Game Pieces

Summary: In which two runaways stumble upon a broken home and find shelter in it and find themselves as players of a sick game for the Anonymous. Karma sucks. It really does.

Chapter one

There was a soft buzzing that soothed her rather than disturbed her. The faded images that came to her like a slideshow could have made her cry, and nonetheless did sometimes. She had a life before her... departure of sorts from home. In her half-asleep state, she squeezed her companion's hand softly, receiving an immediate reply of reassurance. A smile glaced on her face issued another soft squeeze from the others' as her companion hugged her tightly, as though to warm them both up from the coldness surrounding them and the unfamiliar surroundings.

There was peacefulness for once. There was an deathly ill silence all-around, one that made the buzzing in her ear louder as she came back to consciousness. She layed in her companion's arms for awhile, hugging him back with pure happiness. Her eyes opened to the chest of her sleeping companion. She hugged him tightly once again, comforted by his presence and glad of his existence.

Ever since her and her friend's runaway stunt, everything had been hectic. But the adrenaline of running away was nothing like she'd ever felt before. For that, she didn't regret her mindless decision of abandoning her home for the thrill.

At least, not yet.

The ever-so-slight light seeped through the thin sheets of the curtains, and much to her discontent, aimed at her face, urging her awakening to come quickly. She pressed her hands against the wooden boards of the floor and pushed herself up to comply in the light's call. She stretched her muscles, as much as it would to help her fatigue slowly extract from her body.

She lifted her companion's hand to sneak a peek at the time, reading it as 6:52am. She shook him awake, his arms moving as well. "Allen, we should head out now," she said, earning a small grumble.

"Time?"

"Almost 7," she replied, before sliding her hand down his arm and feeling a moist texture. She shrugged it off, thinking it as sweat and forgetting the contradicting thought.

Allen, a boy who grew with unique white hair, groaned, finding no will to move from his place. But in a contradictory act, he slid up the wall to feel a cold slimy feeling on his neck. His eyes opened quickly and pushed himself off the wall, turning around to look at the peeling wallpaper. His eyes squinted, for the sun was taking its time rising up and showing itself to the world once again. Darkened letters were slowly revealing itself as light poured into the ill-lighted room.

"What's wrong, Allen?"

"That," Allen pointed, pulling the girl away to show her the single sentence painted on the wall in a horrifying font.

In a color of a sick bloody color, the words splayed on the wall, "To devour... or to be devoured..." left a sudden incomprehensible horror in both hearts.

A missing area of a single letter indicated the area where both Lenalee and Allen slept last night. In a small realization, he slid his hands to his arms and his hair, meeting the same gooey substance he felt earlier. Knowing that he slept without suspecting a thing, and knowing that he was possibly touched by whoever or whatever did this, made his blood pump fast in displeasure. He was a light sleeper, and there was no way that could've happened without him waking up.

"What do you think it means?" Lenalee said in a strangled way.

Allen shook his head, pulling her into a protective hug, "I don't know, Lenalee, but I think we should leave. Now." They grabbed both of their bags, heading straight for the door before a resounded creak came from the floor above. Still with this sound, they moved ahead towards the door that issued a loud click of locking.

At this sound, they ran to the door, pulling on it harshly and succeeding with nothing. Allen kicked it with all his might, hoping to kick down the worn out door. It did not budge.

"This isn't possible," Allen said. "We're trapped in here."

Lenalee panicked, pounding on the door once again second after the last sentence Allen muttered. It couldn't be. They couldn't be trapped. The door's lock was broken, they checked before they stepped into the house!

This was not good. Not good at all. Lenalee honestly did not want to be stuck in a place like this and possibly die from starvation or fright, and she was absolutely sure Allen didn't either.

She kicked at the door again, hoping that it would get weaker and weaker as long as she kicked hard enough.

Allen however, leaned onto the wall, ruffling his hair, and hoped this was all an entire dream. He hoped it was all just a prank done by someone, who though it would be funny on their side of the story. A march of thumps filled his ear, suddenly alerting him once again, stopping Lenalee's attempts of breaking the seemingly weak entrance door, forcing her to listen carefully as the sounds became louder.

This was the part where Allen and Lenalee ran and hid, and did a bad job at it (which they realized and let themselves out in the open to face their fears).

Just before the stairs were a small army of filthy miniature toys, the size of a normal porcelain dolls.

Let your imagination roam, because I'm not going to tell you why they ran away unless I feel like it. -blows raspberries-

I plan to give you lot a gallon of suspense and more. (: BUCKLE UP? Hopefully, I'll get to the second chapter soon, along with chapter four of Blood on Their Hands.