In The Core: Games XII
Warden's House - 6:14 PM
Vito shoots up the instant his eyes reopen, ripping a mat of dried blood from the side of his cheek. He winces and fingers fly up to meet it, instead finding tender scabs that slice across his nose. The tear-streaked lines under his eyes are still sticky. His expression stings as he searches it. The floor where his head has just been is a shallow puddle of red.
He groans as he works some blood flow back into the rest of his limbs. Vito's head feels like it's been stuffed with gauze with a thin sheet of it wrapped around his eyes. Sore doesn't even begin to describe the heaviness in his muscles. He doesn't know how long he slept, in fact Vito can't remember falling asleep at all. The awkward angle of his legs attests that it wasn't much of a decision.
Vito swallows as he turns around. The first thing his groggy eyes land on is the blood crusted at the centre of the basement. His heart starts to pick up speed as his gaze flits across every inch of concrete. He remembers; this wasn't a dream.
He's still here.
His racing heartbeat dissolves into all out panic as Vito climbs numbly to his feet. The bright beams that he remembered lighting this room have already begun to fade into early night. He stumbles into the one table that still stands, knocking it towards the edge of the basement. Vito winces as his jaw clenches and the rough cracking of scabs greets his ears.
He can't stay. It's too dangerous.
The only other person above ground is…Vito can't bring himself to finish that thought.
He staggers up the stairs, legs still locked from his concrete bed. There were no dreams, only nothingness that felt like Vito had never even closed his eyes. He thinks that's probably easier, that he wouldn't want to remember any dream born out of this place. All he can think now is how stupid he was for coming up here, how stupid he was for falling asleep when the danger is so real.
There are only four of them left. Vito doesn't know where any of them are now. He expects the pair would've followed his instructions and remained underground. He hopes that Jules exists somewhere on the furthest edge of this island.
He doesn't know where that leaves him. There's no inch of this prison that will be safe, not when the end is growing nearer with each passing hour.
I'm going to die.
No. The voice that shouts back is unrecognizable. The one before it is his own, gasping and panicking from the back gate of his skull. Vito covers his ears as he barrels through the main floor to the door still open to the front garden.
Anyone could've walked in. In how many timelines is Vito already dead, already gone to the grave with too many horrible secrets for his eighteen years? In which universes does he lay buried beneath the prison, mourned by no one because who would dare say they miss a murderer? Jules could have found him and beaten him into another blood-stain on that concrete floor before Vito even woke up.
It would've been easier if he had. His voice this time.
No. Someone else. He's starting to realize who.
Vito emerges through the front door and forces himself to listen through the dense silence. A thick fog has settled across the island, heavy than lighter in a seemingly random pattern. He glances behind him and sees only the nearest third of the house, the rest lost to the willowing grey. The air is warm, too warm for the chilly morning. It feels like it's cooking him from the inside out.
I need to get out. He can't tell who it is this time. Now.
He runs for where he thinks the ladder should be. It's outside of the protection of the buildings, the small covering barely visible under the sun let alone in darkness. Vito can't remember if he replaced it when he first came to the surface. It doesn't matter, his feet don't care as they scramble across weeds and caked sand.
'Good' no longer bears meaning. The word doesn't send the weapon back to readiness or his heart down from his throat. Good doesn't matter, it's not definitive anymore. Vito can't be good, he can't undo the wrongs that have been written by his marred fingers if they're frozen in rigor mere hours from now. No one will know; no one will care if he meant to do the right thing. They'll remember him as a serial killer, a murderer, and nothing more.
He'll be nothing more.
I need to get out.
I need to get out.
I need…
Southeast Hallways - 6:38 PM
Jared's head bows as he rests his palm against another dead end. These halls don't turn like the ones behind him, but he's found himself just as lost within them. It feels like Vi's simply disappeared within the concrete labyrinth, a ghost between the walls while Jared remains trapped between them. He's starting to believe he isn't going to find them.
It's what she wanted so maybe that's okay.
He knows that it isn't.
Jared needs to find her even if they don't want to be found. He can't be alone and maybe that's selfish, but he can't help it. He needs them. He needs not to lose the last person in this place that feels familiar. He doesn't want to think about the words pushing him away because he desperately wants to believe that he can fix them too.
He's never fixed anything in his life - not his friendships that started to fall off before they ever left for college, not the fire in Schmidt Park, and not the fact that everyone around him is bleeding out. Jared couldn't fix the boy in Cell Block A. He couldn't fix Lev as his blood coated the grass.
And now he can't find Vi. He can't fix the racing in his heart that tells him it'll be too late when he does, because time and time again that's what happens.
