In The Core: Games VIII
Intake Dock - 9:28 AM
Savannah slips to the ground, her back to the wooden planks and the grey brick beyond them. She takes a slow breath, the painful pressure in her chest rising and falling with the movement. The ache isn't unbearable, but it's a constant reminder of the very wall she now refuses to face. She swallows down the urge to take another so quickly but it's only a matter of time.
The dock is too peaceful. Savannah glances along the surface, for the first time allowing herself to take in the landscape. She never came up here before the game started, but she can almost imagine that this is what it would've looked like. There's no dusting of brick or stained blades of grass. It doesn't look perfect, not by a long shot; it looks as abandoned as it should.
If she turned around, it would look exactly like the prison it's always been.
Savannah closes her eyes as the next breath wins, her lower lip trembling as she clenches her teeth. The last memory she has of the surface feels like a lie, but the hours-long cleanup can't fool the stitches beneath her uniform. Every time the fabric rubs against them, Savannah has little choice but to remember.
She finds she doesn't mind that. There's no one here to break the rules to, not yet at least. Even if there were, Savannah would still keep the tender wound to herself just like the bullet she can almost imagine still lives deep inside it.
It's a weakness heading into this next chapter. That's true no matter whose eyes Savannah looks through. FFN might have sewn the injury shut, but they didn't bother to heal it beyond disguising it. Even as she sits here, the ache doesn't let up.
It's her punishment for trying to escape.
Savannah will wear it proudly.
She nods a greeting as someone shakily sits down in front of her. A half-smile pulls at her lips, though it's bittersweet at best and tastes like the salt water that had never been here. On the one hand there's confirmation. The girl that Savannah pulled through the wall isn't dead. No one died this morning because of her.
Savannah bows her head. Another breath but this one feels that little bit lighter. The last thing she remembers before the cell block was the hand that came to help her up. The burning in her chest had been so much stronger and none of her breaths close to easy. Blood had dripped into her palm from 006's shoulder, the girl's entire sleeve drenched with it. They could both still run.
They just kept running.
Savannah never looked back to know how far they'd gotten. It was dark, loud, and the sound of people had forced her hope forward. They'd been shot - by who and why are two questions she can't yet answer. More than likely, Savannah will never know. They'd been shot and they kept going, that's the only thing that matters to her now. They tried.
She doesn't know if it was blood loss or the sedative that finally sunk her to the grass. Savannah had been certain she was dying. As the pain, the pulling at her hand, and the incoherent shouts all started to fade, that seemed like the only answer.
Even so, Savannah hadn't been nearly as afraid as she is right now.
"I never caught your name," She says, glancing up to the lip of the dock. 006 sits at the edge of the concrete, as far as she can get from the dock without disappearing into the weeds. The expression that Savannah remembers, the flushed cheeks and wide eyes, is gone. She looks like she's sleepwalking, like the sedative hasn't worn off quite yet.
She watches for a moment before nodding. "Nora."
"Thank you," Savannah says, holding her gaze for as long as it takes for Nora to look away. She hopes that she understands, but nothing in her expression says much of anything. Saying more will only endanger them both.
Nora stares above her, the grey in the brick reflected in her eyes. She doesn't know what to say nor would she say it if she did know. They're not outside the wall anymore. They're not looking at a chance that both of them can make it if only they keep running. There isn't anyone to wave down in hopes of rescue.
They're facing a solid brick wall with no way through and no way over.
Nora doesn't need to know anyone's name.
"They put us together," Savannah says softly. She's trying to choose her words, but there's little way to have this conversation comfortably. They don't have much time before it all starts again. Savannah wants an answer before then. "What do you want to do?"
Truth be told, Savannah doesn't have an answer herself. They're similar competitors, not the same but they've worked together already. What she's seen of Nora's strategy has mirrored her own. Beyond the wall, Savannah trusted her. In those few moments when pain blurred her vision, she had little choice. Even during the pursuit of the other girls, there was some semblance of understanding between her and Nora.
Savannah isn't sure that understanding is the same as trust. She doesn't know that she should be offering it to be.
Nora glances back to her but still her expression betrays nothing. She searches Savannah's face and Savannah does her best not to squirm. There's something in Nora's eyes that she can't place. The exhaustion is easy to note as is the rigid apprehension behind her narrowed lips. Past that, Nora's thoughts are as hidden as the world behind her.
When there's still no answer, Savannah caves. "Do you want to stay?"
It's desperate, but it's not stupid. Savannah isn't as capable now. She's injured, she can feel it with every breath and she's sure it's painted across her eyelids. Nora knows where she's hurt, but Savannah can say the same about her. The wound beneath her sleeve is invisible to everyone else, but Savannah was the one that held her palm across it.
She knows that Nora can kill. She suspects that Nora knows the same about Savannah.
Understanding, not trust.
