Friends With Benefits | Chishiya x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Eight

☆ In which your left arm suffers quite a bit actually. ☆

Explosions of sound shake the walls and you realise, with a profound sense of dread, that you don't know where you are.

At this point, you have been running for some time now. The paintings and plants had long since begun to blur together as you passed, and you barely register the sound of the floor beneath your feet anymore. You weren't exactly sure where you were running to; for once you hadn't thought things through all the way, and you had hoped a plan would magically form in your mind as you went. It's almost as if you are consumed by a new, primal instinct to run and never stop - for all you had felt so calm before, it disturbed you how the impact of every bullet seemed to grow closer even as you continued to run. They followed you like iron-clad footsteps, never quite disappearing no matter how many corners you turned. 

Every so often you throw a glance behind you, to make sure you really are alone. 

The militants had split up as per Aguni's order, to comb the hotel and burn any person they were to come by. Somewhere on the next floor down, gunshots are fired. You hear faint begging as people you don't know try to bargain something worth the price of their life, only for the next thing you hear to be a resounding bang as their pleas are shut down. You need to get away from here, fast; it was all too easy to imagine yourself in the same situation. There are only so many people on each floor and a frustrating number of militants, so it will only be a matter of time before one appears in your line of sight. Or behind you.

Paranoid, you shoot another look over your shoulder.

Where could be safe? You ask yourself, ducking under peeling woodwork as the hotel shudders. The accumulating worry is acrid and sticky, hanging off your shoulders like ribbons and pulling you into the floor. If you could just think of one place that might offer some sanctuary to the bullets flying around every corner, all you had to do was find out where you were now and calmly make your way there. 

Unfortunately, nowhere currently matched that heavenly description. 

You had first considered returning to your room and barricading the door until you had figured out a more foolproof solution, a plan you quickly abandoned after having realised it was riddled with holes. If the only thing standing between you and a gun was a flimsy hotel door, you didn't like your chances of survival. In your mind you run through the limited places you had frequented during your stay here, lacking the time to sift Chishiya out of every memory. Could the rooftop work? No, too risky. You would run the possibility of getting pushed over the edge, as well as there being little to no space to escape if the area was already populated by militants. 

You push through a partition leading to another corridor and stumble to a halt, breathing heavily. You are certain you had done easily enough running for the next decade or so, and place a hand on the nearby wall to steady yourself as you catch your breath. Surely, you had enough time to take a break before any militants came bursting through the doors.  

Now going into full recovery mode you sink down to the floor, back against the wall. The need to run forever and beyond dissipates into pure exhaustion once you drink in a few deep breaths. This game was so complicated - so much more than you had initially thought. It's true, you did appreciate a good challenge, but all this running was impeding your ability to think properly. The problem was not figuring out the identity of the witch; given time, you could be easily determine the culprit. The thing is, the one who needed to find out who the witch was is in fact, not you.

The frustrating reality of this game is that even if you did know who the witch was, it would have no impact on the game whatsoever. You are not an acknowledged figure at the Beach, and it was too much to bank on the people in this place calmly using their eyes and coming to a reasonable conclusion. Someone would have to serve the answer up to them on a silver plate, someone with authority who holds sway over the masses. This was the issue of playing a game in such a large group - the more the people, the more convincing needed to be done.