The Games

"Mary Godwin... just who are you?" Ren thought to himself as he flipped through the jagged pages of the old book, his eyes scanning each one for something—anything—out of the ordinary. The rain had subsided, but the air still carried the memory of the downpour. A chilled breeze drifted into the church, bringing with it the scent of damp soil.

"Have you figured anything out yet?" Alger asked, stepping in with two cups of warm tea.

"Not yet... I still can't quite grasp it," Ren replied, accepting the cup with a nod of appreciation.

As he set the tea down, something struck him. "Wait a minute… isn't today Sunday? Why is no one here?"

Alger's smile faltered. "Oh, so you noticed…" He sighed, his voice carrying a weight Ren hadn't heard before. "The thing is, even though Christianity is popular in this region, not everyone supports it. And recently, things have gotten worse. More violent. People have started taking reckless actions—killings, kidnappings, even... sexual abuse." His voice grew quieter. "Christians have become afraid to attend church. Just last Sunday, during the service, they attacked us. They took the women and shot the men. I only survived by hiding under a corpse…" His voice broke, and he took a trembling breath.

Ren's gaze remained fixed on Alger. "You don't have to relive that moment," he said after a pause. "But if it's that bad… why do you still come to church?"

Alger let out a dry chuckle. "Staying here is my way of honoring those who sacrificed their lives. And besides…" He hesitated. "I don't really have anywhere else to go."

Ren looked away, uneasy at Alger's laughter. Pretty sure it's mostly the second reason…

He refocused on the book, running his fingers over its rough edges. The cover's surface felt like tiny spines pricking his skin. There must be a clue somewhere… I just have to look hard enough.

A few minutes passed. Then more.

Damn it. I've been staring at this for ages, and I'm starting to think I have no idea what I'm doing.

It always looked so much easier in movies—where the protagonist just figures it out. Like Franklyn from The Great Hero Has Been Granted the Power for World Domination! That guy would have solved this in a minute.

He imagined Franklyn's dramatic monologue:

"Ah! So simple! And only I, gifted with the power of knowledge, could decipher this riddle. One might think my gift is the ability to see monsters, but no—it is the burden of wisdom. A curse, yet a blessing…"

Ren sighed. "Still nothing."

His eyes drifted over the pages again. The only oddities were the fading chapter titles.

But why?

A way to differentiate them, perhaps? Yet every font was properly aligned. The only consistent abnormalities were the book's age and…

Ren froze.

The dashes.

Wait a minute—weren't they dots in one of the chapters?

His heart pounded as he flipped back through the book, his fingers tracing the markings. Across the room, Alger had begun cleaning the chairs, oblivious to Ren's growing excitement.

And then—

"I've figured it out!" Ren shouted.

Alger rushed in. "Figured what out?"

"The first clue! But I need a pen and paper."

"Got it!" Alger darted out and returned moments later, handing them over.

Ren knelt down, using the chair as a makeshift desk. He quickly scribbled onto the paper.

"Okay, look at this, Alger. Each chapter has either a dot or a dash next to the title. And depending on the chapter, some have multiple, some have none."

Alger squinted. "I don't get it."

Ren pointed at the notes.

"Look—Chapter 1 has a dash. Chapter 2 has a dot. Chapter 3, another dot. Chapter 4, a dash. Chapter 5, a dash."

"Alright… but how does knowing that help?"

"Each chapter has nine pages, right? So if we correspond the first page of each chapter, and apply the same pattern to the following pages… we get this."

He wrote:

[.————]

[...——]

[.————]

[…——]

[.——.]

[.—]

[.—.]

[—]

[..———]

"These aren't just random lines and dots, Alger."

Alger leaned closer. "Then what are they?"

"Morse code."

His friend's eyes widened. "You're saying—?"

"I know a little Morse code. And if I transcribe this, we get…" Ren paused, writing down the translation.

1313 Part 2

Alger frowned. "1313? Sounds like an address, but it's not much to go on."

"Maybe. But 'Part 2' suggests that the next clue is somewhere in the second part of the book. If we can find both Part 2 and Part 3… we might be able to solve this."

Their eyes met, and for the first time, Ren felt the thrill of the hunt. This was only the beginning.

So now that we know about the Part 1 any ideas on the Rest .

"Well... I might know where it is, but that part of the city is a little dangerous," Alger said, stroking his chin, his gaze shifting upward.

"Dangerous how?" Ren asked.

"It's been removed from every store, but it should still be in the black market. Both copies, actually."

"The black market?" Ren frowned. "I've never heard of that."

"Of course, you haven't. It doesn't exist for people in your part of the city."

"Hmm. So what's it like?"

"It's on the outskirts of town, close to the outlands."

Ren's eyes widened. "Wait. You don't mean—"

Alger nodded. "Yeah. The remains of the war. The home of thieves and the unknown. The black market isn't deep in the outlands, but since it's on the outskirts, security doesn't cover everything. The deeper you go, the more lawless it becomes."

Ren hesitated. "Are you sure the book will really be there?"

"If there's one thing I know about the outlands, it's that everything is sold there." Alger's voice grew quieter. "The priest of this church found me there."

Ren considered his words before nodding. "Alright. When can we leave?"

"Not today. It's too late. We can go tomorrow if you want."