For now, that would be enough.
"Attention contestants." Both girls visibly stiffen as the familiar voice fills the outside air. Without the ocean to freshen the breeze, it feels like the words are being forced down Savannah's throat. "The next phase of competition will begin momentarily."
Savannah flinches as sharp static erupts around them. She grips the sparse weeds by her knees and glances around them. Nora's chin hardly tilts upward, but the hollowness behind her eyes seems to recede as she does.
"Our sincerest apologies to our viewing audience for the interruption. The Cut is back online and ready to reunite you with our remaining contestants. Our film crew has been working tirelessly to augment the security footage obtained while our main cameras were down. Two scenes have been released at this time for your viewing pleasure."
Savannah swallows but remains perfectly still. The voice is vaguely familiar from the commercials she'd seen years ago. This must be the message to welcome the fans back. Why are we hearing this?
"More footage will be released as it becomes available, but for now let's get back to the contestants. Nine remain after this morning's disruption, and we're about to let them in on the good news. Can you believe we're already halfway?"
The voice laughs. Savannah can imagine the woman sitting in a faraway studio with the many camera views arranged at her back and a white-toothed smile. There's no doubt in Savannah's mind that they're watching again. She can feel it in the shiver that runs up her back.
Her eyes travel back to Nora, the question still in the air between them. Savannah's fingers stretch around the handle of her mace just behind her. She prays that Nora can't see.
She wants this truce, it's her best chance.
Still, Savannah isn't going to bet on anything.
"Levan Fournier has been eliminated." The robotic voice returns. She closes her eyes for a moment knowing that two more names will follow. Savannah doesn't know many of the others by name. She remembers one of the boys shouting "Lev" as he ran across the shore early this morning. This must be him.
"Rory Bishop has been eliminated." There's no memory that accompanies this one. She feels ashamed for how easily it slips from her mind.
"Valentine Kirkland has been eliminated. Nine contestants remain."
Another name without meaning to her, but Savannah bows her head respectfully anyway. She doesn't know how their deaths will be explained away. She doesn't know what scenes have been released but has every expectation that they'll be as augmented as the woman claimed. More than likely, no one will ever know what really happened to them.
A small voice wishes that she would've been one of them. Savannah pushes hard against that thought but its echo remains. If it hadn't been clear before, it certainly was now - there's little chance that she'll see past this wall again. She hasn't seen the stitches that line her chest, but she can feel them. She isn't giving up, but nine isn't the godsend the announcer seems to think it is.
That's still eight more people to go through when simply breathing makes Savannah want to cry.
And when her time comes, there'll be no grainy made up footage to explain it. She'll get no privacy like the three new announcements. The whole thing will be there in HD to be watched again and again by anyone that wants to. More people will know her in death than ever tried to back in Kindersley. It would be ironic if it didn't make her wish she were already gone.
Savannah looks at Nora one last time before rising to her feet. The game has started and she doesn't have an answer, but that in itself suffices. There's nothing more for her to do here.
No sooner has she turned to leave than does Nora's voice follow. "I want to stay."
South Hallways - 9:33 AM
It takes several minutes before Vi's eyes finally fill with tears. They stare straight forward, the concrete pulling their eyes even as it blurs before her. Their neck feels stiff, like even moving it will break the skin around the mark already posed there. It's as though her entire body has been filled with stone that refuses to even breathe.
The trembling starts all at once as tears start to spill down their cheeks. Vi takes in a gasped breath but feels no better. She looks down at their hands still clenched in her lap. After the first breath comes another until Vi finally collapses into violent sobs. She curls herself against the wall but it doesn't envelop around them to comfort her. Vi covers their face with her hands, but the tears just keep falling.
The hallway is silent, so dreadfully quiet even as sobs wrack their body. The voice is gone. The strange announcement is over. Lev's name is not even an echo against the concrete walls. It'd be easy to imagine that it hadn't been said at all if it weren't for the hollow sickness that's swallowed Vi's stomach. She knows what they heard.
Vi wishes she didn't. For the first time since the fog lifted from her long-standing shivering and plunged them back into reality, Vi wants it back. The incessant beating of their heart was easier. The frantic pull of her breaths was preferable to the fresh misery in their chest. When her body had been on high alert for days at least they knew what to expect.
His name wouldn't have hurt her like being buried in stone. She probably wouldn't have understood, too wrapped in their own fear to panic for anyone else. The announcement would have slid off like rain down a shut window.
It would have been easier.
She's never felt so selfish.
He doesn't make a sound as they turn to Jared. The moment she lays eyes on him, the tears return even thicker. Jared doesn't return the look, in fact he doesn't move. For every bit of trembling that shakes Vi's body, he sits perfectly still and stares forward. Vi reaches towards the hand that lays closest to her. His fingers feel cold as they lay their palm across them.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. It doesn't feel like enough. It's not enough. They've never known what to say, but this? How do you comfort someone when your world's shattered itself? Lev and Jared were best friends, they remember Jared telling her so. Vi can't count how many times Jared told them the story of how they met. He compared it to an action movie.
