It was hard to guess how long it had been since he'd awakened in this strange world. Stellan struggled to comprehend the passage of time, seeing that his two-thousand-dollar watch; the one his parents had gifted him after graduating college, was not ticking like it was supposed to.

  After the tense bargain that Stellan and Terry had agreed on, sealed with a wary handshake, Stellan gave three rations from the five he had to Terry, believing that his paranoid coworker needed them more desperately than him. Terry was jumping and giddy like he'd won a jackpot from a slot machine, practically dancing, stating it had been a long while since his diet didn't consist of grass or bugs. At one point, Terry even mentioned that there was a time where rain didn't fall for a couple of weeks, and that he'd had to recycle his own urine just to survive, drinking it to stay alive which was a story that Stellan didn't need nor want to know, so he stored it in the dark corners of his mind, compartmentalizing the information.

  It was too much effort to carry the overweight corpse whose clothing had been stripped by Terry, who'd replaced his worn-down Hawaiian shirt and leather vest with the dead man's sweat-drenched button-up sleeves. He'd also torn strips from the corpse's corporate suit to serve as 'kindling,' which Terry had explained would be useful later for fire-starting.

  Both of them then heaved the heavy corpse between them, grunting with effort, and threw it several floors below near some encroaching greenery that served as a neighbor to the decrepit building with trees and thick fauna that welcomed the fleshy nutrition hungrily, hiding it from plain view as if nature had been waiting for them to make this grim offering.

  A few more minutes later, both breathing hard, before they returned back where they'd first met a few floors below, near the remnants of the campfire that Terry had doused earlier to avoid detection from any interlopers. He reignited it now for a newfound purpose, coaxing the embers back to life. Stellan wanted to get into the business side of things immediately, to extract information.

  But as if the violent tension from earlier didn't exist anymore. Terry took the responsibility of speaking first; too much of it, in fact. Most of it didn't really relate to their current situation, just nervous chatter. But Stellan didn't interrupt, restraining himself. No one knew how much Terry needed this… this simple act of socializing, of human connection, to maintain his sanity and identity. So Stellan just sat and listened patiently to Terry tell stories about how his life had changed dramatically after entering this new world, this nightmare.

  Eventually, the topic steered naturally to where Stellan had wanted it to go, and now an exchange of much-needed information was about to begin.

  "You mean to tell me… we can still go back?!" Stellan exclaimed, raising his voice in sudden ecstasy upon hearing Terry's confirmation.

  "Yeah dude… you just have to wait it out," answered Terry casually, munching on grain biscuits that he'd gotten from an MRE, washing them down with boiling hot rainwater from a rusty tin pot that appeared to have long served its purpose with its metal warped and discolored.

  "Then why are you still here? Why not come back?" Stellan questioned, leaning forward intently.

  Terry munched again, this time on some hard flour cake which didn't even last a few seconds before he'd devoured it hungrily. Satisfied for the moment, he continued answering, swallowing hard. "You can't just leave…"

  "Why?" Stellan pressed, frustration creeping in.

  "The game has to end man. There can only be a couple of winners…" Terry explained, his voice taking on a darker tone.

  "Game? What do you mean?" Stellan asked, confused by the terminology.

  "I mean…" Terry added, patting down the crumbs from the packet into his mouth, not wasting a single morsel. A few scrunches of the plastic wrapper and he continued to explain, crumpling it. "It's not a 'game' game. It's more like uhh… I think they call it a Trial or something. Some kind of test."

  "Trial?" Stellan processed the question. He had lots of questions that he was eager to ask, burning on his tongue, but he didn't want to risk overwhelming Terry, seeing that his coworker was already in such a sensitive state.

  "Yeah dude… I think they call it ' Grand Royale ' or something… It's been so long I can't really remember the specifics. Details get fuzzy," Terry admitted, scratching his beard.

  "And how do you win… this game? Or Trial as you name it…" Stellan asked right before Terry stood up abruptly, approaching the rusted pot. He poured in the seasoning and the rest of the MRE contents into the boiling rainwater, watching with hungry satisfaction as the solid packet became softer over time with the steam rising.

  "You just have to wait…" stated Terry, his eyes fixed on the small fire crackling underneath the rusted pot, hypnotized by the flames.

  Stellan, unconvinced with the vague answer, continued to question Terry, who was in a sort of high from the anticipation of cooking, distracted by food. "How long? You told me you've been here for a year. Is there like a schedule or something? Some kind of timeline?"