The longer Jared goes without hearing them, the more his heart aches with the idea that he won't. He pictures her already gone, laying on the ground as blood pours from a dozen leaking wounds while Jared's eyes lie that they're still breathing. He doesn't see her anymore. He sees a body that hasn't happened yet. He sees the end for everyone but himself because he can't save them.
It makes all the rescue courses feel so worthless. It makes every hour of first aid sound like a joke.
He's never been a hero - not here and not ever. It's always been an illusion, nothing more than a game of pretend. Jared grew up watching the firefighters rush off in their truck and circled his backyard believing that could be him someday. He could be that brave. He could run fearlessly into the fire ready to save the day as flames licked his uniform.
Jared looks down, the only thing on his uniform now is dried blood.
He's not a hero.
He's Jared, and that's never meant much of anything. His family, his friends that feel just as much like home, are everything to him. His entire life has been Ayr, a small town with smaller walls that he's never felt the need to rise above. It hurt when others did. It hurt when they left him, but Jared understood. His cousins that moved away years ago would be happier in Cambridge. His friends would have more opportunities in college. They left and Jared forced himself to be happy no matter that it sometimes hurt to smile.
This is different. There's no happy endings or 'better off' in The Cut. He can pretend that there is, he can lie to himself all he wants but no one that leaves him now is coming back. That's why he has to hold on, he has to find Vi even if that's not what they want.
She's all he has. Without people surrounding him, on those nights when it was just Jared in his bedroom, there's nothing special.
There's… nothing.
Nothing but loneliness.
Nothing but fear that this is going to be all he has to look forward to.
Nothing but the overwhelming realization that he's not meant for anything more exciting than small town Ayr.
Jared slips halfway to the ground, landing in a crouch as tears sting at his eyes. He blinks them back, not wanting to cry anymore because there's nothing he hates more than this unfamiliar chill on his cheeks. He's been protected from all of this for so long, but deep down he's always known. He's nobody's hero. He's nobody's forever. He's as temporary to everyone in Ayr as the people here have been to him.
He's not willing to accept that. He's not willing to lose Vi like he lost Lev and the unnamed boy from the cell block. He's not willing to watch them bleed out around him while every ounce of his training joins the growing puddle.
Jared pulls his arms around his head, leaning down until his chin rests on his knees. He doesn't know how to stop any of that from happening again. He wishes he didn't understand. He wishes for a brief second that he could go back to believing that this was all just a cruel game - when Lev wasn't dead, but instead waiting for him on the sidelines.
It's not fair to want that. For a moment, Jared doesn't care.
Maybe that thought would have lasted longer. Maybe Jared would've sat here another hour and felt sorry for himself. Maybe more tears would've fallen or maybe he would've been able to keep them at bay for the first time in days.
He'll never know, however, as the high-pitched scream sends him immediately to his feet.
There's no hesitation.
There's no time to think about how familiar the sound is and how far his heart drops when he hears it. There's nothing but Jared's feet as they hit the cement and the hope that, this time, he won't be too late.
Intake Dock - 6:40 PM
Jules has yet to return to the Guard Tower.
He stands stiffly at the edge of the dock, his feet refusing to touch the planks that his skin would still find far too familiar. There's certainly a part of him that's still on edge, a part that's contained in a glance around when he remembers to. Jules watches the uneven boards and imagines that he still sees the cuts of zip ties on their nearest edges. His eyes rise over the grey brick and the only part of the barrier that's free of the oceanic illusion.
He's never felt so peaceful.
It seems like an oxymoron to admit this. Jules could look out at false waves and melodic lies at any other edge of the island. He's learned them well, having spent much of this season above ground. They should be what calm him no matter that there's nothing truthful in the setting sun. It's familiar, routine and that's what Jules has always thrived in. There's no time to think about death when there's contestants to hunt.
Just like there was no time to remember the accident when there were rehearsals to prepare for.
Jules didn't have to miss anyone. He didn't have to think about the seatbelt burn around his torso or the silence when he cried for help from the backseat. He didn't have to remember the smell of gasoline or the paramedics that pulled him from the folded remnants of the SUV. Practice, competition, practice again - that was Jules' life.
There was no room for his parents, for André, or for anyone else. Jules made sure of that. He had to be okay because, if he wasn't, then he lived for nothing. He had to lace up his skates and put on that smile because for some reason life chose him. If Jules stooped to cry any of the tears in his heart, if he even acknowledged them, he wasn't going to do enough. He had to live for four because otherwise what was the point in surviving? He was the last Vaudry, the only one blessed with life. He had to be enough for all of them.
Jules didn't have a choice.
