Footsteps padded from the bedroom. Thirteen looked up from his work to find Kevan rubbing his eyes and yawning. Morning had come through the shuttered windows, but even the sun couldn't take away the chill. What happened to leaving by noon? The others were still sprawled on the floor, snoring or tossing around.

"Since you're already up, can you get supplies for today?" Thirteen said, his voice sounding strange in his ears again. He made sure to wash his face and rinse his mouth. It couldn't be the sleep ebbing from his system. "I am close to figuring out the protocols for the device. Well, um, it is called a phone, apparently."

Instead of the usual reply he got, Kevan blinked at him. Openly. "Huh?" the boy responded. He scratched his scalp, looking around as if confused why Thirteen was talking to him. Kevan whirled back to Thirteen and pointed to himself. Then, he started spouting nonsense.

Thirteen raised his arms, placating the boy. "Hold on." He waved his hands in the air, forcing the boy to slow down or to shut the hell up. What in the world was Kevan saying? Why couldn't Thirteen understand it when he could do so perfectly last night?

Wait—last night. Oh.

"Kevan, hey." Thirteen stepped in front of the boy and caught his attention. He pointed to himself then to Kevan. "Am I making sense?" he asked, raising the inflection of his tone to stress a question.

The boy narrowed his eyes, his ability glinting in his pupils. Then, he said something, almost like a passing breath. Surprise. And more confusion. He faced Thirteen again and shrugged, throwing his hands in the air. I don't know, the gesture said.

A groan followed by a string of unrecognizable words trailed behind them. Thirteen turned to find Jocasta and Alon stirring and staggering up. White hair stuck to the side of Jocasta's head, and she reached up to brush it down. Her eyes landed on Thirteen and Kevan. More uttered gibberish.

At his blank expression, Jocasta turned to Kevan, asking the same thing. From the sound of it, they might be speaking the same language, just that Kevan's was thicker and heavier. More...stitched together like the sound of a bubbling brook. They began discussing things, gesticulating at Thirteen.

"Hello?" Thirteen waved at the conversing teens. "What is happening?"

Something brushed against Thirteen's leg, startling him. Alon stepped out into the light, looking worse than Jocasta's sleep-addled form. He squinted towards Kevan and Jocasta, listening. He looked back at Thirteen. "Markel," he started. "Uh, they...talk, um, language. Know not...um—"

A stringent tone ripped from the other end of the living room. Ji-yeon bolted from the floor, her hair in disarray. She glared at them and whined, her fingers mussing her already tangled strands. Her mouth didn't stop even as she straightened and joined them. Her arms flew in wild swings as she talked, her face crumpling to aid her speech. Was she...complaining about the noise? Not letting her sleep in?

Ji-yeon's voice petered out when she noticed everyone blinking at her. It sank in, then. They spoke various languages, and none of them understood each other. Well, Kevan, Jocasta, and Alon certainly could, but Thirteen was at a disadvantage again. He couldn't understand any of them. Even Dishari, who joined the commotion from the kitchens, and Slate, who stepped out of the bathroom with a towel patting her dark hair dry.

"Okay, fine!" Thirteen yelled, his voice lacing around the threads of drivel overlapping each other. "Everyone, shut up!"

They didn't follow. Everyone whirled to him and spoke in quick jabs, no doubt demanding what he meant. So, he put his finger to his lips. A simple command. They knew what it meant, right?

He strode back to the window nook and snatched the phone. He pointed to it, and opened the application he saw earlier. The corner had something that looked like a microphone, so he tapped it. "Translate this: We have a situation now, with us speaking different languages," he said into the phone. "We should decide on a common language all of us can learn so we can understand each other. I recommend whatever language Jocasta and—"

The app changed interfaces, flitting off to do what he instructed him to do, which was to translate it. To what? He clicked the first option the website recommended. Something called English. Then, a string of gibberish bled out of the phone's speakers, closely resembling some of the words Jocasta spoke. It cut off to where he stopped. Groaning, he pressed the microphone button again. "—Kevan spoke. Jocasta and Kevan spoke. Alon understood some of it and knew basic words in my language, so we might have some common ground."

He glimpsed the left field of the translator application when the app played whatever the translation of what he said was. Detected Language — Spanish. So, that was its name. Ji-yeon waved her arms and beckoned him to come closer. She said something to the phone, and Thirteen pressed the button too late. He rolled his hand in the air, telling her to repeat it. She did. Detected Language — Korean. And what she said in Spanish meant, How come we will side with theirs?

