, she snapped at them. She didn't care if she sounded cruel. Better cruel than dead.

00:47:13.

Sweat blurred her vision. The burly man's shirt was soaked through. The girl was pale, lips blue. The teen had stopped shaking, but only because his arms were locked rigid.

Still, they moved.

When the block was halfway, they nearly lost it. The teen slipped, and the block nearly threatened to stop. Kuina shouted for them to move. The girl sobbed.

They were dragging a mountain through hell. Her lungs stung, her knees trembled, her vision frayed at the edges. The rope in her hands might as well have been cutting through her skin. But she didn't let go.

"One. Two. One. Two."

The chant kept them alive.

00:13:09.

Her knees buckled. She staggered. Someone behind her cried out.

Still, they moved.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the glossy reflection of the block—hair soaked to her cheeks, face pale and streaked with grime. Her own eyes didn't look like hers. Not anymore. This was the face of someone who'd given everything, but still had more taken.

The line was so close she could taste it.

Then the timer was at 00:03:01.

Then 00:01:12.

She could see it—the finish line just ahead, a single red stripe across the floor. Her lungs burned. Her hands were raw. Her vision was tunneled.

The wiry teen had gone silent, his face pale and dripping, but his hands stayed locked on the rope. Kuina was shouting encouragement over the block, her voice sounding wheezy.

"Almost there!" she yelled, gasping. "Just a little more!"

Kishi's legs burned as she threw her entire body weight into the rope. "Don't stop—don't you dare stop!"

The block lurched forward again, and the metallic screech of its movement set her teeth on edge.

00:00:36 remaining.

Her chest heaved as her shoes slipped, the rope slacking slightly in her hands. The finish line was just a breath away, but it felt like miles.

"Push harder!" Kishi bellowed.

"I am, bitch!" the burly man shouted back, and she didn't hold it against him.

She planted her feet, gritted her teeth, and pulled harder than she thought her body could handle.

With a final, desperate heave, the group surged forward. The block crossed the line with a resounding screech that echoed through the room just as the timer hit 00:00:02.

The bell rang, clear and sharp, signaling their victory.

"Game clear. Congratulations."

The rope slipped from her hands as she collapsed onto her knees. Kuina sank beside her. The burly man collapsed flat on his back. The teen fell to the ground, gasping like he'd been drowning. The nervous girl was crying softly, clutching her knees.

The silence was deafening.

Eventually, Kuina muttered, "I think I pulled something I didn't even know I had."

Kishi stared at the ceiling. She didn't respond. She didn't have to. They all knew what they'd just done.

The man let out a weak, breathless laugh. "I really thought... we were dead back there."

Kuina chuckled, though it sounded more like a wheeze. "So did I. Totally would have been if Kishi hadn't gone all drill sergeant on us."

"Sorry about that, guys," she said, not feeling it.

"You saved us," the wiry teen whispered, mouth gaping as he still tried to suck in air.

"It was all just dynamics and kinetics," she murmured.

"I don't even know what those words mean, kid, so you might as well take the credit," the burly man said.

"Credit," Kishi echoed under her breath, the word hanging strangely hollow in her throat. She stared at her scraped palms, the burn of rope still imprinted on her skin, her chest still struggling to rise and fall with some kind of rhythm. What was credit worth in this place?

Nothing. It wouldn't bring back the piece of her that had curled up and died halfway through that game. It wouldn't change the fact that two seconds—two fucking seconds—had stood between her and a laser to the skull.

Without a word, she pushed herself up from the floor, every muscle screaming in protest. Her legs were lead, her shoulders shredded. It felt like her skin was wrapped too tight around her bones. She didn't say goodbye. Didn't ask if the others were okay. She just walked toward the glowing green exit sign.

Her legs carried her toward the car on instinct, every step automatic. Kuina was still inside and would likely still be a while.

She reached the Mitsubishi GTO and pulled open the driver's door, dropping into the seat like a puppet with its strings cut.

And then she sat.

Hands gripping the wheel. Eyes unfocused. Her cheek found the cool plastic of the steering wheel without meaning to, and she let it stay there, body curling just slightly forward like she might melt into the upholstery. The interior smelled like scorched vinyl and stress sweat. Fitting.

She exhaled slowly, but it sounded more like a death rattle.

Her legs twitched uselessly beneath her, the phantom ache of rope-burn still buzzing across her palms and thighs. Her arms felt like overcooked noodles. There was a pulsing behind her left eye she was pretty sure had been born somewhere around the thirty-minute mark, when she realized she might have to die on a warehouse floor pushing a glorified refrigerator.

Two seconds.

They'd cleared the game with two seconds to spare. Which, honestly, was pretty on-brand for her.

Kishi peeled her forehead off the wheel, dragging herself upright like a haunted marionette. Her hands were still stuck in rope-gripping claw position, and she wiggled her fingers slowly, like she was trying to remember how fine motor skills worked.

The passenger door opened at last, and Kuina slid into the seat with a long, exhausted exhale. She tossed the nine of clubs playing card up on the dash.

"Sorry," she panted. "The girl kept trying to hug me."

"I left just in time, then," Kishi mumbled. "You ready?"

The girl looked her over apprehensively. "You sure you're alright to drive?"

"It'll be fine." Kishi turned the key in the ignition before giving Kuina a lazy smile. "If my eyes close for too long just pinch me."

"You're so not funny," she groaned with a huffy chuckle.

When they finally arrived at the Beach, Kishi's legs felt like jelly. She couldn't even trust them to hold her up as she stepped out of the car. Kuina was already out, limping toward the entrance and towards a body stood near the entrance.

Of course.

He'd be top fifteen by morning, no doubt.

He straightened as they neared, his sharp eyes assessing them with that characteristic detachment.

"Survived, did we?" His voice was as dry as always, but this time there was a note of satisfaction in it, barely perceptible beneath his usual sarcasm.

"Barely," Kishi replied as she met his gaze, her tone light despite the exhaustion that clung to her.

Kuina limped ahead of her, her steps slow but steady. "Yeah, it was a nine," she added with a little more breath than necessary, but the exhaustion was clear.

Kishi watched as Chishiya's brow twitched ever so slightly. The kind of reaction that could almost be missed if you weren't paying attention. A flicker of surprise—maybe even impressed, though he was quick to hide it. "A nine?" he echoed, his tone laced with intrigue. "Impressive."

"Ah," Kishi breathed, lips curling. "High praise."

He tilted his head, giving her a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. His gaze lingered for a moment, but there was no further probing, no other question hanging in the air.

"Well," she continued after a moment of their silence. It was clear they wanted to talk in private. "I am going to bed."

Chishiya gave a brief nod, his voice smooth as ever. "Goodnight, Kishi."

She gave him a lazy wave over her shoulder. "Night, Chishiya. Night, Kuina."

She turned to walk away, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the corridor.

Chapter Text

—"OH, I do love our promenades around the pond," Mira sighed wistfully, her arm looped through Kishi's—perhaps a little tighter than she would have preferred, but Kishi has slipped out of the woman's hold before so this was probably only cautionary.

It was a walk. Around the pool...And they were Japanese...But the woman had an obsession with period dramas and the Regency and Victorian eras and all things old English. So their waaalk was actually a promenade. And their snack-time was actually tea-time. And their gossip was actually something called on dit.

"Really?" Kishi asked apprehensively, staring down at what looked like an orgy happening in the deep end.

Mira giggled, her fingers lightly touching Kishi's chin to guide her gaze away. "Oh, yes, of course I do. The weather is perfect, the music is pleasant, and I do so enjoy your company."

The sky was actually rather overcast and gloomy. The current playlist was made up of club EDM and house music that a toddler put together. And Kishi was flattered, but there were definitely better candidates for company out there—even with their limited pool of people nowadays.

She said none of this, though.

Mira was touchy about being corrected, especially about her delusions.

"Kishi-chan, do you remember when we first met?" she asked suddenly, her voice softening with a nostalgic lilt.

Kishi blinked, almost thrown by the change in tone. "I remember you wearing a floor-length dress," she said bluntly. "And you were hanging around with strange company."

"Oh, you love us," she teased, squeezing Kishi's arm. "Don't act like you don't. You started hanging around with that strange lot, too!"

"Are you sure I wasn't coerced?" Kishi replied, a little joking—a little not.

"Well, maybe they were trying to be a little intimidating. What, with their big guns and all," Mira replied, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. "But I know those don't bother you."

Oh, they bothered her plenty, but as soon as they—or rather, Niragi—discovered that fact, she wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Why do you bring it up?" Kishi asked.

Mira sighed deeply, tilting her head as if her thoughts had drifted far away. "Oh, no reason, really," she replied, her tone soft, almost wistful. "I just wanted to reminisce about the good times with you. You truly brought life to this place."

"I brought electricity," she deadpanned.

Mira tilted her head, her grin widening. "Well, isn't light life in itself?" she asked with a playful gleam in her eye.

Kishi gave her a sidelong glance, her expression skeptical but not entirely unkind. She'd wondered before—and couldn't help wondering again—how someone like Mira had survived this long in the Borderlands.

"Hm," Mira hummed, clearly pleased with herself as her voice softened. "I love your thinking face. Tell me, what are you thinking?"

Kishi hesitated, her gaze shifting away from Mira's probing eyes. Finally, she lied, "I'm thinking we haven't had a proper meetup with An in a while."

Mira gasped, falling for the sidetrack, clutching her chest as if she'd been struck by a revelation. "You're so right! It's been ages. Too long, really." Her voice lowered, growing wistful again. "Maybe we can plan something soon."

"Maybe," she agreed, though her tone betrayed no real commitment.

The two fell into step again, walking laps around the pool in companionable silence. It was during their sixth lap that Kuzuryu crossed their path.

Which was odd, considering he loathed the poolside.

"Good morning, Keiichi," Mira greeted happily.

"Good morning to you both. Meeting in the conference room..." He turned to walk away before stopping and looking back. "Now, if you please."

And with Mira already latched to her and eager to keep up with the man, Kishi had no option to resist.

"Do I have time to grab my—" Kishi began as Kuzuryu called the elevator up ahead, fully intent on disappearing.

"No," he cut her off.

"It'll be quick—"

"No."

The elevator gave a ding and they stepped aside for a wave of people exiting before getting on themselves. Two others joined them at the last second, pressing the button for the floor above theirs.

"What is the meeting for?" Kishi asked to fill the silence.

