The blue glow surrounding the playground pulsed again, tightening like a noose. The space that had once felt vast now seemed far too small. Arthur's breath hitched as the boundary constricted, enclosing them in an ever-shrinking circle. His mind raced with each inch it moved inward, the playground becoming less of an open field and more of a trap.
"Round 2 begins. Marcos will start chasing in one minute. The boundaries will shrink."
The voice of the game echoed above them, cold and indifferent, and Arthur's heart sank. Already, the playground felt too cramped with the remaining players scrambling for new hiding spots. He could see their desperation, hear their ragged breaths. It was clear to everyone: they were running out of places to hide.
Arthur scanned the playground, noting where the glowing blue walls stopped this time. The boundary had shrunk to just beyond the metal slide where he had hidden during the first round. The trees at the far edges of the playground were still inside, but barely. Ethan was right; the low branches were too high to climb, and the bark was rough—impossible to use without making noise. That option was already off the table. The only remaining spots were beneath or above rusted playground equipment.
Arthur glanced at Ethan, who was crouched nearby, and motioned for him to come closer. Ethan nodded and slipped into the shadows beside him, the two of them ducking low behind the crumbling base of an old seesaw.
"We can't just hide," Arthur whispered. His voice was calm, but his heart pounded violently in his chest. "Not like this."
Ethan's eyes darted over to the glowing boundary, where the faintest hum emanated from the barrier. "We've got to outsmart them," Ethan whispered back. "If we wait here, they'll just sweep through again, and there's no room to run this time."
Arthur frowned. They had barely survived Round 1, and Round 2 would be harder, with the Marcos now desperate to kill. The playground was too small, and the Marcos' blind groping had been far too accurate already.
"What do you suggest?" Arthur asked, keeping his voice low as he scanned the area, looking for any other survivors. Several Polos were hiding now—one wedged behind a toppled bench, another crouched in the shadow of a slide, their faces pale, eyes darting in fear.
Ethan's brow furrowed in concentration. "We need to be unpredictable," he whispered. "Constantly changing our position, but without making too much noise. And we need to use the environment to our advantage."
Arthur nodded, his mind racing. "The rusty metal," he murmured, eyeing the playground equipment. "It creaks. We could use that to our advantage, create distractions."
Ethan's eyes lit up. "Good thinking. And the gravel—we can use it to mask our movements when we need to."
The playground had transformed from an open arena into a claustrophobic battlefield. The blue glow of the boundary stopped just beyond the jungle gym and the farthest swing set, enclosing the metal slide and the seesaw inside its perimeter. The trees were no longer a viable escape. They were inside the boundary but impossible to climb in the short time they had. Ethan and Arthur had already ruled them out.
Ethan smirked, his face lighting up with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. "You’re smarter than you look, Arthur."
Arthur shot him a glance but didn’t respond. Time was running out. His eyes traced the shrinking walls again as they closed in tighter, cutting the playground’s space nearly in half. His gaze swept across the playground once more. The other survivors were huddled in their hiding spots, terror etched across their faces. He felt a pang of guilt—should they try to help the others? But before he could voice the thought, the game's emotionless voice rang out again.
"Marcos start hunting."
The countdown hit zero, and Arthur's heart leapt as the Marcos' voices rang out again, their calls sharp and commanding.
"Marco!"
Arthur's lips moved on reflex, "Polo," blending his voice with the chorus of answers from the other Polos scattered throughout the shrinking playground. His eyes never left Ethan as they prepared for their next move.
The Marcos moved with renewed aggression this time, their arms sweeping through the air like predators feeling out their prey. Their blind eyes were open wide, their expressions of desperation now tinged with frustration. They knew this space was smaller, and their chances of catching someone were higher.
Ethan tapped Arthur's shoulder lightly and pointed toward the rusted swing set. Arthur nodded, understanding the plan without words. They had to move— and it had to be now.
As one of the Marcos called out again, Arthur and Ethan split up. Arthur crept toward the swing set, his footsteps light on the gravel. He reached out, grasping the cold metal chain of one of the swings. As the Marco called out once more, Arthur gave the swing a gentle push, creating a soft, eerie creak that echoed through the playground.
The effect was immediate. The nearest Marco's head snapped toward the sound; his hand outstretched as he moved toward the swing set. Arthur held his breath, pressing himself against the metal post of the swing set, praying the Marco wouldn't brush against him.
Meanwhile, Ethan had made his way to the old merry-go-round. As the Marco approached the swing set, Ethan seized his chance. He gave the merry-go-round a quick spin, its rusty axle groaning under the movement.
The Marcos froze, caught between the two sounds. Their heads swivelled back and forth, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. In their confusion, they missed the movement of one of the other Polos—a woman who had been hiding behind the slide. She saw her chance and made a dash for a new hiding spot.
It was a mistake.