"There was smoke everywhere." The goofy smile didn't slip even an inch as Jared's eyes lit up. He'd told her a dozen times about running back to the station and finding it empty. Not only did Vi not have the heart to stop him, they didn't want to. Jared told the story so well every time. "Then bam! The gazebo came out of nowhere. On one side was the fire, I knew I had to go that way, but my door was jammed."
"What did you do?" Vi asked despite knowing the answer.
Jared smiled. "I started trying to pry it open, but it was stuck good. Then, out of nowhere, someone yanks me out the passenger side door. She walked away before I could ask but then I saw this little guy. I asked if he could help me get the driver side open so I could get out. Lev's so smart, you'll never guess what he said-"
"Out of where?" They said in tandem and laughed. Every time, Vi imagined Lev saying those exact words and it still made her giggle.
Jared finches as their hands touch and Vi tightens their fingers around his. His eyes move stiffly to face her, both glossed over though no tears have fallen. "Why?"
His voice is hoarse but that's just from the silence. They haven't spoken much in the time they've been together and that in itself has been weird for Jared. He hasn't known what to say. He also doesn't want to break the rules. Quiet has never been comfortable, but right now he can't imagine anything being comfortable.
Lev's been eliminated.
What do you know about The Cut? As the words echo, Jared glances up but Lev isn't there. The only thing ahead of him is concrete. He stares at it, remembering the question and the conversation that followed. It was right before Lev's note.
It was right before Lev left.
And how do we get eliminated?
Jared remembers his confusion. "You lose a fight?"
You die. We get eliminated when we're dead.
Jared shakes his head and the workshop disappears, leaving him in the same hallway staring at the same concrete. He glances down and only then feels the pressure of Vi's fingers tightened over his. His eyes rise to face the tears slipping freely down their cheeks. Jared swallows, his mind blank as he watches the next roll off her chin.
He reaches up and wipes it away. Vi's lip trembles until she finally reaches across to wrap him in a tight hug. Jared's hands come up slowly to catch them and wrap stiffly across her back. She shakes against him and for a moment that's all there is. Jared doesn't know what to think, all he can do is try and comfort them.
"I'm sorry," Vi's voice shakes as violently as the rest of her body and Jared rests his chin on their shoulder.
"For what?"
His voice doesn't sound like his, but there's no one else here.
Vi's neck cranes to look at him. "That he's gone."
Jared's brow furrows as she once again buries their eyes in his shirt. He places his hand on the small of her back but it's hard to think of anything but their words. He doesn't understand. No one's gone.
Lev's not gone. Jared knows what gone means.
Passed away. Departed. Gone. They're all nice ways to say dead, but none of them apply here. Lev isn't dead. Maybe Jared doesn't know where he is, but he's not dead. Lev was wrong. Eliminated isn't gone. Eliminated isn't dead. Nothing's happened to Lev or anyone else. Nothing's going to happen to him or to Vi.
They're not going to die.
Lev was wrong. He's never been so certain of anything.
He peels Vi slowly from the front of his shirt. She puts a hand back to steady themself, an uneasy expression crossing her eyes. Jared holds tight to their shoulders. He searches her eyes, swirls of grief and confusion mixing within them.
"He's not gone." Jared's voice shakes but that doesn't make him any less certain.
Vi's eyebrows fall as they stare back at him. Tears well up again and she shakes her head. They don't want it to be true either, but that doesn't change the fact that it is. "I'm sorry, Jared."
"No," he says. This time the words are much louder. "No you're not. There's nothing to be sorry for. He's not gone."
"Jared," she says softly, their face distorting as she tries to make him understand. She doesn't know how to deal with denial. They learned about the stages of grief a long time ago but she's never seen them. The only death Vi can remember experiencing was Briony's old goldfish. When Vi had found it floating at the top of the tank, there'd been no denying anything. "Lev's dead."
"No!" He bellows. She curls in further as Jared's grip on their shoulders tightens alongside his words. "He's not."
Vi sobs as she tries to turn away. They don't know how to convince him when her chest feels raw even thinking about Lev. He doesn't want to believe her and can Vi blame him? She hasn't wanted to believe a single thought that's sprouted since The Cut began. They shake her head.
"He's not!" Jared shouts and that only makes them cry harder. For the first time in his presence, she's actually scared of him. Vi glances up as tears continue to shed. She tries to catch his gaze, but Jared refuses to even look at them.
"Jared," Vi sniffles. She doesn't know what more to say to make him stop. They don't know how to help him. They don't want to be afraid when all they need right now is her friend.
