Chapter 4: Gearing Up
Player: Urameshi Yusuke
Squad: Urameshi, Hibana
0 Kills
95 Alive
Hibana entered the warehouse like a career criminal might breach a vault.
Cautious. Controlled. Calculated.
A ghost on silent feet.
Yusuke would've said she moved like a man, but that was a load of misogynist crap, because Genkai had that exact same quality. A surety in her step. A heaviness in her heel. Like she was trained for this. Like she could more than handle any danger lurking inside the warehouse's bland walls.
Like she was a killer even other killers had best fear.
Yusuke associated it with men because it was how Hiei sauntered, how Kurama strode whenever he stopped pretending to be harmless Minamino Shuichi, how the hundreds of demons Yusuke had met over the last nine years walked, but it wasn't just a guy thing. The female badasses he'd encountered possessed it, too.
The rest of them didn't hold their hand like Hibana did, though.
It was her right hand, tucked down by her hip, the fingers extended forward and fanned out. Kinda like an invisible baseball rested in her palm.
Yusuke got the sense that if she flicked her wrist, whatever lurked in the space between her fingers wouldn't be invisible anymore, and if asked to bet on what it might be, he'd wager he'd seen it before—a ball of blurring, crimson light, same as the energy she'd used to detonate the bomb over his head an hour ago, preventing it from making landfall.
For his part, Yusuke tried to be as silent as she was.
Tried being the key word.
When he was equipped with his energy, he could move nearly as noiselessly as Hiei—not Kurama and his foxy grace, but still, Yusuke had gotten pretty damn good, if he had to say so himself. But now? He was clumsy as a newborn horse, a big, fumbling idiot inside a body that no longer fit him right.
And he fucking hated it.
Hibana had definitely noticed. There was no way she hadn't. But she seemed intent on ignoring him, her focus locked entirely on the warehouse's side door as she eased it open. Even under her gentle touch, the hinges whined, and she breathed an impressively vile curse, but a second later she was over the threshold, slipping into the shadows within, and Yusuke scrambled to follow.
The door opened into a cavernous space, metal shelving racks toppled everywhere he looked, crates and boxes scattered across the floor, their contents spilling onto the unfinished concrete. Weak light from distant, dusty skylights two stories above provided the only illumination.
Hibana spoke in a whisper, "Seems deserted. Doesn't mean it is. Keep close. Within earshot." Her dark eyes cut sideways, her brows arcing downward. "Not shouting earshot. Whisper earshot. Got it?"
What he wanted to say was that he was already sick of her bossing him around, that he took orders about as well an untrained bull—and that he was just as nasty.
What he actually said was: "Roger that."
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't address his sarcastic mutter. Instead, she slipped around the legs of a collapsed shelf and murmured, "Gather anything that looks even remotely valuable. Backpacks. Clothes. Weapons. Food. Canteens. Med kits. Anything and everything. We can toss what we don't need later."
As if to prove her own point about the lengths to which he should scavenge, she stopped next to a heap of rubble, pulled a gray t-shirt out from beneath a soggy, cardboard box, and yanked off the tattered scraps of her coveralls. Beneath, she wore only a sports bra and underwear, but she tugged on the shirt, then found a pair of black, durable pants ten feet farther on and drew those up over her bare legs.
It was all so business-like, done like it was the most normal thing in the world to strip naked in front of some jackass she'd just met. She never glanced at Yusuke once, didn't even seem to care that he could've been perving out over her body.
Her complete disinterest turned the ordeal from something that could've been thoroughly hot into an experience pretty much identical to changing in a locker room during junior high. He'd sooner have gawked at Kuwabara's junk than been turned on by Hibana's brisk strip down.
Which was probably for the best.
If these Grounds were as threatening as she said they were, getting distracted by sexy girls was the last thing he needed.
"Get searching, Urameshi," she murmured when he stayed stationary. "I want out of here in the next half hour."
"Right. Shit. On it."
