Dead End

They were in space.

Not space as in outer space, but in some sort of space. It was pitch black like the void, but it wasn’t “dark”. One could easily discern the circle of platforms from a distance.
There were twelve of them, arranged like a clock. They were all circular and appeared to be made of metal, with the only feature setting one apart from the others being the red number on its front. They were all connected by thin black cables. Each platform appeared to be occupied, but it was impossible to discern who or what the occupants were. They all appeared to be human, but the dark shadows could tell no more.

A thirteenth platform materialized in the middle of the “clock”. It was white and decorated with all sorts of metal bits, shaping it into some sort of throne. Seated there was a black-robed skeleton, Death, perhaps, and thirteen small angels. One of the angels, a small boy with rat-like features, flew over to the first platform, leaning against the silhouette that stood there.

The skeleton rose, pushing some of the angels off his lap. “You all must be wondering what you are doing here,” he said, his deep voice causing some of the platforms to shake.

“My name is Deus Ex Machina, the god of time and space! Now that we are all gathered together for once, I will explain the rules of the survival game once more.” He glanced around the platforms, before his eyes rested on the first.

“You are probably wondering about these diaries the Famliars have delivered to you. They are called ‘Future Diaries’. They are like normal diaries, but they distort time and make entries ninety days in advance.” Deus’s eyes met the Second’s. “However, the future may change depending on the user’s actions. For example, let’s say that a diary foretold its user’s injury. When the user reaches the predicted point it time, they may take actions contradicting the prophecy and rewrite the future, avoiding the injury.”

Deus smirked and looked over at the Twelfth. “When a diary owner is confirmed to have killed another, the sentence of death will be passed down. That is the Notice of the Dead End. Well, this is a survival game, after all.”

One could just barely hear First mutter, “Not this…”

“It’s simple. The winner of this survival game will become my successor. They will be the next god of time and space, and will be given my powers. Any questions?”

“You’re telling us to kill, but you won’t show us who each other are?” First asked. His voice sounded slightly distorted.

“Identifying each other is the first part of the game, First.” Deus replied, although he sounded slightly annoyed. “Identify each other and set Dead End flags. If your Dead End flag is triggered, avoid it as best as you can. That is the essence of the game.”

The angels gathered at the foot of Deus’ throne, whispering to each other and giggling.

Her surroundings were completely devoid of color or light, yet she could still clearly see that she was standing in a circle of hovering platforms, metallic surfaces all shining forth radiantly and each with a prominent unique number, if nothing else was very noticeable.

Eleven silhouettes stood on the other platforms, but Hotaru could make out the identities of none of them.

In the center atop a throne like chair appeared a gruesome-looking creature surrounded by about thirteen angels. He calls himself Deus Ex Machina, the God of Time and Space, and desires for all the unidentified silhouettes and Hotaru to play a game – one of survival. The last one standing of the twelve will take his place as God of Time and Space.

All this seemed surreal and even a bit surreptitious. Large prizes like these for such minor competitions almost never ended happily for anyone, including the winner. But Hotaru wasn’t the type who judged people for their deviousness or wrongdoings since she knew she had her share in her lifetime herself. She could care less about Deus’s personality however moral or not; if he was leading a game with these types of benefits, it didn’t matter.

Games were meant for thrills right? A few bumps and bruises along the way wouldn’t change that, and if she didn’t play, who knows how many people there would be left to make things harder for everyone else? Things like these could always use an extra troublemaker or two.

For most of the duration of the speech Deus gave, she was daydreaming, making plots and thinking about power, but she did manage to hear a few things about some device that tells the future and having to identify the other competitors.

In the midst of her excitement, it all faded to black.
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She shivered harshly as she awoke in a cold sweat. Her heart was pounding, and as usual she was ready for a threat to break in at any moment, if one happened to appear.

But tonight she wasn't shivering from the snow and hail plummeting rapidly beyond the thin doorway that separated her quaint, frigid little home from the ruthless outdoors or from the unpredictable events that happen on these dangerous streets.

No, it was from her mysterious dream that was laden with the melancholy essence of impending doom and all the excitement that came with fierce competition.

She couldn't fathom what cryptic mysteries could unveil themselves as a result. Her friend Emirayha lay nearby on the filthy carpet. Hotaru contemplated telling her, but she decided to keep this one thing a secret.

Hotaru had never been addicted to much of anything in her life, but if she was anything, she had always been a reckless, adrenaline junky. She was determined to get to the bottom of this, even if she didn't make it to the end.

Stealthily, she crept out into the dark alleyway and looked around circumspectly, pulling out her pocket knife.

She was going for a long walk on the nearby beach, where most of the magic in her life had happened. It always seemed full of life and peace, even when it was mostly empty and completely enshrouded by the threatening sheet of night that concealed all events, right or wrong.

She could always think clearly there, or just hang out and feel free from all of life trials and errors and endless demands.

Tonight, while she was daydreaming about the dream she tripped over a small boulder. The beach was rather rugged, so the impact left a gash in the middle of her knee and her bright scarlet blood trickled down the rocks.

Groping her knee and muttering a cuss word, she noticed something shining a bit on the nearby rocks.

Grabbing the item it, she said, "Well I'll be, it's a diary."

Looking closer, she could see that her favorite number, twelve, was engraved deep into the cover. It was pitch-black outside now, but the number was still relatively conspicuous in the mildly effulgent moonlight.

'Must be destiny.' She thought, smirking to herself and tucking the diary away safely into her pocket.