Kuzuryu just stared at the back of the heads of the two strangers in the elevator.

Ah, top secret, she should have known.

"Could have just lied to me. Now you've made it awkward," she grumbled under her breath.

Mira jiggled her arm closer, consoling almost.

As the elevator dinged and the doors opened, the small group stepped out, leaving Kishi no room to ask more questions. She followed them into the conference room, only to be greeted by two very familiar—if very unpleasant—sights: two bound and blindfolded individuals sitting in chairs. A few of Hatter's "guard" were standing around, keeping an eye on the captives.

This didn't really feel like a 9AM activity, but whatever.

Mira, undeterred, let go of Kishi's arm and walked straight over to join An up by the room dividers. Kishi gave a half-hearted wave in her direction

Kuzuryu gestured for the two guards to lift the blindfolds off the two in the chairs.

They blinked at the sudden onslaught of light through the windows.

Kishi stared for a moment, blinking, before recognition clicked into place. She'd seen them during the Five of Spades game. She couldn't tell if they recognized her or not.

"Good morning!" Mira chirped.

"I apologize for the rude introduction," Kuzuryu sighed. "Our sentries report that there were people spying on us."

"Why are you here?" An asked, her tone sharp.

The boy blinked, seemingly caught off guard, then stammered out, "I was told that...I could find answers here. 'What is this game?' And 'Where is everybody?'"

Kishi grimaced. She wasn't sure who had lied to these nice kids, but those weren't the sort of answers they could provide here. The answers they had were of the alcoholic variety.

The door opened at the exact perfect moment, and Hatter strutted in. "Where indeed. We have the answers that you are looking for."

He walked up behind the two captives, looked between them, and then with a snap of his fingers, he gestured to the dividers.

"Here is your first answer," Hatter declared.

Two of his sentries walked over and began moving the dividers aside, revealing their graffitied wall of a deck of cards.

"Allow me to enlighten you." Hatter continued, stepping in front of them, voice going deep. "These cards...are the only way to end your nightmare. To clear the game, you must collect all the cards."

Kishi turned so her face was slightly obscured by shadows. She wasn't sure how well the newcomers could detect a guilty face, but she wouldn't risk it.

"Collect all of the cards?" the boy uttered lowly.

"If we collect all of the cards," the girl started, "will the world we once knew return?"

Hatter's gaze flicked between them, his expression darkening. "It's not the world that will return. Only one person can return to the normal world."

"Only one?" the boy whispered in disbelief.

"It's impossible for one person to clear all the games and collect all 52 cards. They could not do this alone. That's suicide. That's why we've united as one in order to allow one person to leave. That is the Beach's objective."

Kishi's heart clinched, and she found her nails digging further into her palms.

"You have been given good cards, I've been told," Hatter said, strolling over to the nearby table where a mess of belongings had been strewn about. "From now on, let's play together. United, as one, and collect the remaining cards together.

The boy, still processing the information, swallowed hard. "If we say no?"

Hatter grin only widened. "You can't say no." He picked up a scratch piece of paper where tally marks had been written down. Kishi glanced at her own forearm where she had tally marks upon tally marks of her own. "Your visa expires today. Seems like you have to join us, yeah?"

"If we help you, you're saying we can end the game?" the girl asked. "Will this be over?"

"Can't answer that for certain," Hatter admitted. "But there are indications that it's possible. Everyone in this room, long before you entered the game has been searching this country."

"What do you mean...this 'country'?" the boy asked.

"Visas have been issued, therefore, this is a country," Hatter explained. "It seems that the people of Tokyo haven't all disappeared like we have. We wonder, have we been transported somehow to another country? If we have, there must be a way to return."

"So together, all of us built this small organization," Mira chimed in.

"Electricity is produced from a fuel-powered generator," Kishi added with a little bit of a roll of her eyes. This was all scripted.

"We use rainwater for our water supply," An said.

"We got our firearms from the living and the dead," Hatter said. "However, only a select few of us are allowed to use them."

"Our aim here is to unit and collect all the cards together," Kuzuryu added.

"And in this paradise, the Beach," Hatter started, "we only have three rules. Rule 1: Always wear a swimsuit wherever you go." As he said this, he tilted his head in Kishi's direction to glare pointedly at her cargo shorts and surf top.

The boy blanched.

"You can't conceal a weapon in a swimsuit, so it's safe," Hatter said.

Kishi begged to differ.

"Also, here, you are free to drown yourself in alcohol, get high on drugs, and have as much sex as you want. Enjoy your life while you still can. All keys and locks have been destroyed and thrown away. There are no secrets. Rule 2:," he picked up the stray cards from the table, "all cards are the Beach's property. That means that all the cards you've collected, we'll hang onto for safekeeping. Those who have contributed their cards will be promoted in numerical order. You see, after our collective effort sends out the first person, it won't be long before we can gather enough duplicate cards to send out a second person, then a third, and so on. The day when the Beach's brothers and sisters can leave this country is fast approaching."

"And when exactly will that be?" The boy looked down, the revelation crushing him. No one provided him with an answer. "What if...I refuse to join?"

"Well, there's Rule 3. The last one." Hatter turned to him. "Death to all traitors."

The two in the chairs were stunned silent.

"People in this room have sacrificed everything to ensure a first departure from the Beach one glorious day. Soldiers in a great cause! To those who plot against us...Beach shows no mercy."

"Usagi... I'm sorry for dragging you into this," the boy muttered.

Usagi didn't hesitate, her tone unwavering. "There's no need to apologize. It was my decision to be here."

Hatter flipped through the cards until he froze, laughter bubbling up out of him. He held up a card, the Seven of Hearts glinting in the dim light.

"Lucky! We are truly lucky! The cards are with us! One of us is closer to leaving this country." He gestured grandly. "We thank you. Rest assured that we will consider promoting the two of you. And now! Enjoy the Beach and whatever you desire!"

Kishi did not stick around, nor was she asked to.

She'd heard that speech 457 times—variations of it, at least. The words were always different, but the sentiment remained the same. It was like hearing an old song played on a warped record, its original melody distorted into something unrecognizable.

When the Beach had first started, the rules were simpler, more flexible.

Rule 1: Bathing suits, always (because Hatter had always been crazy enough for that).

Rule 2: This is where you go to forget about the games and this world's miserable existence (this was honestly a very vague and loose rule, so it was always bound to change).

Rule 3: No killing on the premises (this one was just ironic).

But somewhere down the line, two of the three had mutated into something sinister. Out of necessity, they'd once said, to prevent violence and curate hope. Instead, it instilled fear disguised as hope.

Hatter had used a new line today. One that certified her belief that the Beach had become exactly what it was created to prevent.

"...That's why we've united as one in order to allow one person to leave. That is the Beach's objective."

He had never said that before.

The Beach was never supposed to have an "objective." It was supposed to be an escape.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she walked, the tile cool beneath her bare feet. He wasn't well—he hadn't been for a long time—but now the cracks were obvious, jagged. The obsession with going home had consumed him, hollowed him out until there was nothing left but the echoes of his own lies.

She didn't realize where her feet had carried her until she pushed open the door.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, a little harsher than intended. Or maybe she did intend it. She wasn't really in a good mood.

Chishiya turned from where he stood in front of the surveillance monitors, his expression calm, almost expectant. He didn't seem surprised to see her, and over his shoulder, she saw the footage of all the cameras that led to the basement pulled up like a crumb trail.

"I didn't say you could be in here," she said, folding her arms over her chest.

"You never said I couldn't be." He shrugged, as if the logic was unassailable.

"Well, I'm saying so now," she snapped. She knew she was being unreasonable. Chishiya hadn't done anything wrong—well, nothing she could prove. He was always up to no good, and she knew that.

"What did you guys talk about?" he asked, glancing back at the main monitor.

She followed his gaze, her exasperation bubbling as she saw the feed he'd pulled up: the camera outside the ballroom, watching the doors.

"Sneak," she muttered under her breath.

"You're not going to answer me," he said with a knowing lilt.

"It doesn't matter," she said, a little too defensively. "It was just an induction meeting. It's the two from the Five of Spades."

"I saw that," he replied, his tone infuriatingly casual. He glanced back at the feed. "If it was just an induction, why did you storm out?"

Heat crept up her neck. How embarrassing that he'd seen that.

"I always do that," she lied, lifting her chin in defiance. "I hate new people."

"Knew you wouldn't answer me," he said smoothly.

She knew he was baiting her. She could see the fishing lure, sparkly and enticing, and she knew it was a lure. Still, she chased after it and bit down.

"I miss the way the Beach used to be," she blurted, her voice softer now, tinged with an uncharacteristic wistfulness.

She did not mean to get so sappy so quickly. She didn't mean to get sappy at all. He wouldn't care for a sob story, or whatever this could be categorized as, but still she continued because Mira had gotten in her head earlier or something.

"I actually made friends back then—with the ones who stayed and the ones who only lasted a single night...because you were allowed to leave back then." She switched the monitor to the feed showing the loading dock and dumpsters. The image was grainy, but it wasn't hard to discern the masses sprawled on the ground and spilling from the dumpster. She didn't glance at Chishiya to gauge his reaction—he probably already knew. "Then Hatter got a tip from his...source that collecting all the cards was the key to getting out. He demanded everyone hand over their cards. That's when the game scheduling started, and then came the third rule. After that, it stopped making sense to befriend people who were just going to end up dead."

He said nothing.

"The only constants I've had since then are the executives. And now, we're falling apart, because of what this place has become in the pursuit of those cards."

She switched to another feed, something less likely to upset her. The empty tennis courts, perfect.

"Why do you want to be an executive?" she asked again, her voice quieter this time.

She already knew the answer—he'd said it himself.

But she needed to hear it again.

"I need those cards," he replied.

"I know. But why?" she pressed. "You got something good waiting for you back in the real world? A nice job? A nice girl? A nice home?...You aren't special. Or maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you're smart enough to get them?...What do you think's gonna happen when you finally get your hands on them?"

"I assume I'll be sent back the same way I came here."

She gave him a sharp, sardonic look. "You're dumber than I thought."

For once, the barb landed. He held back a frown.

"...Hatter's source?" She tapped her temple twice with her finger. "It's those fucking voices in his head. No one fed him that crap about the cards—it's just his twisted brain trying to justify his control. He needed a system to keep his power intact, so he built a meritocracy that's near impossible to climb."