He eases down mere inches from the dock and wraps his arms around his knees. The wall feels comfortable because it's exactly what stands tall in Jules' mind. Six years ago he built one himself and he's done nothing but stare at it ever since. On this side is everything he knows - the routines, the schedules, the passion that's been burnt and relit a dozen times by his own desperate hands. On this side are the things his family left behind - their values, their strength, and their endless determination.
No matter how long Jules stares at the wall, he can't see what lies beyond it. He can remember, but that's not the same. He doesn't feel the grief he buried there or the fear that hides within its shadow. In all the years that've gone by, Jules hasn't tried to peer over to find them again. Just like the illusory ocean that hid this wall, icy panels hid his.
Now there's no escaping it. The mirage has been broken and Jules is once again being forced to stare his own wall in the face. It's as stiff as the grey brick in front of him, every gap filled and each block perfectly even. His wall isn't breaking. If Jules turns his back on it again, he's confident that it will fade eventually into the background.
That's what he needs to do.
Jules nods to himself but he doesn't get up. His eyes climb the wall until it fades into fog-laced sky. This isn't the time to break it. This isn't the time to remember them or to wonder what life without the wall would be like. He's never grieved for his family, it isn't the Vaudry way to cry. Jules was only eleven when he lost them, but even he understood this.
He packed them neatly away, perhaps for now but more than likely forever. Jules immersed himself in his brother's world and yet nothing had brought his memory closer than this morning. Jules has spent the last six years of his life trying to emulate André. He wanted to be able to look in the mirror and see all the amazing things his brother would've done if given the time.
But André was more than a list of goals and accomplishments. He was a figure skater with unmatched potential, but more than that he was Jules' best friend. He doesn't miss André because he would've won the Grand Prix Final. He misses André because, for a long time, he was all Jules had.
Jules looks up as tears begin to blossom in his eyes. His hand starts to reach for his pocket but drops as quickly back to the ground. All he wants is to make them proud, to make the tragedy that took his family mean something because to eleven year old Jules it needed to.
He thinks back to the boy in the cell block, to Celene, to Savannah, and finally to Aviv. He thinks about the anger that seethed in his chest when he looked at them. He thinks of the blood that he hasn't been able to wash from the soles of his shoes.
Back then, it hadn't felt like there'd been a choice. They were in his way, an accessory to failures that others would put in his name if he wasn't careful. He had to be selfish. He had to keep going because if Jules stopped at any point he might as well have died in that accident six years ago. If his life didn't mean enough, didn't mean more than the loss of his family, then what was the point of living?
He doesn't wish the contestants were still alive. He doesn't regret that he was the one to end their lives because at the end of the day Jules has to keep playing. They all had to die for him to be sitting here right now.
Honestly, Jules isn't sure what he wishes. He isn't sure what sitting at the dock, the very place he came closest to losing, is supposed to mean. He can look up at the wall and create a dozen metaphors in his mind but they won't change the fact that he's trapped. His parents wouldn't be proud of him right now. André won't recognize him if he has in fact been looking down on Jules.
He's done everything he can think of to bring meaning but the truth is that he's only proven himself right again and again. Jules shouldn't have been the one to survive. His ashes should be mixed with his parents right now as André prepares for the next skating season.
God knows he wouldn't be here right now. He wouldn't have blood soaked in his soles or a burning guilt in his chest. He would have made something wonderful, not ruined everything their family stood for. The Vaudrys would have been in the headlines for all the beautiful routines or perfect scores, not for aggravated assault.
Jules has ruined everything. He's turned their family name into a curse because he's so afraid of being anything but the best. He could've just faced Baptiste. He could've just faced the fact that he isn't perfect instead of blaming everything else for his failures. He could've stopped for a moment to wonder if the mournful child in the mirror was really so awful that Jules needed to destroy him for something better.
He's never made them proud and maybe he never will.
There's a three in four shot that he'll never even get the chance to try.
At this point that's what's at stake. Jules can't take back what's already happened. He can't take back what he did to Baptiste. He can't take back the cruelty he's committed here or the needless torture he's inflicted on his victims.
He can only keep going. He can only wait for the day he can tear his wall down one brick at a time and pray it won't bury him alive.
He can only hope that, no matter what happens, they'll forgive him.
Cell Block A - 6:41 PM
The sound is deafening.
Vito flinches back into the wall, his free hand up to cover one ear as the opposite tightens around his hatchet. He doesn't know where it came from. He doesn't know which way to go to escape it. Vito's knees collapse beneath him, his legs shaking so violently that he couldn't force them to run if he tried.
He tries to push himself back to his feet but as soon as he turns around a fresh scream cuts against him. He's never heard anything so horrible. The sound echoes in his skull, only serving to enhance the sticky headache that's throbbed there since he woke up. The hallways had been silent; this room had been silent.