She tossed him a look and sealed a finger over her lips. No anger heated her gaze, just disapproval and the same flat, even-keeled focus that had filled her since the moment she stepped out of cover back outside. Wincing, he realized how loudly he'd responded.
Damn it.
He shrugged apologetically, and a mantra of further swears ran on repeat across his tongue, but he trapped them all behind his teeth as he set about unearthing clothes. Piece by piece, he found a full get up, stockpiling it all as he collected other gear he stumbled across and shoved the lot into a canvas backpack Hibana tossed his way.
First came brown pants that had been strewn across an empty patch of concrete. Then a powder blue, long-sleeved shirt he retrieved from the top level of the only standing shelving unit he could see in the whole warehouse. Last of all, a set of drab sneakers he dug out of a crate.
He expected none of it to fit. After all, the pieces Hibana had grabbed seemingly at random had fit her snugly, and she was skinnier than he was. But when he pulled the shirt over his head, it sat perfectly around his shoulders, just the right degree of tailored not to restrict his movement, but also not so loose that it'd snag on passing obstacles once they returned to the forest. Same with the pants. No belt even necessary.
Which could've been great luck.
But the unease prickling across his neck made him doubt it.
"How'd we both manage to find outfits just the right size?" he asked, pitching his voice as low as he could.
Hibana didn't pause in rifling through a crate, shoving packets of dried food into a backpack hanging off her right shoulder. "The Grounds aren't a real place, Urameshi. The rules of physics don't apply." Stuffing a final pouch into her bag, she swung his way. "Anything you find will be perfect for you."
The goosebumps on his neck crept down his spine. "Why?"
"Because the Gamerunner doesn't care how good you are at scrounging for clothes. He wants to see a fight." Her gaze skipped away, and he waited in silence until it returned. When it did, her eyes glinted like steel. "This is a battle royale, not a shopping simulator."
Yusuke hefted his backpack, rattling the contents at her. "Then why are we grabbing all this shit? Why not get out there and fight our way out of here?"
She scoffed one low, heated exhale, then wove through the mess until she was right at his side. "You want to find your friends, don't you? Well, how do you plan to do that if you're dead?" Before he could answer, she drew closer still, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You have no energy, Urameshi. I do. Other players will. But you don't. Before we can find your friends, before we can 'fight our way out of here,' you need to be armed. That starts with basic supplies. Then we get you energy. Then we take on the field."
The condescension in her tone made him want to punch something. Her, preferably.
But he hadn't missed her threat.
She had energy. He didn't.
"Why do you still have powers when I don't?" he asked, straining to keep his voice as quiet as hers.
Without a word, she pulled back the finger she'd prodded him with. Her hand took on that odd shape from before, fingers extended forward and spread out as if to clutch a ball. This time, though, they weren't empty.
Red energy hovered over her palm. Six spheres of it total, five smaller ones rotating around a stationary center.
"You mean this?" she asked.
He jerked his chin in a sharp nod.
The spheres faded, her fingers falling open. "And this?"
As she spoke, she melded out of sight. Disappeared as if she'd never existed, like she was just some mirage his dying brain had conjured up to make his passing less pitiful. She definitely hadn't moved. Just poofed into oblivion, leaving only her soft, musical voice in his ears.
But as quick as she'd vanished, she returned.
Her hand moved to her throat, and she tugged on two chains he hadn't noticed before, pulling a pair of dog tags free from the collar of her new shirt. They tumbled against her chest, twin silver rectangles, thin with rounded corners. Across each, a number had been engraved.
006 and 041.
"When players enter the Grounds," she said, "their skills are stripped away and embedded in tags like these. Find a tag and equip it, and you get its power. Simple enough—if you can actually find a tag." She tapped a nail against the first nameplate, the one etched with a 006. "I got lucky. I found my own." The spheres of energy appeared in her palm again, then dissolved once more. "41 was a fortunate find."
"The teleporting?"