"But he believes in it," Chishiya murmured, his tone edging toward quiet contemplation.

"Of course he believes it. He doesn't need to convince anyone but himself—ever heard of pathological liars? If you don't want to believe me, that's fine. But, Chishiya, the executives are all I have left. Killing them for scraps of paper?"

"You think I was planning on killing a few to push myself into the top ten?" he said it as if the idea was inconceivable. As if she was crazy to even suspect such a thing of him.

"I don't know you. I don't know what you'd do to see yours goals through. Why would I not suspect you'd take the path of least resistance?"

His frown deepened, his displeasure clear. "You should know me enough to know I wouldn't."

Should she? The question lodged itself in her mind like a stone in her shoe, uncomfortable and impossible to ignore. She remembered telling Kuzuryu that she barely knew Chishiya, and it hadn't been an exaggeration.

Did she know him well enough to believe him incapable of coldblooded murder? No. And the thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Her fingers tightened against her arms as she leaned back against the desk, the edge digging into her thighs. "This world has a way of turning people into monsters—or, at the very least, making them do monstrous things. I've seen it. I've felt it." Her gaze flicked to him, sharp and probing. "You come off as this untouchable thing, like nothing here can reach you. But this place doesn't need to lay a hand on you to worm its way into your head."

His gaze didn't waver, but there was a shift in his posture—a minute adjustment, like he was weighing her words carefully. He always looked so unaffected, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling that he was annoyed. Maybe even insulted.

Kishi wasn't sure why it mattered to her. Maybe because deep down, she wanted to believe him. Wanted to think that someone like him wouldn't stoop to the same brutality that had turned the Beach into what it was now. But the gnawing voice in the back of her mind wouldn't let her forget—she didn't know him. Not really.

After a long stretch of silence, he finally left. He moved past her without a word, his presence as fleeting as it was heavy. But as he passed, the back of his hand brushed against hers—a fleeting, almost accidental contact. Her breath hitched at the sensation, but she quickly tamped it down. She didn't let herself believe it was anything deliberate. She didn't allow herself to think that it might be his way of proving he wasn't as untouchable as she had claimed.

Instead, she stayed rooted where she stood, the phantom warmth of his hand lingering against her skin as she tried to convince herself it didn't mean anything at all.

Chapter Text

—"THERE are a total of 8 participants."

"Difficulty: Ace of Diamonds."

"Game is 'The Bridge of Truth'."

"Rules: One guard always tells the truth, and the other always lies. Players may ask each guard one question. One guard's Bridge leads to Game Clear. The other guard's Bridge leads to Game Over."

"Time limit: 15 minutes."

And if that hadn't been the easiest game she'd participated in, yet. She was familiar with "The Two Doors Riddle" from Greek Mythology, of course. And even if she hadn't known the answer from the start, two minutes of thought would have sufficed.

The only minor setback had come in the form of one man insisting that she didn't know what she was talking about when she explained the answer to the riddle. Luckily, the rest of the participants had seen sense and ignored him.

He was outvoted 7-1 when deciding on questions to ask the guards.

She watched him walk off into the dark city streets after the fact, dejected but alive. He could have at least swallowed his pride and apologized or thanked her. But it was whatever. She was sure she'd never see him again if he approached every game the way he had this one. By finding the smartest person in the room and shooting them down when they actually spoke logically.

She was used to that, in her career field.

The night almost felt anticlimactic, but she dared not throw weight into that for fear of jinxing it. She was quite fine with a boring evening.

And as she walked into the executive wing to turn in, she almost thought she had gotten away with it.

"Yo, Demon, back so soon."

Her relatively good mood evaporated.

She didn't bother suppressing the look of irritation on her face as she turned to find Niragi lounging against the hallway wall like a coiled snake waiting to strike. His smirk only deepened as he saw her reaction.

"Oh, don't give me that face," he drawled, pushing off the wall to stand fully upright. "I haven't even done anything yet."

She didn't reply immediately, staring at him with a blank expression that slowly, pointedly morphed into disbelief.

Niragi tilted his head and shrugged, the rifle resting lazily on his shoulder shifting with the motion. "Well, I haven't done anything in the past ten minutes."

Still, she said nothing, her eyes boring into him like she could peel back the layers of evil with her glare alone.

Once upon a time, she could.

"Five minutes," he confessed with a dark chuckle, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I tripped Kuzuryu on his way past. He's been looking a little too self-righteous lately, don't you think?"

He was a cruel human—a cruel beast. Had been ever since their junior year.

"What are you, in middle school?" She tilted her head, her lips curling into a humorless smile.

The grin that spread across Niragi's face was dangerous now, the kind of grin that said he was calculating whether he could get away with doing something reckless. She'd seen it too many times before to be fazed by it.

Oh, but she could be cruel, too. This world demanded it of her so much that she could call upon it instantly.

"Gonna use someone as target practice with a baseball bat? Force feed someone piss soup maybe?"

His grin faltered, just for a second—a crack she saw and immediately exploited.

"Still the same fragile little boy underneath it all, huh?" she continued, her voice low and razor-sharp. "All the violence in the world won't fix what's wrong with you, Niragi."

He'd cried into her arms the night he revealed it all. She'd comforted him, hushing his sobs and kissing his tears. She'd been aware, before then, that he must have been bullied throughout his childhood—his rebellious nature had to have come from somewhere. But she hadn't known how deep the wounds ran until he'd laid them bare, as if confessing a sin.

That night, she'd thought, would have been the turning point. She'd believed that opening up, shedding the armor of anger and rebellion, might have been the start of healing for him. But it hadn't been.

It was like admitting his pain had unleashed something darker. Instead of finding solace, he'd spiraled. The cruelty he'd been subjected to became the cruelty he wielded, and his descent into wickedness was so rapid, so steep, she couldn't keep up. He didn't want her to.

And then came the final straw—the act that severed whatever hope she'd clung to for him, for them. The night he defiled her in the worst possible way, breaking not just her trust but something far more sacred. That was when she'd left, her love for him buried under layers of disgust and rage.

His eyes darkened, his grip tightening on the rifle slung over his shoulder. For a brief, charged moment, it seemed like he might truly lash out this time and kill her.

"Why don't you just do it already?" she said, her tone almost bored, like she was daring him to cross that line. "You've got the gun. I'm right here."

His eyes darkened, but instead of lashing out, he just laughed. A short, bitter sound that echoed in the hallway.

"Demon," was all he was able to spit.

Kishi smirked, not backing down an inch. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

"You've got a mouth on you, Shiro," he said, his tone low and vicious. "Always have."

"And you've got an ego big enough to fill that hollow little shell you call a soul," she shot back, crossing her arms. "What's your point?"

For a moment, neither of them moved, locked in a silent standoff that felt like it could tip either way. Her heart hammered in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins, but she didn't look away. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Finally, his grin twisted into something even uglier, his tone laced with bitter amusement. "You really think you're better than me, don't you?"

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice to match his venom. "I don't think, Suguru. I know. Enjoy your power trip. It's all you'll ever have."

Because he certainly didn't have her, anymore.

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, away from the direction of her room. No way was she going to corner herself when his blood was boiling and fingers trigger-happy. She could feel his eyes on her back, heavy and cold.

She ended up in the basement, of course.

Where she always ended up when her brain was too loud.

She had nothing to prove anymore, not to him. Not to anyone. She'd spent years trying to believe that she was still whole, strong, but it felt harder now. Every time she thought she was getting better, something about him, his words, his presence, pulled at the raw edges of the wounds she'd tried to heal. It was the world's ultimate 'fuck you' that he was in this hellhole with her.

But she was better. She was.

Her nails scraped against the railing as she exhaled, pushing the thought away. She wasn't the girl she used to be. She wasn't someone he could tear apart anymore. And she would never let herself forget that again.

The silence of the basement closed in, wrapping itself around her, and for a moment, she let herself sink into it.

The rhythmic hum of the fluorescent lights above was a small comfort as she began to unwind, her hands automatically reaching for the tools she always kept close in the corner of the basement in the tattered toolbox that Chishiya had dropped off at some point. If she couldn't quiet her thoughts, maybe she could drown them out with something productive.

Her mind needed to focus on something else, anything else, so she began working, hands ever-moving as she adjusted a broken boombox that someone must have dropped off for her to fix.

She wiped her hands on her shorts, frustrated, when the sound of soft footsteps broke the quiet. They were familiar. Too familiar.

Rubbery and squeaky.

A pause. Then, the quiet sound of a door creaking open, followed by the soft click of it closing.

She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Chishiya's presence always made itself known, even in silence. His shadow loomed, stretching across the floor just beyond her peripheral vision, before disappearing as he moved behind her, taking up a position just out of reach, but close enough to make her skin crawl.

She knew exactly where he just was. Call it a feeling.

She twisted a screw tighter than necessary. "I should have never shown you the surveillance room."

"You're right. You shouldn't have," he agreed, his tone flat.

"Did he at least punch the wall after I left?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on the innards of the boombox.

"Kicked it," he corrected, his voice coming from behind her, steady as ever.

"Same difference," she muttered, a small, harsh thing.

"You know him well," he observed, his voice just above a whisper, the words carrying an edge.

"Knew him." She pinched the audio amplifier in the boombox with a little more force than necessary. Her fingers were starting to ache, but she didn't care.

"From before," he pressed, his words trailing like a question, but he didn't need her to answer. He already knew the answer; she'd made it obvious enough for a genius like him to figure out.

She didn't respond, focusing instead on finding her soldering gun, trying to ignore the flutter of discomfort that had begun to settle in her chest with his presence. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, but he didn't break it, not right away. His silence was just as deliberate as her own.

Finally, after a long pause of him just thinking, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, "Disgusting."

The word hung in the air, and for a moment, she felt like it was directed at her—like he was judging her for the past she could never quite outrun. For the things she had allowed, the things she had forgiven. But she didn't react. She didn't defend Niragi, and she didn't defend herself. It wouldn't have made a difference. There was no excuse for what had happened, no way to change the past. The pieces of her life before this place were irreparable.

Instead, she gave him nothing. Silence. Detachment. Something he could relate to.

"Why does he call you Demon?" he asked then, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife.

Her gaze flicked to the wall in front of her, the flickering lights casting a faint, sickly glow over everything.

