Chapter V: Zeal

2017, Montreal QC.

Eighteen Hours Before Arrest.

The second Zoe hears the front door open, she taps the volume up key until her bedroom practically shakes around her. She doesn't have to see her father's sighing face when he passes by her door nor her mother's deepset frown. Excuse her for respecting tradition. Zoe's been a consistent pain in the ass since the day she was born, why mess it up now?

"Turn it down!" Her father's voice booms through the drywall as Zoe leans back in her desk chair. She offers a hum of acknowledgement knowing full well that he won't be able to hear it. She wonders briefly if he's in more of a Fall Out Boy mood before remembering that she doesn't care.

They've been gone all evening without so much as a note to say where they were going. Why should Zoe care what he wants? They'll all stay up as a family until she decides it's time for bed. Considering she woke up at one o'clock today, that could take a while. It's the closest thing to family time that the Stanfords are likely to have this year.

Besides, Zoe's got more important things to worry about than the incessant knocking on her bedroom door. Even if part of her wanted to let them in, she couldn't. Zoe doesn't exactly have an answer for the shiny new desktop whirring in front of her. Maybe her mother wouldn't recognize the brand, but her father certainly would.

If Zoe was born into the world of software, then her father was the one who raised her there. She's more comfortable looking through a computer screen than any attempt at a face-to-face conversation. That doesn't exactly matter down the path that she's destined for. Once Zoe gets her bachelor's in a few years, she'll have a cozy life as a software developer just like the rest of her family.

She'll do just about anything to stop that from coming true.

She has bigger plans. Of course she does. Zoe expects that any teenager living in a downtown apartment complex has to. It's pretty much the only thing that keeps her sane. Her future is all but secured right now, but it's not what she wants. Her older brother might be content being a mini-me to their father, taking orders until the old man retires, but she isn't.

She can already see it happening in Thomas and it makes her absolutely nauseous. Zoe would never believe that they'd been close if she didn't have the photos still saved to her desktop to prove it. She really should delete them.

Zoe isn't going to end up like any of them. She's not going to be a software developer working unpaid overtime to meet deadlines like her father. She's not going to be a doting wife like her mother. She's not going to take the easy way out like Thomas.

It's not just a dream anymore.

She's living it.

Zoe grazes a hand over her keyboard, watching the letters glow bright at her touch. It's another new addition to her room and another thing she doesn't exactly feel like explaining away. Her father wouldn't understand. There are so many things that computers can do beyond the obvious. Zoe isn't going to limit herself to doing what other people want from her.

2018, Undisclosed Location.

One Minute Before Victory.

Zoe's arms shake with exhaustion, but the baton comes straight back down. She can hardly even feel the fingers that grip it. The extension of weight that drips from her hands is almost enough to bring her down beside his thrashing bruised skin. If Zoe dropped now, she knows with certainty that she wouldn't get back up.

The only option is to keep going. Even when the boy's nails reach up and scratch at her neck, leaving behind marks that sting over old scrapes, Zoe doesn't so much as flinch. Her eyes are squinted down at him, mouth dry from dehydration that she can't even begin to describe. She can't remember the last time she slept let alone drank water. There's nothing in this place to offer even those scraps of comfort.

Zoe throws his hand back down and it smacks against the concrete. He gasps, lips parted as he stares up at her. Zoe wonders if he remembers her. She expects by the panic in his eyes that he does.

She remembers every face that's greeted her in this god-awful place. Almost all of them are dead. She can't remember how many are even supposed to be left now. The only number Zoe can remember is the one telling her how many announcements have been her fault.

Five.

Lindsey. Eric. Helen. The boy in Cell Block A. The girl under the desk in security.

She has to keep going.

What began as anger has melted into fear that sits solid in Zoe's veins. She can't remember a single second that it hasn't been there. Even when there are no unfamiliar breaths sinking around her, Zoe can't be sure that she's alone. Every single person that she came across has been a threat. They can't honestly look at her and say that they're not trying to hurt her. Even if they did, Zoe isn't stupid enough to believe it.

