Alice in Borderland: The Cycle Continues

33) Ten of Hearts [3] ✮

Time left: 3 hours
Players left: 19/25
Militants: 4
Players captured: 10/15

===Rafferty Bucke===

Darkness enveloped my senses. I groaned, my head light and fluttering. My skull pounded, and thigh throbbed, as a warm liquid crept its way down my ankles, soaking into my socks. The pain ebbed in my flesh in constant waves, like a drumbeat.

My mind picked up, and I sat straighter. I called to my other senses–smell, hearing, and taste. I was gagged, a bundle of musky fabric shoved into my mouth. I strained my ears, though nothing could be made out past the perpetual ringing.

Tinnitus. In movies, characters always seemed to be utterly unfazed by gunshots; it was just now it became apparent just how detrimental exposure to gunfire was.

I shook my head, some of the ringing fading as time ticked on. My brain fogged; I reached back, thinking of the events leading to my capture. Me and Natsuki had held a defense against the militants whilst the others tried to ram down the door barricades. They broke through, and as I ran, I was sliced in the thigh. The last thing that happened was me dropping to the floor, crawling towards the exit, as a shooter struck me in the head with the butt of his gun.

Huffing, I honed in on my hearing, the one sense I had left which could allow me to survey my surroundings. I strained through the ringing, picking up the traces of noises lingering throughout where I sat.

A cough. A cry. A sniffle. Faint chatter.

A door opening. A gasp.

"Rafferty!"

The voice was Gabura's. I screamed. I kicked. My chair hopped in small increments across the floor, as a fist jabbed my thigh. I screamed again, this time in agony, as a voice leaned into my ear.

"Stop. Talking."

I quieted down, my breathing heavy from the blow, as the man who struck me turned, which I presumed from his ruffling clothes.

"Let's take him next." He said.

A moment later, my chair was dragged across the floor, as the door opened again. I remained silent, noting the right turn, and we entered a new room. My chair was set still, and my blindfold was ripped off.

My captor had a scarred face, a wounded arm, and short, dirty black hair. His number was six; he was one of the men that offloaded our supplies.

"Let's start with something simple," He said, "and potentially spare you of any trouble. Are you the Enemy?"

"No." I said, my voice firm. "N-No."

He scoffed, grabbing a scalpel. "Alright, newcomer. Let's see how that holds up."

"So is that your p-plan?" I asked. "Just torturing every single player until one potentially c-comes clean? Do you have any idea how idiotic that is? The Enemy l-likely w-won't even confess!"

"That's what we're going to make sure of." He said. "Make each person suffer to the point that the Enemy would rather give the code and die then continue the torment."

"And if th-the Enemy of one of y-you guys?"

That gave him pause as he arranged his instruments. "I know I'm not the Enemy. I'm also the strongest man in the hospital. If it comes down to it, I believe I can overpower the other militants and give them the same treatment too."

"So then wh-why enact this type of violence?" I pressed further. "Aoyama's idea of g-gathering leads and alibis as a group is on par with the militant's m-massacre in terms of effectiveness, yet puts no one at a higher p-power. If you ask me, it s-seems the most suspicious is you."