Demon. A label he'd given her as a way of justifying his cruelty, justifying everything he had done to her. It was easier for him to believe she was something evil, something worthy of punishment, than to acknowledge that maybe he was the one with the problem.

At least, that was how the therapist had put it.

"Does it matter?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer immediately, but she could hear the slight shift in his position, the subtle way he leaned just a little closer without actually moving. He wasn't going to let it go.

And that was just so him, wasn't it? Once something was in his head, it was stuck until he satisfied its hunger.

"It does," he said softly, his tone even.

Her grip tightened on the wrench, the metal digging into her palm as she squeezed it harder. Why did he have to push?

Couldn't he tell she was a little upset with him?

Or maybe she wasn't upset with him, necessarily. Just men who seemed to always think they knew better than her. Maybe just men, in general.

He just continued to stare at her. She assumed he did, anyway. He had a stare that you could feel.

She let out a sharp breath, the tension in her chest unbearable. The wrench made a thunk as she let her arm fall to the table.

"He...he gave me that name because it was easier for him to believe I was the cause of evil in our relationship," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn't look up as she spoke, her eyes still fixed on the boombox. "Easier than facing the truth of what he was turning into."

"You're a smart girl. Why'd you let him get away with it?" Chishiya's voice was deceptively soft now, like a blade she hadn't seen coming.

She stiffened, the question making her pause in her movements.

Could this world not stand to see her have one peaceful night?

She would have throttled him, if she thought it might make him take back the question—if she thought it would make him into a more socially sensitive person.

"Well," she said, the self-deprecation evident as she gestured to her surrounding with the tools in her hands, "you know I love fixing things."

His silence settled around them again, but this time, it wasn't uncomfortable. He didn't offer pity, didn't try to reassure her with empty words. He simply stood there, and that was somehow worse.

"People like that are good at making you believe that," he said quietly, his tone steady. "They feed off that guilt, that need to fix things. It's not your fault."

The words hung in the air, sinking into her like something heavy, like a rock sinking to the bottom of a river. Her therapist had something similar. She wasn't sure if she believed them completely, if she could ever truly accept it, but hearing someone else say it—him—felt like a small, unexpected release.

She set the soldering gun down slowly, her fingers aching from the tension, and for the first time, she finally let herself exhale.

"Stop trying to be comforting," she said at last, her voice hoarse and unsteady. She wasn't sure why she even said it—maybe because she didn't want him to see how much that small comfort had chipped away at her walls. "It doesn't suit you."

Chishiya's lips quirked into a smile that was almost... self-amused. He stepped back into her line of sight, his figure framed by the dim light of the basement, casting a long shadow that felt less oppressive now.

"I can do uncharacteristic things," he defended, his voice dripping with that casual amusement she was so familiar with. It was the type of tone that made you wonder if he was truly serious or if he was just messing with you, as he often did.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" she shot back, the disbelief in her voice more instinctive than deliberate.

But then he looked at her—really looked at her—and for a brief moment, the air around them shifted. His gaze was steady, something near readable flickering in his eyes. It wasn't the usual calculated detachment, the mask of indifference he so often wore. No, this time, there was something more. Something... almost like he expected her to know what he meant.

"Don't look at me like that," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than him. Her fingers twitched, restless on the workbench.

"Like what?" he echoed back her own words, the context clear that he knew what.

She wasn't aware he was capable of flirting, pretending or not, intentional or not. He flirted in the same way he baited people, as if luring them into a trap.

He certainly was a sneak with a wide skillset.

The dangerous sort.

She grabbed his bait and tugged it further beneath the surface. "I'm not as easy as you might think, despite the Niragi thing."

"Maybe I'm counting on that," he said, hands stuffed in his pockets as he shrugged expectantly. "Have I given the impression that I like easy things?"

The words sent an unexpected warmth flickering through her chest, something she couldn't quite shake. Before she could even process the spark of a giggle that threatened to escape, she fought it back, mortified at the thought. She needed to regain control, so instead, she grabbed a greasy rag from the workbench and tossed it at him, aiming for his head.

His reflexes were quick, and he sidestepped with a fluid motion, barely sparing it a glance.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile that she fought tooth and nail to keep down. "Get out of my basement, Chishiya."

He held his hands up, released from their home in his pockets. "I'm going, I'm going."

He turned to leave, but just before he did, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her one last look.

And that look tormented her for hours and days to come.

Chapter Text

—"SHIT."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Kishi hissed through her teeth as she scrambled to mop up all the acetone she just fucking spilled across the fucking desk.

She had been so careful up to that point, too.

Not only was that a waste of good fucking acetone, but now her room, her bed, her clothes, her literal skin was going to smell for days. The sharp, bitter scent of chemicals burned her nose as she wiped at the spill with a rag, but no amount of swiping could make it go away. It clung to everything—her hands, the rag, the air. The smell was thick now, almost sticky, like it was coating the inside of her sinuses.

With a cough, she kicked her chair back and walked over to shove open the balcony door and toss the rag on the back of one of the lounge chairs. She turned around, leaving the door open and crossing over to the room's front door to swing that wide open, too.

Airflow. Airflow, please.

Slowly, the harsh chemical bite started to lift, but she knew it had seeped into the wood varnish of the desk and attached itself to all the fabric and carpet in the room already.

Motherfucker, she should have done this in the basement.

She was tempted to just leave the room for a bit and let the cross-breeze get the worst of the air out...but then she'd be leaving her door wide open for someone to just come in here and snoop and find things in her possession that she really shouldn't have (never-mind that they could technically just do that whenever because of the lack of locks). Not when tensions were at an all-time high.

Speaking of...

"Hey!" A voice cut through the party going on outside her balcony door. "Stop that crap music."

And just like that, the poolside was quiet.

Small mercies.

The owner of the voice on the other hand...

She stepped out onto the balcony, leaning against the rail to see a group of militants walking the perimeter of the pool. Aguni at the front, Niragi and Last Boss just behind with the others. They had a one-track hive mind, walking somewhere with purpose. Everyone else gave them a wide berth, instincts telling them to avoid making the gunslingers mad.

Kishi scanned the opposite end of the pool and saw Arisu and Usagi sitting with Kuina. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Aguni walk straight up to them, stopping just a few paces away.

The conversation was too quiet from this distance, but she could see Niragi step forward to try and yank Usagi off her lawn chair.

Kishi's hands clenched around the iron bar of the railing, her knuckles going white. Asshole.

Arisu stood up to intercept, trying to shield the girl, but the rest of Aguni's lackeys quickly surrounded him.

Before anything could escalate further, she saw Hatter walk up from where he must have been lounging. The standoff went on for a minute or two, Aguni and Hatter conversing quietly—and rather closely, if Kishi was honest. From the looks of it, Aguni was the one to back down in the end.

Typical.

"Executive members!" Hatter turned to face the crowd that had gathered in the wake of the confrontation. "Meeting in the conference room!"

Though she hadn't moved or made her presence known, Niragi, as he stepped away with the rest of the militants, glanced up to find her among the wall of balconies. Just before he walked inside, he pointed a finger up at her, miming shooting a gun.

Her stomach twisted in a sickening way.

Hate wasn't a strong enough word for what she harbored for him.

Unconsciously, her eyes drifted toward a white blob in the dispersing crowd.

Chishiya, following the group at a safe distance, dragged his gaze away from Niragi's back to look directly at her. There was a moment—just a moment—where their eyes met.

Kishi stood still, waiting for the punchline of whatever game he was playing with his gaze. But nothing came. He didn't smile, didn't smirk. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way he had to drag his eyes away from Niragi's back to meet hers that sent an unexpected twinge down her spine.

It wasn't the imaginary bullet Niragi had aimed her way, but somehow, it struck her just the same.

Her shoulders tensed slightly, but she exhaled sharply through her nose, pushing off the railing and stepping back inside, leaving the balcony door open just a little. As she walked to the hall, she closed the front door behind her with a quiet, but deliberate thud.

Kishi arrived at the conference room ahead of the others, being only just a floor above. She glanced around the room, eyes flicking to the few of Hatter's assistants who were still lingering around, sorting through the cards that had just been collected from today's games.

"Hey, Kishi-chan," one greeted her as she got settled in her usual spot, his tone cheery, almost too cheery for this place.

"Hey." She flashed him a quick smile. She didn't know the guy's name, but it didn't matter. In this place, everyone was just passing through.

She wasn't even sure how much time had passed before the door opened again and the other executives filed in. Aguni entered first, followed by Niragi and Last Boss. Last Boss didn't sit, of course, just like always. He stood behind his chair, fondling his katana like a creep.

Mira came in next, a bright smile on her face as she spotted Kishi. The grin was like sunshine, impossible not to return. She waved enthusiastically before sitting somewhere in the middle of the table.

Ann took her usual spot on one side of Kishi, offering a silent nod in greeting.

Kuzuryu and Hatter walked in next, Hatter immediately commanding attention as he stood at the head of the table.

"Alright, let's start the meeting," he announced. "If you're not an executive member, leave the room."

The lackeys shuffled out, leaving the table bare except for the cards. Hatter and Kuzuryu settled into their spots at the head of the table, and that's when Kishi caught sight of him.

Chishiya.

Must have cracked the top ten in the last couple nights.

Why she wasn't told, she had no idea.

He walked in, scanning the room, eyes darting around before landing on the empty seat next to her. He headed for it, then hesitated only a step away. He wrinkled his nose slightly, as if the air carried an invisible barrier he wasn't keen to cross. Instead, he opted for a seat directly across the table from her, raising an eyebrow in Kishi's direction, silently questioning the lingering scent.

She didn't exactly want to reveal to the whole table her embarrassing mishap, so she just shrugged. No way to act out spilling acetone everywhere without looking foolish.

Mahiru ended up taking the remaining spot next to her. He had no qualms about telling her she stunk, to which she flipped him off.

Near the head of the table, Kuzuryu's voice cut through the low hum of murmurs, "There have been 12 deaths in the past four days of games. If we frame it as an over 50% death rate, it's not catastrophic. But with the increasing difficulty of the remaining cards, it's only going to get worse."

Kishi's eyes narrowed, her blunt fingernails idly picking at the material of the chair. She wasn't sure if Kuzuryu's neutral delivery made the statistic easier or harder to digest. Maybe both.

"The Seven of Hearts from four days ago was the first new card in two weeks," Kuzuryu continued. "That's a problem. Additionally, the Four of Diamonds and Ten of Hearts haven't been collected. It's unknown if it's because the games have been too difficult to clear, or if the game venues have not appeared."

