Back from the dead, here is a new chapter from The Game. Made by me. Not owned by me. Sands/El not mine…
Much thanks to Jet, for the betaing:D
Layer two) Battle Royal Part I.
"It's time for The game, gentleman. Hope you're prepared and may I wish you luck."
"Shut up bitch." Sands mumbled. El didn't replies reply. He just stared emotionless at the white wall. He'd been reloading and removing the bullet since the moment he found the weapon. He had just one chance to succeed. If not it would be over. It would die a horrifying death. He would be killed because someone else had to. Not because they where enemies, no because some bastard said they had to. And that was what ate him, he never fought because he was told to. He fought for himself.
Sands didn't thought any different about the whole situation. Since the moment he got with the CIA he knew one thing for sure. He would never work for someone. He was too smart and cocky to listen to some dog barking orders at him. Of course he had to do that for a couple of years, but after that he was on his own. And because of the good training from the CIA he quickly knew his way with manipulating people. And he made use of those persons. He wasn't thinking of fighting the hard way, that's how you get killed easily. No, he let (others) fight for him.
"Here you go, guys. Have a nice time."
"Sounds we're going to freak'n Disneyland." Sands muttered. Somehow it didn't matter in what situating he got his sorry ass in, he always had to make a comment. Again, his way of life.
He heard El get up and was surprised he didn't get a short answer back.
A scratching sound just like yesterday echoed through the room and he figured that would be their door to doom.
"Guess, we're going then?" He grinned.
"No, we wait."
Sands frowned. "Why, all the action is at the end of the tunnel."
"And that's way we stay here. We have a very small chance out there."
Sands nodded, knowing El was meaning him. Kind of stung him because he never forgot how to shoot and he wasn't disabled as El p presumed. He was still deadly. Just the aiming began to rust since that day.
"Could be." He said and leaned against the wall.
"It's time for The Game, Gents."
"Yeah, we heard that but we don't feel much for dying, bitch."
"Last chance…""Burn in hell."
"Your funeral."
And the light went out. Confused El jumped up and cocked his head from side to side. "What are they doing?" He grasped the gun and the shield.
"Can you maybe tell the blind man what is going on?" Sands asked calmly but noticeable stressed.
"They turned off the light again."
"How scary…"
El ignored Sands and closed his eyes, focussing what was happening around him. He heard the breathing of the man behind him, his own heartbeat… and something he couldn't place well. It was a very soft sound, he was very sure he heard it before. Suddenly he smelled something and his eyes shot open. "It's GAS!"
"We have a winner… And El, next question, what goes very good with gas?"
El froze and Sands answered his question. "FIRE!" The chains rattled and El fell down.
"What are you doing!" He screamed furious. But he didn't get an answer. Sands dragged him through the door and tripped a feet down a stairs, making El following in the process.
El landed on his stomach and was about to get up and hit Sands. Right then a huge explosion followed and he had to duck down for the flames. Slowly he crawled forward feeling Sands' body next to him. In a corner they lay down and waited for safety. Painting they lay there, Sands his head down, El looking wide eyed to the flames.
Suddenly the cheerful woman's voice was back.
"Dear teams of The Game, can I have your attention for a moment please. Our last competitors joined this round. Because of this they won't get to hear what your weak and strong points are-"
"-Brilliant plan, El, shitsick!"
"These are the last playmates: Agent Sheldon J. Sands. Dismissed from the CIA, because of corruption and a slight handicap. Fast shooter, manipulative, about 5'9 and hard to kill. Second is El Mariachi, Legendary gunfighter. Very strong, excellent with a gun, 6'2 maybe. Well, this was my last message. Have fun ya'll."
El blinked with his eyes and looked around. Now the flames where gone he tried to get a good view from the space around him. Slowly he cocked his head up and looked over the edge of the stairs. All he saw was a long hall, here and there where torches lightened. The wall was different than the one in the first room. It was made of stone, not of iron. The whole view made it seem like a torture chamber from the medieval.
Slowly Sands got up right next to him. "Tell me what this looks like." Quickly El explained what he saw. "Nothing more?" Sands asked. El glared at the man. He noticed Sands looked total numb, no emotion visible on his face. He knew that face, frightened what was going to happen but trying to exile every fear for the outside. He figured he was wearing that mask too.
"Listen. You hold the gun, I cover with that thing. We have to come close, because I don't want you to waste that one bullet. You kill whoever it is and don't dare to think about you're conscience. Just shoot, you heard that bitch everything in here is our enemy. Kill or be killed. Understood?"
The words slowly printed in his brain. It was hard but true, whoever was in here was going to get killed. One team would survive. And he was going to be in that team. "Si."
"You're in this?" Sands looked forcing at him, making him directly stare at the dark glasses. Was he really going to trust this man, this rat? He sighted. "I'm in."
A firm smile appeared on Sands' face. "Good, 'cause I hear our first victim run to us."
Again it's a very short chapter. Guess, I need people their opinion to know if I should write further. Hope so, I kinda like Sands and El being forced to work together and kill some people.
Hope you liked it, Luzz Sue-AnneSparrow back from the dead