  "Beats me? There aren't really any guidelines you know… just… survive.. Keep breathing," Terry answered with a shrug, stirring the pot.

  "Is that all you can tell me? There must be something else. Some kind of loophole we can exploit? "

  "Well… all you need to know… Is that you should just stay low and wait for an opportunity. Don't draw attention."

  "An opportunity?" Stellan asked for a needed clarification.

  "Yeah… keep your head down, and when the time comes, just do what you gotta do," Terry answered, his tone matter-of-fact.

  "But what if it doesn't come? What if there's no opportunity?" Stellan asked again, still unconvinced by the words he was hearing.

  "Then you wait…"

  Terry paused, squinting his eyes to read the instructions printed on the back of the ration pack, using it to distract himself, but it didn't help his growing impatience. "You wait until it does…" he added, saliva pooling visibly in the corner of his mouth.

  Soon, his hunger got the better of him, overriding caution. Using his used Hawaiian shirt as a makeshift glove since the rusted pot didn't have a handle, he then carefully lifted the pot away from the small fire and gently removed the steaming hot packet of Cold Beef Bar. Before it could cool, he took a bite that was still too hot for him, making Terry puff hot smoke from his mouth, resisting the urge to spit it out even as his taste buds were getting seared.

  "Dish... gud…" Terry muttered around the scalding meat, the pain in his tongue completely ignored, cherishing every savory sensation he got from the Bar despite his eyes watering from the heat.

  Stellan, who was mildly disgusted by Terry's lack of etiquette, suddenly stood up, brushing dust from his pants. He took a direction toward the floor's stairway..

  "Wer u goin?" Terry asked, steaming meat still in his mouth, barely intelligible.

  "Fresh air…" Stellan answered simply, continuing on his path without looking back.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Terry didn't inquire further, didn't seem concerned. He was too occupied with opening yet another pack eagerly while Stellan took the steps downward to explore various floors, descending into the building's depths.

  Revolver held in front of him, arms extended forward in a shooting stance, copying Terry's earlier movements in awkward fashion before descending. The weapon felt even more familiar to him now, natural in his grip. Stellan’s fingers instinctively knew where they needed to be to provide stability, while his trigger finger rested along the frame, straight and ready. He was surprised by this muscle memory, but this matter didn't bother him.

  As if to test the depths of his newfound knowledge, he then popped the revolver's cylinder open, something that he'd never done before in his life, yet executed with practiced ease, seeing that there were two bullets sitting side by side where seven empty chambers gaped vacant.

  He couldn't help but think, What if this revolver was the same one Terry used to shoot at me? The thought lingered uncomfortably, but for now he forcefully shoved it aside, determining that other more important factors should take precedence, survival first.

  By the looks of the slanting sunrays filtering through broken windows, it was around afternoon, although he couldn't decipher exactly how late. The humidity was just enough to make him sweat from mild movements, his shirt clinging to his back. Some of the trees beside the building were taller than the structure itself, towering giants, while other floors were invaded by the aggressive greenery with more intensity, a picture of nature consuming civilization.

  One floor down and he paused, glancing at the current floor, scouting carefully for anything that might help him survive. This floor was full of tables, although one could label them as scraps now, seeing that they were all whittled down to no further use, rotted and broken.

  At the far end was a counter that had a row of empty, opened cabinets, doors hanging loose on broken hinges. He mentally labeled this floor as a canteen, though there was no food in sight, long since scavenged or rotted.

  Another floor down and it was in the same depressive state compared to the ones above, decay everywhere. Except this floor had bullet marks poking the walls as well as tables that were arranged deliberately like a barricade, defensive positions.

  A gunfight? Stellan thought.

  It was the only conclusion he could draw. Is this where Terry used all his bullets? he asked himself, taking a cautious step inside the sad corridor, boots crunching on debris. He kicked the barricade down carelessly, sending it crashing to the floor where it made a loud clatter that echoed through the desolation. He then approached the bullet marks and traced them with his fingers, feeling the pockmarked concrete.

  Can't be… he reasoned, studying the pattern. He wasn't a gun expert, but there were too many bullet marks clustered in a similar spot, concentrated fire ,something a revolver couldn't produce, not with that kind of volume.

  Seeing that there was nothing else worth checking, no useful supplies, he decided to continue his descent.

  Reaching the ground floor, the sunlight was now completely hidden by the thick vines, branches and massive trunks of the trees that had invaded the space, creating perpetual twilight. The appearance of the ground floor resembled a reception area of some sort for a hotel, although it was far less inviting due to the advanced state of decay with everything covered in grime.