Niragi let out a harsh breath, leaning back on two legs of his chair with an exaggerated stretch.

"The games are fun, so I don't really mind..." he started, "but going off of that...ambiguous piece of information, are we really going to be able to return to our own world?"

At this, Kishi was reminded that he really wasn't an unintelligent beast. Beneath the many layers of sickness, there was, unfortunately, a brain.

"The day we get all the cards is nearing..." Hatter smiled placating, and if she didn't know better, she'd think his grin was stitched to his face. "The answer will become self-evident. For tomorrow night's games, I call on some of our executives to personally participate and retrieve the missing cards. I myself will join, as a sign of my determination!"

"I need to renew my visa anyway," An said. "I'll go."

"I also need to renew my visa," Kuzuryu said.

"Since we need a Heart, I will go a day early," Mira said slowly, smiling widening, "if someone else goes with me."

Immediately, Aguni and Niragi looked attentively at their guns, cleaning smudges where they didn't exist. And Last Boss was staring down at the table, purposefully zoning out. It was a known fact that Mira unsettled them.

That left Kishi, Mahiru, and Chishiya. Their gazes all locked, flickering between each other. None of them would volunteer themselves up for that willingly. She brought her hand up above the table, signaling a game of janken. They both reciprocated, though Chishiya accompanied it with a roll of his eyes.

Kishi's hopes soared when she won the first round but plummeted as she lost the next two, her rock consistently beaten by Mahiru and Chishiya's paper. She slumped deeper into her seat with a resigned sigh.

"Fine. I'll go with Mira."

"I had a feeling it'd be you!" Mira said, clapping her hands together. "I have a good feeling about this one."

Kishi's stomach churned. Mira's good feelings about Heart games normally weren't good feelings for all involved.

"Joy," Kishi muttered under her breath.

It was not a joy, obviously:

"There are a total of 11 participants."

"Difficulty: Eight of Hearts."

"Game is 'Sortition By A Lot'."

"Rules: Participants will cast votes for candidates into a lot. The randomly selected candidate from the lot each round will face a challenge. Failure to complete the challenge before time expires will result in the elimination of the chosen candidate. Participants may discuss and strategize between voting rounds, but votes themselves are private and anonymous. Game cleared when all challenges have been completed. Game over if the challenges are not completed."

"Time limits: Five minutes for discussion sessions, five minutes for voting sessions, ten minutes for challenge sessions. Rounds: ten. Overall allowed time: Two hours and thirty minutes."

The rules were straightforward enough. At first glance, it seemed like a standard game of cooperation—something she was rather good at. But Kishi realized the truth almost immediately: no one was going to risk their life willingly. No one would vote for themselves.

Despite the randomness of the draw, certain patterns became apparent. After the first participant, a young woman, failed her challenge, the group scrambled to make up for lost time. The air grew tense, and fingers pointed faster in the discussion rounds.

Mira, ever the silver-tongued instigator, began her delicate maneuvering.

"Kishi-chan," she cooed during the second round's discussion, her smile saccharine sweet. "You're so clever with puzzles and quick on your feet. I just know you'd be great at handling one of these challenges. Isn't that right, everyone?"

The murmurs of agreement sealed Kishi's fate before she could even muster an objection. How could she argue without sounding selfish?

Answer: She couldn't.

She was chosen.

And then chosen again.

And again.

She was sure her name was the only one in the lot after a couple rounds.

The challenges blurred together in a haze of stress and exertion. A riddle-solving round that demanded answers within seconds. A grueling physical trial involving a rope climb and a series of levers. An endurance task where she balanced on a narrow beam for what felt like hours.

With each vote, the group instinctively targeted someone they believed could continually endure the trials.

Kishi had become their scapegoat.

Her breaths came shorter with each round, her body heavy with fatigue. And all the while, Mira sat in the corner, her smile never wavering. That saccharine sweetness felt increasingly sharp, like a knife poised at Kishi's back.

"She's incredible, isn't she?" Mira remarked in the discussion after the fifth round, her voice a honeyed blade. "I don't know what we'd do without her."

Kishi met Mira's gaze across the room, her exhaustion replaced by a flicker of realization.

She clenched her fists beneath the table, her blunt nails digging into her palms.

Fuck all those promenades.

Fuck all those tea-times.

Fuck Mira.

But it wasn't just Mira. Urumi, another participant dressed in an absurdly pristine blue dress, complete with white lace and a too-wide dolly smile, chimed in at every opportunity. Like a mini Mira.

"Oh, Kishi-chan is so dependable!" she trilled, her voice also sweet enough to rot teeth. "She's been doing so well, hasn't she? It's like she's meant for this game!"

The others nodded along.

Kishi voted for Mira every time, hoping the universe would go against probability and chose her from the lot.

When the end of the seventh challenge was announced, Kishi couldn't hold back anymore. "I can't keep doing this," she said, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. She gestured around the room. "Someone else has to step up. If we keep this up, I'm not going to make it to the end."

The group exchanged uneasy glances. A few nodded hesitantly, though no one moved to volunteer.

"You're doing great, though," Urumi said, her voice lilting as if she were speaking to a child. "You've clearly got a knack for these kinds of things. I mean, who else could've solved that last puzzle in time?"

"I'm done being used!" Kishi snapped, her frustration bubbling over. "If I keep going, I'll collapse, and then you all will have even less time to finish the challenges."

"Don't be dramatic," Mira said smoothly, her smile unwavering. "You're tougher than you think, Kishi-chan. Besides, it's random, isn't it? There's no guarantee you'll be chosen again."

But there was no mistaking the way Mira's gaze flicked across the room, gauging the group's reactions. Kishi knew better. Mira didn't need to control the lot—she just needed to control the people.

When the votes were cast again, Kishi barely breathed as the display screen lit up with the results.

Chosen: Kishi Shiro.

She slumped against the table, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. Of course. The law of averages might have dictated her selection, but Mira's influence had ensured it.

As she stood, preparing herself for yet another trial, Urumi clapped her hands together, beaming.

"Good luck, Kishi-chan! We're all rooting for you!"

Kishi glared at her, then shifted her gaze to Mira.

"You're enjoying this," she said low enough that only Mira could hear.

Mira leaned forward, her smile growing as she whispered, "You're just so fascinating to watch."

With a sharp exhale, Kishi straightened and trudged toward the challenge arena.

It was a gauntlet of physical obstacles: a rope climb over a pit of water, a crawl through a narrow tunnel lined with spikes, and finally, a set of puzzles to be solved under a relentless timer.

Kishi's muscles burned with every movement, her breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. The tunnel walls scraped her arms and legs raw as she crawled, the spikes just inches from tearing her skin. By the time she reached the final puzzle, her hands trembled so violently she could barely slot the pieces into place.

She completed the challenge with just seconds to spare.

The moment the screen flashed Challenge Cleared, she collapsed to her knees, her body giving out beneath her. Sweat drenched her clothes, and her vision blurred from exhaustion and dehydration.

"Someone else has to go next," she gasped as she staggered back to her seat. "I can't keep—"

"Oh, but you're so close to the end!" Urumi chirped, handing Kishi a bottle of water, because she was oh so kind! "Just two more rounds! You've been doing so well."

"Enough." Kishi smacked the bottle out of Urumi's hand, her glare sharp enough to cut through the woman's sugary demeanor. "If any of you expect to survive this game, you need to step up. I'm done carrying all of you. I'm voting for Mira; please, I beg you, do the same."

The group shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances but avoiding her gaze.

Mira watched the scene unfold with a faint, amused smile, leaning back in her chair as if enjoying a particularly riveting play.

When the votes for the ninth round were cast, Kishi's heart raced, her exhaustion making every second feel like an eternity. This time, it wouldn't be her. It couldn't be her. She was broken and bleeding—surely even the most self-serving among them would understand that putting her up again was a possible death sentence for everyone.

The screen flickered.

Chosen: Kishi Shiro.

The room was silent.

Kishi let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Her legs shook as she stood, every movement sending waves of pain through her battered body. She turned to face the group, her voice a low snarl. "You want me to die out there? Fine."

She didn't wait for a response. There was no point.

The ninth challenge was cruel: a race through a maze with walls that shifted every thirty seconds. She had to find the key to unlock the exit while avoiding mechanical traps that fired darts and blades at random intervals.

By the time she reached the exit, the key in hand, one of the darts had embedded itself deep into her bad shoulder, and a blade had slashed across her thigh. Blood soaked her clothes, dripping onto the floor as she stumbled through the final door.

The screen flashed Challenge Cleared, but Kishi barely registered it. Her vision darkened at the edges, her body screaming for rest.

She collapsed to the floor just outside the challenge area, clutching her shoulder. The pain was blinding, her breath shallow and uneven. Someone, probably fucking Urumi, offered her a hand, but she slapped it away weakly.

"No," she muttered. "No more."

"You've done so well," Mira said softly, crouching beside her. She plucked the dart from her shoulder, inciting a wave of pain. The woman inspected it closely before flicking it aside. "Just one more challenge, Kishi-chan. You can do it."

Kishi wanted to scream, to call Mira out in front of everyone, but the words caught in her throat. What did the others care? It had done her no good before. They were benefitting off her.

She wasn't going to survive another round.

But she didn't have a choice. The lot was already cast.

Kishi stood at the center of a large, barren room, her legs sore from the endless challenges. The walls were bare, the floor smooth concrete, and there were no distractions. A large timer hung from the ceiling, ticking down ominously, marking the beginning of the challenge.

The rules appeared on a screen in front of her, glowing harshly in the otherwise dim space.

Challenge: Perseverance

Time Limit: 10 Minutes

Objective: The player must remain on their feet for the entire duration of the challenge. If they sit or fall, they will be eliminated. Any form of assistance is forbidden. The player may not lean against any surfaces.

There were no complicated traps, no puzzles, no tricky mechanics. It was simple: she had to stand for 10 minutes straight.

She wasn't sure if she felt relief or dread. At this point in the game, the physical and mental exhaustion from the previous rounds weighed on her like an anchor. She had barely slept the night before (the smell of acetone making her nauseous), her body was bruised and cut from the challenges, and her muscles were aching with every breath she took.

Still, she was determined. If she could push through everything else, surely she could handle this. She focused on the timer, counting the seconds as they ticked by, trying to shut out the voices in her head that urged her to rest, to sit down.