That's the whole fucking point.

If she lets someone close, she's dead. If she sleeps and someone walks in, she's dead. How can anyone expect not to get a knife in their back at the first possible chance? How can she trust that the words running from their lips aren't poison? She can't.

The only way she can trust someone is if they're already dead. Listening to a word they say is practically suicide. Zoe would rather sleep in a room with a decomposing corpse than with someone claiming to look out for her. It's easier to say everyone's a threat than to hesitate wondering whether a friend is even worth it.

So what if the girl tucked beneath the security desk was asleep when Zoe found her? Lindsey wasn't when they pinned her hand to the wall with the tip of their dagger. Dillon, the boy unmoving now at Zoe's feet, wasn't the first time they ran into each other. There's still a deep mark on the back of her neck that reminds Zoe of that.

"It's over."

Zoe's gaze flinches up to the ceiling as heavy breaths shake her body. The mechanical words don't register. She tightens her grip on the baton. Any moment there will be someone else. They're going to run straight through that door or maybe the one at the other side to try and surprise her. Jokes on them, because she's going to be ready.

"Put your hands up."

"Where are you?" Zoe shouts. Her boot catches on something solid but she doesn't pause to look down. She knows what it is. The shaking in her hands that hasn't gone away can imagine the blood that smears across her footsteps. She doesn't care. She can't care.

"It's over."

"Come out!" She yells. Her baton comes up to her shoulder, tears building as she glances quickly around the room. She can hear them. The skin of her palms begins to burn but Zoe refuses to drop the weapon. Her eyes feel heavy but she won't let them fall closed. The words are wrong; it's not over.

It's never going to be over.

2018, Toronto General Hospital.

Three Days After Victory.

Zoe can't get the taste of bile out of her mouth no matter how many times she tries to rinse it away. It's preferable to the memory of chalk on her lips or the thought of more pills in her hand. She simply hates throwing up. She always has but apparently that's not enough to stop her.

She's not taking their stupid pills. Zoe's not taking anything from these people, she doesn't care what credentials they hold. In some ways they're just as bad as the people who hauled her off to prison in the first place. In other ways they're so much worse. They might have been the ones to pull her from that hellhole, but that's not earning them any fucking bonus points.

Anytime they want to bring Zoe anywhere, all they have to do is activate some setting of her tracker and it's lights out all over again. They did it to get her to the hospital. They do it to drag her into a meeting each morning with some cheerful woman who obviously doesn't give a rat's ass about Zoe. Anything they want, they can take from her.

Some would say it's stupid to resist. Zoe would say it's even stupider to obey. If they want something they can pry it from her unconscious hands. She's not going to make any of this easy for them.

None of it's been made easy for her.

Zoe's the one who has to sit here all day, trying to put the pieces together about what even happened. She can still feel the shiver of the set every morning when she wakes up in a cold sweat. She can stare across at bloody faces that aren't there while knowing full well that they look like that because of her. Zoe can look down at her hands and feel like she can't control a single move they make.

She killed people, real people.

How is that possible?

Zoe sours her expression as the door opens again. She doesn't want to look up, but curiosity is always going to get the better of her. She has to know who's coming. She has to try and reason through what's happening even as her nerves fire in a call to action.

Anyone that came across Zoe on the set is dead now. She wishes that she could extend the same invitation to every single adult that comes in to try and comfort her. They're the ones who actually deserve it.

"Is there a reason you're not taking your pills?" Zoe recognizes the doctor, but can't be asked to think of his name. That would take a lot more energy than she's willing to spend on someone like him.

"I am taking them," she shrugs.

He sighs. "They're meant to help you, Zoe."

"They look better in the toilet."

Zoe hates that he still looks unbothered. "I know that this is difficult for you right now. I promise you that we're here with only your best interest in mind."

