Woozy and in pain, Mitch Ouc picked himself up off the ground. He replayed the last few moments in his head.

He knew he had read the Bulldogs' formation 14 correctly. He remembered seeing Drac Hadmust break free down the seam. He recalled pivoting and throwing, but not the hit that must have put him on the turf.

~~~

Henrant Nyhoy sat on a log near the fire, his face illuminated by the dancing flames. The cold wind blew through the trees, carrying with it a haunting rustling sound. He shivered, but it wasn't just from the cold. The island had a way of getting under your skin, into your mind. He glanced around at his teammates, their faces drawn and tired.

"Guys, I gotta ask you something," Henrant said, his voice low and hesitant. "And promise you won't think I'm losing it. I've been hearing things... in... the rustles."

Mitch Ouc, who had been poking at the fire with a stick, looked up, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Henrant?"

"I hear a number," Henrant continued, glancing nervously at the darkened woods. "Every time the wind blows through those damn trees, it's like someone's whispering '14' in my ear. I think maybe I'm going nuts."

"Like Dutch?" Drac Hadmust said, with a half-hearted laugh.

Andda Ravis leaned forward, and his eyes widened. "You too? I hear '82' every time. Didn't want to bring it up. Didn't want to believe it."

~~~

In the locker room, the Snworb huddled together, preparing for the battle ahead. The tension was high, but so was the camaraderie. Mitch Ouc, their quarterback, tried to focus on the playbook but found his mind drifting to the upcoming presidential election.

"You all hear this Shug W quote? I'll read it to you: Folks, listen, Lo Rage thinks he's some kind of hero for what he did, but let's be real here - Baltimore, now there's a city that knows how to get things done. Beautiful harbor, great crab cakes, not this wild, cowboy justice nonsense."

Andad Ravis shook his head. "Yeah, I've got to agree. What did that Bin Laden guy ever do to us? President Rage wins Florida by 500 votes, and we had to deal with four years of his itchy trigger finger."

Drac Hadmust shrugged, tightening the laces of his cleats. "Does it matter right now? We’ve got a game to win. Let's focus."

Henrant Nyhoy spoke up, "You guys better be ready. I've watched a lot of tape on the Bulldogs since they got promoted from the GGG. They don’t just tackle; they punish. Their motto is 'We are the keepers of the old ways.' They play old-school smash-mouth football, all the way."

The door to the locker room swung open with a force that made it bang against the wall. Dutch Savib strode in, his presence commanding immediate attention. His eyes were sharp, burning with a fire that both inspired and intimidated. "Alright, boys, enough chit chat. We respect their history, but we're here to make our own."

~~~

Dutch intruded into the players' ring around the fire. He wasn't wearing his coat. He was pacing and already in conversation, although he was alone. "...it's 76. Of course, it's 76. It's not just any number. It's the year the Declaration of Independence was signed. 1776. The birth of liberty. Freedom from tyranny." Dutch became aware of the warmth of the fire first, then the stares of his players.

"You see where I'm going, right? The Inconnus, they always say '76.' We're trapped here, prisoners! 76 is freedom!"

"Coach, the Inco...?" Mitch started, but Dutch had already continued.

"They're trying to guide us. We have to pay attention. Nothing is random. 76 is just the beginning. Coordinates, steps, instructions. It has to mean something." As he spoke, his pacing took him away from the fire and into the surrounding woods.

~~~

Mitch Ouc stood behind the line of scrimmage, his eyes scanning the defense. Canton had packed the box, anticipating a run. The Bulldog middle linebacker Sonty Luvansil - a hulking figure known for his brutal tackles - glared at Mitch with predatory intent.

Deuce Snaira had called for a play that relied on deception and speed. It was a play-action pass, designed to make the defense bite on the run fake and open up the field for a deep throw. The call was risky, but it was their best shot at a quick score.

Mitch took the snap and faked a handoff. The Bulldogs' defense surged forward, their eyes locked on the running back. Mitch pulled the ball back, raised his head, and scanned the field. Drac was streaking towards the end zone, uncovered and grinning so wide Mitch could see the smile through his spiderweb facemask.

Mitch planted his feet and unleashed a perfect spiral, the ball arcing high through the air. The Bulldogs' safety, realizing too late that he had been duped, turned and sprinted to catch up. But Drac was already in full stride, his long legs eating up the yards.

The ball descended, and Drac leapt, his hands reaching skyward. He snagged the pass with a graceful, two-handed catch, pulling it in against his chest as he crossed the goal line. Touchdown, Snworb.

Advance Regress