I placed the second card facedown on the counter. It had a blue back.

The red back card I placed first descended into the counter. A translucent barrier formed over the second card.

Well, now I wait.

Unfortunately, my holding cell didn’t give me enough room to lie down. Instead, I decided to write and finger paint on the counter using my blood. I tried not to disrupt my clotting.

I wonder what Alan and Gus are up to. Would they go around?

I already had an idea what the event would be. I also had faith I wouldn’t be screwed over if no one showed up. The only thing was…

“It’s so boring!” I waved my arm, splattering blood on the wall. There was nothing to do in my little box. There were no external stimuli or deathly situations.

Really, I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts at that moment.

I irritated my wound, trading healing for more paint. My teeth clenched. Pain as a non-factor, the costs weren’t that bad. Only a bit worse anemia later.

That’s not a bad cost for what I gained. I wasn’t crazy.

I continued to paint, cycling that process. I lost track of time. As my forearm was beginning to turn cold, my wound barely releasing blood, I heard something.

A noise! One that wasn’t me. The sound of something sliding. The other player. Who is it?

The door, which normally would open in a fraction of a second, was gradually descending. Replacing it, a transparent barrier.

Behind the barrier was a middle-aged man who looked like he had just escaped a washing machine after three cycles. His clothes and hair were soaking, he was gasping for air, and the bags under his eyes looked like bruises.

The curse was hitting him hard. More time had passed, increasing its severity, and he was likely level 1.

Unlike a man who escaped a washer, his knuckles were bloody. One of them being connected to an arm bending the wrong direction.

“Hi there! Nice to meet you.” I waved.

He pulled back when he saw me, then scanned the empty space in front of him. He was reading a system message.

“You don’t want to trade cards with me.”

The organizers weren’t providing me with any additional information. I had to confirm the game myself. Across the barrier, on a mirrored counter, under a mirrored barrier, was a red facedown card. The one I set down first.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you have the cure card in front of you. I left it across for my friend to take, while I escaped.”

“You wouldn’t tell me that if you’re still trying to get the cure for your so-called friend. Plus, you’re clearly infected.”

His lack of confusion confirmed my suspicion. He would have the chance to exchange the cards back. It was overkill to double-check the obvious, but Gus’ speech was annoying me.

“No, at this point I just want to get out of here. Also, too much time has passed. I need an exit. This can be a win-win. Why would you think I’m infected?”

“Why?” His voice was filled with surprise. Surprise that turned into exacerbation. “You have ‘Help’ written in blood across the counter and walls. You painted a man screaming, a pig sacrifice, a hunted cow, and someone cut into pieces. I can tell you’re agitating your wound to distract yourself from the curse. I’ve been doing the same thing with my arm.”

He squeezed his broken arm with his working one.

“That’s a rhino, not a cow. See, a horn.” I pointed at what could barely be called a doodle. Perhaps I went a bit over the top with my art. “Anyways, you’re right. I am trying to distract myself. But not from something physical. That’s why I want to leave.”

His eyes twitched. He shifted from one foot to the other while he contemplated my words. There was a part of myself I could see in him.

“All this painting, it took you a while. And you mentioned ‘too much time’ passing. You’ve had time to come up with this story. The loser will be forced through the trapdoor even if they’re still infected.”

“I’m telling you the truth. This can be a win-win for us. Don’t swap the cards.”

There is a paradox when it comes to discerning truth. There is an instinct in us, whether we realize it or not, that can tell with certainty something is the truth. It is a distinct feeling.

“How am I supposed to believe you? Every way you act falls in place logically with someone going through the curse. Everything about your appearance looks like an infected, the bleeding a convenient cover-up. The healthy people aren’t the ones with missing fingers.”

However, feelings can only be felt in their moments. They can’t be stored as memories. You can try to relive a feeling by simulating that moment in your head, but you can’t remember feelings. Only the consequences of them.

“Trust me.”

That is how we fall for lies. We can’t remember the feeling, so we sometimes misattribute it. We become all too aware we can be fooled, so we learn to stop trusting that feeling. Worse yet, we even call it unscientific.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Sorry. I can’t trust you.”

That’s why even when every bone in his body told him I was telling the truth. He couldn’t believe me.

He tapped his finger three times on the barrier protecting the card. Both the blue card and the red card descended into the table and swapped places.

That’s why despite our innate ability to feel truth, we fall for lies. We call one of our most powerful innate tools useless, abandon it, and lose it before we ever learn to use it. Not that I don’t love logic.

“I’m sorry. I am a zebra.”

He flipped his card. On it, a wooden trap door. I learned his face was capable of paling further than its already ghastly state.

The ground beneath him opened up. He grabbed onto the counter for all of 3 seconds, dangling, before it slid to replace the barrier. With the combination of my counter replacing the barrier, I couldn’t see him fall.

At my feet was a chalice with a green pill in it. Tacky.

The doorway opened to reveal an empty room. Right beyond the doorway laid a wooden trap door.