Vi shakes herself free of his grip and throws both arms over his shoulders. They rest her chin against him and the sobs come just as quickly. She doesn't know what to say. She just needs him. They hold on for dear life no matter that they're afraid. It's Jared.
After a moment, his hands fall softly to their back. Vi sucks in a shuddered breath and hugs him tighter, not knowing what else to do. Another few seconds and he's clutching her just as securely.
"I'm sorry." It doesn't sound like him, but Vi can imagine. He's not shouting. It's close enough. It's still Jared. If they pried themself off of him and looked at his face, she would see him. No part of Vi wants to, but knowing is enough.
Finally, he continues. "But please. Don't say that ever again."
Guard Tower - 9:47 AM
This time when Jules tries the door to the Guard Tower, it opens easily. He steps inside, glancing briefly to the red peeling walls that greet him but they're just as quickly behind him. It looks little different than the last time he was here. There are no new footprints in the bloodied foyer until Jules makes his own.
They didn't want him inside until after the announcement. His assignment was specific, directing him to the far side of the Guard Tower that the main window looks over. For some reason, they wanted him to see that it'd been shattered in his absence.
He walks slowly up the steps, examining every piece for something that might be out of place. Jules knows every inch of this building by now. For a while he's thought of it as a gift, but just as quickly replaced that thought. Jules wasn't gifted this; he took it. The only thing he's been gifted is freedom from the zip ties that held him to the dock this morning.
Jules slips a finger across the remaining plastic. The Cut may have freed him, but it left an important reminder that he wishes would vanish. Each time his skin brushes against the ties, he may as well be back by the wall waiting for it to crumble above him. As he holds it now, Jules can remember the fear that surrounded him. He can recall shouting for someone as they passed by.
The figure continuing on, not so much as pausing with Jules' voice, is his strongest memory.
He doesn't know who they were, nor does he need to. The fear was gone the moment Jules awoke to find his hands no longer tied behind him. The septic hatred it left behind, however, won't be so easily forgotten.
In the first moments after waking, it had been strong enough to make him tremble. Jules had looked out through the bars, seeing nothing but darkness beyond, and hated them all. He'd imagined he could hear them just outside, mocking him. The thought of what they'd say, what everyone would say, sat like cracked ice in his veins.
None of it matters now, he smiles as he reaches the stop step. None of them matter.
He's the one that will win. Jules has never been so confident in anything, but the fact shines brighter than the sun now burning down on him. The network saved him. He may have miscalculated, stepped an inch too far, but it didn't matter in the end. They saved him because he is the one they want. The wall wouldn't dare crumble down on him. They hadn't allowed it to.
He's been permitted to live for a reason.
Jules eases open the door to the sleeping quarters and allows it to close firmly behind him. He crouches slowly beneath the cot, easily spotting the lump that marks his target. The mace is gone, perhaps not forever but for now. It's a good thing a victor is always prepared.
He reaches for the hatchet and the warmth that extends through his fingertips. It had always been wasted in Celene's hands, but no longer. Jules examines the blade with a smirk, feeling the weapon's weight in his hands and the way it rests there so easily. A good performer adapts, changing up their routine as often as the season demands. Many years, Jules had half a dozen to his name and skated each one flawlessly.
He flips the weapon in his hand and raises it steadily across his shoulder. One zip tie peeks out from under his sleeve and he moves to work the blade carefully across it until it snaps to the floor. Jules does the same on his other wrist then moves to his ankles. When all four lay in a pile at his feet, he kicks them far out of view.
Jules lowers the hatchet to stand beside him and continues on to the next room. The door isn't locked like last time, in fact it isn't even shut. He glances across it but the only thing out of place is an exposed set of wires where a tenth screen used to sit. Jules remembers finding the dented remnants of it in front of the garden when he'd arrived.
He eases himself into the chair and leans back comfortably. It feels like both forever has passed since he sat here and no time at all. His finger easily finds the start button and the screens begin to fade to life before him. He knows exactly what to do now and he doesn't have anyone around to distract him. The Guard Tower is his, that's proven by the silence that's fallen around him. The network has given back what's rightfully his.
His eyes scan each screen in turn. A few contestants lurk in the underground screens, but he grazes over them. He'll reach them eventually, of that he has no doubt. Someone else has to be up here, and they'll be first. He's done wasting time.
Jules' opposite hand twirls at the top of the hatchet's handle as he watches. He's nothing if not a performer. Even the tabloids that attempted to shred his reputation had to admit that much. He's not going to let a little set malfunction slow him down. His escape from this place isn't going to depend on any of the lowlifes who like to think themselves saints.
Consider this act two.
Afterall, like Coach Lee always told him, the show must go on.
Underground Security - 9:59 AM
The screens light his cheeks as Vito's hands lay across the control panel. In the darkness that surrounds the rest of the room, this is the only place that feels even remotely safe.