"More like cloaking. Or, as I like to call it, ghosting."
Yusuke ground his teeth together. "And what the fuck does that mean?"
"It doesn't teleport me. Just renders me imperceptible for short periods of time. Or, to be technical, shifts me to a different plane. In other words, cloaking."
Teeth still clenched, he frowned as she tucked the dog tags back beneath her shirt. "How'd you manage to get two powers already?"
"More dumb luck, I guess. I woke up near them."
"And you just so happened to know your energy would come back if you put them on?"
She snorted. "Of course not." Hoisting her backpack onto both shoulders, she started combing through the scattered supplies again. "I knew what the Grounds were before I ever ended up here."
"How?"
No answer came, and though Yusuke wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake it out of her, he knew that would get him nowhere, so instead he returned to scavenging, ranging farther across the warehouse in search of supplies, not even bothering to keep her close. Screw her rules about staying in whisper earshot. Screw her orders, period.
And screw this whole damn place for that matter.
By the time they reunited at the far wall of the warehouse, he'd filled a second backpack with supplies and managed to leverage them both onto his back. Her own bag was fit to bursting, and he had to imagine they'd picked this place clean of anything worth having.
Hibana had acquired a jacket at some point. Its black contours hugged her shoulders, the fabric thick and heavy, especially around her torso, and it reminded him of a bulletproof vest, padded and reinforced against trauma. The sleeves were thinner, more flexible, and it had a hood she'd drawn up over her hair. Beneath its hem, her face fell into shadow.
It was only as she led him to a side door that formed a mirror image of the one through which they'd entered that she finally answered him.
She paused there, on the threshold, one hand on the doorknob, ready to return them to the wilderness outside and the late afternoon sun. With the door cracked, a blade of sunlight lanced across her face, banishing the shadows beneath her hood.
"You asked how I knew of the Grounds… Let's just say I ran in the wrong circles, Urameshi." She yanked the door open, ignoring its squealing hinges. "Eventually, they closed in on me. Now I'm here. Just like you."
That was it.
All the explanation she was willing to give
But as she slunk beyond the warehouse, head on a swivel, ready for anything, he couldn't shake the feeling that, no, she was nothing like him.
Player: Kuwabara Kazuma
0 Kills
93 Alive
Kuwabara debated making camp at the top of the hill.
The sun had started setting by the time he finished picking over the meager supplies littered among the ruins, but in the end, all his rooting through the loose scree only turned up a heap of junk. A few rolls of bandages. Some pill bottles. Painkillers, maybe? Two of what seemed to be energy drinks. The language printed across the aluminum cans—Russian, possibly—was illegible to him, and he couldn't begin to work out why the heck someone had tossed unopened cans around a deserted fire pit.
But then, none of this really made any sense, so the littering habits of strangers probably weren't important.
The best gear he'd found still came from that first chest he'd opened, but he piled the rest into his pack regardless, hauled it over his shoulder, and then loitered, uncertain where to go. Even though the hill had been safe so far, he doubted it would stay that way. It was too exposed, and high ground was only an advantage if he had the means to hold it.
Which Kuwabara most definitely did not.
At least, not right now.
Still, he hesitated.
Where could he go instead? Everywhere he'd tried so far had just turned up bloodthirsty enemies. Bombs to the south, the beach strangler to the north, the woman with the glowing fists to the east.
That left only the unexplored west.
Traversing that way would mean abandoning the hill entirely. Even from the midst of the ruins, he could tell this plateau began to slope down not far westward. That route necessitated losing his vantage point—and it would probably make him stupidly vulnerable to attack.
But it wasn't like he had other options.
And so, clutching the serrated knife he'd found, wishing desperately for his Spirit Sword instead, Kuwabara left the ruins, striking out toward the setting sun. As he reached the last of the rubble, he paused a final time and turned back, frowning at the scattered stones spread across the clearing.
