Four Leaf Clover

♣️ Nine Of Clubs♣️

Just as they had before, Clover's VISA days passed by far too quickly. It was strange, really. Before landing in this twisted world, she'd always hated being stuck at home for too long. Mindlessly flicking through numerous TV channels before eventually finding one worthy of passing the 'background noise' test, and doom-scrolling until her eyes refused to focus on anything behind the phone screen, got very boring very fast. It was part of the reason she'd come to Tokyo in the first place. There was nothing left to keep her on her toes back home, so travelling to a place she'd never been to before and exploring everything it had to offer seemed like a dream-come-true. Her desperation for somewhere new and exciting had clearly been delivered, but instead of a genie, her wish had been granted by a djinn. Now, after playing these games, Clover thought of nothing else but the comfort and security of the B&B. Yes, the days did get rather repetitive, and she was half-certain she was going insane from only having a baby to talk to, but it was much better than running for her life every few minutes.

The five days of rest eventually came to an end. Once again, Clover wound up pushing Bean through the dark city streets in a new buggy, having stupidly left the other one near the apartment block in her rush home. Following the advertisement screens through winding roads, Clover narrated the journey for Bean, who was evidently more interested in the glowing signs guiding Clover to a new game arena.

On a more positive note, Clover now found her journeys through the city more therapeutic than terrifying. In the beginning, she'd been so scared of walking around on her own, worried that someone was going to jump out from behind a corner and attack her—or worse. Now, though, she knew differently. Everyone stuck here was focused on one thing in particular: survival. The hellish games they were forced to play could satisfy even the craziest adrenaline junkies, and would probably knock them down into fearful little children. In a place like this, it was hard to believe anyone who managed to live through a game would have the energy or desire to go out and hurt someone else. Even the worst of the worst would likely release their sadistic tendencies during the games. Compared to the brutal games, walking through the darkened streets was like walking through a nice park in the early afternoon.

When Clover arrived at the game arena, she had half a mind to turn around and find another. Illuminated by four large beams—two behind the building and two in front—was an enormous grey warehouse. In hindsight, Clover should've known she'd find something she wouldn't like when the arrows took her out of the city and towards the water, passing countless ship containers on her way. Unfortunately, her VISA was due to end tonight, and she wasn't entirely certain she'd be able to find another game before her timer ended. So, she begrudgingly entered the warehouse, a shiver passing through her as she walked through the red curtain.

Pushing the buggy into the dimly lit warehouse, Clover was quite surprised at just how clean it was inside, especially given the rusting state of the containers just outside. The grey floors appeared newly cleaned, gleaming beneath the lights drilled into the rafters across the ceiling.

The ceiling stretched so high that it almost gave her vertigo. Concrete beams came down from the ceiling, and poles of metal pushed through the lower half of each one. It didn't make sense. On closer examination, though, Clover's eyes trailed two thick poles that were fastened to those in the centre, with barely a four-foot space separating them. Her gaze followed them down to the floor, where they were connected to a metal platform of sorts, hanging a few inches above the floor.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," she quietly hissed, finally coming to a rough—and entirely terrifying—idea of what the poles were actually supposed to be.

As a kid, Clover had loved the park. She could hardly remember much from those days since she'd been so young, but the many, many pictures in her mother's photo album proved just how often she'd spent her days there. Monkey bars, slides, and climbing frames—if they could be found in a park, there was probably a picture of her somewhere playing on them. And, like every other kid her age, she'd spent a lot of time on the swing set. Naturally, as Clover grew older, spending a day in the park became less desirable. Back home, she'd accompanied her sister and nephews on more than one occasion and uncomfortably discovered just how much she'd outgrown the swings. A second or two of gentle swinging was fine, but the back-and-forth soon gave her motion-sickness. Five minutes in and she'd become overwhelmingly nauseous, the world around her blurry and unsteady. The second she'd gotten off, she'd had to find a bench and sit with her head between her legs until her temples stopped throbbing and the surroundings stopped spinning. It was quite annoying, actually, how something that made her so happy as a kid made her sick now that she was an adult.