Thirteen shielded his eyes from the sunlight poking them. Under the rage of the morning rays, he contemplated returning to the trailer and working on decrypting the last layers protecting the chip. If he worked on it now, perhaps he'd arrive at the information he was searching for faster. They wouldn't have to ride on half-formed conclusions and chipped propositions.

"Don't think of flaking out now," Two chided. The younger boy braced his hips with both hands as if he had the deciding power. "It's your idea."

Thirteen could have rolled his eyes. Instead, he lowered his hand and stared out into the horizon. Standing at the edge of the Eastern region, all that accompanied them were high-rise buildings with glass facades shattered, cracked, or splotched with dried mud and clumps of dust. The trailer and its community of rusting tin roofs was a primitive place compared to this one. What did the Eastern region do to gain such a contrast?

Earlier today, before the sun could finish climbing up the sky, Thirteen dragged Two out of the trailer and shoved the screen into the boy's hands. "Look at that," Thirteen had said. Two probably picked up what he meant from Thirteen's head, anyway. "Seventeen's near."

Two had sniffed, rubbing his nose with a finger. "Any idea why?"

"Guess we'll find out," was Thirteen's only answer before they were off.

Now, it has been a full hour, and no cheese-colored head popped between the sparse line of trees and unkempt bushes. So much time wasted. Thirteen would rather do something else than wait for Seventeen to pick up on their presence. He dug out the screen and zoomed towards the Eastern region. Seventeen's chip stayed in the same place it was in since the stakeout started.

"We're going in," Thirteen decided eventually. His boots trampled the dried blades of grass as he trudged in the general direction of Seventeen's location. If the cityscape remained constant for another block or two, Seventeen would be inside one of these dwarf skyscrapers, doing who-knew-what.

Two trailed in his wake. Despite the confusion and apprehension shining in the boy's face, he didn't ask. Thirteen's mind betrayed every reason, anyway. Together, they rounded an end of an alley and came across a wider boulevard reminiscent of the eight-laned highway between the Central and Northern region. What was Seventeen doing here?

"Scope the area," Thirteen ordered. Two flashed him an annoyed look but put two fingers in each temple and closed his eyes. A moment passed. Three. The esper's eyes snapped open and a finger pointed east. "That way. His thoughts are...interesting."

Thirteen knew better than to ask. Let Two suffer in his own accord.

They lurched into the boulevard, Thirteen craning his neck up at the rooftops for a sign of Seventeen. What was he doing in a place such as this? Wasn't he planning to join in the fiasco of killing other people? Otherwise, Thirteen might have overestimated his classmates' will to see the Game through.

Two, for instance, could have schemed to get them to kill each other while hiding in the background. Yet, he did. Instead, he waited until Thirteen was within range before making himself known. If he could bend minds to his will, even Eight wouldn't stand a chance.

The esper led them into a surprising swerve, peeling from the boulevard. From there, they passed what could be the busiest part of the grounds. Instead of compact soil, a manicured pavement swept underfoot. Only pockets of green poked through the space between the geometric blocks. Darkened grates of sewers hid under clumps of moist algae. The faint smell of oxidizing metal and burnt glass also hung heavily in the air.

Two picked a specific building in the middle of the suburb. This one, compared to its glass-clad contemporaries, sported stone walls and only stood three stories. The shutters hung from window sills in various angles. A bundle of cloth, which could have once functioned as an awning, littered the patio. Through the murky floor to ceiling windows, Thirteen spied an array of chair legs sticking up in the air like a cheering crowd. A diner?

Something crashed inside. Thirteen kicked the crumpled awning and cranked the door's handle. When it didn't budge, he whipped the gun from his back and shot at the window. One. Two. The glass groaned before crumbling into a shower of shards.

"Dude! What the fuck?" A voice complained from behind the counter lining the farthest wall from the window. Thirteen whipped to the source to find a familiar bunch of yellow hair sticking out of the countertop.

Seventeen straightened, bracing the splintering wood of the counter, muttering under his breath. "Who shoots at a harmless window?" he ranted, mussing his hair and clicking his tongue. His boots crunched against more shards. From the sound, green glass. "You could have knocked. I'm not a stingy neighbor—"

He paused when he noticed Thirteen and Two standing at the edge of the room. With the sun shining behind them, it must be painful to look at them. Thirteen scooted to the side, right by the door. "Thirteen," Seventeen said, his voice flattening into a threatening edge. "What are you doing here? And...Two?"