Her legs were starting to tremble. She could feel her knees shaking slightly. Her arms were heavy at her sides, as if each limb had been filled with lead. Her feet felt like they were sinking into the cold concrete floor.

At the four-minute mark, her vision blurred for a second. She blinked rapidly, fighting the wave of dizziness threatening to take over.

Her hand came up to her shoulder where the dart had struck in the previous round. It was hot to the touch and stung something terrible.

Oh, well that made more sense.

Poisoned dart.

She could barely keep her eyes open now. She swayed slightly, her balance faltering as a dull pain crept up her legs and across her chest. Her feet were numb. The ache in her back had long since become unbearable. But she refused to move, refused to bend, refused to sit.

A cold sweat had broken out on her forehead, her muscles burning as they fought to keep her upright. Every second that passed felt like an eternity. Kishi could feel her body starting to shut down, her thoughts becoming foggy as exhaustion clouded her mind.

She focused on the clock. Only two minutes.

Her knees buckled slightly. She fought against it, but it was like her body was betraying her, every muscle protesting the strain.

One minute left, the timer flashed.

Kishi's entire body shook, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. She could feel her resolve crumbling, but somehow, she held on. She locked her knees in place, gritted her teeth, and stared at the seconds on the timer, willing it to end.

Thirty seconds.

Her breath was ragged, her vision swimming again.

The seconds ticked away, each one dragging like an hour. Finally, the timer beeped loudly, signaling the end of the challenge.

Kishi's legs collapsed beneath her, and she fell forward onto the cold floor, gasping for air. The pain in her body was almost overwhelming, but at least she had done it. She had endured.

She barely registered the sound of girlish squealing and clapping, the high-pitched cheer of Urumi echoing in the room.

"Game Cleared, Congratulations," the disembodied voice of the challenge announcer chimed in, but the words were distant, fading away as the weight of her exhaustion dragged her down into the blackness.

Her head dropped, and the world around her dissolved.

When Kishi woke, the first thing she felt was cold. A biting, sharp chill that crawled through her bones, leaving her shivering uncontrollably. Her mouth was dry, like cotton had coated her tongue, and her eyes felt crusted shut, the remnants of sleep and tears clinging to her lashes. She tried to sit up but was greeted by an agonizing throb in her shoulder and thigh, where the muscles had seized from the strain.

But she was alive.

And the others were, too. As much as she hated it, they were all alive because of her. Those bitches, Kishi thought bitterly, grinding her teeth as she finally managed to push herself onto her hands and knees. Her body trembled from the exertion, her muscles feeling like they might snap at any moment. She paused for a long moment, gathering the strength to rise. But when she tried to stand, her legs wobbled, unable to support her. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet, and she fell again.

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. She didn't have time for this. She had to get up. But her body wasn't cooperating. Not yet. Her head spun, and her vision blurred, but she forced herself to steady, crawling on her hands and knees until she managed to gain some semblance of stability.

Kishi looked around the room, searching for any sign of Mira, or anyone, but the space was empty. Of course, Mira wasn't around. Not that Kishi really wanted her to be. She was going to put in a formal impeachment request to Hatter for her behavior. Mira's behavior had crossed a line. This wasn't just manipulation—it was betrayal, pure and simple (not that it was against the rules, but maybe Hatter liked her a little more than the other woman).

Her hands trembled as she wiped her face, trying to clear the remnants of whatever had been dripping from her eyes. I thought we were friends...

Fuck Mira.

After a few long moments of gathering herself, Kishi forced her legs under her again, this time pushing up just enough to get to her knees and palms. She crawled towards the exit, her progress slow, but every inch forward felt like a victory.

The faintest glimmer of hope sparked in her chest as she reached the door, using it to stumble to her feet. But when she made it outside, her hopes crashed down into a bitter realization. The car, the one that had taken them here, the one that would take her away from this nightmare, was gone.

The night was pitch black, the moon hidden behind thick clouds, and there were no lights or sounds of civilization around. Just an eerie silence. Kishi's throat tightened.

That's when she spotted it.

A rusted old bicycle was leaning against a nearby post, almost camouflaged in the shadows. Kishi's pulse quickened, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She staggered toward it, her hands aching as she reached out and grabbed the handlebars. The bike was barely holding together, the wheels wobbling as she tested it with a slow turn.

Her body protested every move she made, but she gritted her teeth and hoisted herself onto the seat. She had no business riding a bike in her current state. Her thigh and shoulder ached with every movement, and her body still felt like it was made of shattered glass, but she was not sticking around an unknown city sector.

She pushed off with her good leg, feeling a sick twist in her gut as she wobbled on the bike, trying to gain some semblance of control. She let her bad leg hang limp as her other leg pedaled.

The Rainbow Bridge loomed in the distance, dark and silent, a line of fading light cutting across the sky like a sliver of hope. She didn't know if she could make it—her vision blurred, and the pain in her leg was so intense she thought she might vomit—but she kept pushing.

The road was rough and uneven, the overgrown vegetation catching on the tires and making every bump jolt through her body. Kishi's teeth clenched as pain shot up her spine with every rock and crack in the pavement.

Her arms ached with the effort of gripping the handlebars, her fingers numb and stiff. She nearly toppled off the bike three times, her balance betraying her.

The faint lights of the Beach glimmered in the distance, barely visible through the fog of the bay.

She could make it. She could.

But with each turn of the pedals, it felt harder. Her legs were leaden, her chest tight, and her vision blurred again at the edges. She pushed through anyway, her focus narrowing to the bridge ahead.

Then she saw them.

Her heart skipped a beat, and a wave of relief crashed over her. She nearly lost her grip on the handlebars in her rush to stop, the bike swerving wildly before she managed to steady herself.

"An!" Kishi rasped, her voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper in the air.

An's head snapped around, her eyes widening in recognition, relief and surprise flooding her face. "Kishi?"

Kishi could barely stay upright as she staggered off the bike, her legs shaking as she tried to stay on her feet. An rushed to her side, steadying her, her hands gripping Kishi's arm to take the weight off her injured thigh.

"You made it," An said quietly, her voice laced with a mix of concern and relief. "Your group never came back. We thought... We thought you all had lost the game."

Kishi's mind scrambled to process the words, her heart sinking as confusion washed over her. "Mira didn't come back?" She was still too tired to fully grasp what was happening. Mira?

And the others? There were at least two others from the Beach in their group.

An hesitated before answering, her gaze dropping for a moment. "No. And... Enji was just showing me... Hatter."

Enji, like Tatta, was also a part of the gas provisional team. So she knew him well enough.

"Huh?" Kishi's brow furrowed, her thoughts sluggish. She glanced at Enji, who stood further back, his eyes distant as he stared out toward the water.

An helped Kishi hobble closer, her hand still on her arm, guiding her as they reached the edge of the bridge. Kishi gasped as her eyes fell on the sight before her: Hatter's body, face-down in the shallows, his signature robe soaked with water and blood. The distinct bullet holes marred his back, the damage unmistakable.

"He was killed," Enji said through clenched teeth, his voice a low growl. "Someone killed Number 1."

The words sank in like stones. Kishi felt a cold shiver run down her spine, her stomach twisting into knots.

"Do you think... Mira?" she asked, the name barely leaving her lips. She hadn't even considered it before, but now, the possibility seemed too real. Mira had nearly killed her in the game. Who was to say she wasn't after this the whole time?

But...

"Mira?" An asked, confused.

Of course, because they hadn't witnessed the utter hell that the other woman had put her through.

Enji's expression was hard, his eyes narrowing in thought. "I don't want to think about it," he said bluntly.

An spoke up, her voice dark. "Whether someone wanted to raise their rank by killing the higher numbers under the pretext of the game, or someone is trying to overthrow it all... we don't know."

Kishi's mind reeled, her thoughts flicking to Chishiya. The words from one of their last conversations echoed in her head. He said he wouldn't do it. But he hadn't promised. He hadn't sworn it. And there were loopholes. Her heart pounded as the pieces clicked into place, but she quickly shook her head.

"Either way," An said, her voice steady but grim, "someone in the Beach is trying to start a revolution."

Chapter Text

—KISHI did not sleep that night, furiously reconstructing the submachine gun she was now wishing she had not disassembled at all in the first place.

Throughout the night, the effects of the poison slowly wore off. Likely due to An wrangling her in bandages and shoving antibiotics down her throat. Or maybe it had just gotten through her bloodstream to kill her later. Either way, she was no longer wanting to keel over and her eyesight was nearly back to normal. She was still extremely exhausted, but that was simply because she was running on three hours of fitful sleep from the night before.

At the break of dawn, Last Boss came banging at all of the doors around the executive wing. When he got to her door, she swung it open, nearly getting a fist to the face. His eyes were wide, too wide, staring at her with that cold, unsettling intensity.

"Meeting. Conference room."

She slammed the door in his face.

Kishi had the passing thought to put on a normal shirt, now that...now that the only one who truly ever cared about the first rule was no longer with them. She didn't, in the end. Perhaps she was getting sentimental and it was just too soon to disregard one of his most ardent wishes...or more likely, it just would have been too much of a struggle with the bandages An had wrapped her in and the stiffness of her muscles around her shoulder. So she remained in her halter-top tankini. It did not make the bloody gauze flattering, unfortunately.

She lingered for a few minutes longer, limping around the small room and letting the silence soak in before the reality of the meeting finally, truly hit her. Swallowing hard, she stood and left, dragging her tired body up the stairs toward the top-floor conference room. Her left leg dragged behind just a smidge unable to keep up.

When she entered the conference room, she immediately avoided looking at the center table where a cold body lay. Instead, her gaze shot up toward the ceiling, unable to focus on anything else. The heavy silence in the room was palpable, broken only by the hushed murmurs of the others as they trickled in. New executives, their expressions a mix of confusion and curiosity. Judging by their shocked gasps, they hadn't expected to see Hatter's lifeless body.

Which was fair.

1) Dead bodies typically weren't brought back to the beach. 2) Hatter dying seemed a little impossible.

Nobody mentioned Mira's absence. And why would they? People died every day out there (Hatter was proof of this). Only, Kishi knew that Mira didn't die in a game. She wasn't sure where the woman went, but frankly, she didn't care. So long as it was far from her.

Chishiya slowly strolled in then, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Kishi pulled her eyes away from the ceiling just for a moment to glance at him.