"They outnumber us in knowing their language," Thirteen replied into the phone. If there was a real fight and he'd have to give orders through the comms like this, they'd be doomed. "It will be faster for us to learn it."

He played the translation first for Ji-yeon, then for the others. Dishari and Slate nodded even though they probably didn't speak it well either. They might be on the same level as Alon. How come? No idea. Maybe they should learn sign language instead. That would prove to be more universal.

"The mission still stands," Thirteen said to the phone again, playing it in both Korean and English. Dishari, Alon, and Slate haven't voiced their confusion yet. "We learn one language. We find enough supplies to last us in the upcoming journey. Lastly, we find information on Jacqueline Shaw and Primeva. Got it?"

A round of nods. Thirteen considered banging his head into a wall the second time. This has just gotten more complicated. Just his luck.

When Thirteen's head swirled with the English lessons, he called the session with Jocasta off and flitted to the corner of the room. He pulled out the phone from his jacket pocket and unlocked it. He found out how to change the password and disable all the possible ways Primeva could track them. He also used what mobile data was left to scour the internet for any clue to where Jacqueline Shaw might be.

Over the week, he learned the internet referred to the network the public used to store and access information. It spanned the whole world, and upon searching for satellite images, it became clear how big said world was. The Game and the grounds were just a speck.

Dishari was yet to come back with the new data refill. It cost them a considerable thickness from their wad of francs. He better get what he was promised. The girl went out a few hours ago. Where was she?

Thirteen shrugged, turning back to the phone. Dishari was a mature woman. She could handle herself out there. These last few days taught them to camouflage better. To blend in better. She'd be back. If not...

He scrolled through the latest articles connected to the name Jacqueline Shaw. Every single one said the same thing—she was born in Annemasse, France to doting billionaire Jean Jacques Shaw and supermodel Katia Giacomelli, she had been through many boarding schools over the past ten years for her education, and her life was basically like that of a constitutional princess.

Of course, that was only true when people knew where she was. It had been more than ten years since her mysterious disappearance. Her father, Jacques, had expressed the need for privacy as the family grieved. Well, what family was he talking about? He and Giacomelli divorced five years prior to Jacqueline disappearing.

Since then, news outlets and other mass media institutions had been quiet about Jacqueline Shaw. Thirteen had yet to delve into the backwater forums and conspiracy theory discussion boards, but he did the most basic association on the search bar. He typed Jacqueline Shaw Primeva.

The same articles popped up. Not one betrayed anything about Primeva or what Jacqueline had to do with it. He reset the search bar and typed Jean Jacques Shaw Primeva. The same thing happened. All the engines spat out were latest articles of the philanthropist movements the billionaire did in his spare time. A scoff escaped Thirteen's lips. Spare time. The guy's freaking loaded. Making money would be his free time.

Still, no hits on Primeva. Jean Jacques didn't appear to be connected to the laboratory. But Jacqueline certainly was. Her file wouldn't be in the database if she wasn't. That was why they had to find her, and quickly. If there was anyone who could lead them to Primeva's doors, it would be her.

He did a separate search on Primeva, and the articles told him the same thing the files in the database did. Primeva was a corporation dedicated to serving humanity through advancements in health systems, medicine, and bioengineering. They touched everything—plants, mammals, and, well...humans. Not a single paragraph mentioned the human trials or anything about the Game. What the Project was remained an enigma Thirteen had to solve. Of course, they would hide such a sensitive and questionable agenda.

A loud siren tore through the entire street. Blue lights flashed through the bleary atmosphere. Thirteen's instincts flared, expecting a counter. It was eerily similar. Where were the others? He tapped his ear, activating the comms. "Go," he hissed into it. "Attack. Escape. Hurrry!"

He dropped to the floor and grabbed a rotting log from the fireplace. Crawling on fours, he reached the window nook. The wood arced across the living room, slamming straight into the glass panes. Shards rained on him as he slammed his shoulder on the webbing cracks. His weight punched through the panes, depositing him to the house's unkempt lawn. Over the fence, brighter blue lights shone, followed by the sirens blasting irritating music. The neighbors wouldn't be pleased about this. He had to run.

The gate rattled as someone tried unlocking it from outside. Markel cursed, diving towards the back of the house. Maybe there was a way out from there. A quick escape route or something. If need be, he could launch himself over the fence and deal with the consequences later.

Wood crumbled and splintered. Thirteen scrambled past the overgrown bushes and peeked through the spaces between leaves. Black-clad soldiers padded through the blasted gate. Vests, pads down the legs and arms, and rounded helmets with shaded blue visors registered into his mind.