The woman's footsteps crunched on the gravel, and one of the Marcos spun toward the sound with terrifying speed. His hand shot out, fingers splayed, searching for contact. The woman tried to dodge, but she was too slow. The Marco's fingers brushed against her arm, and in an instant, she disintegrated into a shower of pixels.
Arthur felt his stomach lurch as he watched another life snuffed out. The woman's scream was cut short, leaving behind an eerie silence that seemed to hang in the air like a shroud.
Four down.
The game continued, a deadly dance of cat and mouse. Arthur and Ethan kept moving, using the creaks and groans of the old playground equipment to create a symphony of distractions. They took turns, one creating a noise while the other slipped to a new hiding spot.
But the Marcos were learning, becoming more aggressive with each passing minute. They started sweeping their arms in wider arcs, their movements becoming more erratic and unpredictable.
As Arthur crouched behind a trash can, he saw one of the Marcos closing in on another Polo—an older man who had wedged himself into a gap between two benches. The man's ragged breathing gave him away, and Arthur watched in helpless horror as the Marco's hand swept over him, grazing his outstretched leg.
The man's body crumbled into nothing, dissolving into pixels before Arthur's eyes. The sight burned itself into Arthur's memory—that look on his face; his helplessness; that fear...
Five down.
The fear in the air was palpable. Arthur could see it on the faces of the remaining visible Polos—all scrambling to find a new place to hide. The Marcos were relentless, hunting them down one by one. There was no time to think, only react. And with the boundaries shrinking again, the space to manoeuvre was quickly disappearing.
"Round 2 complete. Five Polos remain. The final round will begin shortly."
Arthur exhaled a shaky breath, his mind reeling. Every muscle in his body was tensed from the constant threat of being caught. He exchanged a quick glance with Ethan, who was crouched a few meters away, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with raw determination.
They had survived two rounds, but at what cost? The futility of the other players' deaths gnawed at Arthur, haunting the edges of his mind. He could still see their faces, hear their cut-off screams. Each life snuffed out felt heavier on his conscience.
"Round 3 begins. Marcos start hunting in one minute. The boundaries will shrink further."
Arthur stood up, taking advantage of the brief pause. He and Ethan moved toward each other cautiously, keeping low, their eyes flicking nervously toward the edges of the playground, where the boundaries had begun to pulse once more.
The blue light expanded outward, creating a low hum as it cut off the outer edges of the playground completely. The tree line was beyond the boundary, the jungle gym now barely inside the perimeter, and the debris field had grown far too small. The remaining space left little to the imagination.
Arthur's gaze darted to the center of the playground, the area now reduced to just the playground equipment—the rusting slide, the broken benches, the monkey bars. A few scattered hiding spots remained, but none of them would provide enough cover for long.
The third Polo was nowhere in sight. They knew how to hide, and well.
"We're running out of space," Ethan muttered, his voice tight with tension. "They'll have us pinned in no time."
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Arthur nodded grimly, his mind racing. " We need to stay mobile, but not too fast. The more we move, the more likely we’ll make a mistake.”
Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead, his eyes scanning the shrinking bounds. "Let’s revert back to our first-round strategy. We try to confuse them, but on the move—throw our voices in opposite directions. Maybe they’ll chase the wrong sound."
Given the smaller area they now faced, it was a risky plan, but Arthur saw no other option. He wasn’t going to just sit and wait to be caught. “Fine,” Arthur agreed. “But we have to time it perfectly. One wrong step, and we’re done.”
"Round 3 begins now."
The air crackled with tension as the Marcos called out again, their voices now tinged with frustration.
"Marco!"
Arthur's voice responded on instinct, "Polo," while Ethan did the same, deliberately timing their responses a second apart to create an illusion of distance.
But this time, the Marcos moved faster, more aggressively. Their blind hands swept through the playground with greater precision, their frustration palpable. They had failed to catch everyone in the second round, and now they were desperate. Their lives were of the essence.
One of the Marcos, the larger of the two, stumbled close to Arthur's position by the slide. Arthur pressed himself against the rusting metal, holding his breath, his body trembling as the Marco's outstretched hand swept dangerously close. He could see the muscles in the man's arm tensing, feel the air shift as the Marco's hand missed his head by inches.
Arthur fought the urge to run. He had seen too many Polos make that mistake. Panic was the fastest route to death here. He had to stay calm, no matter how close they came. Any sudden movements and the sound of crunching gravel would reveal his position faster than he could say ‘Polo’.
"Marco!" The voice came again, sharper this time.
Arthur's mouth went dry. He whispered "Polo," along with the others, hoping that—by some miracle—the nearby Marco would be whisked away by some foreign distraction.
And they were. Another Polo, a young man hiding behind the merry-go-round, lost his nerve. Arthur heard the faint crunch of gravel as the man tried to scramble away.
Too late.
