In The Clear: Pre-Games III
Lawrence Yao-Sartre, 18, Montreal QC
How strange…
Lawrence pauses on the final step beneath the platform. Nothing's changed since the last time they stood on the final stair, their mind similarly unsettled by the quiet that still surrounds them. They straighten uncomfortably in the clothing. Its sleeves feel like liquid in comparison to their usual wool coats. There's too much freedom in the fabric's movement; it seems to stretch along with them rather than dictating each individual move.
But with so few restrictions, how can Lawrence be expected to choose?
They stare ahead several moments longer. It's been a long while since they've been allowed to string together this many steps. Normally, in isolation, they'd have had to turn along another edge of their room. Their steps would've already started to feel familiar by now, dizzying even though Lawrence would never admit as much.
Always quiet. Never complain.
Nothing's ever wrong enough for Lawrence to voice it.
Truthfully, standing now at the tip of the platform with their boots too afraid to step up, it feels as though little has changed. Is it possible that their mind hasn't been tweaked by the months of isolation? Lawrence came to terms with the conditions of their imprisonment shortly after arriving. They would be kept between the same four walls. They would never see anyone familiar save for the rotating guards. They would live the rest of their life without completion of the one task that would've made this stagnancy worthwhile.
The last dream that Lawrence remembers involved being escorted to a room containing a piano and some sliced pear. They enjoyed every moment of that wistful sleep, but upon waking felt more hollow than before.
Is this truly all I can wish for, even in a dream?
The nightmares and empty dreamscapes that followed seemed to confirm that suspicion. For what little they're worth, the wakings were as comforting as they were disorienting. Lawrence had only the same walls to stare at, the same book to read for weeks until someone bothered to collect it. They ate when prescribed, they were escorted outside during frigid morning hours when no other inmates would be there.
They walked the same circles; over and over and over again.
And now that the bars have opened in an unfamiliar place with unoccupied hallways, Lawrence doesn't have the slightest clue what to do. They've returned thrice to their cell already, one hand to the smooth walls that feel like rigid skin. They've found themself once again seated on the edge of their cot. Their eyes glazed over as if the bars had never opened at all only to become conscious again moments later.
No one's stopped them. That's the thought Lawrence always seems to return to. No one's stopped them and they should have, but there's not a soul to be found. Even the disembodied voice has left, though Lawrence has no quarrel with that. They didn't wish to speak to it at all. They didn't believe its promises.
Curiosity is the only reason those bars lifted away with their roped signature. That, alongside a will stronger than Lawrence's has ever been. The voice seemed to view its own absence as a punishment, the times it spoke as some strange reward. It seemed to wholly believe that what it was offering was equivalent to heaven itself.
Agreement seemed the only way to stop its intrusion. Lawrence has no faith that freedom is within their grasp, let alone that someone would give it readily to them. They understand the perception that was painted by the courts, the headlines, and the families of their victims. The only way Lawrence would be first to be forgiven in their prison would be if they were the only inmate there.
Yet, the thought itself still intrigues them. Signatures and agreements speak to contracts - a give and take, not a gift as the voice tried to paint it. Lawrence understands that freedom, if it's attainable at all, will be anything but free.
They could not counter the argument that they had nothing to lose. In fact, Lawrence had been toying with the thought since the proposition of freedom was first made. If its words are true, then what does this voice have to gain from such an agreement?
Afterall, what can a voice steal from someone who has nothing at all?
And why is someone who has nothing so afraid of moving forward? Lawrence stares intently at the platform before willing their foot to lift. There's nothing more to explore below them, and by the view above they know much more exists beyond this surface. Though they've seen no others in the spaces beneath, they can see movement above.
Perhaps that's why they're so hesitant.
Lawrence's expression doesn't move as their first foot lands firmly on the platform. They swallow silently and count to ten before forcing the second to follow. They've barely settled themself on the new level before a barrier slams into place at their back. Lawrence cranes their neck slowly to look, only to find a white wall where the stairs had just been.
They stiffly encircle the platform and find only one direction to exit. Lawrence peers up the white-rimmed stairs and their gaze follows all the way up to the ceiling. It seems that the voice has finally run out of patience.
Unfortunately, Lawrence has far more. Despite their building curiosity, they step another circle around the platform, then again. They examine every identical contour of the wall until it feels as though enough time has passed.
When they finally reach the top of the stairwell, the room waiting is like a much larger version of the one far below. Lawrence steps inside and allows their eyes free reign of the stoic room. Rather than a single table, there are five of them with multiple people seated around each one. The walls are the same bright white as the platform.
It takes several minutes to understand what's made them feel so suddenly unsteady. Lawrence's chin tilts slowly down to find the floor missing beneath them. They swallow nervously, but the solidity doesn't disappear from their soles. Lawrence bends down and gently lays their fingers across the transparent floor. It feels colder than the basement walls.