Zoe doesn't answer him. It'll only sound desperate as the medical supply cart is being wheeled in behind him. She tenses as the guards grab her arms, but there's nowhere for her to go even if she could get free. That doesn't mean she's not going to make them work for it.

They're the ones who let her out.

She's their problem now.

2018, Montreal QC.

Seven Months After Victory.

It's been too long since Zoe's been home.

Still, she'd be lying if she said that she actually missed it here.

The apartment is silent as she steps inside, a pair of guards trailed behind her like some stupid parade she never asked for. Zoe was promised that they wouldn't be staying but quite honestly she doesn't care. It's been a couple of months since guards last held her down for an injection. The real target of Zoe's frustration isn't prancing behind her and that's about the only thing she cares about.

They left Dr. Liu back at the hospital. With any luck, she'll never have to see his stupid face again.

When Zoe turns the corner and sees her father typing away at his computer, it feels like she never left. She waits in the threshold of the living area, not really sure what to say to him. For a moment she wonders if her family was even told she'd be back today.

"Hi dad," she says finally.

His eyes flash up to meet her before dropping down to the computer for another few keystrokes. "Zoe? I thought you'd have been here a bit later. Your mother just stepped out but I'll give her a call. Just one second."

Zoe stiffens. It's not like she expected some elaborate welcome, but she hasn't seen him in over a year now. She was in prison. She was just on a show that should have stopped her life dead in its tracks. Is it too much to hope that he'd at least pretend to be happy to see her?

"It's fine," Zoe murmurs. "I'm tired anyways."

"Oh?" He says, but she can tell that he didn't even hear her. That's always his response when he's too deep into finding a code error to remember anything outside his laptop even exists. Zoe should find comfort in knowing that nothing's changed. Instead she feels closer to tears than she ever did in treatment.

She doesn't bother to give him another reply. Zoe suspects he doesn't even notice.

2018, Toronto General Hospital.

Eight Months After Victory.

Eleven days. That's how long Zoe lasted at home before another pair of guards showed up at her apartment door.

She should have seen it coming, but in all honesty she hadn't wanted to think about the possibility. Zoe had a hundred and one things to work on for her 'special project' and about as much motivation as a sac of thumbtacks. For four of those days, Zoe had rarely moved from her bed except to use the bathroom. Who needed to eat when sleep was so much easier to prepare?

Her parents had each checked on her once. That's it. Two knocks on her bedroom door after not seeing their daughter for months. As far as Zoe was concerned, they could shove those pathetic attempts where the sun don't shine.

She wasn't there to be a comfort to anyone that they were doing a good enough job. She wasn't there to build some video game about the most traumatic experience of her life.

Actually, Zoe doesn't know why she's here.

"It's good to see you again, Zoe," Dinah nods as she takes a seat in the familiar office.

Zoe rolls her eyes. "I'm sure."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Dinah asks and Zoe can't stop herself from smirking. There's nothing much to discuss. The network wanted a progress report on the early stages of her game design. Zoe sent them a very well-worded email urging them to see for themselves. She wishes that she could have seen their faces when they opened her attachment to find a giant, pixelated middle finger.

"Seems like you might," Zoe shrugs.

Dinah sighs, but even that can't feel like a win because it sounds so demeaning. It's as if Zoe is some child that Dinah's been tasked to babysit who keeps shitting their pants. Zoe can't exactly say the metaphor isn't accurate.

If she means to mess up, can anyone really call it messing up?

"You know," Dinah says softly. "This is a lot easier on everyone, including you, if you just let the treatment work."

"That seems a lot like giving up," Zoe fires back. "If you haven't noticed yet, I'm not the type."

Dinah takes a slow breath, probably trying to resist the urge to reach across and strangle her. The thought of this well-dressed woman doing that brings an even bigger smirk to Zoe's face. "The show gave you a second chance, Zoe. The others are out there living great, productive lives. Do you think they gave up?"

