The Last Promise

Dread filled my body. 

Silence filled the air, as I stood there shaking in pain. 

I didn't want to look behind; whoever they were, they could be aiming that weapon directly at me now.

"Hands in the air," a voice said behind me. The voice…was childlike.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears. Slowly, I raised my hands, my fingers trembling in the air. The chainsaw dangled uselessly from my grip, slick with sweat and blood.

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the artificial lights overhead. My breath came in shallow gasps as I forced myself to turn my head slightly, just enough to glimpse my attacker out of the corner of my eye.

Small. That was my first thought. The silhouette standing behind me wasn't tall enough to be an adult. The figure barely reached my shoulder. But that didn't mean they weren't dangerous. The steel ball that had ripped through Locker Boy's skull was proof of that.

"Turn around. Slowly."

I obeyed, twisting on shaky legs.

And then I saw them.

A child—no older than eleven—stood there, gripping a slingshot so tightly their knuckles had gone white. Their tattered clothes were smeared with grime and dried blood, a stark contrast to the eerie calm on their face. Their face was unreadable, but the slight tremble in their hands betrayed the composure they were trying to maintain.

I couldn't tell if they were a boy or a girl—their long, unkempt hair obscured any hints.

My first thought? Cute.

Weird, I know. But there was something almost endearing about a kid trying so hard to be intimidating.

"Drop the chainsaw," they ordered, eyebrows furrowed in determination.

I did as I was told.

"Kick it toward me!"

Seriously? This kid was so demanding.

Their hair was a hazel shade of brown, reminding me of peanuts, messy and long enough to cover their eyes. I couldn't even see their eye color -so how the hell had they seen well enough to aim and take a man's life just ten minutes ago?

"Hand over your supply bag," Peanut ordered, a deep frown creasing their face.

I let out a quiet sigh, dropped the bag, and nudged it toward them with my foot. Without hesitation, they grabbed it, rummaging through the bag before pulling out the only content left, a pack of Cheetos.

I flinched as a sharp pain shot through my injured arm.

"Don't move!" they barked, their grip tightening around the slingshot.

Holding my hands up was becoming unbearable, and they must've noticed—especially when fresh blood began dripping onto the floor.

"…Put your hands down," Peanut muttered, their tone losing some of its edge.

Maybe they weren't completely heartless.

They jabbed a finger toward Locker Boy's motionless corpse. "Did you know him?"

I shook my head. "No," I said, keeping my voice firm but gentle. No need to spook the kid.

Peanut stared at me for a long moment, crunching on a handful of Cheetos like this was just another Tuesday for them. The orange dust smeared across their fingers felt almost comically out of place given the blood still pooling beneath Locker Boy's head.

They chewed thoughtfully, then wiped their hands on their already-filthy pants. "Good," they finally said. "Would've been awkward if you did."

I frowned. "Awkward how?"

They shrugged, barely sparing the body a glance. "He was a jerk. Tried to kill me. Twice."

I blinked. "Twice?"

"Yeah." They popped another Cheeto into their mouth. "First time, he ambushed me in this hallway. Second time, he thought I'd be dumb enough to fall for food." A pause. "Guess the third time's not happening."

I swallowed hard, my eyes flickering to the steel ball still nestled in the pool of blood, its metallic surface catching the dim light.

What happened to make this kid so okay with this?

That's when the cruel reality hit me like a punch to the gut. This game was for everyone.

I wondered how many kids were trapped in this nightmare. The thought made me want to cry as I stared at Peanut's face—so young, so innocent. I couldn't remember my past, but I was pretty sure I must've had a decent childhood. No child deserved this.

I glanced at the body count on the fake sky outside the window: 320/500

Time remaining: 20 hours.

Peanut placed their slingshot down and sat near the window, staring out with a calm, almost indifferent expression.

"You're hurt, so good luck trying anything," they said, doubt clouding their eyes.

I didn't want to hurt this kid. I couldn't. I reached for the unattended chainsaw, my grip tightening around the handle.

"What's your name?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Name?" Peanut blinked at me, confused. "I don't have one."