His eyes did not meet hers before he fixed them on Hatter. Looking with that clinical eye of his.

She had tried not to spend all of last night irrationally blaming him. She really did.

And she had succeeded for the most part.

He had seemed so appalled at the fact that she thought he would murder any of the executives. Averse to the idea of getting his hands bloody in that way.

She believed him just enough to believe that was real.

"Holy shit!" Niragi's voice cut through the tension as he leaned over the body, eyeing Hatter's chest. "Looks like he should've brought the militant corps along with him."

Kishi blinked, sensing he was truly surprised by the sight of their leader dead. He was still a prime suspect, but she bumped him down a place or two.

"So now what?" a new executive at number eight, Choji, asked nervously. "What happens to the Beach?"

There was a long pause before Kuzuryu finally stepped forward, looking resigned to his fate. "I'll step in as leader since I'm Number Two."

"Wait a second," Niragi's voice cut him off.

He stepped forward, planting himself directly between Kuzuryu and Kishi, eyes narrowed. His gaze flickered briefly to her before settling back on Kuzuryu.

"Shouldn't the strongest person be the leader?" he sneered, his words dripping with scorn. "In case you didn't know, we've been the ones taking care of the traitors, yet we've been treated like shadows this whole time. This bullshit ends today."

"If Number One dies," Kuzuryu said slowly, his voice calm but firm, "everyone moves up by a number. We agreed on this rule."

"Yeah, well, the snobbish dictator is dead," Niragi scoffed, his voice oozing mockery. "The power's shifted, hasn't it? Let's just be democratic and go with the majority. Who agrees that Aguni should be the new leader?"

The room fell into a tense silence, the question hanging in the air like a ticking bomb as he looked around.

"Are you all serious right now?" Niragi's voice rose, his patience wearing thin. "Last Boss."

At the mention of his name, the hulking, tattooed man sprang to action, unsheathing his katana with a sharp sound that sent chills down Kishi's spine. The blade gleamed as it hovered dangerously close to An's neck.

"I'll ask again," Niragi's voice cut through the tension, somehow sharper than the blade itself. "Who agrees that Aguni should be the new leader?"

An, clearly cornered, had no choice but to raise her hand, the blade pressing into her skin.

"Stop trying to call a vote." Kishi rolled her eyes. "This is not a democracy. The Beach was made with an order of succession."

"Stroke of state," Kuzuryu muttered under his breath, the words dripping with bitter irony.

Niragi's fingers suddenly shot out and dug into Kishi's shoulder over the gauze, gripping her roughly, squeezing until a strangled cry escaped her lips. Pain shot through her, radiating down to her fingertips.

"Shut up, Demon," Niragi growled, his breath hot against her ear. "Who enforces the order of succession? The militants. And we can just as easily choose to not enforce it whenever we want."

Her free hand gripped his wrist, thumb digging in to try and get him to stop. He was wholly unaffected.

"Now raise your hand," he leaned in even closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, "or I'm going to put a bullet through Kuzuryu, An, Mahiru, and Chishiya's skulls."

For not the first time, she lamented being so known by him. Because why should she care about them getting shot?

The answer: she shouldn't.

And yet she did.

And he knew that.

"I can't raise my arm when you're gripping me like that, motherfucker," she spat, the pain blinding her for a split second.

Niragi's grip on her shoulder tightened before he shoved her roughly, making her stumble back a step onto her bad leg.

"Two hands, don't you?" he taunted, stepping back to watch her closely. The gun in his hand shifted to point at Kuzuryu more solidly.

She forced herself to lift her good hand, biting her tongue to keep from saying anything else.

He smiled, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "And how about the former Number Two over there?" he asked, keeping the barrel trained on the man. "What do you think?"

Kuzuryu's frown deepened, but slowly, he raised his hand, the motion reluctant.

Choji followed suit, raising his hand in quick surrender, knowing which way the wind was blowing. The other newbie followed suit.

Miharu raised a hand—one middle finger up, but still raised.

Niragi turned toward the final executive, his eyes narrowing as he aimed the gun at Chishiya.

Chishiya's expression didn't change, his gaze locked on Niragi, utterly unfazed.

"Chishiya," Niragi said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. "You're not looking down on us, are you?"

"You morons in the corps?" Chishiya asked, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Without warning, Niragi pressed the barrel of the gun beneath Chishiya's chin, his eyes burning with anger.

"Your eyes piss me off sometimes," Niragi snarled. "You really think you're better than us, don't you?"

Chishiya finally gave in with an exaggerated sigh, his hands lifting above his head in mock surrender. "I vote for Aguni to be the leader. I'm pretty sure that's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

"Well," Niragi scoffed, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips, "let this be a reminder of how you should act in the future." He turned back to the rest of the group, surveying them with a malicious grin. "Suddenly everyone's voting 'yes.' So, the new leader is decided, right?"

"Hatter would not allow this," An spoke up, her voice steady but firm. "If he were alive, he would not have allowed this."

Kishi's eyes flicked to Aguni, wondering how the man could stand to watch his right-hand man so easily tarnish his friend's memory, ruin the thing they created together—even mutated beyond recognition as it was. But then again, she reminded herself, they hadn't been true friends for a long time. This place had a habit of doing that.

"But he's dead," Niragi said dismissively, his tone harsh and final. He stalked over to the table and slammed the stalk of his gun into Hatter's face. "The dead won't know what's going on. See?"

He did it again, more forcefully this time. And again.

Kishi hated him. She hated him so much it burned.

"Enough," Aguni's voice sliced through the sick sounds. "From today onwards, I will be the Beach's new king."

Kishi's gaze snapped to him, her brow furrowing in disbelief. King? She blinked, her mind sputtering for a moment. Aguni had always despised that title. He hated when anyone called Hatter king, something Kishi had once found endlessly amusing, and used to joke about just to annoy him. But him? The guy who constantly shoved against authority, who scorned the idea of kings and power struggles—he was standing here now, proclaiming himself as one?

Aguni was a wreck, more so than usual. Not making any sense.

"Isn't this wonderful? Let's hear it for the King, huh?" Niragi cheered.

His solitary clap echoed like a death knell.

"Now, boss," Niragi continued, eyes gleaming with something far darker than joy, "What's left is the succession ceremony. Let's open the black envelope."

Kishi shot a quick glance toward Kuzuryu as he moved to retrieve the envelope in a separate room. She wished he wouldn't come back.

Run, damn it. Save yourself, she thought bitterly, but even in her desire to see him escape the mess, she knew he wouldn't. Honor-bound, stubborn Kuzuryu would never leave them to suffer.

She couldn't help but imagine it—Kuzuryu slipping away, the militants too caught up in their greed to notice, the Beach momentarily descending into chaos. It was a fleeting fantasy.

They all migrated to a side room, leaving the body of their once-King behind.

The group filtered into the side room, which felt more like an office than a conference room. A long table filled most of the space, wide enough for everyone to sit without touching, but narrow enough that proximity still mattered.

Kishi moved toward her usual seat, eyes scanning the table absentmindedly. Her fingers brushed the wood, picking at a small nick.

Chishiya came up beside her, silent as always. He gave her chair a tiny tug, just enough to make it easier for her to sit.

When she settled into the seat, he was already looking away but his gaze drifted, briefly, toward her shoulder. Med-student habits, probably. Not the type to miss out on an injury. She caught it and let it register without comment, shifting slightly to make herself comfortable.

And just as she expected, Kuzuryu returned, holding the envelope. He handed it over to Aguni, his expression tight and guilty. Kishi's eyes followed every motion as Aguni carefully broke the seal and looked at the contents within.

She tried to glean some clue, any flicker of thought or feeling, from the angle of his jaw, the set of his shoulders—but she was notoriously bad at reading people. Faces, gestures, even tones—she could usually make sense of danger, but not subtle emotion. Whatever reaction flickered across Aguni's features remained as closed off to her as the envelope itself.

Aguni folded the paper with the same deliberate care, then resealed the envelope using the stationery someone had pulled from the royal suite. Kuzuryu signed it as Number 2 and took it back into his custody, the envelope returning to its muted authority.

"Alright." Niragi straightened, a twitch in his jaw betraying excitement. "The entire Beach needs to know. Now."

He moved first, out the door before anyone else. Kishi heard his footsteps fade, then his voice calling out down the hall: "All of you! Gather in the annex! Gather in the annex! Now!"

Kishi rose, settling her weight carefully onto her injured leg as she limped toward the doorway. Chishiya stood after her, and when she passed him, he didn't offer an arm, didn't say a word. Instead, he sidled just a fraction closer, tilting his head as if inspecting the floor near her feet. A beat later, he kicked a small obstacle—a forgotten pool toy—out of her path with the tip of his sandal.

She didn't need him to; she would have stepped around it anyway. But the gesture, small and unannounced, had the unmistakable flavor of Chishiya, as if he'd left a breadcrumb for her to notice, or maybe just to amuse himself.

By the time she registered the absence of his presence behind her, it had already shifted. Half a step, maybe a breath later, and he was gone from her back. Kishi's mind ticked: almost turned to see where. She didn't. She didn't need to. He would reappear when he wanted. Still, the thought of him lurking reminded her that she didn't trust him entirely—and maybe never would.

She stayed close to An, Kuzuryu, and Mahiru, her pace steady despite the limp, weaving through the growing commotion as they approached the annex balcony. Already, a crowd had gathered, buzzing with tension. Kishi was certain the threat of Niragi's gun—how casually he had wielded it—crossed everyone's minds as they hustled forward.

She fell into place with them just behind Aguni and Niragi. The militants flanked them, a clear and deliberate show of force.

Niragi grinned like a cat with a cornered mouse. "I'm here to tell you, we have a new leader," he announced, his voice reverberating through the crowd below.

Murmurs rippled across the mass of Beach occupants, confused and fearful.

"Hatter is no longer with us," Niragi continued, his grin widening. "And a new Number One has been chosen—Aguni."

The murmurs grew louder, this time tinged with panic, as if everyone collectively realized how close they were to the edge of a cliff.

"Everyone, shut up!" Niragi roared, silencing the crowd. "Hatter failed his game. He couldn't crack it. A vote was taken, the Executive vote was unanimous, and Aguni was chosen. Now, let's hear from the man himself. You better all listen carefully."

