Castle Game #2: Mah-jong Solitaire [10/10]

I don’t remember falling asleep last night. I’m not convinced my eyes even shut longer than half a second at a time, if the stinging of unshed tears and the fatigue settling in my bones is any indicator. My ears remained pricked up for hours on end as I slouched against a wall, bundled under a thin blanket that couldn’t keep away the cold.

It feels all too soon when the silence of the room is replaced by an orchestral sound that makes my stomach plummet. But I can’t say I’m surprised to find this hasn’t all been some horrible dream gone wrong.

Whenever I try to remember how I ended up in here, I come up blank. A foggy mind and missing memories surround me and then I’m shaking, dry heaving in a corner of the room as the panic starts to set in again, hoping nobody will pay attention to a wide-eyed girl who looks half her age and so incredibly weak.

“Attention players: the second game is about to begin. Please divide yourselves into 4 groups.”

Until, I guess, now.

I’ve never been popular; I’ve never been anything special. Living in a house of twelve kids struggling to get by meant it was easy to fall into the background. The youngest, the most easily forgotten. Another person might resent it, but I grew into that skin, let it define me throughout the years.

Now, forced to make myself approachable – or worse, be the one doing the approaching – I can see the appeal of charisma and confidence. All the things I will never have.

How am I supposed to do this?

I scan the room quietly, and feel my heart drop as half the players are already on the move, shaking hands and forming temporary truces before being led out a door that was shut only moments earlier. My heart races as I look to my left, look to my right, look left again and realise how hopelessly alone I am.

But I can’t be the only one, surely.

And so, I force my heart to steady and sweep my gaze around the room once more, looking for other lost faces trapped within these four white walls.

On the other side of the room are two other players, still without a team. One of them, a young boy, probably one of the smallest, less intimidating players in here. Utterly average, and something like a Marcello from years gone, and I immediately feel myself soften at the memory of something familiar. A few spaces to his left is another smaller figure, with dark hair sticking up unceremoniously and the signs of exhaustion reflected in wide pupils. There’s something comforting in the knowledge that they most likely barely slept last night, too. That we’re all just as terrified as each other.

With more courage than I knew I had, I force myself to walk across the room, trying to find the strength to speak, all the while hoping my voice won’t falter with the weight of this impossible task ahead of me.

“Do you guys want to be partners? There’s, uhh, not many other people left… and mostly everyone else in here scares me.” I swallow hard, watch the retreating backs of numbers 010, 005, 017. It could be worse, definitely.

I hold out a hand tentatively, praying at least one of them will accept it so I don’t have to deal with the reality of rejection. God, how embarrassing that would be. I can feel my cheeks heat up at the very thought, which seems to slowly be becoming a reality as time stretches on and nobody is moving and I’m panicking, wondering if I should have introduced myself by name, or just stayed in my own little corner and let the universe decide my fate for me because I was never the one to make it my own.

I’m spiralling so much that I don’t feel the ghost of fingers twitching beneath my own until I’m being swept off my feet and ushered out of the room – no time to even say thank you to my new teammates, unsure if they even said anything in reply, as the slamming of metal behind me silences me once more.

\\

This new room feels smaller than the first game room, yet altogether bigger at the same time. It probably has something to do with the dwindling number of players, and the inevitability that our group is most likely about to be cut down once again.

Which begs the question: what are we doing now? There are four tables spread out across the room, four chairs neatly spaced out around each one. I move towards the closest table curiously. Small, hand-painted tiles are scattered across the surface in an intricate pattern, and I feel my brow furrow in confusion. A voice overhead briefly explains the rules of this new and foreign game: something about matching tiles, which doesn’t seem so hard after the exertion of yesterday's game.

But then I remember where I am, the brevity of the situation, and feel myself turn cold once again. Because, of course, this isn’t just any ordinary game of matching tiles.

The questions come fast and all at once. Are we playing against each other? Against the other groups? Will I have blood on my hands by the end of the day?

I shudder, then. For as much as I try to pretend that the first game was all staged, I know deep down that four people won’t be returning back to the homes they left behind. The only thing that helps me live with this new-found reality is that I didn’t have a role in their demise. I was too busy looking out for myself, barely making it through the obstacle course from hell. Far too fixated on my own survival to worry about anyone else’s.

I’m not a killer. I never have been. I don’t want to start now.

“I guess I’ll go first?” I murmur quietly, vaguely aware of a clock ticking away somewhere in the back of my head, warning and mocking all at once.

This is just a game, I tell myself, sighing and reaching forward for a pair of matching tiles.

CvKxaL|Qwn“1-10”

Silk had slept peacefully, though she felt a growing sense of concern. It had been made clear after the end of the first round that those who had been eliminated had been terminated as well. Silk had been more irritated than anything. Such a concept had not been in the contract, and thus, she was going to have to write a strongly worded letter to whoever was managing the show.

Suing them might actually grant her the funds she needed to live a lavish life, and then it would be even easier to attract an influential capitolite to marry. When the second game had been announced, Silk had briefly glanced at everyone and then dragged the nearest two players; that being 008 and 009, and pulled them to a table, ushering them into seats with a fake smile.