The Marco lunged, his hand swiping out blindly and making contact with the man's shoulder. The Polo's body disintegrated instantly, fading into nothing before Arthur's eyes.
Six down.
Arthur's breath came in ragged gasps as the Marcos closed in, their footsteps now much too close. The game was coming to a head, and they were running out of time—and space.
The playground had become a labyrinth of danger, the blue boundary having shrunk to encompass only the central play area. Arthur crouched behind a metal slide, his breath coming in short, controlled gasps. Across the way, partially hidden by a set of spring riders, Ethan caught his eye and motioned urgently.
One of the Marcos, the larger one, was closing in on Ethan's position. His hands swept through the air, fingers grasping, mere inches from where Ethan huddled. Arthur could see the tension in Ethan's body, the way he pressed himself against the ground, trying to become as small as possible.
"Marco!" The call came, the frustration evident in the Marco's voice.
Arthur's mind raced. He had to do something, or Ethan would be caught. His eyes darted around, searching for anything he could use. Then he saw it – a small pile of pebbles near his feet, remnants of the playground's gravel surface.
With trembling fingers, Arthur picked up one of the larger pebbles. He gauged the distance to the old tire swing hanging from a nearby frame. It was risky – if he missed, the sound of the pebble hitting the ground might give away his own position. But he had to try.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur threw the pebble with as much precision as he could muster. It arced through the air, silent in its flight, before striking the rubber tire with a dull 'thunk'.
The effect was immediate. The Marco's head snapped towards the sound, his whole body turning away from Ethan. "Marco!" he called again, more urgently this time, moving towards the tire swing.
It worked.
The Marco turned sharply toward the sound, giving Ethan the precious seconds he needed to crawl away, his body slipping out of the Marco's reach just in time.
But the tension was unbearable. There was no room left to hide, no space to make another mistake. Arthur could feel the walls closing in, the boundaries shrinking again, the countdown ticking down in his mind.
Then, it happened.
The last remaining Polo besides Arthur and Ethan made a fatal error. They had been hiding in one of the tube slides, but in a moment of panic, they shifted their weight too quickly. The plastic creaked, and the Marco's head snapped toward the sound. Before anyone could react, the Marco's hand shot out, brushing against the Polo's foot as they tried to scramble away.
The Polo's body disintegrated before Arthur could even blink, another life lost to the unforgiving game.
Seven down.
The final seconds of the round dragged on; every breath heavy with tension. Arthur and Ethan remained crouched, their bodies aching from the effort of staying low and still. The Marcos, frustrated by their near misses, called out again and again, their desperation palpable.
But they had failed. There were still two Polos left.
Then, the buzzer rang.
"Round 3 complete. Three Polos remain. The Polos win."
Arthur felt a wave of relief wash over him as the game declared its end. Ethan let out a shaky breath, his face pale but his eyes filled with triumph. They had survived.
The two Marcos fell to their knees, bellowing out their final screams before they disintegrated into nothing. Arthur watched, a mix of relief and guilt washing over him. They had won, but at what cost? Nine lives had been snuffed out in this twisted game, and for what?
But then, before they could fully process the victory, something happened that neither of them expected.
Movement caught Arthur's eye. He turned, his body tensing, ready for another threat. But what he saw, nobody could have expected.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the largest tree near the center of the playground. The same tree Arthur and Ethan had dismissed earlier as impossible to climb. A young woman—heavily scarred, her face and arms marked by deep, jagged lines—gracefully descended from the branches, her movements fluid and silent.
She had hidden there the entire time, unnoticed, undetected, surviving through a feat of stealth that seemed impossible.
Arthur stared, unable to believe his eyes. The woman's movements were slow and deliberate, her expression cold and unreadable. Her eyes swept over the remaining survivors, lingering briefly on Arthur before shifting to Ethan.
Ethan, still panting from the exertion of the final round, raised a hand in greeting. "Hey... you're one hell of a survivor. We could use someone like you. The three of us—we'd make a great team."
The woman didn't respond. She simply stared at Ethan for a moment, then turned her gaze back to Arthur. Her eyes were dark, calculating, as if she were weighing some unseen scale. The scars on her face told a story of survival, of hardships endured and overcome. In that moment, Arthur realized that this woman was not just a player—she was a master of the game.
Then, without a word, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows at the edge of the playground.
Ethan frowned, watching her leave. "What's her deal?"
Arthur didn't respond immediately. He was lost in thought, replaying the woman's appearance in his mind. There was something about her—a hardness, a determination that went beyond mere survival. She was dangerous.
"I don't know," Arthur finally said, his voice low. "But… something is off about her, for sure."
As they stood there, the adrenaline of the game slowly fading, Arthur felt his questions piling up, but no answers proffered. What was the point of this Game, ultimately? How did he get here, and why? Was his brother out there somewhere, forced to play these sick games?
