[6] The quiet before the storm

The ghost city's streets became a chaotic flood of blue jumpsuits. The eerie stillness of the deserted urban landscape was shattered by the sudden invasion of desperate participants. The city's faded buildings, which once symbolized prosperity and progress, now stood as silent witnesses to a morbid game.

Workers, with no weapons to defend themselves, sprinted toward whatever shelter they could find. Some darted into alleyways, others tried to force open doors of dilapidated shops, while a few clambered up fire escapes, seeking the safety of higher ground. The sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the streets, punctuated by the occasional shout or scream as someone stumbled or was jostled.

Soldiers, with their ant-themed armor glinting under the sun, moved in clusters, the tips of their spears glistening. Some groups formed defensive perimeters, hoping to protect their own, while more aggressive squads rushed forward, eager to strike the first blow against the opposing team.

From balconies and windows, participants could see the wide avenues and narrower side streets of the ghost city. Overgrown vegetation peeked through cracks in the pavement, and old city banners, faded by time, flapped lazily in the wind. The once-bustling metropolis, now silent except for the Ant wars, seemed both a playground and a prison.

In one corner, a group of workers managed to barricade themselves inside a supermarket. They quickly scoured the aisles for anything that could be used as an improvised weapon or a barricade. Glass bottles, metal rods, and even shards from broken mirrors were gathered.

Amidst the mayhem, the queen, vital to our survival, were both a beacon and a liability. On one side street, a group had surrounded our queen, or at least I think so. They used a bus stop and several cars to create a makeshift fortress. They eyed their surroundings warily, knowing that the enemy would be relentless in their pursuit.

In the heart of the ghost city, at a crossroads, a group of soldiers had taken the high ground atop a multi-story car park. From their vantage point, they sent signals to other groups, trying to create some semblance of coordination amidst the chaos.

The city's vast expanse meant that the two teams had yet to encounter each other, but the tension was palpable. Each sound, whether the distant rustle of movement or the soft clink of armor, heightened the anxiety. Participants knew that the enemy lurked somewhere amidst the city's labyrinthine streets, but for now, it was a game of hide and seek on a grand scale.

The old buildings and structures provided numerous vantage points. Several participants, soldiers mainly, took to the rooftops, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the opposition. Others opted for a ground approach, moving in small squads, each step deliberate and cautious.

Several blocks away, an abandoned tramway became the base for another group. The old tram cars were set up as barricades, while the elevated tracks provided a clear line of sight. Every so often, someone would use a piece of broken glass or binoculars scavenged from a store to scan the streets below.

Rumors began to circulate. Some said they had seen movement in a distant plaza, shadows flickering in and out of sight. Others claimed to have heard the faintest sounds of whispers or footsteps, only to find nothing when they turned the corner.

In the central square, a huge digital clock that had been set up by the game organizers ticked down the minutes. Its red numbers seemed eerily out of place in the desolate surroundings, and it served as a grim reminder of the impending clash.

A soldier stationed near an old library, whispered to her comrade, "It's too quiet. It feels like the calm before a storm."

Her comrade nodded, gripping his spear tightly. "They're out there, plotting, waiting for the right moment. We have to be ready."

Elsewhere, a worker huddled with a small group in the shadow of an old cinema. "We haven't seen them yet," he muttered. "Maybe they're just as lost as we are."

But among the participants, one thought remained universal: peace is temporary.

"I found them!" One worker pointed into the distance.

We all looked into the direction where he was pointing.

The streets ahead opened up to a vast plaza, framed by the skeletal remains of old structures and fountains long since dry. It was here that the enemy had set up their line of defense. From the looks of it, they had repurposed whatever they could find to create a formidable barrier. Crumbling cars were stacked atop one another, their rusty bodies reinforced with slabs of concrete and steel rods. Behind this barrier, the silhouettes of enemy soldiers stood guard, their spears glinting in the dappled sunlight.

From where I stood, flanked by my fellow team members, the barrier looked impenetrable. Every so often, a glint of movement could be seen from behind it, suggesting that they had more numbers than what was immediately visible. There were whispers among my group, soft murmurs of concern and speculation.

"They have the high ground," one soldier beside me noted, pointing out to the elevated positions where several enemy soldiers stood, their ant-themed helmets peering out from behind the parapets.

"Look," whispered another, indicating towards the left. There, a few workers from the enemy team seemed to be reinforcing the barrier, adding more layers and piling up debris. It was clear they had been preparing for this, that they were ready for the impending confrontation.

Yet neither side made a move. There was an unspoken agreement, a tense ceasefire as both sides assessed each other's strengths and weaknesses. The air was thick with anticipation, every breath measured, every gaze sharp and calculating.

On our side, a few took the initiative to set up makeshift defenses of our own. Abandoned carts, barrels, and whatever else could be found were hastily piled up, giving us some semblance of protection. While it was not as elaborate as the enemy's, it would have to do for now.

A soldier, whom I had seen earlier on the rooftops, quietly called a few of us over. "If we could flank them from the right, using the old subway entrance as a cover, we might have an advantage," he suggested, tracing a path on a crumpled city map he had found.

A worker, chimed in, "I passed that area earlier. There's a construction site nearby. We could use the equipment, the sandbags, the tools. Anything to get an edge."

Others nodded in agreement, but it was clear that many were hesitant. Engaging the enemy head-on without a clear strategy was a gamble. The weight of the collars around our necks served as a chilling reminder of the stakes involved.

As the minutes ticked by, an eerie silence enveloped the plaza. It was a standoff, a game of patience and strategy. Both sides, despite being on the brink of engagement, were locked in a mental duel, waiting for the other to make the first move.

HUM!!!

The sound came from above us, we then looked up and saw a drone the shape of a dragonfly whizzing pass our heads. Its shadow danced over the crumbling buildings as it hovered for a moment, and then, with mechanical precision, it released a large crate, which landed heavily in the center of the plaza. Dust billowed up from the impact site, and the bright emblem of an "Ant" on the crate glistened in the sunlight.

I looked at my comrades, and they looked back at me, then back at the crate again.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Q: What would you do in this situation?