Most likely, he wasn't coming back here. He'd gathered everything he could, and even if he hadn't, it didn't offer much in terms of protection. There was no telling how big the island was, but it had to have hideouts better than this one.
Yet…
Just because he wouldn't return didn't mean Yusuke or the others might not stumble across this place. If they did, it'd be awfully dumb not to leave a clue behind for them.
But what?
What sign could he leave that would direct them, but not anyone else? He had no personal belongings left. He didn't have his energy. He didn't have anything.
There had to be something, though. He may not be Kurama, but he was still smart. He could work out a hint—some symbol only the guys would get.
The last crimson rays of the sunset were slanting across the ruins, gilding the crumbled walls in buttery light. If he didn't act quick, he'd have nothing but washed out moonlight to work with, and that would do him no good if he was trying to leave behind a sign. He needed something fast. He needed—
Something like the red shirt wedged under a rock to his left.
In the gathering twilight, the fabric looked almost purple, but once he yanked it free and held it up, blowing dirt from the cloth, it was crimson, sure enough.
Red.
Like the red string of fate.
The one he'd once thought tied him to Yukina—and even if he knew better now, even if it hadn't worked out between them, he knew a red thread linked him to someone. It had to.
The guys knew that. Yusuke rolled his eyes at it, and Kurama only ever gave Kuwabara that pitying smile he hated, and Hiei met any mention of the string of fate with his usual derisive rage—though less so these days than he once had—but no matter which way Kuwabara cut it, they knew about the string. They'd associate it with him.
Wouldn't they?
Hopefully.
He had nothing else to go on. Red string would have to do.
Unsheathing the serrated knife, he hacked a strip off the shirt, then shoved the rest of the fabric into the side pocket of his backpack. As the last of the sun disappeared below the horizon, he crossed to the tallest support column left amongst the rubble and tied the shred of cloth around a jutting length of rebar.
When Kuwabara stepped back, a helpless laugh bubbled on his lips. The cloth was so tiny, so easily missed. Sighing, he grabbed up a sharp-edged stone and carved a rough W into the pillar. If one of the guys managed to spot the string—and that was a really big damn if—maybe they'd come close enough to see the W and realize he'd headed west.
Maybe.
Probably not.
But maybe.
For now, that'd have to be enough.
Player: Urameshi Yusuke
Squad: Urameshi, Hibana
0 Kills
89 Alive
Six more combatants had died.
Hibana explained the counters Yusuke could see in the corner of his eye while leading him east, down the steep hillside they'd climbed to reach the warehouse. The top line displayed how many players he'd killed; the bottom, how many remained alive.
How twisted was that?
It was exactly the kind of shit that fucked people up in the head. Because, yeah, Yusuke had killed before—Toguro, Sensui, nameless demons he'd gone out of his way not to count—but he'd never had that number shoved in his face. It wasn't something he dwelled on, and it sure as hell wasn't something he was proud of. Yet there was that counter, hovering at the edge of his vision, and once he killed—and Hibana made it painfully clear that he inevitably would—that number wouldn't leave him until he escaped this hell.
Heck, there were probably already other contestants with tallies on their vision. Not just zeroes, but actual kill counts. Some of the eleven who'd died may have fallen to bombs like he nearly had, but Yusuke doubted death-by-demented-explosive-meteor-shower accounted for all of them.
Those deaths had to happen at someone's hands.
And now, only eighty-nine players remained.
He almost snorted.
Only eighty-nine. Yeah-fucking-right.
As if there weren't still eighty-five bastards left who wanted him dead—or eighty-four, depending on how Hibana factored in. Separated from his team and stripped of his spirit and demon energy, that number was staggeringly high.
As much to distract himself as anything, Yusuke cleared his throat and drew Hibana's attention. "Where are we headed?" he murmured once she hummed in acknowledgment.