Who were these people? Were they Primeva's extraction team? If so, this was bad. Disastrous. They didn't clean up their traces inside the living room. It would be painfully obvious a group of people, much more, kids used the space for a period of days. After that...if they were found here—

The comms buzzed. "Waiting for orders," Jocasta's voice bled through. "Where is Dishari?"

"Not here," Thirteen responded with a low tone. "Where are you?"

"Three streets down," Kevan answered. "Can you make it?"

Thirteen watched the entire platoon disappear into the house's side. Eight to nine people. Manageable. The gate remained unguarded. "Let us hope," he muttered to the comms. His legs straightened despite his upper body staying hunched. He fished out Four's chip and loaded it into the reader. Been a while.

His boots scratched across the grassy lawn as the ability rushed through his system. He zipped past the gate, turned around, and put an arm forward. The other supported his elbow as he sent a wall of ice where the wooden gate had once been. Alarmed cries rang from inside, but he had no desire to stay and watch them process what went on. He whirled towards the wide streets and pulled his hood up. Then, he ran.

"No one at the house?" Thirteen asked in the comms on his way towards Kevan's position. "Status, please."

"On the way," huffed Ji-yeon. "Just passed the gyohoe."

The others relayed the same message. They must have found their own way out of the house the moment he radioed in.

Thirteen had no idea what that was, but he hoped she had the same understanding of whatever "three streets down" meant. Cars and motorcycles came and went in his periphery. An alley bled off the main street. That was one. He went further. Two. The third now formed on the horizon. Closer. Closer—

A white-hot bolt tore through his sleeve. No. Not just his sleeve. It went deeper. Straight through. Pain snaked up his arm. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. Footsteps came alive behind him. The platoon overcame Four's ability? Did they carry flamethrowers or something? What did they hit him with?

He dared to look back. The platoon—all ten of them—rushed after him. Their hands carried batons with bright blue tips. He didn't need to be inside Primeva to know those could probably inflict a mountain of pain. Just one hit from one of those sent flames up his arm, as if his skin and bones boiled and melded together.

The third street whizzed past him. He threw himself straight into it, swerving so hard his breath was left on the main street. Despite the cold, sweat dripped down his face and doused his shirt underneath the two layers of coat. If he could remove one layer, he would. But, as usual, no time.

He spied Kevan's mop of orange hair peeking behind a dumpster. He dove behind it just as Ji-yeon touched down on the splotchy asphalt. "Where are the others?" she asked.

The comms fizzled again. "Past the second street west of the house." Jocasta's voice bled through. "Alon is invisible. I don't know where he is."

"Meet us in the public parking," Thirteen barked into the line after turning all the channels on. "We will take the main route."

He shut the lines and nodded at Kevan and Ji-yeon. Together, they took the parallel street and trampled lawns and backyards. If he remembered correctly, the public parking lot lay before the main route, just beside the village hall. From the corner of his vision, he watched the black-clad soldiers tackle the wider street, shouting orders. The wish to understand what was being said had never been so strong in Thirteen's gut.

They have to cross the street to get to the side where the parking lot was. That meant intersecting with the soldiers. Thirteen chewed on his lip, digging out a chip from his pocket. When he raised his arm, his heart almost stopped. Electric blue sparks curled from the reader, evident from the torn layers of sleeves. Four's chip was cracked in the middle where the bullet hit him. If he took it out, it would crumble to pieces.

But, a different revelation hit him. "The chips," he breathed. The comms crackled to life once more. "Destroy your chips. That is how they track us!"

He didn't wait for them to make sense of what he said as they ended up in the intersection, right into the platoon's way. Sparks rained from heaven. Thirteen ducked under his arms, but Ji-yeon merely swept her arm in a wide arc. The wind turned the frigid air colder, and the snowy flurry it brought threw a veil over their surroundings. Before the snow settled, Thirteen, Kevan, and Ji-yeon picked their way through the haze. The public parking gleamed dark green. Jocasta burst through the gate, and Thirteen swore the light rippled on her heels as she ran.

"Where is Slate?" Thirteen asked aloud.

The platoon crashed through the metal gates, electric batons poised to finish them from those angles. Someone fired. Instead of a bullet hitting Thirteen, the first line of the soldiers tumbled down. From the back, a dark-haired girl flipped into view. She swept her baton in a wide arc, sending the soldiers scrambling out of the parking lot. When all of them were down on the ground, faces planted in the snow, the girl twirled the baton in her hands and blew at the nonexistent smoke from the tip.

Slate smiled at them, propping the baton on her shoulder. "So, what is next?"