From the moment Vito saw his location assignment, he's had every thought of walking away. He hadn't wanted to face Lev, hadn't know what either of them would say after what happened above ground. No matter how many times he turns Lev's actions over in his mind, they make both little sense and all the sense in the world.
Vito doesn't know whether to want to curse him out or thank him until his voice dries up. He supposes he doesn't have to figure that out anymore.
Lev's dead along with two others. His plan, or at least what little of it Vito has managed to piece together, didn't work. They were never up there to kill anyone. It wasn't some maniacal scheme to trap and slaughter the other competitors. Lev was…. Vito thinks he was trying to save them. He runs his palms down his eyes but just as quickly the darkness pulls him back to the screens.
When it opens, tell them to run.
Vito doesn't fully understand what came next. Lev ran past him straight to where Vito now knows a wall was standing. The shore was never real, the water was never there. Vito remembers the girl's declaration from days ago - it's not real, the water's not real. He'd heard the words when Lev was watching the screens and he was supposed to be sleeping. Vito remembers thinking it was strange that Lev didn't tell him but figured the girl was simply losing her mind.
How long had Lev been planning this?
Vito realizes that he'll never have an answer now. The last thing he remembers is the silver moon that appeared in front of Lev and the smell of blood that followed. Vito remembers hitting the ground. He can still taste the blood that'd sprouted on his lips. He thinks he did what Lev told him. He has a vague memory of screaming to the others to run, but beyond that his head still feels dizzy even trying to remember.
The wall had opened. The wall that Vito hadn't known was even there.
Lev had been trying to get them out.
Vito's eyes glaze over as he watches the screens again. He bites his tongue gently trying to stop the tears that have already begun to well up again. In the last moments before the wall had opened, Vito had hated Lev. That much, he unfortunately remembers.
He'd been trying to save them, and now he's gone. Vito won't ever get the chance to apologize. He's sitting in this same damp room in the same ripped chair and the only thing that's changed is that he's alone. If he's right about what Lev did, and he's growing more certain with every thought, Lev is the bravest person he's ever met.
Did he know he was going to die? Vito bites his tongue as he remembers the hatchet that he'd been carrying. Even from afar he'd seen it sink into Lev's arm right before the wall broke. Vito doesn't know what Lev did.
But he has to believe that Lev knew.
Vito lets out a slow breath as guilt settles in his stomach. The last moments that they were together Vito hadn't even tried to hide his animosity. Vito had been so caught up in his own self-pity that he hadn't seen what Lev was actually trying to do. He didn't help him. Vito didn't run to him to see if there was anything he could have done.
He crawled towards the broken wall with blood dripping from his nose and fear pounding in his chest. There was no bravery, no selflessness. Vito didn't put Lev's words together in time to try and corral the others to safety. Maybe if he had, things would have turned out differently. Vito could have looked at his dark reflection and not absolutely despised it.
Vito has never been proactive about anything. He didn't see what Damien was starting to become. He didn't realize that prison was what his brother needed, not a second chance. No, all Vito's ever done is react. He's never had a plan. Things happen and Vito forces himself to be okay with them, forces others to live with them because he couldn't fathom the pain of making a wrong move.
Is this better? He asks himself, turning to face the dark shadow that paints the wall behind him. To know you did nothing.
The shadow doesn't answer. Vito traces the shape, finding it familiar but at the same time disgusting. He isn't innocent; he's a bystander in his own life and he's never been anything but that. Can he really say he didn't know that Damien was slipping? Vito saw the changes but he had been too busy living his own life to care. He could have done something. He can't honestly say that he couldn't have.
His hand mindlessly moves to the far drawer, some part of him able to sense what's there before pulling it open. Vito stares down at the weapon, its blade facing towards him instead of away. It's the opposite of how Vito had tucked away Lev's weapon when they first met. The hatchet shouldn't even be here, Lev took it to the surface. It should be just as gone as he is but it's not.
Vito never wanted to hurt anyone, but that's not enough. He's stood by through so much. He's stopped exactly nothing. He can't call himself a good person and allow others to pay for what Vito should have seen coming.
It's too late to stop Damien.
In fact, his twin isn't the destination for his thoughts anymore. They've soared far past him as Vito's eyes face the screens again, the shadow still looming close behind. He's searching for something, but as his gaze traces each screen there's no sign of him. Vito starts again at the first. He knows he's here.
The announcements weren't kind enough to say otherwise.
This is something he can do.
Jules has hurt too many people. Vito has let him keep going. The others should have killed him at the surface this morning but they didn't. They don't know who he is. They don't know what he's done, the horrible stains he's left behind, or the smile that's remained locked to his teeth. If they knew, they wouldn't have left him alive. Not in this game.