From the warehouse, they'd gone due east, ditching the setting sun at their backs. It had fallen below the summit of the hill—or they had; whatever—an hour ago, and now only the rising moon was left to guide them. The pale moonlight did little to illuminate the underbrush that had sprung up as they descended further down the hill, and Yusuke's every step had become a plunge into the unknown. If he didn't break an ankle during this hike, it'd be a fucking miracle.
"To the coast," she said, sparing him a glance. In the dark, with her hood still pulled up, she'd morphed into a ghoul, her features completely lost to the shadows. "We'll follow it south."
"Why not just go south now?"
"The ocean will protect one of our sides. The surf gives us one less vulnerability to worry about."
Ducking beneath a low-hanging branch, Yusuke squinted ahead, trying to spot the glint of moonlight off water. He discovered nothing but inky darkness. "What's stopping us from making a break for it? I bet we could find a boat if there're houses on the water, then leave the Grounds entirely."
Hibana's laugh hissed like the wind through the pine needles overhead. "There will be boats, sure. But you can't sail out of the Grounds, Urameshi. This place isn't real. It won't let you go."
"You've said that already. Yet it's trying to off me, so what's the deal? How can I die here if it isn't actually real?"
"You ask too many questions."
"You don't give any answers."
She shook her head. "Look, I'm just trying to get us somewhere safe, somewhere we can ride out the night, then I'll happily tell you every little detail you need to know. In the meantime, if you can manage to keep your voice down, I'll answer what I can—but know that if we die, I'm pinning it squarely on your shoulders."
"Duly noted." A bush they passed caught at his Yusuke's, leafless branches snagging in the cloth—so much for the close-fitting fabric preventing that—but he jerked free and said, "First question, same as before: how can we die here if this place isn't real?"
Her answer took long seconds to manifest, and when it did, it wasn't really an answer at all. "What do you remember before waking up? As in, right before."
He wracked his memory, trying to draw up anything more than that asshole in the Special Defense Force uniform who'd captured him. What happened after the man hauled him down the hall? There'd been weird noises. Metallic clacking. Hissing air. Then padded cushions beneath his back.
"I was put in a machine," he said slowly. "Like one of those big rigs they use to scan people for cancer—except I don't think the bastard who threw me in there was concerned about my health."
Hibana didn't laugh, but Yusuke thought he could hear traces of mirthless humor in her voice as she answered. "Rig is a surprisingly good word for it. What you were put in is called an Immersion Chamber, and in turn, it placed you here, in the Unknown Grounds. In essence, this is virtual reality. Except the dying isn't virtual. If you flat-line in the Grounds, your Immersion Chamber will deliver a fatal toxin to your system. Die in this fake body, and you die in real life, too."
A chill rippled up Yusuke's forearms. "Why?"
"Stakes, Urameshi. You've got to have a reason to care about the fight." One of her hands, covered by a fingerless glove he hadn't seen her find, slipped inside her hood, rubbing at what he guessed might be her forehead. "What better way is there to force your investment than putting your life on the line?"
"That's fucked up."
"Yup."
Grimacing, he clambered over a rock jutting from the earth. "Next question, then. How'd you end up in here?"
A beat of quiet stretched between them. Then, she picked up her pace, and he had to rush to keep up, crashing through the undergrowth.
"I don't know," she said. "My memory is hazy."
"That makes two of us."
The woods opened up suddenly, spitting them out onto the last, rocky stretches of the hill's slope. At last, the ocean took shape ahead, moonlight shining off rolling waves. They were probably still half a mile out from the water, but from their vantage point, Yusuke could see the shore stretching for ages to the south. To the north, the shoreline curved, arcing back to the west.
"Is this an island?" he asked, startled.
"Two of them, technically." Hibana loped down the rocks, all but racing now that they'd put the forest behind them. He gave chase. "We're on the larger of the two, but if you want a dog tag and energy, the best place to grab one is the southern island. We'll head there tomorrow."
"So you know this place that well, huh?" The backpacks Yusuke had stuffed with supplies thudded against his spine with every step, jarring, kicking the breath from his already pathetic lungs, but he refused to let Hibana pull ahead. "You knew about the tags, and you already know the layout of this hell hole. Yet you still let yourself get stuck in here?"
