The three players ran into the gorging darkness of the alley. But halfway into the dark clobbering strip, Tyler was bombarded by a confused cacophony of trash cans hitting the ground, batting sounds, and flesh hitting the ground. The blind noise continued as yelps rose into the air.

"Putain!" Charlotte cried.

Tyler felt his arms being wrung backward and his head slammed against a metallic door. His body was dragged across the floor like a gormless, sleep-deprived monkey. The room was dark, puffy, and dominated by smoke and the amorphous, wispy scent of weed and dusty wood. There was a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, and most prominently, a batlike circumference of shadowy figures staring down at the beaten strangers. Tyler stirred. The leader of the unseen profiles blurred to life as he gripped Tyler up to a standing position. Tyler recognized the machete in his hand.

"I-I don't get it," he slurred. He stared confusedly at his clouted friends. "Why attack us if you saved us from that black monster?"

The leader ushered a high mirthful laugh. The surrounding dead black silhouettes joined in the convivial jittering noise. A few of the shadowy figures uttered boldly in Spanish to the leader.

"Por ahora no," the leader said in a grim low tone. "Pero aprenderán." The player had sandy tan skin with strangely feminine bright lips and curly brown hair to match his thin wispy goatee.

"Do you know who I am?" the leader said playfully, his bright pink lips widening.

"Um idiota," Tyler muttered, baring his teeth.

"You aren't the first Portuguese player who's called me that. ¡Y se supone que somos una familia!"

"I'm Brazilian! Why does everyone compare us to them!"

"What do you want, Merida?" Braxxie had just woken up. She was stewing the Mexican player with a hissing stare. "Because we sure as hell don't have it.

Tyler stole a glance at the blonde figure, astonished. It said "You know him?"

"Well... my Mexican amigos tell me a very funny story. One that involves capture, interrogation, and murder. Now, my close amigos and I are Spanish..." Merida spread his arms out wide like a fatherly bear, "but we care just as much for our Mexican neighbors. How would you feel if your own blood was being spilled by a foreign one."

"We didn't do it babaca!" Tyler spitted.

"Yeah, just think about who you're accusing. Why would a Brazilian want to kill a Mexican anyway? We like Mexicans!" Braxxie wailed. For a moment, Tyler thought he saw her shudder.

"Oh, mon Die!" Charlotte tenderly winced, closing the shutters of her eyes. She wanted nothing to do with this. Matter of fact, she just wanted to be united with her teammate who she lost when she went to rescue Tyler and Braxxie. She opened one eye, hoping it was already over.

"Yes," said Merida. "But unfortunately for you, we've already ruminated over this certain predicament. We didn't bring you over here because we thought it was you. We know who   it was."

Tyler and Braxxie gave each other their knowing stares.

"Then what do you want from us?" Tyler asked.

Merida teethed, polishing his fingernails with his thumb. "It's simple, really. We want to be allies."

Braxxie couldn't hold in her wheeze. "I'm sorry. But really? Why couldn't you just–I don't know, talk to us? Why kidnap us in a basement like a weirdo?"

"Because, guarrindonga, I don't like the feeling of being recorded. And two, I simply make the rules marrana." Merida breathed, releasing a relieved aura of dominant satisfaction. The shadowy Spanish players surrounding them laughed. "So what do you say? Do you want to align? Together we'll take down those damned Germans who defiled our people. Together we'll win."

Braxxie gave Tyler a soft, ingratiating look. Waiting to see how he'd react.

Tyler gave an intake of breath and grinned. "No. I will not be a part of your revenge mission."

Braxxie nodded approvingly. "You heard the man. We're lovers, not fighters."

Merida raised his eyebrows and nodded, taking in the words like sour food. "I knew you'd come around this corner. Sergio!"

A thickset player with very strong hands and a bulky crooked nose appeared onto the stage of the dangling light. He grunted and threw a player that Tyler hadn't quite recognized.

The boy was gangly with thin, strawlike oily hair glamorously combed to one side. He reminded Tyler of those clean American poster boys that were near a barbershop. But he most definitely wasn't American. His fashion was too gay and brilliantly flamboyant. He wore a thin collared checkered shirt with a hot violet bow tie and unscratched sky blue denim shorts with long checkered violet socks and checkered black and white vans. His hot violet spectacles seemed to match well with the bowties and the socks. His lips and jaws were all battered up and there were tiny purple bruises on his face.

"Emil!" Charlotte shrieked. "Qu'est-ce qu'ils vous ont fait? I shouldn't have left!"

The brilliantly colored boy groaned, trying to push out some words in his bloody mouth but only dusty air came out. His thinly shaved, oily scalp skewed as a metallic barrel pushed into it. The gun lingered, prepped to shoot. Then he pulled Emil's shorts down and switch-pointed the gleaming barrel underneath his sweaty balls. Sergio held it proudly, zestily grinning. "Para tu novio."

"Now," Merida rubbed his hands. "You could either join our coalition, or our boy Emil here suffers an exciting blow. He will be like a pinata. He's already dressed for it," The surrounding players burst into peals of laughter.

Braxxie flustered angrily. Tyler nervously looked at Charlotte. Her face was covered but tears were clearly welling out. What a shitty way it would be to repay her by letting her friend die.

Tyler arrested a sigh. "Fine. We're in. Just let him go."

The corners of Merida's mouth grew even wider. "Now was that so hard? Let go of the gay boy, Sergio, and together we'll hold hands and go to the Office. We have a game to win."