Aguni stepped forward, and she traced the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his spine held itself unnaturally straight, stiff with tension—or was it anger? Or was it just the weight of everyone staring up at him?

She couldn't see his face, couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she didn't need to. What she did need was to make sure the people below understood: she was not, in any way, signing off on this willingly.

So she settled her own expression into a grim, exaggerated version of 'I do not approve. Do not associate me with these people. I would rather be anywhere else right now, including dead on a table.'

"Niragi said everything that needs to be said," he began, his voice as sharp and unyielding as steel. "Now that Hatter is gone, I'm Number One. I have full control over the Beach. Follow my orders. I want you to live for me... and you may have to die for me."

The silence stretched. Aguni spun on his heel and walked away, leaving his words to settle in the room like wet concrete.

The militants peeled off after him, and Kishi froze for a split second—just long enough to notice Chishiya. He was threading through the group toward the royal suite along with them.

Then he saw her. Beyond the shoulders, past the shifting bodies, his eyes flicked up. There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and his hand jerked near his waist—"don't follow," or "wait," or some variation of whatever message he liked to send without saying a damn word. She almost rolled her eyes at herself for trying to read it. Of course she couldn't. He never made sense.

Hanging out with the militants. Disappearing and reappearing.

Which was exactly why he was now, officially, higher on her list of suspects.

She ignored him. Ignored that little signal, ignored the fact that her stomach wanted to turn over at the thought of what he might be doing next. Instead, she pivoted sharply toward the basement stairs and surveillance room, taking the steps quickly despite the pain lancing up her leg.

Once inside, she rammed her good shoulder into the door, slamming it shut before turning on all the systems. The hum of the monitors filled the room as she pulled up the camera feeds. Her eyes locked onto the feed outside the royal suite just in time to see the militants dragging someone out.

Arisu. Bloodied, unconscious, and unceremoniously hauled away like a rag doll.

Usagi was next, sandwiched between two militants, her struggles futile against their iron grip. Kishi's heart pounded as she tracked their movements across the resort.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught more movement. Chishiya emerged from the royal suite, Aguni and Niragi trailing behind him. She watched them disperse—Niragi heading in the direction of the room Arisu had been thrown into, Aguni retreating to his old room on the floor below.

Kishi's brow furrowed as Kuina appeared at the end of the executive hall, her gaze lingering on Aguni's door...a walkie-talkie in hand.

Kishi dove for one corner of the room, looking for the pair of walkie-talkies that she kept on charging blocks.

Gone.

That sneak, she sneered.

She returned to the monitors, eyes narrowing. Outside the royal suite, Chishiya reappeared, casual as ever. Just before stepping back inside, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes locking on the camera like he knew she was watching.

Of course he was playing exactly the hand he'd promised to play—using everyone else as bait, taking the cards right under their noses.

She gave up on him. Chishiya could smirk, steal her and everyone else's belongings—whatever. She wasn't watching. Not now. Not ever. He could play his little game, throw everyone under the bus, whatever it took to make himself feel clever.

Her focus snapped back to the monitors she'd left open, tracking the two separate rooms where Usagi and Arisu had been dragged. One was familiar—the makeshift holding cell for anyone suspected of hiding cards. The other, Usagi's, she didn't recognize. They weren't far apart: separated only by a level and a hallway.

Her eyes stayed locked on the feed outside Arisu's room, but the moment Niragi stepped into the hallway and started climbing the stairs, her stomach sank. He moved in the same way he did then—the roll of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the lazy flex of his fingers.

She clenched her fists so hard her nails bit into her palms. Her brain screamed Stop him. Don't let him. But it also whispered You know what he's going to do. You've seen it before. And you know you're not fast enough to stop it from here.

Her breath hitched. A pit opened in her stomach, dragging bile and adrenaline in equal measure. She could practically hear the soft echo of past mistakes, every movement a replay of the terror he had once inflicted, now about to be visited on someone else.

Her fingers twitched over the controls, over every feed, over every useless button. She couldn't intervene from here. She had to move. She had to get there.

And as if sensing her hesitation, her own body responded. Her heart pounding, adrenaline igniting in her veins, she surged out of the chair. The pain in her leg didn't matter. The stairwell, the hallway, the distance—it was nothing. She was moving.

Her fists curled as she pushed herself faster. Usagi wasn't her friend, wasn't anyone she had a reason to care about. But that didn't matter. No one deserved what Niragi was capable of. Not even a stranger. Kishi's gut twisted at the thought of arriving too late, at finding another person left broken in his wake.

Up the basement stairs, one careful step after another, her limp trying and failing to keep up with her determination.

And then—collision.

The impact knocked the wind out of her, a hard, disorienting jolt that sent her tumbling forward. She hissed, sharp and frustrated, as she landed half on top of someone. Eyes snapped open. Platinum blond hair. Of course. The man she'd just seen topple a single domino in a painstaking line now tangling with her own.

He winced, back pressed against a harsh edge of the stair tread.

Her elbow pressed briefly into his side as they landed, entirely accidental, and her hair tickled his cheek. He blinked up at her, startled, and she froze for half a second, heart hammering for all the wrong reasons.

He was coming to find her. That much was obvious.

But she didn't care. Not about his carefully arranged dominoes, not about his new deck of cards, not about the little mind games he liked to play.

Scowling, she gritted her teeth against the flare of pain from her leg and shoulder. A frustrated, pained sound tore from her throat as she pushed herself off him, scrambling upright. Her momentum carried her up the stairs before he could say anything except,

"—Kishi!"

She didn't look back. Not even once.

Her brain went fuzzy. Pain, exhaustion, adrenaline, anger—everything bled together into a thick, buzzing fog. Thoughts stumbled over themselves. Legs pumping. Shoulder screaming. Heart pounding like a drum in her skull. She didn't care. She couldn't care. Just move. Just—move.

Lobby. Stairs. Hallways. Doors. Corners. Breath like broken bellows. Chest, who even cares? Step lightly... or not. Who cares. Move.

The hallway stretched, blurring. Thoughts scattered. Pain at the back of her mind, sharp but distant, like someone throwing knives she couldn't stop to dodge. Adrenaline shoved it down, shoved it away.

And then. Door. Voices. That laugh. Ugh. That shithead laugh. Her stomach flipped. Not panic. Hate. Rage.

She pressed her hand to the doorframe. You are not the victim this time. Repeat. Not the victim. Not gonna be.

She had no weapon, no plan, and no backup. Just herself and her anger.

Kishi's fingers trembled as she reached for the handle, adrenaline surging through her veins. This wasn't bravery—this was insanity.

She couldn't undo the past, couldn't erase the scars she carried, but she could stop Niragi now. For Usagi. For herself. For anyone who might come after.

With a forceful push, she threw the door open. It slammed against the wall with a deafening bang, and the room froze. All eyes turned to her—wide, startled, and tense. Niragi's smug grin faltered, surprise flashing across his face before his expression twisted into annoyance. The militants gripping Usagi stiffened, their confusion buying precious seconds.

Kishi's gaze was locked on Niragi. He was straddling Usagi, his hands clawing at her exposed skin, his leering face a picture of depravity.

Rage erupted within her, white-hot and blinding. She didn't think. With a guttural cry, Kishi launched herself into the room, her body moving faster than her pain, her fear. She tackled Niragi with all her weight, the impact sending them both crashing to the floor along with all the things on the bedside table.

Her shoulder collided awkwardly with his, the sharp sting barely registering. She clawed at him, her dull nails scraping across his face and neck, leaving deep, red welts in their wake. Niragi shouted, grappling to regain control, his hands finding her injured shoulder again and digging in cruelly.

Kishi screamed, the pain ripping through her like fire, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Adrenaline drowned out the agony as she drove her good knee into his ribs, the satisfying thud of contact fueling her rage.

Niragi twisted beneath her, his strength forcing her back as he rolled to the side. He managed to pin her arm, his other hand swinging wildly and catching her across the jaw. Stars danced in her vision, but she spat blood and surged forward, her fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt.

"You. Fucking. Bastard!" she shouted, punctuating each word with another swing, her fists finding any part of him they could.

Behind her, Usagi scrambled free of the militants' loosened grip. One of them reached for her again, but a sharp kick to his knee sent him staggering. Usagi stumbled toward the door but looked back at the scuffle on the ground.

"Run!" Kishi barked, her voice breaking under the strain.

Niragi, panting beneath her, chuckled darkly. "Bringing up bad memories, Demon?"

She slammed her forehead into his, silencing him with a sickening crack. His head jerked back, dazed but not down. Kishi used the moment to find Usagi, who was lingering near the doorway, torn between running and staying to help.

"Go!" Kishi snapped, her voice breaking. "I'll catch up."

A delusional thought.

Usagi hesitated for only a moment before she nodded, bolting into the hallway. Some of the militants gave chase, but Kishi knew Usagi was far faster.

Niragi took advantage of her distraction, twisting them both onto their sides. He pinned her beneath him, one hand snaking toward her throat.

"I can work with a trade," he sneered, his grip tightening like a vice.

Her hands shot to his wrist, fingertips biting. Desperation made her sharp, precise, for just a moment. Fingers brushed the cold metal of a fallen lamp.

Grab. Swing. Thud. His temple met the base with a wet, horrible sound.

He groaned, loosened. Not enough, never enough. She shoved, scrambling upright, chest screaming for oxygen. Her vision swam, a haze of red.

Militants paused. Weapons raised, then frozen—calculating, hesitant. She didn't wait. Her eyes locked onto Niragi: hand twitching toward something, the rifle buried under him.

Metal. Cold. Good. She yanked it free, claws slapping his feeble attempts aside. Barrel connected with a smack to his hand. Pain grunt.

Rifle raised. Militant eyes flicked, second-guessed. Cursed softly. One lowered, uncertainty brimming. The other just stared.

She didn't wait. Door. Dart. The hallway swallowed her.

Usagi was gone. Safe. That was enough for now. She didn't slow until the executive wing. Room. Door. Chair. Blocked. Heart hammering. Chest heaving. She slid to the floor, rifle beside her.

Forehead to the desk lip, she let herself feel the ache. Pain buzzing from leg, shoulder, ribs. Her lungs burned. Adrenaline rattling through her like a live wire.

Wood still smelled of acetone. She keened a cough into the air, head lolling back. Eyes half-closed, pulse hammering, she let herself collapse—just for a second. Not safe. Not done. But... god, finally, quiet.