Now it's so loud he can hardly think.
The contestant emerges from behind the table, their eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed with dots of red. She looks no different than the last time Vito saw them. He doesn't know if that was hours ago or days now. He's back downstairs, it makes sense that the pair be here. He told them not to go upstairs.
Now Vito wants to say the opposite. He wants to scream for her to go up for no other reason than that leaving him alone down here. She makes a half run around the table but quickly ducks behind it again. Vito realizes that he's blocking her exit.
He realizes almost as quickly that he isn't going to move.
Vi cowers under the table, the puddled blood cracking as her legs shiver within it. They're barely awake but every part of her stands straight. The boy's entrance was enough to pull her from what measly sleep they'd managed to fall into. Every action is taking far too long to complete. She knows she needs to move. She doesn't know where to go. The only thing pulling them forward is the raspiness left behind by the shriek that coated her throat.
Everything else weighs them down like an anvil on their chest.
Vi rises again to shaking feet and forces themself to face him. He's close enough to the entrance to effectively block it though he'd made no move towards her. If they make a run for it, perhaps she can get out before he gets back up.
They make it halfway before he's on his feet again. Vi skids to a stop and raises two empty palms in front of her. The boy doesn't react. All Vi can do is stare at the hatchet clutched between his fingers. It takes every bit of strength not to think about what it might feel like lodged between their shoulder blades.
"I'm leaving," Vi says quickly. She can barely manage to take a breath after as they wait for a response. If he heard them, he doesn't show it. He just stares.
Vi can't even tell if he's looking at them. His eyes are like glass reflecting the concrete room back at her. He doesn't flinch as Vi takes a brave step forward. The hatchet doesn't twitch towards them or away. It's like he's turned to stone before her eyes, a statue but Vi doesn't believe it.
She doesn't feel pity for the dead eyes that stare in their direction. Automatically that's what Vi searches themself for but it's not there. He's horrifying - the skin between his eyes ripped and crusted over with blood. There's more bloodstains on his clothes than there had been last time. In any other timeline, Vi would have at the very least asked if he was alright. She would've wanted to help.
How stupid they used to be.
Vi tries to fake to one side but still he doesn't move. They creep as close as she dares, trying their best to calm her breathing but that's next to impossible. Every step she takes feels like walking through a minefield fit to explode.
Suddenly, his eyes lock with theirs. A chill runs ever slowly up Vi's spine and numbs every hope of strategy from her skull. She can do little but stare back even though it feels like they're turning to rock under his gaze.
"It's okay." His whisper does nothing to calm her as the boy takes a step towards them. For a moment Vi is immobile, her body frozen in fear at the almost-comforting tone. It sounds like he's talking to a teary-eyed child. The way he watches her makes them feel like cornered prey.
The hatchet raises slowly as he continues towards Vi. They swallow a muffled sob and match every step backwards. She half-expects him to run at them. The slow, methodical steps are a dozen times worse.
Vi has nowhere to go. Her only chance is to get him away from the entrance and hope they can slip by. They harmonize their steps with his, one back for every one forward he takes. Vi's skin feels numb but the muscles follow this simple direction. Her eyes don't move from his.
"It's okay." His voice is stiffer. He holds his unarmed hand in front of him as if showing one empty palm will be comforting. It isn't.
Tears burn down her cheeks. Every instinct says to run but there's still too much distance between them and the exit. In fact, Vi's only getting further away.
She can't wait any longer.
Vi breaks from their melody, their steps suddenly fast as she slides against the table. They don't look back to see him but the soft steps have hardened around them. She can't tell where he is. They can't make herself turn around to find out.
Vi skirts the table and emerges on the other side, but he's already there. She turns so quickly that the momentum nearly takes their feet out from under her. Vi's hand grabs for the table to steady themself. When she turns around, those dead eyes are waiting right in front of her.
They scream and drop to the ground, pulling herself under the table in a desperate crawl. He steps around in their direction and Vi shrieks again. The echo pours back at them like a tidal wave, enveloping Vi in the same suffocating sheet that makes the skin of their throat feel like steel. They claw at her neck, gasping in a breath that's unobstructed but feels like fire in their chest. Vi forces herself to keep crawling despite the dizziness flooding their brain.
She watches his feet as they circle the table. They can't stay under here. He's going to corner her eventually.
They're going to die if he does.
Several minutes pass before his shoes stop moving. He doesn't bend to find her and Vi inches towards the side nearest the door. Their heart is racing until it's all she can hear. It doesn't feel like she's breathing; each time air makes it part way up their throat it sinks like a stone into her lungs.