Vito knows. He's known for so long and done nothing. He's allowed more people to be absolutely broken when he knows death can be so much quieter. He's allowed their blood to paint walls and ceilings. All Vito's done is watch. All he's ever done is watch.
Not now. Not today and not again.
His eyes trace the hatchet once more before removing it from the drawer and laying it across his lap. No one has a fair chance as long as Jules lives.
So Vito will ensure that he doesn't.
Upper Grounds - 10:36 AM
They should have left already.
It's not safe here.
Kas places a hand once again on Aviv's shoulder, but he barely seems to notice. They've spoken very little since coming up here and Kas is trying to be patient, but his skin is all but jumping towards the ladder. Nowhere will be safe, but at this point he would rather face the unknown devil than the two he knows are nearby.
They both saw the blonde-haired boy before the announcement. Kas was thankful to find out that both him and Aviv had gotten the same location assignment. He shoved Aviv in the closet under the stairs almost as soon as they'd seen 002 pass by. Kas hasn't seen him again, but the second the announcement freed them from the Warden's House, they'd hit the ground running. The cameras are too dangerous.
The shore - if Kas can call it that - feels only mildly safer. The projection is mostly intact in this area but the cracks don't allow either of them to pretend it's anything but a wall. It feels like they've been sitting here for several hours and Kas is running out of both patience and sanity.
There's something else that Aviv doesn't know but he knows it won't make him move any faster.
Kas caught barely a glimpse of her near the Intake Building, in fact he can't even promise that it was her. Immediately he'd directed Aviv's attention away and thankfully he doesn't seem to have seen. Kas has little doubt that, if he had, he'd have to hit Aviv over the head to keep him from running to her.
Nora's nearby. Between her and 002, Kas knows they have to get underground soon. Maybe whoever's waiting down there isn't any better, but at this point he doesn't care. Nora made her point clear. Kas isn't about to test it.
He glances at Aviv, who's tear-filled eyes watch the projected sun shimmer across the waves. Kas has decided not to tell him what happened in the cell block.
"We should go," Kas whispers. His hand feels awkward on his shoulder, but he focuses on keeping it there. Aviv has barely spoken since the announcement. Kas wants to comfort him, but he doesn't know how. The names sat like rocks in his stomach as they were announced, but already that's faded. Val and Rory were good people, but he knew it was only a matter of time.
The pain in Aviv's expression burns deeper, but Kas also can't pretend to understand it. None of the words that come to mind feel like they'll take even a hint of the agony from him. Aviv is grieving, that much he can infer. Kas has never really known how to do that. The closest he can think of is Zak, but even that feels surface level in comparison. So much changed for Kas around his death that he can't pinpoint a specific emotion in any of it.
Fear. Disbelief. Guilt.
Not grief. Never eye watering sadness or sobbing despair. Kas can't really imagine what those are like. He doesn't think himself capable of it. Selfishness is something he knows well and it fits that even death would center around himself. He's never learned any different.
"A little longer," Aviv breathes. His face rises in line with the sun and he closes his eyes for a moment as the warmth flushes his cheeks. "The sun doesn't go past the ladder."
Kas swallows and nods. Despite his tears, Aviv looks more at peace on the shore than inside and the underground will be far colder. He can't bring himself to deny just a few more minutes, not at this stage of the game. Aviv deserves every bit of comfort, every fleeting piece of happiness that can be wrangled into his grasp.
It's why he can't know. It's why Kas won't tell him.
Aviv's thoughts always return to her, he can see it even when Nora's name isn't spoken. His forehead will wrinkle ever slightly, his eyelids coming down to force his round eyes into shallow ovals. There's a sadness that crosses his expression and tinges with guilt the longer it stays. Kas knows that Aviv wants to find her.
They were friends, or at least he remembers her that way. What would Aviv do if he found out that she threatened to kill him? He's already mourning for two people he barely knows and trying to survive a game that was never created for people like him. It would destroy him.
"I didn't know you could draw," Kas tries, but his joke comes out too softly to land. He pulls back an inch before forcing himself back. Once his hand is again resting on Aviv's shoulder, it feels instantly warmer.
Aviv stares down at the three outlines and adds another line to the middle one with his finger. He shrugs and Kas' hand falls briefly again before Aviv leans back in. When Kas turns from the sand to Aviv, tears have once again carved rivers down his cheeks.
Kas feels like the biggest asshole of the century for even trying to make him feel better.
"They're beautiful," Kas says softly. "Are they for them?"
Aviv nods. He places one hand beneath the first, a thick line with a teardrop on top. To Kas, it looks like a lit match or perhaps a candle. "For the birthday party." He turns to Kas with a teary smile. "You didn't go, but Lev looked so happy. He smiled the whole time, sometimes even bigger than Jared. He had a really nice smile."
The cake. Kas bows his head with guilt but nods for him to keep going.
