Brandon sat uncomfortably in the pond, half his face submerged in the water.
"Aw man," Thomas said with a bright grin. "You're really a lifesaver, Brandon!"
Brandon didn't smile back. He twitched, restless.
Eventually, he rose from the water. "I'm going to check on them."
"What? You don't have to. What if you get lost?"
"I won't. It's one direction." Brandon pointed toward the horizon—the exact route they'd traveled to reach the oasis from the original spawn point.
Without another word, he walked off.
Thomas watched him go. "Damn."
—
"Argh…"
Liam didn't stop.
The blade was small. The cuts were shallow.
At first.
Then he stabbed Alex again.
And again. And again and again.
Blood sprayed in every direction as Liam buried the knife into Alex's gut repeatedly. His grip was tense. His breathing ragged.
When Alex could no longer fight back, Liam shoved him aside like garbage.
Alex collapsed on his stomach, coughing blood into the burning sand. Dozens of stab wounds riddled his torso, arms, shoulders—he was bleeding from everywhere.
Liam sat up beside him, dripping sweat. He wiped his face with his right hand, unintentionally smearing Alex's blood across his skin.
The second kill was easier.
She wasn't here to witness this one.
He clutched the blood-soaked knife again, tightening his grip. He raised it, aiming for Alex's skull—for a quick, clean end.
"No…" Alex whispered. "You don't have to make it quick."
Liam paused.
He was tired. Too tired. His whole body ached. He didn't want to deal the final blow, not out of mercy, just from sheer exhaustion. And because Alex asked him not to… he didn't.
He didn't drop the knife.
He didn't wipe it clean.
He folded the bloodstained blade calmly and slipped it back into his pocket.
"Changed your mind about needing me?" Alex asked faintly, barely conscious, still lying on his side in the hot sand.
Liam didn't look at him. He stared into the horizon—miles of endless dunes. Like they were the last two humans at the edge of the world.
"Just tell me," Alex croaked. "I want to know…"
Liam hesitated.
Then spoke.
"Someone put a price on you."
"How much?"
"Ten thousand dollars."
Alex gave a pained, hollow laugh. "That's all what I'm worth to you, huh?"
"Its more useful if I'm trying to take the game down."
"Ouch."
"You already did your part. Your plan was to get us recorded entering the game. That's done."
"So either way, your objective's covered… If my plan works, you get out and your mission already succeeds. If it doesn't, you still walk away ten grand richer." Alex coughed blood. "Instead of stuck with some old man."
"…Yeah."
Alex let out a slow sigh.
"Jason… That wasn't just something you made up, right?"
Liam finally responded. "No. He's in the game. I told him to choose Antarctica—to keep him from running into us."
"Damn kid never tells me anything…" Alex paused. "I'm not the first one, am I?"
Liam said nothing.
Silence was answer enough.
"Don't you think you're going too far?"
"If I don't, I'll never make progress. And without progress, I die. Everyone else dies too. Any gain is worth it, to ultimately bring the game down."
"I get it. Self-preservation. Maybe saving every other players along the way… but I doubt you give a shit there." Alex winced. Blood soaked into the sand beneath him. "Hey, kid…"
Still no eye contact from Liam. Just the distant horizon.
"That ten grand… If my plan doesn't work, and they get to Felicia… Hire someone. Private investigator, hitman—whatever you need. Hiring them isn't easy...so remember this number: 212… 767… 4019. He'll help you. Just… one favor."
Liam's face remained expressionless.
"Go back. Tell the others about the oasis."
Liam finally looked at him.
The same cold, unreadable stare.
"Thanks," he said flatly.
Then stood up.
Alex lay still. A puddle of blood now circled his lifeless body.
Liam didn't walk toward the players. Or the oasis.
He walked in the opposite direction—into the vast, empty nothingness of the desert.
—
Brandon skidded to a halt.
His breath caught in his throat.
There, lying in the sand on the path back to the players, was a body in red.
"Alex?"
Brandon sprinted forward, dropping to his knees beside him.
No breath.
No pulse.
Stab wounds. Multiple.
"...Liam," Brandon muttered, immediately understanding.
He closed Alex's eyes gently.
"I'm sorry."
Then he took off running.
Toward the players.
Harder, faster than he ever had before.
"LIAM…"
Brandon's mind spun.
There was a weapon involved. Which meant the others could be in danger too.
"GUYS!"
He saw them. A cluster of players standing idly in the distance.
"Brandon!"
"Did you find anything?!"
Brandon scanned the group.
No Liam.
"Thomas…" Brandon turned pale. "FOLLOW ME!"
No one hesitated. The crowd moved with him, instinctively trusting his urgency.
Brandon kept sprinting. Heat blasted off the sand. Sweat poured from every pore. His lungs screamed. His legs burned. His body begged to stop.
But he didn't stop. He forced himself not to. Not until he reached the oasis.