Finally, Vi makes a break from beneath the table. She hears the boy behind her as they desperately sprint towards the door. At the last moment they turn around, narrowly missing him as he grabs for her arm. The hatchet comes within inches of Vi's other side and another shriek claws between her teeth.
Vi drops to the ground and her arms fly up to protect their head. Something shoves her out of the way, forcing Vi onto their side with another scream. She opens their eyes and sees a tumble of movement where they'd just been and far too many limbs to belong to one boy. It doesn't take long to figure out who it is.
Jared's lungs burn as he pushes the boy further away from her. In the dozen steps it took to reach them, he didn't take a single breath and now there isn't the time. Jared's heart is pounding so viciously that he expects if he looked down it'd be already free from his chest. That doesn't matter though.
The only thing that matters is getting him away from them.
Jared heard the screams, far too many to be a coincidence. He didn't know what he was going to run into but he didn't have time to consider it either. His feet moved and his mind turned off as Jared sprinted through the hallways. Somehow his legs knew exactly where to take him no matter that it was the last place he wanted to be again.
The blood on the floor is an afterthought now. Jared doesn't notice the crunch of it as his shoulder checks the floor and his arms pull the boy towards the table. He doesn't consider closing his eyes to shield them from it. Jared keeps them open and trained on Vi as he grabs the boy's leg when he tries to free himself.
That's his first mistake.
"Vi, run!" Jared shouts, but the second word is lost to what can only be described as a guttural scream. His hand flies back from where it'd been gripped around the boy's leg, the outer palm already slick with blood. Jared feels the colour drain from his cheeks as pain shoots up his arm. He can't stop staring at it. The blood drips slowly down his wrist and onto the floor. It feels like the room has turned to ice with all of them still inside.
The boy shatters it seconds later. Now free from Jared's grip, he scrambles to his feet with the hatchet held tight between his hands. The blade hits the ground as the boy flees it, leaving behind a narrow stripe of blood. Jared doesn't see the doorway, doesn't wonder if that's where the boy is headed before he's already up to follow.
The path to the exit is where Vi is. Their arms are open, hands pressed into the ground, and eyes wide as the boy runs towards her. She dives out of the way, but Jared is already close behind.
He's not going to let him hurt them.
Jared doesn't feel brave. He feels as terrified as he should with blood dripping from his fingertips. His heart is beating against his ribs and his breaths come in short gasps when his lungs remember to take them. His skin shivers and all Jared wants to do is run, but that's not what he's going to do.
He might just be Jared. He might not be a hero or even close to one, but he's not going to run away. He's not going to leave when his friend needs him. Not again, not ever.
Not even if she's going to push him away when this is over.
Jared tackles the boy to the floor, rolling him away from Vi's direction and wincing as his hand gets trapped beneath his shoulder. Jared holds him to the concrete, one hand at the base of the boy's throat with just enough pressure to keep him there.
The hatchet rises to greet him but Jared slams that hand down above the boy's head. Jared's chest heaves with the effort as the boy stares up at him, eyes wide and wrist flinching with effort. Another breath, he still doesn't move. Jared's arms are shaking but he can do this for as long as it takes. He looks down at the boy who's gone still beneath him. He isn't injured, Jared isn't trying to hurt him. He'll let him go as soon as it's safe.
Another breath. Jared turns towards Vi, who's just as still a few feet away. The only motion in the entire room seems to be their breaths that flow in a circle. Jared, Vi, the boy, then again. He counts each one against his pounding heartbeat. He stares across at Vi but neither of them move.
"Go," Jared says quietly. He swallows and offers a slight curl of his lips. It's not quite a smile, doesn't feel like one either, but it's the closest he can manage.
He knows that they'll want to anyway. He knows that this doesn't change anything and doesn't expect it to. They're still in this game and what Jared's done here will only make it last even longer.
Still, Jared would do it again in a heartbeat.
They nod but the goodbye is trapped in her throat. Vi stares at him with frightened tears still dotting their eyes but she can't bring herself to say it. If Jared hadn't shown up, there's a very real chance they'd be dead right now. Part of Vi still can't believe that they aren't.
Goodbye isn't enough. She needs to thank him but how can they? How does she tell someone they left behind that they're sorry and that she loves him and that they never should have left? How do they look someone in the eye and apologize for believing the horrible things their mind said about him?
Jared saved her life.
Thank you isn't enough to repay that. After what they've done these past days, after leaving him behind twice and considering him no better than dead, nothing will be.
Vi opens their mouth to try, but the only thing that comes out is a scream painted with his name.
Vito clasps his opposite fingers near the top of the handle and slips the entire weapon into his free hand. His heart breathes with panic and his ribs shiver together as violently as the rest of his body. He's trapped, but not for long. The contestant might be stronger, heavier, and that might've been enough to subdue Vito for a second. He hasn't given up.