She's seen enough of the footage to know what Dinah is talking about. Zoe had to watch countless hours of Alexis smiling through trophy ceremonies and Elise giving acceptance speeches. She half-slept through Calvin's many commercials about animal welfare and rolled her eyes during Mina's poetry readings.

No one who went through what Zoe did should look like them. They should be screaming at how unfair all of this is. They should be breaking things and not giving a shit who has to pay to fix it. This entire setup is meant to make Zoe grateful, but for what? She didn't ask for any of it. They're the ones who pulled her off the set and told her to make something out of her crumbled life.

Zoe's not the insane one for telling them to fuck off. She doesn't have to think for more than a second to come up with an answer to Dinah's question.

"Yes."

2019, North Bay ON

Ten Months After Victory.

"Can you take a look at something for me?"

Zoe all but jumps out of her chair at the sudden noise. It's been quiet for hours, or at least what has felt like hours. Elise is just about the only person that Zoe's ever met who prefers to work in silence. If Zoe actually had any interest in working on her project, she would have gone insane without some kind of music.

She's not entirely convinced that she's not going insane considering she's been staring into space since she sat down.

Zoe wants to roll her eyes at the request. It's been almost two weeks since Zoe was sent here to be basically babysat by the older girl. Dinah explained that it would be good for Zoe to see how one of the others had settled in. Zoe is convinced that the hospital simply got sick of dealing with her and decided it was easier to pawn her off on someone else.

It hasn't exactly been the worst experience of her life, but that's not to say Zoe's enjoying herself. Elise lives in just about the most remote location she's ever seen. Zoe can look out the window and not find one hint at civilization. Elise tried to make a joke that Calvin roped her into the rural life. Zoe had been too stunned at the lack of buildings to decide if it had been funny or not.

The only real entertainment that Zoe's been able to find has been Elise's dog, Odo. For how put together his owner seems to be, Odo is quite literally the opposite. Zoe doesn't think a single day has gone by without him running into or breaking something.

Maybe it's boredom, but Zoe decides to bite at whatever Elise wants to show her. She kicks off the wall until she rolls to the other side of the room, glancing down at the notebook that looks about as exciting as the rest of this place.

Immediately, she feels like falling asleep.

Elise locks eyes with her for a moment before pointing down at a section of the notes. Zoe reads the sentence she's motioning at, but it doesn't have much meaning to her. It seems like it might be describing the table above it.

"Yepp," Zoe says with a sigh. "Those are definitely words."

Elise shakes her head. "I meant this part."

She circles the cap of her pen around a single word. Quiet.

Zoe furrows her brows, glancing up at Elise who nods before continuing. "I'm wondering if these parts should be combined."

Two more words. Us. Talk.

"That could work," Zoe mumbles, her interest suddenly piqued. Elise continues to tap her pen seemingly randomly around the notebook. Zoe has to focus on catching every word to try and build a meaning from them.

They. Listen.

Help. To. Talk.

All. Of. Us.

Code.

Zoe nods along with the words, keeping her head ducked and pointed towards the book in case someone is watching. Elise seems to think someone is and that makes an awful lot more sense than them actually being alone.

"Does that part make sense?" Elise asks. Zoe can see the trepidation on her expression, as if wondering whether she's said- or not said- too much. Elise seems to have gotten lucky on both ends. Not only does Zoe understand, but she actually has an idea for how to do it. The name of her new project is already ringing in her ears - Z Chat.

"I think so," Zoe says finally and Elise smiles, actually smiles. And it's not the same one from television. There's a gleam of mischief in her eye that Zoe can't help but immediately like even after it's gone.

Maybe they haven't given up.

And Zoe sure as hell hasn't.

She stares up at an unmoving sky.

It shouldn't be so impossible to be lifeless, her mind trailing inside numbed limbs.

Some things are worse than iron bars.