"It wasn't a choice, Urameshi."
"Right. Duh. But still. If I had even a clue what that asshole was planning for me, he never would have caught me."
"You keep referencing a single person," she said, slowing her blistering run a notch so she could look at him properly. "Do you know who put you here?"
Nose crinkling, Yusuke glared at the rapidly approaching waterline, his feet thudding against the loose shale the hill had given way to. "I may have mucked that part up."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Look, it's a long, stupid story, but me and my team were supposed to be catching this rogue, criminal guy who'd betrayed Spirit World. I should've paid attention during the briefing, but paying attention isn't really my thing…"
"So you know nothing about who got you."
Not a question.
He nodded anyway. "That about sums it up."
"Well, it sounds like the Gamerunner. If he put you in the Immersion Chamber, I don't know who else it could've been." Hibana huffed a snorting laugh. "Spirit World shouldn't have sent you against him unprepared—even if that lack of preparation was your own fault."
She said Spirit World like she was intimately familiar with it. A bit irreverent. Scornful in the way he usually was whenever Koenma and his goons came up.
Which was simultaneously weird and not weird. Clearly, she was good at this shit. She had spirit energy, she knew what the Grounds were, and she wasn't bothered by his casual mentions of demons or Spirit World. All of that made some sort of jumbled sense, even if he had to make some leaping assumptions along the way.
But he couldn't work out where she fit between all those pieces.
Nothing was lining up right. None of the clues were jigsawing together to form Keiko's precious boundaries of the puzzle, and without anything to guide him, Yusuke couldn't place Hibana amongst the mess.
Who was she? Human? Demon? Something else?
He'd still put his money on human—but with an edge. A half-hidden sharpness that could cut an unsuspecting victim to smithereens before they'd even realized they were bleeding.
And already, just hours into knowing her, he wanted to know why.
In the wake of her dig at Koenma, another lull overtook them, holding until the ground leveled off entirely and they hit the shore's sandy expanse. Then, just as she had outside the warehouse, Hibana sank into that low, alert stance, her hand ready to summon those strange spheres of hers at any moment.
She pointed ahead with her left hand, guiding his eyes to a tiny shack farther down the beach. "That'll do for the night."
Yusuke frowned at it, unimpressed by its sloping, sagging roof and rundown walls. "Really? That's our mighty stronghold?"
Not pausing to humor him, Hibana slunk down the beach, head on a constant swivel. "Once we're inside, we'll see the enemy coming long in advance, and come sunup, we'll follow the shoreline south. It's exactly the hiding spot we need."
Yusuke wasn't so sure he bought that, but he knew a fellow stubborn mule when he met one, and arguing with her wasn't worth the breath he'd waste. Yet even though he knew that, like he always seemed to with her, he had a question.
"How are you so good at this?"
With her back to him and her hood up and the wind playing tricks all around them, her voice could've come from anywhere and everywhere. The low, breathy laugh that accompanied it sent rippling shivers up his spine. "I've had tactical training, Urameshi." A second laugh chased the first into the night, but this one was throatier, full of not-so-hidden menace.
It set his heart racing.
"This is what I was made for."
AN: I finally got up the post about PUBG's inspiration for this fic earlier this week, and I also tossed up a mood board for the story, which was extremely fun to put together. It's got panes for each of the boys and Hibana, plus some general, story-oriented images. Find all that over at hereafteryyh on tumblr!
Additionally, the lovely, wonderful WistfulSin recommended a song to me for Hibana, and HOLY CRAP, it is so perfect for her. I listened to it on repeat while cleaning up this chapter. It's "Battlefield" by Svrcina. Check it out if you're interested!
Big, bombastic thanks to the fantastic folks who reviewed last chapter: Laina Inverse, WistfulSin, backoff22, and Shell1331.