The stillness that followed Vito's frenzied fight has done nothing to calm him.
It's only made his revolve stronger.
I'm not going to die.
Not here.
It can't end here.
It doesn't matter that the voice whispering through his skull isn't his. It doesn't matter that the shadow pinned beneath Vito's head has teeth too sharp for his lips. Nothing matters, nothing but escape.
I'm not going to die.
Vito uses all of his strength to raise the hatchet in a narrow arc in front of him. He can't see where the blade lands, only feels the hollow squelch as it greets skin. Vito closes his eyes as blood rains down on him, more splatter coming every few seconds as it pulses across the ground.
He pushes the boy off him and pulls the hatchet free. An idle hand flops towards him as the contestant crumbles to the ground but it only manages to spread more blood across the floor. Vito's heart races in tune to the spurting blood. It feels like the surrounding room is closing in, like there's too much movement with the beats that splash against his skin.
He looks back frantically, watching for the other contestant but no one moves closer. Someone screams but Vito can't find it. That's all that fills his ears but he doesn't know where it comes from. He needs it to stop. Vito looks quickly down as another spray of blood coats his cheeks. He buries the blade again in the wound that grows on the boy's throat. Another scream. More blood.
It won't stop.
Vito raises the hatchet again and again, meeting skin between each one. His breaths are filled with iron and the air is filled with screams that sound more animal than human. He wonders if they're his. Vito wonders if they're just another voice that's joined his brother's, another tormentor to tell him that he's trapped. He can't tell the fucking difference anymore.
I'm not trapped. I'm not going to die.
He brings the blade down again and feels the concrete stop it from the other side. Vito takes a shuddered breath and climbs to his feet above the boy - the boy that tried to trap him here. The boy that wanted him to die. Vito's not going to die. He's going to win. He's going to get out of here.
He won't die with his brother's name like a curse on his grave. He won't die like this.
Vito looks down at his uniform, the spots of clean uniform impossible to find against the heavy red staining every inch. The body beneath him is an afterthought, its eyes still open but looking far enough away that they're not real. The space where its neck should be is tainted concrete. The top of its head, a few inches of faded blue hair, is the only spot not completely coated in blood.
Nothing moves. The room is finally still. The screams inside his head have gone silent.
It feels like Vito can finally breathe. It doesn't matter that the air is heavy with rust as it leaks down his throat. He stands above a pool of blood but the only part of that statement that matters is the first - he stands. He's okay. He's alive.
Vito's eyes follow the shadow that creeps watchfully up the cell block wall. Where the floor meets it, he finds another pair of eyes staring back at him. In contrast to the ones on the ground beneath him, there's no blood coating their eyelashes and they don't evade Vito's gaze.
They stare straight at him through a thick layer of moisture. Their lips are still open, teeth barely visible as if they'd been interrupted mid sentence. Vito watches them until the moment her eyes drop to the ground beneath him.
The scream that comes next forces him to flinch away.
It's all she can do.
Their voice breaks on the next scream. Tears gather in Vi's eyes but don't fall, each of them too afraid to dare. There's no blood on her arms but Vi scratches at them regardless until they turn as red as the floor in front of them. Her throat feels like it's swelling shut, the rub of their screams the only thing keeping it from closing completely. She's several feet closer to him, at least a half-dozen from the protective wall that should sit at their back.
Vi can't bring themself to crawl closer. She can't allow herself to shuffle back no matter the threat that stands tall in front of them.
She can do nothing.
Nothing but scream every time their tears dry enough to see what's left of him.
Vi's hands clench to fists on the floor, the chill of concrete no longer strong enough to reach her. The fear that should stand tall against their spine is nothing. Vi shakes with anger, with grief that's far more nauseating than any emotion they've ever felt. She doesn't think to be afraid. They think of Jared, of his blood pooled on the ground, and of the person that just took him away.
Vi rises shakingly to her feet. Tears leak down their cheeks and burn like fire as they reach the corners of her lips. She doesn't see the hatchet or maybe they don't care that it's still in his hands. They take another glance down at Jared, at the chunked blood that surrounds him, and Vi's tears collapse into their outstretched palms.
Vito's hatchet lowers as the contestant falls to their knees where she'd just stood. He swallows, watching the tears that run as thin as the blood in his shoe prints. He expects a fight but she doesn't even look at him. Each time their gaze rises again, it's towards the pool of red by Vito's feet.
He takes a step back. This time they do look at him, but only for a moment before more tears spill in the floor's direction. Vito continues back with his torso still facing them. He expects her to follow, to come after him like the boy had done moments ago. He tenses as they finally move, crawling forward quickly as Vito tightens his grip on the weapon.