Ren groaned. "Tomorrow is Monday. I have school. And my mom definitely won't let me leave if she sees me. I, uh, kind of... haven't been answering her calls." He chuckled awkwardly.

Alger smirked. "You can stay here for the night. After tomorrow, you can explain everything to your mom. What do you think?"

Ren sighed. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"Great! Follow me." Alger led him through a narrow, intricately designed hallway. Colored paintings adorned the stained-glass windows, casting a dim glow along the path. Ornate gold carvings decorated multiple doors, each unique in its patterns. At the end of the hall stood a locked set of double doors.

Alger stopped at the first door and pushed it open, revealing a small room with two bunk beds. A single candle flickered, casting long shadows against the walls.

"This is the room. Make yourself at home," he said with a grin, motioning inward.

Night fell like a thief. Moonlight streamed through the window as the candle burned out, leaving only the faint silver glow of the night.

Ren took the top bunk while Alger claimed the bottom.

A beat of silence passed before Alger spoke.

"Pfft. Hey, Ren?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Sooo... you got a girlfriend?"

Ren groaned. "We're not doing this tonight."

"Okay, okay." Alger chuckled.

A moment passed before Ren broke the silence.

"Hey, Alger."

"Yeah?"

"That room at the end of the hall—the one with the double doors. Where does it lead?"

Alger hesitated. "That's the priest's office. He... hasn't been himself since last Sunday. It's best not to disturb him."

Ren frowned but didn't press further. "Alright."

City of Light – 9:55 PM, Saturday

A council of figures gathered in the shadows.

An old man's voice broke the silence. "It seems the mistake we buried has begun to unravel. We have hidden it long enough. And now I hear that the book that woman wrote is still in a civilian's hands. Is that true?"

A hooded figure nodded. "Y..Yes, sir. A Greek man named Lymon has the books."

"And what have you done to retrieve them?"

"Two of our best operatives have already gone to the black market to recover them."

The old man's voice darkened. "Then let us hope they do not fail."

Monday Morning

The church bell rang, marking the early hours of the day. Ren and Alger set out on their journey.

"How long will it take?" Ren asked.

"Shouldn't be more than ten minutes."

"Then let's go already!"

Alger laughed. "You're way too excited about this."

"Well, yeah! I haven't left the church in a while, and I've never seen the black market before. Of course, I'm excited."

Ren hesitated. "Wait... Didn't you say you were born there?"

Alger stiffened. "I... I did say that. I just meant it's been so long that I barely remember it." He forced a chuckle.

Ren narrowed his eyes but let it slide. Just then, a strange sensation crept over him—a gaze, unseen but unmistakable. He turned sharply toward the chapel, his pulse quickening.

Nothing. Just empty shadows.

"What's wrong?" Alger asked.

Ren shook his head. "No, it's nothing."

The market was alive, but not in the way a normal market should be. There was no cheerful chatter, no inviting calls from vendors—only hushed murmurs and the occasional rustling of shifting figures in the shadows. . Ragged figures in tattered clothes lined the streets, their faces gaunt and wary. Flies buzzed over rotting produce, and the stench of sweat and decay clung to the air. The deeper they ventured, the more suffocating the atmosphere became. The atmosphere buzzing with distant arguments. The stores looked empty and sold different relics that looked like they were dangerous just looking at it .

Everywhere, darkened alleys loomed, and Ren couldn't shake the feeling that every pair of eyes was watching them. Their boots sank into the soaked earth with a heavy squelch, the mud clinging stubbornly as he pulled his foot free. 

The air reeked of decay and rotting food. Flies buzzed over discarded scraps, and nearly everyone in sight wore a frown. Weapons were openly displayed—knives strapped to belts, rusted pistols tucked into coats, even a few makeshift clubs held loosely in wary hands.

They had searched every bookstore they could find.

"Do you have a Mary Godwin book?" Ren asked.

"No."

"Part three of Mary Godwin's book?"

"No."

"Do you have—?"

"No."

Ren sighed. "Wait, I didn't even finish talking that time."

Alger exhaled in frustration. "We've checked every store. Are you sure it's here?"

Ren's eyes scanned the market, then lit up. "Look! That store over there—it looks promising!"

Before they could move, the distant rumble of an engine grew louder.

A black truck sped toward them.

As Ren took a step forward, Alger was yanked back. Figures in dark hoods seized him, dragging him toward the vehicle.

"Alge—"

A cloth pressed against Ren's mouth, the sharp sting of chemicals flooding his senses. He thrashed, but his strength drained rapidly. His vision blurred, the sight of the truck—Alger inside—growing smaller and smaller.

Around them, the market carried on. People averted their eyes, pretending not to see.

Lights on.

Ren's eyes fluttered open, one after the other. A harsh light beamed down on him, forcing him to squint. A muffled roar echoed nearby—a crowd, their voices rising in a fevered frenzy.

His arms and legs refused to move. Straps bound him to a chair. As his vision cleared, he took in his surroundings—a small, stark room with white walls. A single TV sat in front of him.

Then, the screen flickered to life.

A man appeared.

Dressed in a magician's outfit—sleek black clothing, a top hat perched neatly on his head—he strode onto a stage, the unseen audience erupting in blood thirsty cheers.

Stepping up to a microphone stand, he tapped it twice.

"Testing… Testing…"

A pause—then a short bow .

Then, with a slow, eerie smile, he declared—

"And now, the game begins!"