What? I was stunned. "You don't have a name?"

Peanut shook their head. "No. Never needed one."

My mind spun with possibilities. Were they like me? Did they not have memories too? I hesitated before asking, "Do you… not remember your name?"

"No," they replied matter-of-factly. "I was just never given one." 

They paused, then tilted their head. "What's your name?"

"I… I don't remember," I muttered, unsure.

Peanut's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Oh. Do you not have one?"

"I guess," I said, my voice trailing off as I scanned the room, trying not to let my guard down. 

I had to keep moving downstairs. My eyes locked onto the staircase.

"Are you gonna stay here?" I asked Peanut, my voice hesitant.

Honestly, I didn't want to leave this kid alone, especially not with that maniac "Manchild" on the loose. The guy was crazy enough to kill even with a dislocated shoulder.

Now, I was really regretting not taking him out when I had the chance—cutting his head off, eliminating him as a threat before he could cause any more damage.

"Probably," Peanut said, their voice unsure.

"I woke outside that window," Peanut said, pointing to the now- glassless pane. "Before, the guy with the bird mask broke the windows here, so I don't know where to go."

"Oh," I said, trying to process it. This kid had survived alone all this time.

Now, my anger boiled over.

"Come with me," I demanded, voice hard.

Peanut hesitated for a moment, their small fingers gripping the slingshot tighter. They shook their head, eyes still wary. "I don't trust you, so no."

I frowned, frustration bubbling up, but I forced myself to stay calm. "Are you sure? I'll give you more Cheetos if you come with me," I said, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

Kids love food, and I knew it was probably the only thing that would get them to follow. Even though I didn't actually have more Cheetos, I could grab the ones from Locker Boy's supply bag.

Peanut's eyes flickered to the dead body of Locker Boy. "He tried to bribe me too," they said, their voice soft but firm, "then he tried to kill me."

I could see the bitterness in their eyes as they pointed to the corpse, the same man who'd caused so much trouble for both of us.

Fuck Locker Boy, I thought. This mess was his fault. He'd made everything harder. I walked over, gave his limp body a hard kick in the stomach, and snatched his supply bag.

I took a steadying breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. I didn't want to pressure this kid into anything, but I sure as hell couldn't leave them alone here.

"Okay," I said, lowering my voice to something softer. "Then I pinky promise I won't hurt you." I extended my pinky, hoping the gesture would be enough to get through to them.

"Why are you sticking your finger out?" Peanut asked, genuinely confused.

I paused, then smiled awkwardly. "It's a pinky promise," I said, waving my pinky in front of them, close but keeping a safe distance.

Peanut blinked, still puzzled. "What's that?" they asked, their brow furrowing in curiosity.

I sighed, trying to think of a way to explain it. "It's a promise," I said slowly, "but... it's special. You hook your pinky finger with mine, and that means we trust each other to keep our word and protect each other"

Peanut stared at my outstretched pinky, still unsure. "That's weird," they muttered, but after a moment, they hesitantly extended their own finger, poking it gently against mine.

I smiled. "See? It's a promise."

Peanut pulled their finger back quickly, eyes still locked on mine. "You better keep it, then," they said with a serious look that made me believe they meant it.

I nodded, the weight of the promise sinking in. "I will."

Peanut moved like a ghost, each step deliberate and silent as they descended. I followed, doing my best to mimic their movements, but my footsteps still felt loud in the vast emptiness of the stairwell. How the hell did a kid learn to move like this? I needed to pick that skill up fast.

We made it down three floors before the speakers crackled to life again, their distorted voice cutting through the silence.

"Pay attention: here are the locations. One on the thirteenth floor, two on the twentieth floor, five on the thirty-fifth."

I froze mid-step. One on the thirteenth floor? But the last announcement had said two. My stomach twisted at the implication. One of them had already killed the other.

But the thirty-fifth floor was worse. Five people. That was new.

One had to be the sniper. Another was definitely Manchild. But who were the other three? More maniacs? More killers funneled into this skyscraper through the bridges?

Peanut looked at me, their face unreadable, but I knew they were listening too. Processing.