Aviv moves his hand along to the second outline - it doesn't look much different from the first but the lines are much more rigid. The teardrop on top has been replaced with something resembling a diamond and there are more lines coming off of it. Kas glances down at the mace that sits behind him.
"Rory loved her friend." Aviv stares down at the image and adds another line to even out the left side. "She wanted to protect them. It made her unwilling to trust us and I don't think I understood that right away." He cracks a smile but this one fades far too quickly. "Did you notice how she always tried to stand in front of them? She was really brave."
"She was," Kas repeats, not knowing what else to say.
Aviv stares down at the middle picture a moment longer before moving to the last one. There's no need to guess as the design is the simplest of the three. Kas places his own hand beside the rounded heart and Aviv's fingers move to lay across it. Kas holds his breath to keep from moving.
"And Val." The smile comes so easily this time and stays far longer. "They did trust us and they didn't have to. They saved our lives that night." Kas nods because it's true. It was Val that welcomed them into the Administrative Offices and insisted on helping keep them safe from the blondes. Their kindness could have backfired but they did it anyway. "They should still be here, all of them. It's not fair that they aren't."
Kas turns to him, finding Aviv's jaw clenched tight and his eyes raw beneath the tears. The grief has been there every time Kas has been able to bring himself to look and still is. However, there's something different this time. If it wasn't Aviv he was looking at, Kas would call it anger.
"It's not," Kas repeats. It feels like the only thing he can do. He doesn't understand the emotion that swims behind Aviv's eyes. Most of him doesn't want to. The only thing he can think to do is stay, but even that can't last forever. They're already halfway through.
He needs to protect him. He needs to protect them both.
If that means pulling Aviv away from the sun, the grass, the pictures he's drawn in the sand, then that's what he has to do.
Dining Hall - 11:04 AM
London doesn't know how much time has passed since she last felt her feet beneath her. She staggers with one hand against the wall, not for stability but for a sense of solid ground as she moves. The Dining Hall isn't very big, but it still takes her several minutes to cross it.
How many times does she pause to cry, her sobs shaking her body so violently that another step is impossible? London doesn't keep count. She doesn't want to know. She doesn't need another reminder of how weak she's always felt. Every time she glances around and finds the air empty, that's enough to confirm it.
She's alone. No matter how many times she repeats those simple words, her eyes continue to search for Alaina.
Not just Alaina, either. No, by the time she's halfway across the hall her mind has hoped for half a dozen others. She caught the movement of her own shadow on the opposite wall and thought of Kent. She glanced at each empty table she passed and searched for her parents. When her eyes inevitably focus back and find nothing but concrete, the hollowness in her stomach only seems to deepen.
She can't sit here and cry anymore.
No, even stronger than the loneliness that floods every vein is the sense that time is running out. Three names. Not the odd one that stretches over hours until London can almost pretend she never heard it. Three. Three people are dead leaving only nine of them. If she sits here, if she keeps looking for someone that's never coming back hers will be next.
London doesn't want to die.
She needs to keep going. Even if it's slow. Even if the odds that she won't die are so much smaller than she wants to think about. Even if every step she takes could be closer to death, not further from it. She needs to keep going.
She doesn't need Alaina. Isn't that what London realized above ground where the darkness stretched far deeper than it does here? She escaped the blondes by herself. She kept Alaina safe when her friend was little more than a walking shell. She protected them both until…
Until she couldn't.
Until Alaina was murdered and she couldn't even find her.
London stands at the threshold of the kitchen and stares. Dry eyes allow her to see near-instantly that it's empty and her hands move up again to cover her face. No tears reach her fingertips. London doesn't know why. She feels like she's crying yet produces nothing. In the hollowness of the new room, its walls and counters blackened by the smell of soot, she can't make a single sound.
Her shoes move faster towards the melted countertops, her hands reaching across every drawer though the first few refuse to open. It's as though her body knows what she's searching for but London's mind refuses to tell her. Grief, fear, desperation - they all mix together like the smoked air. Her lungs find the oxygen and filter the rest. At first her mind doesn't seem to know the difference.
London's hand finally rips away the burnt coating from the drawer allowing it to open. Her fingers wrap around the handle before she even looks down. It's warm, not the cold shock that she expects. She remembers the last time she laid eyes on it, the frightening understanding that something was wrong long before any of this started.
She clutches the hatchet tight to her chest and allows the leftover heat to sink against her skin. While days ago she'd been afraid of it, today it calms her. Much like her lungs pull the oxygen from the air, the hatchet rips away the layers of emotion until only one remains - desperation.
London doesn't want to die.
Northwest Hallways - 11:25 AM
This time when Kasper insists on walking ahead, Aviv doesn't argue. His footsteps fall heavy past the ladder as the darkness chills him from the inside out. He doesn't remember it being this dim, but Kasper was more than accommodating. If this is where he thinks they need to be, Aviv will follow.
