George POV
Screams and squeaking sneakers faded to background noise buzzing in his ear. The corpse's face wasn't one he recognized, a brown haired boy with freckles and lifeless hazel eyes. Blood covered every surface, pooled on the floor and splattered across the wall. Brownish stains bore proof of hours passed since this heart last beat.
"He's torn in half..." George could barely believe his own eyes.
He covered his mouth with his bandaged hand, back bumping into Dream in an attempt to leave. The arm still held in his grasp immediately obliged, coaxing him from the room step by step.
Entering the bustling hallway, George turned to meet unreadable emerald eyes. He tightened his hold, waiting for the wall to fall. He wasn't used to not being able to read the emotions behind the dirty blond's striking irises.
Dream's eyebrows knit in thought, his entire body radiating tension.
"Dream?" George prompted. "Why are you making that face?"
"It's just... did you hear the door lock last night?"
He noticed too. "I didn't."
The dirty blond hummed, giving the open doorway one final dark glance. His emerald gaze traveled down the hall, occasionally pausing on something. "I think this place just got a whole lot more dangerous."
George followed his eyes, his spine turning rigid. Among the flurry of players, three other doors contained blood trails.
"You should eat." Chipped black polish nudged his tray closer, warm breath on his ear.
George glared at the mound of eggs —this time free of chemical smells— and shook his head. Around him, players flinched away from one another. They ate with their heads down, eyes darting warily. Some refused to eat, one or two even vomited at the sight of food. Guards clutched their weapons menacingly, intent on preventing fighting from breaking out.
"I'm fine, you should eat though." His gaze found the dirty blond's stomach, where bandages hid beneath a blue jacket. "You need to heal."
"So do you." Dream's hand gently cupped his hand, the same hand that wolf-monster had scratched him.
"Does it hurt?" George ignored the warmth swirling in his chest, his stomach twisting with worry for the dirty blond.
"Nahhh, I'm fine." Dream flipped the brunette's hand over, tracing the crisscross of bandages. He flashed a lopsided grin. "Thanks for patching me up, Georgie."
"I'm just glad you're back to normal, idiot." The confession slipped out before he could stop it.
His friend tilted his head, golden-streaked hair falling into his beautiful eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You were being weird." No point tiptoeing around it now. "In the hall."
He stared deep into emerald eyes, relieved to see crystal green staring back. He could see that underlying mischief, the shadows of worry, and tender warmth.
Dream sighed, breath slow and heavy. He wasn't irritated, or angry. Contrary, he appeared remorseful. "I don't like you seeing that."
He needn't clarify what "that" was. Four corpses, murdered in their private quarters. One torn in half, another with a slit throat.
A broken neck.
A puncture wound to the heart.
Thankfully, none of the dead were players they'd known personally, or even recognized.
YOU ARE READING
Let the Games Begin DreamNotFound
Mystery / ThrillerWhat would you do if you were cast into a game of life or death against your will? George found himself trapped in the horrors of this question when he was kidnapped by a stranger in a mask and full body suit. He awoke with other "players" to be fo...
