Ruaan blinked.
Once. Twice. Three times.
His hand went to his nose automatically and he pressed it and immediately regretted pressing it because the pain that shot through his face was the kind that made his eyes water without permission.
'Broken?'
Maybe. Probably. It hurt like hell.
He blinked again and looked around.
He was definitely not by the staircase.
He was in a cell. Bigger than 109 but uglier — no beds, just floor, concrete walls, one gate. And on that floor, around him, were nine other people. Not all grey uniforms either. He could see dark blue mixed in, which meant they'd been demoted mid-game. Button draw didn't care about your rank.
Grey button was grey button.
Everyone looked bad.
Someone beside him screamed.
Ruaan's head snapped up.
By the gate, a man was standing. Tall. He had one of the bottom ten by the throat, just — holding him there with one hand, effortlessly. The man in his grip was clawing at his wrist and getting nowhere.