We were trapped. The thirteenth floor was a confirmed kill zone. Someone down there was dangerous enough to wipe out another player, which meant sneaking past wouldn't be easy. But going up wasn't an option either. Five on the thirty-fifth floor meant chaos. Maybe they'd take each other out, but even if they did, there'd still be one left.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my mind to clear. The only option was to get past the thirteenth floor without being noticed.

I glanced at Peanut. "We're sneaking through."

They nodded once. No hesitation.

At least I wasn't alone in this.

We crept down the stairwell, each step deliberate, each breath controlled. Peanut led the way, moving like they were born in the shadows. I did my best to match their quiet grace, but every shift of my weight felt like a potential death sentence.

As we neared the thirteenth floor, my grip tightened around the handle of my chainsaw. Useless for stealth, but comforting all the same. I wasn't going to die without a fight.

Peanut stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. I froze.

Then I heard it.

A low, wet cough.

Someone was right outside the door.

We exchanged a glance. Peanut pointed to the gap between the stair railing and the wall—a small space where, if we moved carefully, we could peek through the crack of the doorway without opening it.

I leaned in, just enough to see.

A man stood right next to the door maybe 3 feet away, hunched over, clutching his side. Blood dripped from between his fingers, pooling at his feet. His breathing was ragged, uneven. A long knife dangled from his other hand, still slick with fresh gore.

The second player was definitely dead.

But this guy? He was still a threat.

Peanut tapped my arm, drawing my attention away. Their fingers flicked in quick gestures. Move past? Or take him out?

I hesitated.

If we snuck past, there was a chance he was too injured to follow. But if he wasn't? If he saw us? That was a gamble I wasn't sure I wanted to take.

My eyes flicked to my chainsaw. Too loud. Too messy. One wrong move, and we'd have a full-blown fight on our hands.

Peanut's slingshot, though…

I exhaled slowly, my mind racing. Fighting him meant wasting precious time. Sneaking past meant gambling on his injuries slowing him down. Neither option was safe. 

Peanut studied my face, waiting for a plan.

I pointed toward the next set of stairs, signaling for us to sneak past. Wasting one of Peanut's limited steel shots on this guy wasn't worth it.

We moved like shadows.

Peanut went first, slipping past the door with effortless silence. The man groaned, now facing the stairwell door. His grip on the knife loosened for a second before tightening again.

Just as I stepped to pass the door—

A sharp inhale. Then the thunder of stomping boots.

He barreled through the stair door, shoving between me and Peanut.

I didn't think. Instinct took over.

I gripped my chainsaw by the handle and swung, the heavy metal slamming into the back of his skull with a sickening crack. His body seized, his knife slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor.

He twitched once. Then stilled.

Peanut froze, eyes wide as the man's body slumped between us.

I tightened my grip on the chainsaw, heart hammering. Was he dead? Unconscious? I wasn't about to take chances. I nudged his knife away with my foot, then crouched, pressing two fingers to his neck.

A pulse. Faint but there.

Peanut edged closer, gaze flicking from me to the body. "You gonna finish him off?" they asked, voice unreadable.

I hesitated. The smart thing would be to end it now—eliminate the threat before he woke up. But something about it made my stomach churn.

Peanut must've noticed because they sighed. "Your call," they muttered. "But don't regret it later."

I swallowed hard, already regretting my hesitation. I had already left Manchild alive before, which was turning out to be a mistake. But the injury… It should be enough. A skull fracture, bleeding out on the cold floor. He wouldn't last long.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Peanut didn't look convinced. They shot me a glance, then kept moving, slipping ahead like a shadow. I forced my legs to follow, my grip on the chainsaw tightening.

If he somehow survived this, I wouldn't make the same mistake the third time.

We hurried down the stairs. The speakers crackled again.

"Pay attention: here are the locations. Two on the twelfth floor, one on the thirteenth, and two on the thirtieth."

The numbers were dropping. Fast.

And now, the two out of five maniacs who had taken out the others knew exactly where we were.

We weren't just running out of time.

We were running out of people.