"I could ask you the same question," Thirteen said. "You haven't moved for the last four hours."

Seventeen snorted. "I'll leave up to my imagination the way you can tell."

Thirteen perked up at the invitation. "It's quite simple, really. And I can tell you everything I have gathered in our brief meeting," he said. Without waiting for confirmation from either party, he launched straight into it. "Seeing as you're not with Sixteen even though we watched how your relationship developed from the start, there seems to be trouble between you."

"And if you're out here, lounging inside a room with..." He squinted at the cupboard niches lining the wall beyond the counter. "Are those food? Looks like they are. Well, judging from the disheveled arrangement, the lopsided and mismatched nature of the shelves, I doubt you found them in that state. You pilfered through them, gorged to your heart's content, and..."

He stalked to the counter, aware of how Seventeen's muscles tensed. As expected, the shards weren't from some other appliance inside the diner. The unmistakable stench of stale wine assaulted his nose. "Drank. Quite lavishly, I presume," he continued. "You're not here to celebrate. It's because of said conflict."

Seventeen's frown curled deeper. "Get to the point," he said. "What am I doing here, O Enlightened Genius?"

Thirteen ignored the pointed jab. He'd heard worse. "Sixteen broke up with you, didn't she?"

That hit a nerve from the way Seventeen flinched. The boy scoffed and pushed the thin strands of hair from his forehead. "It's a mutual breakup," he insisted even though being politically correct was the last thing anyone was concerned about. "I'm shocked you know enough about relationships to know what 'breakup' means."

"I know enough," Thirteen answered, his eyes narrowing. "A trivial pursuit as such isn't that hard to grasp."

Two stepped between them before more insults were thrown and another round of violence could occur. "Stand down, both of you. We're not here to fight." The esper whirled to Seventeen who perked up at the attention of the younger boy. "We've come with a proposition."

Seventeen cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"There is a way out of the Game without murder." Thirteen stepped forward. Despite being a head shorter than Seventeen, he maintained his stance. "I've found crucial information about the Game, and if we work together to dismantle the system, we can get to who made it."

"You mean, that creepy voice had a real person behind it?" Seventeen said.

Thirteen bobbed his head. "The records refer to someone called The Corrector, and they give the final say in everything. Each progress report goes to them, and if we can intercept the new reports, I can trace it to their destination. We'll be out of here before next week."

"And what do you need?" Seventeen crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. "I know enough to never strike a deal with you without asking what it entails."

Thirteen hummed. "Smart," he commented, folding his hands together. "I need time to do my work. While I do that, I need you to distract those who are after me. Keep me hidden from them, ensuring my safety. In return, I will get you out of here. Both of you."

That was the plan, and Two was in on it. Thirteen could never hide anything from the esper, anyway. He turned back to Seventeen who stared at his boots, teeth chomping on his lip. One final push—that was what Seventeen needed. "Sixteen," Thirteen blurted, earning Seventeen's attention once more. "You don't have to worry about killing each other and ending your great love for the sake of the Game. If you agree to my plan, that is. That's why you separated, wasn't it?"

"Between the two of you, which is the mind reader?" Seventeen wagged a finger in the space between him and Two. "Sometimes, it's scary how accurate you can be."

"My pleasure," Thirteen said, ducking his head in mock gratitude for the pseudo-compliment. "So, what do you say? Are we in this together?"

Seventeen shrugged and stuck a hand out. "Whatever," he said in a resigned tone. "I'm so ready to see this nightmare be over."

Thirteen felt the same, so even though he hated brushing skin to skin, he took Seventeen's offer and shook on it. "That's a deal, then."

Seventeen opened his mouth to answer but the howl of a strong gale ate every syllable. Somewhere behind them, a guttural scream followed by the sight of dark hair whipping along the violent and invisible whips ripped into their shared horizon. Eight stood at the tip of the skyscraper across the street. Only one name flew out of her lips with such thirst for vengeance as she launched herself off the edge and zoomed towards them.

"Thirteen!"