Chapter 36 Winona Bishop
Chapter thirty-six
Winona Bishop
Welcome To The Circus — FFDP
“I need to find the security room,” says Braxton as he swipes the key card over the tablet and waits for the gate to rise.
The second room was yellow—a game of lies.
The third was purple—a game of betrayal.
And now, the fourth room is neon red. The sign on the wall reads: kill or be killed. Find out which game you’ll play by passing through the fourth gate.
We stand in a small semicircle.
“That wasn’t in the blueprints,” I reply to Braxton. “The prison is shaped like the digital number 2 with endless rooms on both sides—some have signs, some don’t. There are ten gates in total. And only one exit. All I know is that there are two entrances, one through land and one through a stream.”
“Stream...” Mitch echoes, “Is it an actual stream or wordplay? It could be around a stream...”
“Wait,” I say as I calculate his words in my head. “Stream doesn’t necessarily mean liquid; it could mean air or gas.”
“Right,” Braxton confirms eagerly. “Like a stream of cold air. In order to ensure proper airflow, there must be vents, and if there are vents, there could be a large propeller somewhere to circulate the air and prevent the system from overheating.”
“So that’s not an entrance, that’s our exit,” I declare with a grin as the realization strikes.
“It’s your time to shine, Brax.” Mitch points to the gate. “We’ll search Reeve, you go and find that mysterious propeller.”
“No. You go together, and I’ll search Reeve. If we lose each other, we’ll meet at the sixth gate. If we come up empty-handed, we’ll keep going.”
“Copy.”
They say together.
Once the fourth gate is lifted and we step through it, a heavy metal song blares from the speakers.
Red neon lights illuminate the semi-dark corridor.
Kill or be killed.
Gunshots blast throughout the prison. Chopped off screams reverberate and are followed by groans of pain.
I duck just as a brick flies over my head and shoot the man in front of me. He collapses onto the floor, plunging into a crimson pool, and that’s when I realize there are a dozen dead bodies scattered through the entrance.
The stale smell of feces and urine assaults my nose.
I grimace in disgust.
“Oh, god, it smells like puke in here.” Braxton makes horrible retching sounds. “There’s a dead rat in here, too.”
“Pretend like it doesn’t exist,” Mitch utters between gags.
I naively thought it was a prison with a torture system that extracts information from criminals, but it’s a rage-induced chaos.
Mitch opens a blue door, and we file inside.
The room is vacant.
A single light bulb hangs in the center.
“Don’t stay for too long or you’ll lose,” I read the message on the demising wall.
“Let’s divide and conquer,” Mitch commands in a confident tone, “We should cover as much ground as we can. Just open the doors, peek inside, and move on.”
“I know there are torture rooms called The Dungeons. Reeve has to be there. The security room could be anywhere.”
“Agreed,” Braxton says, opening the door. We stealthily walk back down the wide, long corridor.
Thick smoke begins to seep in from the vents in the high ceiling.
I move ahead, checking the doors on the right while Braxton and Mitch take the left side. Panting, I take short breaths as I keep going. Most rooms are empty, and some are equipped according to a theme, like the diner room and playroom.
It’s like walking through someone’s twisted mind; even when it feels like a childhood memory, it’s painted in violence.
My heart beats out of my chest as the tension rises.
The clock is ticking. I don’t know what this man will do to him, and it might already be too late.
I hope it’s not too late.
We can spend hours just searching.
I twist the handle of a red door. The room is a dance floor with another pink door inside. I run toward it and pull it open.
A woman hides in the corner, arms over her head to protect herself. “Please, I won’t kill you,” she pleads and snivels. “I just want to survive this round and get out of here.”
“Okay,” I calm her, “I’m not going to hurt you. What do you mean by rounds? Can the games change in the middle?”
“Yes,” she confirms in a choked voice, slowly daring to peek at me. Her brown hair falls over her face. Her eyes are tired and swollen. Subtle wrinkles mark her forehead and the corners of her eyes. She appears to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties. “They might. They don’t always change.”
“Do you know where the dungeons are?”
She licks her chapped lips as she contemplates.
“After the sixth gate, but you don’t want to go there. They always catch those who wander and torture them.”
“Who are they?” I ask.
She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself again.
“Thank you,” I say, then rush out of the room back to The Hall.
The rapid gunfire is coming quickly as I sprint down the foggy corridor.
I hit something, slip, and fall onto the floor headfirst. Liquid splashes all around me. A metallic scent envelops me. The taste of copper coats my lips. Fuck. I push up to my knees when the blood puddle squishes beneath my hands.