He traces his fingertips along the hallway, the quiet grinding against his nail helping to ground him. Aviv focuses on the vibrations that run up his arm instead of the corridor. He doesn't want to see it. He doesn't know what exactly he wants to do. The tears are far from dried up, but they don't feel like enough. Nothing does.
They shouldn't be gone. Louder than the grief that pulls at every inch of his insides is that simple statement. They shouldn't be gone. None of the names that have played across the island should be gone but it took hearing three in a row to truly realize it. The heaviness of the names feels like it's dragging behind him. Aviv firmly believes that, if he looked back, he would see all nine of them etched in the concrete.
"Where are we going?" He whispers and Kasper stiffens in front of him. Aviv shakes his head in an attempt to convince himself to be quieter. It hardly matters, he can't take the words back now. He'll settle for silence.
Kasper lifts a finger to his lips as he turns around. He points in the same direction they'd been heading and Aviv nods. They've been down here for only a few minutes and already he can feel the impatience bubbling. He doesn't want to be underground. Whether it's an overreaction or warranted unease, Aviv almost doesn't care.
They've got to be more than six feet under, the ladder is at least that tall. Every beat of his heart feels like a clock ticking their time away.
Aviv pauses and glances upward. He doesn't know what he expects to see, but the concrete shadows looming down on him make the tunnel feel even smaller. He barely notices Kasper's turned around for him until his hand grabs for Aviv's. "What?"
Aviv is about to answer when a noise up ahead catches both of their attention. Aviv clutches Kasper's hand tighter and his eyes widen, but neither moves. Another sound. Then again. They sound like footsteps and not quiet ones.
"What do we do?" Aviv's voice is barely a whisper. Yet, against the surrounding concrete it echoes far beyond the pair. Kasper turns him around and points back the way they came. He nods but his entire body is trembling so hard he's unsure if Kasper understands the motion.
"I can hear you."
It's not Kasper's voice this time.
Aviv doesn't know who it is.
Intake Building - 11:29 AM
Nora stands again to adjust the curtains, pulling them even more tightly together until the line of sunlight thins at her feet. She swallows and stares at it a moment longer, but it doesn't move. The window's shut. It had never moved, she's simply too anxious to stay sitting for very long.
It's hard not to doubt her decision every time she looks at 001. The two girls have hardly spoken, there's not much to say. They decided it would be best to rest for the remainder of the day. Neither had to specify why, nor would they have been allowed to.
To the viewers, Nora's as uninjured as she'd been yesterday morning. She doesn't know if 001 is any different and hasn't found a way or reason to ask. Truth be told, even many hours later, Nora still hasn't even asked the girl her name.
It feels wrong to, moreso now than when they first met on the Intake Dock. There's an agreement now where this morning there hadn't been. Them sitting together on the dock should have ended as quickly as the announcement. There had been no reason for Nora to know her name. She would hear it eventually with her announcement and hopefully not know enough or be close enough to care.
Now, Nora knows that she will have to learn it.
Tonight, when 001 dies, there'll be no escaping it.
Nora eases herself back down to face her, both of their legs crossed to mimic the other. She looks away towards the door for no other reason than not to catch her eye. It's still daylight, in fact the sun was still climbing in the sky when they came inside. There are many more hours left before anything can happen. Nora isn't tired and 001 hasn't shown any signs of it either.
Hopefully she'll sleep tonight. Nora doesn't want to wait longer than that.
001 is watching her when she finally does turn back. Her expression is hard to read, as neutral as her own and possibly even moreso. She smiled a half dozen times as they searched the building again for supplies. That and a straight lip seem to be her only settings. Nora gives her a nod and a tired smile before resting her chin in her palm.
The hours are passing so slowly.
The building gives a slight creak, but when Nora's eyes casually turn to 001 she looks unalarmed. Nora lets out her breath slowly but the floors stay silent through it. Another creak from the same general direction, but enough time has passed that it could be a coincidence. Her eyes flit to the door but once again she's met with silence.
The click of the door gives it away, the sound so low that it could easily be mistaken for another floorboard creak. Nora can't stop herself from sitting upright, her legs pressing flat to the floor. When 001 perks up too, she knows for certain that her ears aren't playing tricks on her.
The old floors give another groan further into the hallway. Nora's hand clasps against the top of her shears but her eyes follow 001's hand as it grabs her mace.
Another creak not far behind. Then another.
The more she listens, the more they sound like footsteps.
No Deaths.
A/N: I told y'all that someday I'd learn how to be concise. Here's to the first games chapter that's under 10k and the hope that this will become the new normal as we near the end.
I figured we could all use a breather after the last round of chaos, but don't expect it to last. This will be our final no death chapter of the games. Sorry but the cast is looking a little too alive for my liking.
Until next time!
~ Olive