"It's a matching game. Should be simple enough to outpace the other teams." A competitive streak was something all of the Ginghams shared, and Silk was looking forward to defeating them.

XplWpYRxCe1-10

She doesn't sleep. 

Instead, her mind races. First priority that comes to mind is to make a weapon -- she's seen the likes of 013 and 010. There's a bit in the back of her mind that thinks 005 killed the woman from one. Theo never even got her name, the one conversation they had was on the ascent up the castle tower to the first game. 

And so, in the spirit of the game, Theo thinks to protect herself over night. There's 14 of them and $400,000 already racked up, she doesn't trust easy enough to sleep before the second game. She keeps her socks on to soften the sound of her walking through the gym at night, hunting for the closest thing to a screw driver as she can find. The best she comes up with is the silver spoons from earlier, cake too sweet to eat. 

From there it just takes time to screw a pipe from the head of the wire bed frames. Thin enough to hide in her jacket, small enough to make her doubt it'd save her against Murdoch Fenn. 

She keeps it to her chest as she awaits the second game. 

Her eyes sting as the violins play, the lights stuttering on from the front to the back of the gym. The bright florescent burns and for a minute straight all she does is rub her eyes. 007 stuffs the pipe down the back of her shirt, tying her sweat pants as tight as she can once she climbs out of bed and makes her way to the stairs.

---

"Do you want to be partners?"

"Ehh-" Theo winces, struggling to stay awake, struggling with wanting to be here.

"There's, uh, not many other people left... and most everyone else in here scares me."

She had drifted to player 015, mostly by keeping her head down and shuffling the back side of the bright white room. Theo felt feverish, lightheaded trying to anticipate the second game already. Before she had only worried about the money; holy shit has that changed. Child games with her life on her line, and all she can focus on is how pissed she'll be dying to rock, paper, scissors. 

Player 001 has a point, but part of her can't help being skeptical of the first player. What does the order even mean? Theo mulls it over as she glances from the two players, before offering her hand from her pockets with a reassuring, "sure." 

She clears her throat. 

---

"Damn is it bright."

And warm. She scratches her shoulder under her jacket, walking almost with her eyes closed as they make it to the play tables. It's spring in the tower - could this be the same one? The tree sways like it's real, she can't help but squint looking at the bright ceiling of the room. The first player offers to go first and 007 hasn't even tuned into the game yet, listening to nothing but what's in her mind. 

She nods back before admitting, "I don't know the game that well." 

A brain that never stops, she watches as the timer starts for the second game and wonder if this is how she goes out. Just match the tiles; relax. Focus, she tells herself, as she watches player 001 score one pair, and then another. Her eyes dart the corners of the pyramid first, trailing the bottom row trying to think inwards. 

There's some kind of strategy, of course, all she has to do is find it. 

"I think it's like a puzzle," she grabs her first pair, tapping it to her temple as she talks to 001 & 015. 



O6G8O_DJZQ1-10

The game needed a team of four, and instantly Eugene looks towards the ex-game maker, deciding that Murdoch Fenn would be working for him. He felt kind of power the sway he held over a well-respected capitulate that had once been held in high regard by the president. Waddling over he gives the older man a look and pouted, "you're with me." A statement, not a question.

He had decided that he would work with Fenn, even though it felt wrong, even though the man was partially responsible for his foolish sister's demise. It felt like a smart move to work with a man who knew how to kill, and who most likely lusted over it. The more the games unfolded he was coming too realise that an ally might be beneficial and secure his chance to win.

Along the way they come across number 003, Eugene leaving Fenn to recruit him as he makes his way towards the kid he had spoken to yesterday, unlike number 013.

The kid joins up as the rules are explained.

It seemed that it wasn't a team we were assembling, but our opponents.

His eyes lock with Fenn's and he gives him a nod before shuffling closer, leaning in his whispers in the older man's ear, "I'll focus on 013, you get 003."

They are directed to take a seat and Eugene puts himself next to Fenn and number 013. "Fella's the game seems simple enough, let's get going and hope that our brains don't get blasted," he chuckles, throwing 013 a wink, "good move handsome, but I think I can do better."

i5uBoSbnkk1-10

"You're with me."

It's cute he wants to be in control. Assert dominance like some primate in the jungle, dancing around in a primitive form, puffing out his chest and acting like the big man. Sure, why not? Let him dance, it gives me something to smile about.

I guess Eugene sees the experience I have as invaluable. Maybe it's my sheer strength and size, or my ruthlessness. Perhaps he wants me because I think like a Gamemaker and because I kill like one too. Or maybe he's just running out of options as he's fighting for his life and has to turn to the biggest man left in here to survive.

Does that seem like someone in control?

The rules are explained, and I have to stifle a laugh. The teams we've assembled are the teams we will be playing against. Ain't that just so sweet? In trying to get me on his side, Eugene Riot has ended up in a cage fight with the very person he was trying to avoid.

"I'll focus on 013, you get 003."

I breathe a laugh of disbelief. And he's still trying to hang onto the guise of control?

I watch as he places tiles down, pretending to know how to play. I remain silent, tongue rolling over my lower lip as I assess the board and play my tile.

Ir9vfLtJGI1-10