The incessant whir of a chainsaw grabs my attention. As my gaze slices up, a head drops to the floor with a sickening thud a few feet away. Blood drips down the cutting chain.
My eyes widen in horror as I glance around me, a sea of decapitated heads and body parts surrounds me.
What the fuck…?
Aghast, I yank the rifle slung over my back and curl my finger around the trigger as a shoe emerges from the thick veil of smoke. A man wearing a creepy, furry bear mask speckled with blood and torn pieces runs toward me. A bunny and a clown follow right behind him, carrying a machete and an axe.
I fire, bullets whizzing past them until I run out. One is hit in the chest, another in the thigh. The third dodges the bullets and charges at me. I discard the spent magazine and load a new one.
“Lights out!” a woman screams at the top of her lungs.
The corridor plunges into darkness.
I roll over, scramble to my feet, and run down the left side, nearly tripping over bodies until I’m yanked into a room.
I elbow the person who catches me, grab his junk, and squeeze it hard.
“Okay…” he says in a pitchy high voice.
“Mitch?”
He clears his voice as I let go of him.
“Yeah, I need a minute,” he says in a weak voice.
“Sorry.” I wrinkle my nose.
“It’s all good. I get it. The heat of the moment. You just saw a lot of dead people.”
“Where’s Braxton?”
“He found a map on his phone, and apparently, he has a hunch. I think he said something about a kitchen. I wasn’t the best listener when these lunatics tried to behead us.”
“Where’s the fifth gate?”
“Around the corner.”
“Are you ready to go?” I ensure with an apologetic tone and a small grin that he cannot see. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m good,” he replies in a soft, understanding tone. Searching his vest, he clicks something, and a light trail appears between us, revealing his wide grin and night vision goggles.
That was a rookie move, not taking one too.
He pulls the door open, and we sprint toward the gate. I press the key card against the tablet, and we enter the fifth section.
“Get down!” Mitch shouts, crouching down and firing as a group of prisoners lunges in our direction. Their unhinged faces freeze as bullets pierce their foreheads, and red trickles slowly.
I shoot the last one.
This place is not what I expected, far from it. I thought operators supervised them, but apparently no one does. They are forced to participate in these sick games. Some of the bodies on the floor look so young. I’m not even sure they are criminals at all.
Everything has been a game to James so far, and this is no different. This place could be just like what Reeve told me he saw when he went after Third Eye. If James can do that to a few hundred, with enough time and preparation, he can do that to... millions.
We run through a pool of water emerging from a black door, gradually flooding this shorter corridor.
“Fuck you and your sick morals. Want to hit me again? Go ahead.”
I startle as Reeve’s voice booms in my ear.
Shit.
“Reeve…”
A shaky breath escapes me.
He’s alive.
“I’m trying to put some sense into you, son,” says a second sneering voice.
Son?
“You were never my dad, and you never will be.” The fury in Reeve’s voice is palpable.
A roar draws my attention, and I shoot at a bearded man holding a knife. The psychotic glare in his eyes is the last thing I see before he plunges into the knee-high pool, splashing water onto my stained clothes.
The temperature drops.
Our steps grow heavier as we try to reach the sixth gate. I bring the key card to the tablet when a throaty scream tears through my ear.
“Reeve!” I scream back.
My stomach drops, and my heart races wildly. My breaths are barely audible; I don’t even know if I’m actually breathing as I dash through the gate and yank the doors open one after another.
I wince as something tears into my skin, blood rushing out of the gash in my hand. My eyes snap to the barbed wire on the door. I pull out my pocket knife, rip my sleeve, and wrap it tightly around the wound.
I don’t have time for this.
“Don’t move,” says a voice behind me. Soft. Tired. Womanly. “Or I will hurt your friend.” She sounds like the woman I talked to.
The cold feeling of metal against my nape freezes me.
“Mitch,” I murmur.
“He’s here, but one wrong move and I’ll shoot him.” She pauses. “Point blank. He will die instantly.” The cocking of a gun echoes.
“Fine. What do you want?”
“Start walking,” she commands, “both of you.”
We follow her instructions. Mitch walks beside me. We exchange glances as we go through a door with iron bars resembling a cell.
“I brought you something,” the woman proudly announces as we enter the room. Reeve’s head snaps toward me, eyes meeting mine. Blood drips down his face. His hands are shackled. He looks tired, angry, and in pain.
I keep a straight face for him. For me. For us.
“I love you,” I mouth.