  He scanned the corners of the room methodically, his eyes sweeping for threats. There wasn't much for him to check beyond the obvious abandonment, except there was a trail of dried red that dragged along what appeared to be the building's exit, an evidently dark smear.

  It resembled the aftermath of an execution, and it looked far from fresh, days old at least. The only conclusion he could think of was that it might be connected to the desperate shout he'd heard a few hours earlier from the woman.

  Although by the looks of what he deduced to be blood, the sheer amount of it was too much for a person who was still alive, so that only led to another grim answer.

  The body was dragged outside, he thought, though he couldn't decide why the perpetrator had chosen to do so, what the purpose was…

  He then took his first careful steps forward, revolver aimed in front of him, finger now on the trigger. His eyes darted to every corner of the floor nervously, scanning for movement, while his anxiousness rose steadily with each step. Whoever was the source of the earlier shooting was probably close, closer than he wanted them to be.

  So he could only muster whatever fragile confidence he had to calm his fraying nerves while his legs shook slightly from the anxiety, trembling.

  One step.

  I should go back, he considered, there was no purpose in going outside but for some reason his feet says otherwise.

  Then another,

  But what if there’s a way out just outside this building?, Temptation continued, steadying his pace forward

  and another…

  Until his foot was now stepping directly on the dried red paint, sticky residue clinging to his sole. There were some blots of darkened, oxidized red and uneven stripes of red smeared across the pavement. He could vividly imagine the bits of flesh that had been removed from the dragging, scraped away, although it wasn't a thought he wanted to dwell on, so he pushed on.

  Another step, and his hybrid suit pants that served as breathable slacks were now being illuminated by the sun's rays breaking through the canopy, the dust motes dancing.

  Another long stride and he was getting close to the exterior of the building, almost to freedom.

  Another long stride, and that might have been the last one he ever took, when a blitz of violent impact hit the corner of the door frame which he was halfway through passing, shredding concrete fragments from the old building that exploded and clashed with Stellan's face, lacerating and wounding him with a stinging burn.

  The force threw his balance completely, sending him into a hard fall that started from the deafening noise of the bullet that had barely missed grazing his skull.

  "O… v… De…"

  "Ther… ne… The…"

  The ringing continued relentlessly in his mind, piercing and sharp. There was no sign of it stopping, and neither did his attackers' assault. Soon enough, Stellan realized the dire nature of the situation he was in. Despite still being disoriented from the initial impact showing from the stars in his vision, he mustered all his remaining strength and forced himself to stand, slipping and sliding on loose debris before finally getting his footing. He ran desperately toward the building's stairway despite the fresh stinging pain and sharp cracks of stone fragments still embedded in his bleeding face, each step agony.

  "OVER THERE!" a voice shouted.

  "He's over there!!!" another confirmed.

  The sniper's voice carried across the distance from the building's exit, coordinating the attack.

  The leader of the raiders and his five companions were still in the middle of their 'feminine' entertainment, when they heard a distant gunshot from the place they'd been stationed earlier.

  Hearing this interruption, the leader of the six-man group quickly devised a plan, thinking tactically. He decided to wait and ambush their target the moment they exited the building, patient predators.

  At first they saw a corpse freefalling from several floors above the aged building, plummeting down and splattering in the tall grass with a wet sound. This added caution to their approach, so they remained patient, watching and waiting.

  Soon, a few floors lower, there was smoke rising, subtle enough that only a trained eye could spot it, thin wisps. As if declaring that someone was definitely inside the building, occupying it. This made the group more determined and eager since their own rations were also dwindling rapidly.

  And finally, one of their targets came into view.a man who was still dressed in his corporate office attire, completely ill-fitting in this primitive world, standing out absurdly.

  The leader could have ordered the shot to be taken the moment Stellan was in the sniper's scope, crosshairs centered. But the branches and thick fauna were providing too much cover, obscuring the shot, and the sniper only had one chance to take him out discreetly to avoid drawing unwanted attention from other groups. So he decided that when his target was fully exposed in the open, he would eliminate him in one clean shot..

  This plan failed, although not entirely. The shot missed its mark but served a purpose.

  The gunfire signaled the beginning of a battle, initiating chaos.

  The leader commanded the rest of his team to infiltrate the building at once, bellowing sharp with urgency, desperately eager to claim their spoils and supplies.

  All in turn

  While one man observed the siege patiently from his hidden position in secrecy, watching everything unfold, waiting for his own opportunity.