She wraps their arms around the body, its head lulling back until it hangs near flat against its back. They hold on tight enough that Vito can see her fingers go white against the red-soaked uniform. She doesn't look up again. The contestant buries their face in the body's chest, coating her own cheeks in blood where they'd just been clean.
Vito remembers. The longer he stares, the whiter the concrete walls become.
His body slams into an identical one, sending metal sliding against the floor. A hand reaches for him but the adrenaline coursing through his system won't let him feel it. There could still be screams echoing through the gym, but if there are he doesn't notice. All his focus is on the person in front of him.
That is, until movement catches Vito's attention from behind the bleachers. His head turns quickly, gathering only a glimpse to cement into his memory. Blood soaks the front of Elan's gym uniform, the colours identical to the ones Vito wears. Elan drags Oliver under the arms towards one of the benches. He holds onto him as Oliver's bullet wound bleeds against him. He doesn't let go.
Vito knows now that Oliver had already been dead. A single bullet just below his eye had ended his friend near-instantly.
Still, Elan tried. Still, Elan clung to him like maybe it wasn't too late.
Vito watches a moment longer, the corpse - the person's - neck no longer bleeding as she wraps their arms tighter around him. He's already gone. Vito can't remember hearing the announcement, but he's already gone.
He swallows and the white walls fade back to concrete. That memory isn't one he wants to think about, because when he does there's no one else to blame. It was Damien who shot them. This was the one thing Vito couldn't take blame for, and believe that he tried. He might have metaphorically put the gun in his twin's hand, but Vito didn't tell him to shoot.
That memory is Damien's fault. It always has been.
This one, this new memory that coats the back of his eyelids long after he looks away, is not.
Upper Grounds - 6:58 PM
Jules walks along the dense fog as it descends quickly. There are only three of them left now, fourth place having been announced moments ago. It's no surprise that they're pushing him along. He's no doubt far from the remaining contestants.
He'll go willingly. No matter that he can't see anything beyond the narrow corridor of fog, Jules walks silently within it. At first he tried to follow the paths so that he'd know where they were taking him. Now, it doesn't seem to matter.
It's almost the end and he's ready.
The calm that resides in his chest is different and contrasts so heavily with the fog that it's almost laughable. They're leading him to a fight, one that will either change his life or end it just as quickly. Jules expects himself to feel the same anxious pressure that he did before competition. He waits for his heart to race and his skin to drench with sweat that he'll need a couple of towels to wipe away.
The only thing Jules feels is one foot as it steps in front of the other. It's not that he doesn't care what happens. In fact, there's little he's cared about more than this outcome. Jules has a chance to fix things even if he's not really sure what that means right now. He's either going to find a way to make his family proud or join them very shortly.
Either way it ends. The era of perfection is over.
That's his choice. He'll thank Aviv for reminding him that he gets to make one.
Jules doesn't expect himself to right every wrong. He doesn't expect to change at the flip of a coin into a person that eleven-year old Jules would recognize. That's the difference right now. The pressure he put on himself with three headstones has never been fair. Maybe Jules isn't a perfect person, maybe he's not even a good person, but he finds that he doesn't care.
The fog closes the air in front of him and he knows what he'll see before he even looks down. The covering is already half-open, leaving Jules little to do but climb down. He lets out a slow breath and tells himself that he's not afraid. For the first time in a while, he truly believes that statement.
Jules grabs hold of the ladder and eases himself slowly down so there's time for his eyes to adjust. He considers another glance behind him before closing the cover, but decides against it. There's no point in looking back.
Not when the only way out is forward or, in this case, down.
Common Room - 6:59 PM
Vito doesn't make it more than a step outside the cell block before the bars close in front of him. His throat tightens and his first instinct is to grab hold of them no matter that he doesn't wish to go back inside. Still slick with blood, his fingers slip easily down them to land on the floor in front of him.
He shuffles back a few meters from the bars before he curls into the wall behind him. For the first time in what seems like days, his mind is silent. It's too dark in this hallway to see the shadow that's followed him around the prison. If the person behind the bars is still screaming, Vito is too far away to hear her.
He's alone. It feels strange that all at once they've all left him. Vito can't say he wouldn't do the same if given the option.
He tilts his head up and closes his eyes. He can feel the sting against his face as the edges of his wound pull open. He notes the cold metal in his hand before he drops the hatchet beside him. More than anything else, however, is the heaviness that tugs at his entire body.
