Bruce kept his gun tucked close to his side, watching warily as the canal opened into a large space like an amphitheater. Formless blocks of concrete littered the open space, which was splashed with large puddles and streaks of the deadly yellow paint. Five women and three men, warily eyeing each other, paused on the edge of the space ahead of him. He kept back, watching them closely and trying to gauge the open area.
Somewhere on the other side of it lay the center of the canal system. If he could only keep from getting tagged before he could reach it...
The eight ahead of him came to a quiet agreement and moved softly into the open space, heading for the largest block of concrete, in the center. They moved slowly, their guns bristling outward from their formation.
Bruce gave them a few moments and then followed, keeping just out of range of their guns.
Pop.
A burst of yellow paint splattered across a concrete monolith uncomfortably close to Bruce's head. Every muscle in his body contracted and he dropped into a tight ball on the ground, frantically feeling for sticky paint on his face and shoulders.
Safe.
More pops echoed, mixed with thick, wet splats. Yellow paint flew everywhere. Bruce scrambled to get his feet beneath him and made for the nearest monolith with an overhang, frantically scanning to find where the paintballs were coming from. Two of the group he had been following were tagged already, yellow smeared across their faces and limbs. One, a young man Bruce had taken a liking to before they'd been released into this place, had thrown away his gun and stood in the middle of a puddle of paint, looking up at the sky.
Bruce tore his eyes away and ducked beneath the overhang, pressing his back against the hot, smooth concrete. His hot breath fogged the small scope on his gun and he tried to control it, tried to get ahold of his shaking body. He had come far too close.
Outside, the world was utter panic. People, tagged with brilliant smears of color, sprayed the open areas with paintballs or stood sobbing, their guns at their feet, waiting for death to come. It was inevitable once you were tagged. The drones came for you.
