I don’t know when I fell asleep, or even what time it was when I woke up. I stretched, kicking my way out of bed one leg at a time and rolling down with a yawn so big it gave me a cramp in my face. I paused, staring across the room to the curtain against the wall. Behind it was the window.

Last night it only showed a scene of mist pressed tight against it, giving me no visibility. I wondered what I would see if I looked outside today. I was half afraid I would open it to some horror, inches from the glass, staring inside with manic eyes and blooded lips, so when I crept to the window to pull it back, I did it with trepidation, inches at a time.

There was no mist, nor was there some horror from my nightmares. My eyes traced the landscape.

Huge fences lead away from the edge of the dead mall, leading towards a concrete yard. It looked something like a playground from when I was young, the kind where you would play hop scotch or dodge ball. White lines decorated and spaced off sections of it, and in the center there was a towering black box.

It was rough to get an estimate from here, but it was at least as tall as the fences, and if they were the same size as yesterday… 20 feet, maybe.

The sides of the box were black bars, as if it was a jail cell. But what the hell could something like that hold? A giraffe? With a sigh and no new answers, I let the curtain fall back on the window, exploring the rest of the hotel. In the bathroom, I inspected the shower.

I never trusted hotel showers.

My job brought me all over the world, and as a result, I frequented hotels. So many hotels. I didn’t trust the shower of a four star hotel anywhere humid, let alone here, in some kind of metaphysical purgatory.

So I was all the more surprised when it looked pristine. The bathroom was free of mold or water damage on the walls or ceiling. Even the caulking in the shower was nice— little details like that were easy to miss.

Even if the shower was nice, it still took a few minutes to figure out which way made the water hot, fiddling with the levers.

I didn’t have a change of clothes to move into, so I put my old ones on. I would have to find some new clothes in the bullpen… if I survived this next game, which I was still clueless on, even after reflecting in the shower. If I knew the name of it, at least, I could make some guesses.

I made my way to the exit— there was a button inside to call the elevator, and I pressed it. It lit up, but I had pressed it seven more times before the ding indicated the elevator had made it to the room, the doors sliding open.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I stepped inside. Last time I had rode the elevator, it moved with such force and fury it nearly knocked me on my ass, so, this time, I pressed myself to the corner, gripping the guide rail in the room.

It was a good idea, too; the elevators sudden descent nearly threw me across the little room, but I held on with a white knuckle grip until the sudden reversal of force indicated it had stopped.

I stumbled out of the elevator, taking a moment to catch my breath against the hotel wall while the receptionist stared at me. It had a mask on, but it still managed to glare in a way that said can I help you. I smelled syrup and bacon, and I followed the scent.

A door that had been closed previously opened to a help yourself style continental breakfast. Easily half of the people from last night occupied this room, which was less of a room than it was a hall at this scale, stretching a gigantic length.

I moved to stop inside, but one of the masked attendants blocked me, stopping me easily with one hand. I looked up at it in surprise, but then a prompt appeared, answering my unasked question.

Entry: One token

It didn’t even take me a second of considering the loss of a single token against the smell of hot breakfast to make a decision. I watched my token balance fall one as I stepped into the room.

I greedily filled a plate, looking around at the tables. Willie waved at me, and I made my way over to him, sitting down. V was no where in sight.

“What do you think the game is today?” I asked him, before taking a fork to the waffle on my plate. It was buttery smooth— fantastic, even, perfectly cooked and textured. For all the hell this place represented, the food was great.

“I dunno.” Willie answered around a mouthful of food, and we ate in a tense silence.

In fact, the entire hall was covered in tense silence, and thats how we ate.

Most people stared at the wall mutely, even after their food was finished, and half the room jumped when a buzz rang over and an electronic voice began to speak throughout the room.

“The next game will begin in 45 minutes. Please head to the game stage.” The voice spoke, before ending, and attendants began to usher people out of the room— starting with the far side. I stood, walking with Willie towards the exit.

Along the way through the bullpen, we picked up V, who was working his way through an MRE.

He offered me an MnM, which I took.

“What do you think the game is?” I asked him.

“Some kind of tag, probably.”

“How do you get tag from a big black box?” I asked, rubbing my chin.

“Big black box? You saw the arena?”

“Yeah. Concrete lot, big black box… white lines on the pavement…” I trailed off. “And fences surrounded by mist.

“The second game is always some kind of tag. At least, it always has been historically. Sometimes the objective is not to get tagged, though.”

As we walked out of the mall, the lights were dimming or shutting off behind us, one by one. At the end of it, the blast-seal doors were open, and we were free to walk into a new fenced off area. Some of the people were there already, almost all looking pensive.

I recognized the girl with the tattoo on her face there, but she looked at me then looked away.

People grouped in two’s or threes around the concrete stage of the game.

There was a clunking noise as a sign began to rise from the mist, displaying the names and tokens of all players.

“Please wait patiently for the rules of the game to be announced.” An electronic voice asked. “Not all guests have arrived. The name of the game is: Marco Polo.”

“Marco Polo?” I said out loud.” What kind of game is this?”

V’s face twisted. “This is unlucky.”