Past the lobby with the four immobilized others, there’s the rooms again. It’s my second time searching through them. They’re messier than before. The others must’ve went through them during the time I locked them inside. In fact, there are still a few others here. Just sitting in the corner. Their eyes rolled up at me when I came in. Maybe if I were prey, they would’ve reacted. How do they know I’m not prey? I’m wearing prey’s clothes, a prey’s dome. It shouldn’t be possible for them to know. Unless I smell? But their noses should be clogged; smell doesn’t matter. Is it the way I walk? I’m not as agile as prey that are running. But my gait is definitely superior compared to the others’. Odd. It could be that they’re not hungry.
The only useful things in these rooms are the metal sticks. And spears. Weapons within arm’s reach of the bed where the prey turn sluggish. I’ll lie on the bed. See what’s so special about it. It’s sturdy, almost like lying on the ground. No, it’s exactly like lying on the ground. It’s a block of wood covered by a thin cloth. Multiple layers of thin cloth. But still thin. The only difference is the blanket. And pillow. It’s uncomfortable. Like this, I’ll be slower to react compared to when I’m standing. Or even sitting. If prey rest in these while sluggish, the best time to hunt them is at night. It’ll be even better to sneak in while they’re still lying down. But the others can’t sneak. And if I go alone, it’s dangerous. But it’s good to keep in mind.
There really isn’t anything else of use. The prey must carry around essential items with them. Leaving their stuff lying around, it’s inefficient. Like the bags that the prey carry where I found the fire in a box. Why didn’t the prey that I caught have bags? Things are heavy. It’s hard to escape with a heavy bag. It makes sense for the prey not to bring their bags to a dangerous place; it’ll only slow them down. But the prey in the pit, it didn’t have a bag. Where are its essential items? It only had clothes, not the armored kind. Perhaps, the other prey stole it after it fell into the pit? They abandoned the prey; why wouldn’t they take its stuff too? I’m glad I’m not prey. Prey are safe amongst prey. But they cause each other’s downfalls. As for me, I’m safe around others. The only problem is they’re stupid. At least they won’t eat me. And I haven’t been attacked by one yet; though I’ve killed many others.
The only room with useful things is the room with the window. The shelves have stink sauce. There’s another other here, trying to leave through the window. But the opening is too high up. Has it been trying this whole time? Since I discovered the prey was down there? What an idiot. But as long as it’s stuck here, that’s good. When I leave this place, it’s one more other that can accompany me without searching very hard.
Along with the jars of stink sauce, there’s a few tools. I didn’t get to search this place thoroughly before noticing the prey. There was a lot that I missed. On top of the whole shelf rack, there’s a bunch of boxes. They’re labelled tissues. Inside, there’s paper. They look perfect for burning to start a fire. I’ll need more space to carry these. Too bad the prey didn’t leave bags behind. Then I could strap them to the others, stick stuff inside of them, use them as transport. Along with the boxes of tissues, there are also rolls of paper towels. Useful. I should bring these into the back room when I go back.
On the topmost shelf, there’s cans. Beans. Fruit. Soup. Ravioli. So many different kinds. The labels must represent the contents inside. How do I open them? There’s a tool beside them. It has two legs, a little like scissors. At the tip, there’s a metal gear connecting the two legs with a tab sticking out of it. Spreading the legs causes a metal tip to extend out, away from the gear. Closing the legs causes it to sink down. Turning the tab on the gear causes it to spin. Is this used to open cans? How? Perhaps the metal tip punctures the can. Closing the legs presses the lip of the tip between the tip and the gear. Then turning the tab shifts the can as the metal tip cuts into the lid.
I’ll try it. The tip punctures the can, pinching the lip between the gear like I thought. Turning the tab … does nothing. It shreds the label of the can underneath. Am I holding the legs closed too loosely? Tighter. Turning the tab … still does nothing. Tighter? More of the label is gone. How is this supposed to work? Maybe it’s meant to be used with two uninjured arms. Or it’s broken. That makes sense. If the tool worked, the cans would already be open. The tool doesn’t work. But I still want to know what’s inside the cans. Luckily, there’s a metal stick here in the corner. I’ll smash the can open with it.
It was a bit messy. The can was filled with liquid. Thick, like the blood of others, not runny like prey’s. It smells bland. The hunger doesn’t stir; I don’t think it’s edible. Food meant for prey is different from food meant for others. Why is that? Others are just prey who’ve been brought back. What changes to cause such a difference? I’ve taken apart an other before. I’ve taken apart a prey. Two prey, actually. There’s only a few notable differences: others’ blood is black, prey’s blood is red. Prey’s organs are pink, others’ are black, gray, green. Prey’s innards smell appetizing, others’ don’t. But other than that, the insides are the same: hearts, lungs, stomachs, tubes, they both have them. What causes the difference? I’ll ask God, the one that changes prey to others. I have a feeling I’ll find him soon. With food preservation, I don’t have to worry about hunger consuming me.