If Vito looks down, he knows what he would see. He saw glimpses of the red that now coats his uniform. It's no longer splatters of awful memory against an untouched canvas; he's covered in it. It feels like it's soaked well past his bones, like the blood splatter is no longer the stain against his body but instead the opposite. Vito feels like his own skin is what doesn't belong, nothing more than a mark in the ocean of crimson.
The air is silent but part of him wishes it would scream again.
At least then he'd know what to do with himself.
"Congratulations, contestants."
Vito shakes his head at the chipper words. It feels disgusting that they could be directed at him after all he's done. He wants to leave, needs to leave, but it feels so far away. He keeps his head tilted up. He won't recognize himself if he looks down again to see the proof that's all over his body.
He's even more afraid that he will.
This isn't me. Vito shakes his head, once, twice, then a third time as tears start to build behind his eyes. He wants to prove it right, desperately wants to find a mirror and see someone else because then it'd be okay if he hates who stares back. Vito knows this is the only option. He's another step closer to redemption, to leaving this place and this monster behind him.
Two more.
That's all that stands in his way. Two more and there will never be another blade in his hand. Two more and he'll forget what blood smells like. Two more and the demon in the mirror won't have his eyes anymore.
Two more.
Cell Block A - 7:00 PM
Vi shivers against him and their fingers dig deep into his shoulder. She doesn't open her eyes or think of the wetness that sticks to their forehead. Each time her lips part they close again with a painful sob. The rawness that coated her throat upon waking days ago is nothing in comparison. The misery that coats every breath is like nothing Vi's ever felt. The guilt that sits in their chest is heavy enough that she fully expects to sink through the concrete floor.
He's gone. It's the only thought that appears and each time Vi's throat burns with the effort of screaming. She doesn't know what else to do nor how to think of anything else. Minutes ago Jared was here. He looked at her, he breathed, he saved them. Now, Vi can't even remember what his eyes looked like when they weren't staring endlessly at the world behind him. She can't even bring themself to look at him despite holding his blood-soaked body like a lifeline.
She pulls him closer as they sink to the floor. Vi buries their face in his chest and sobs until she's once again forced to swallow the iron that coats their tongue. They'd been so prepared to be alone. She'd convinced themself that there was no other choice. The only way Vi was going to live was without Jared.
Now that doesn't feel like it could possibly be true.
This is as close to dead as they've ever felt. The only reason she knows they're still breathing is by the smell that burns her nose with each inhale. They can't feel their heart beating anymore. The shivers that tingle up her skin don't feel like they belong to them. Her entire body feels numb. Her thoughts feel frozen.
They're nothing.
Jared's gone.
"In being here to revel in this celebratory announcement, you have defied all odds. You have outlasted the others, survived numerous challenges, and paid tribute to the system that has offered you this opportunity."
Vi sinks deeper into his chest. She doesn't want to hear how close they are. They don't want to know how close Jared was before he threw it all away for them. For Vi who doesn't deserve it. For Vi who cried over the ones who left her yet did the same thing in the end. For Vi who held the one thing she's always wanted in their grasp yet threw it away in fear.
Jared was never afraid. She sobs and presses their opposite cheek against him. He ran in without a second thought when Vi was in danger. She hasn't even moved from this spot and doesn't think they ever will.
"I wish you were right," they whisper. "I wish it was just a game."
She means it. If there were any way to convince themself, Vi would take it right now. She doesn't care that it's delusional. They don't care that it would make it harder to fight if she didn't know the stakes. Missing him is the only thing she can think about. Holding him until the moment they take him away is the only thing they can do.
"Tomorrow, one of you will prove yourself above the others. Tomorrow, justice will choose their champion."
Vi clasps a hand over their other ear. She doesn't want to think about tomorrow. It doesn't feel like tomorrow should ever be allowed to come. It should mean something that he's gone, not just become another placeholder in some cruel tournament. The sun shouldn't rise when someone so important is dead. It should never rise again.
"Tonight, you can rest in safety. The set has been placed in lockdown until further notice."
4th: Jared Tomaras, 18
A/N: There we have it, our finalists for this story. When I say I couldn't be happier, I also mean that I couldn't be more miserable. Fourth place is always a hard one for me and this chapter was no exception.
Thank you goldie for this absolute gem of a boy. He was such a fun character to explore and one whose inner narrative probably changed the most over the course of the story. He started as this fun-loving, simple boy but that was never going to serve him well in this story. The bonds he made broke my heart to sever and, after Lev, I couldn't do it to him again. I told you fourth place is near and dear to my heart and it's fitting that this placement goes to a character that stole my entire heart.
Next chapter will be another interlude before we crown this season's Winner. I apologize to the finalists' submitters for this break but I'll try to zoom to get it out ASAP.
Until next time!
~ Olive