[(Add-on): Exit slots available: 0/1)

I picked up the chalice with the green pill. I didn’t think Alan would appreciate consuming something either stored in my underwear or held in my bloody hand.

At least I got what I aimed for. I sighed.

I didn’t tell a lie. He didn’t want to trade cards with me. Too much time had passed. And I yearned to get out of here.

But I didn’t want to abandon my friend even more. Perhaps it was presumptuous to consider each other friends so soon, but I hadn’t had a real friend in years.

If I had come at him with more logic, more insistence, and described so many little details of the situation, he may have taken the leap of faith.

If I lied or was lackluster with honesty, he may have sensed a deeper plot.

There was a new door open in my room. It seemed Alan and Gus decided to press forward. I followed their path.

The game resurfaced a memory of a silly jinx I used to have. Nothing grand. Throughout my childhood, I became quite adept at lying. Trial and error. In the end, I found my deceit was most convincing when I was telling the truth. I came to believe if someone paid close enough attention, they could sometimes see through a well-crafted lie.

It was best to have them ask the wrong questions. To draw attention to the wrong areas. To not arouse suspicion so a question was never asked.

If my logic and jinxes were bullshit, I didn’t mind. It was a win-win for me regardless.

The path looped back to the room with the trapdoor. There were two opened doors. The first room was empty apart from scorch marks on the ground. The one closer to the starting area had a stairway in its center that built to a horizontal door along the ceiling. A body laid its feet.

[(Add-on): Exit slots available: 0/2)

He had to have cleared a number of rooms to reach the room opposite to mine, and he didn’t strike me the type to clear that many alone. That along with his attitude and not mentioning others told me he had either betrayed or had been betrayed by a teammate.

I knew he wouldn’t be able to trust even the truth. Probably. It didn’t matter to me. Win-win.

I walked into the scorched room. Heat lingered, left over from whatever challenge was completed. There was no door opposite to where I entered. To my right, I saw Alan and Gus.

They were fiddling with a security panel connected to a metal column at the center of the room.

I walked over. Now there was no door to my left or across. It was a corner.

“I thought you were smart, Gus. Can’t solve the puzzle?”

He pointed his gun at me. I raised my hands up.

“Police brutality!” Another archaic concept to Eumalia. The flow of information couldn’t be suppressed through any widespread means. Internal auditing was easier and more rigorous than ever.

“Just come here and help us solve it.” He turned back around.

“I thought I had the right to remain silent.”

Alan took a break from entering different guesses. The last entry I saw him type was “Bahamut”.

“Welcome back from your quest. Were you victorious?”

The dark bags under Alan’s eyes contrasted his paling skin. He was still infected, although his level 2 physique was paying dividends. He appeared vibrant compared to the last fellow. There was a silent determination.

“Yes. For I have slain the dragon guarding the holy grail. With the liquid from this chalice comes eternal life.” It took effort to keep my voice from shaking delivering the lines.

“Is that what I think it is?” There was disbelief in Gus’ voice.

“Aye. Alan, catch.” I flicked my wrists holding the chalice. Out of it flew the green pill. Alan caught it.

Alan stared at the pill in his hand. His hand carrying the pill shook. After a prolonged moment of silence, he bowed his head.

“Thank you.”

“Geez. Don’t thank me. Or ever do that again.” I was too embarrassed to add, “that’s what friends do". It was too corny and sentimental for me. “Just take the pill already.”

“Do you have some water I could take with it?”

I raised my hand with the missing finger, needing to use my opposite arm to hold it up.

Alan looked better. Other than his exhaustion, there were no aftereffects.

“So? What are you two stuck on?”

Gus pointed to the security panel. Specifically, at the text “P#:” in front of the cursor. “We’ve entered different numbers and ‘P’ followed by different numbers. No luck.”

“How did you get into Aster?”

Gus shot off some of my hair. Shit. Gus was in a bad mood. I already knew he enrolled by leveling up. Can’t a man joke around?

“Put that away!” I yelled. “Fine. That’s the greek letter rho or R. It’s meant to refer to the room number. I think.”

I made my way over to the keypad. That narrows it down. There are a few different formats I can picture. The most thematic I can picture is…

On my second try, the screen lit up. An animation of a lock opening played.

i9. Chess notation, The Game of Kings. There had come variants and flashier versions, but the old game still stood.

The pillar descended, revealing a shady revolving door. It looked like a metal cake with a quarter slice taken out of it and a push bar.

[(Add-on): One at a time please!]

[(Add-on): Exit slots available: 4/4]

Gus tossed the gun in the air. I barely caught it with, what I felt was, an impressive one-handed catch.

“See ya.”

Gus left before I could yell at him. Infuriating.

“The sun sets on this battlefield. Onto the next!” Alan charged at the revolving door.

I was alone. I sighed, moving for the door.

Well, I guess it’s time t-

A distant, high pitched scream stopped me. It was a female’s voice.

There was only one female I saw in the event room earlier. Meryl.