As the blue glow of the outer boundary finally faded, leaving them in the dim light of the abandoned playground, a soft chime echoed around them. Arthur and Ethan looked up to see a shimmering bronze chest materializing in the air before gently settling on the ground between them.
"Ah, the spoils of victory," Ethan said with a grim smile. "Looks like our Miss left before the grand prize."
Arthur approached the chest cautiously, the memory of his extra life token coming to mind. The game never ceased to remind him that such an item was rare, and the life meant everything. He would probably be wiser to keep his mouth shut about it, especially since he’d just met Ethan—he couldn’t trust him yet. "Is this... normal? After every game?"
Ethan nodded. "More or less. The type and quality of the chest depend on the difficulty of the challenge and—sometimes—how well you performed. Bronze is... well, it's not bad for a start."
Together, they opened the chest. Inside, they found an assortment of items: a sturdy-looking backpack, a compact first-aid kit, an indestructible pocketknife, and what appeared to be a map of the local area.
"Not bad," Ethan murmured, examining the items. "These will definitely come in handy. Take your pick. We split half-half? I don’t mind taking the map—we’ll be sharing it anyway." He smiled, perhaps a little too warmly.
As they distributed the items between them, Arthur taking the backpack and compact first-aid kit while Ethan took the rest, he couldn't help but marvel at how quickly he was adapting to this new reality. Just days ago, he had been a janitor, and now here he was, splitting the spoils of a deadly game with a newfound ally.
"Ethan," Arthur began, his voice low and urgent, "what is all this? The Game, these missions, the deaths—it doesn't make any sense. I wasn’t anyone special before the earthquake, and now..." He trailed off, the image of Luna impaling herself on the quiver of arrows flashing unbidden in his mind.
Ethan's expression became confused, then softened slightly. "Did you say—earthquake? Look, Arthur, I get it. You're new to this, and it's a lot to take in. But right now, we need to focus on staying alive. I promise, once we're somewhere safer, I'll tell you everything I know."
Arthur nodded, reluctantly accepting the delay, but his mind still raced with questions. As they began to move away from the playground, Arthur couldn't help but think of his apartment, the brief respite he'd had there before being summoned to this new challenge. "We need a safe place," he muttered, half to himself.
Ethan caught his words. "Safe places are hard to come by here, but not impossible. I’m sure we’ll figure something out with this map." Soon after, he activated the newly procured map in his inventory, which seemed to immediately transfer its contents to his personal map. When he opened the map, Arthur, standing behind, could see it too. There were an incredible number of icons—far more than what few points of interest Arthur had on his own map of the city.
“There,” Ethan pointed to a house icon, “it’s a safehouse. Quite close too. We can stay there and set up camp. It should be well-defended and stocked up with good food.”
They made their way to their new base, walking in silence for a few moments before Arthur spoke again. "You know, I was attacked on the way back from my first game.”
“Oh yeah?” Ethan spoke, quite surprised. “This wasn’t your first game?”
“No, it’s my second. You?”
“Compared to some people out here, next to nothing. Still though, I’ve already lost track.”
“What do you mean? How long have you been here then?”
“Too long. Say, newbie—you probably still haven’t covered all the mechanics yet. Have you heard about the skill tree yet? Or the weapon system?”
“No, not yet.” Arthur kicked the concrete as he walked by.
Ethan clicked his tongue. “Darn, we’ll try to get you up to speed, fast. Let’s try to stay a bit quiet now. The ‘Failures’ sometimes try to raid other players—especially after they’ve completed a mission. Hell, what am I saying. You already know this much.” He winked at Arthur with depthless assurance.
“Sure,” Arthur replied. “I’ll be on guard.”
As they continued walking, leaving the playground and its grim memories behind, Arthur felt a strange mix of emotions. He was exhausted, traumatized, and still deeply worried about Brian. But for the first time since the earthquake, he didn't feel entirely alone. He had an ally in Ethan, some resources in his inventory, and a growing understanding of how this new world operated.
One thing was certain: the game of Marco Polo was just another step in a much larger, more dangerous game. He’d only partaken in two missions so far but was already starting to notice a pattern. The missions usually involved pitting players against each other and making it hard for them to team up. This was made evident in the arena, where the final fight was a duel to the death. Even the game of Marco Polo they had just played was twisted similarly. The Marcos were willing to sacrifice the Polos—who outnumbered them fivefold—to survive, and the Polos, well, had they been more cunning like Ethan and Arthur, they may have had a better chance. Some had tried to collaborate initially, but Arthur saw how that ended.
The image of the scarred woman flashed in Arthur's mind once more. In this world of deadly games and shifting alliances, he knew that every bit of information, every ally, and every enemy could make the difference between life and death. He glanced at Ethan, wondering just how much his new ally truly knew, and how much he was willing to share.