They squint for a moment longer before nodding to themself. Lawrence maps the center table first, then the cot and other furniture pieces. It all looks much different from above, much smaller. They look towards the floor by the edge of this upper room and count six identical rooms beneath it - the same number they counted in their section of the basement.
Judging by what they can now see, there are at least two other equivalent areas. Lawrence had anticipated finding at least five others, but they now mentally up that number to seventeen. Upon a quick scan of the surrounding tables, this is also the number they come up with.
"Welcome."
The room stutters into silence alongside the quiet greeting. Lawrence stands slowly from their place on the floor and their eyes shift to find the voice's source. The tables fall still which only makes the screens' movement more startling. Lawrence counts four large ones coating the outer wall and two more on the one behind them. All of them light up in the same way - white save for a lone silhouette.
Lawrence can't take their eyes off it.
"Please, have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable."
There's only two others yet to be seated at one of the tables. The boy with his long hair tied in a knot at his neck makes his way quickly to the nearest seat with his head ducked. The short-haired inmate bearing the mark of 018 on their hoodie stares at the silhouette a moment longer. Eventually, they too follow the stated instruction.
"Take a seat."
Lawrence understands that this one is meant solely for them. They continue to watch the screen blankly but they make no progress towards the waiting tables. Eighteen of us. They're not sure what this means, but the implications unsettle them. It's not a far extrapolation to make that each was given the same promise in their own cells. The only remaining question is why.
The room seems to shift uncomfortably as Lawrence and the silhouette's eyes lock with one another. They know it will not answer their questions now just as it refused to hours ago. There's something being hidden and something in this room that the voice is after.
Nothing good will ever be given freely.
Of that, Lawrence can be certain.
Myra Ranet, 17, Fredericton NB
Myra pulls her eyes away from the new arrival. There's something unsettling about his stare, but truthfully there's been nothing comforting about anything today. While the first parts seemed to move at lightning speed, the last several hours have passed like still water. Her legs have gone numb against the cold bench and her mind feels similarly. While the past months in prison have felt like drowning, waiting here has been like floating far at sea. Still, it's only a matter of time before a current pulls her under once again. These deep breaths can't last forever, they never do .
She pulls her gaze downward as one of the inmates that's been standing eases down beside her. Myra doesn't allow herself to even look at them. Now that the three surrounding seats have been taken, she feels even more claustrophobic. It's as if all of them are staring at her despite the fact that she hasn't looked up long enough to know for sure.
The room falls into near-silence as the final inmate continues to wait at the edge of the room. Myra squeezes her eyes shut for a moment before they fly open again, unwilling to be sightless in this strange place. When she does, she catches the gaze of the boy sitting directly across from her.
She freezes, 014's cold eyes narrowing the longer she stares but Myra can't pull herself away. He's easily a head taller than the others at the table, probably even more compared to Myra. The way he takes her in, as if examining every weakness in preparation of a fight, reminds her far too much of her first weeks in prison.
Before she can stop them, matching tears start to roll down both cheeks. Myra wraps her arms around herself but the shivering comes anyways. 014's eyes are barely slits beneath his brows when he finally speaks.
"Can I fucking help you?" Despite being barely a sneered whisper, his words travel like ripples through the quiet room. Myra finally tears her eyes away and tries to fumble an apology, but all that comes out is a muffled whimper.
She tightens her grip around her stomach and tries hopelessly to stop more tears from following. Still, every bit of anxiety seems to pour out without warning. No doubt 014 is staring at her like she's an absolute idiot, or he's preparing to do worse to her than any of the girls ever could.
Something slams down on the table beside her and Myra can't help but flinch. Through blurry tears, she sees the inmate stand up and grip the table's edge. "Do you have a problem? Some of us are trying to figure out what the hell's going on while you pick on somebody half your fucking size."
"I'd sit the fuck down if I were you," 014 replies. His voice is the same low growl as before, and his expression remains unchanged despite his threat. He doesn't even bother to stand; frankly, he doesn't need to.
The other inmate, 018, watches him another moment, their hands still holding tight to the table. Their hair just touches the top of their brows, making their light eyes stand out even more. After nearly a minute, they roll their shoulders back and lift their chin before slowly sitting back down.
Myra can still feel the room's eyes still turned towards her table, but they're no longer looking at her. Despite the tears still wet on her cheeks, there's no burnt hole in her back from their collective gaze. They're all looking at the pair that dared break the room's silence.
Even the final inmate seems to have made his way to one of the far tables, seemingly wanting little to do with all the attention. Myra can't say she blames him.
"Thank you," she whispers to 018 as they finally settle back into their chair.
018's lip twitches up as if considering a smile, but it falls back into a frown. Still, their voice is kinder than Myra expected. "Don't let these idiots get to you."
She nods just as crackling static returns all of their attention back to the surrounding screens. A shiver makes its way up her spine and the chill it leaves behind is colder than either inmate's stares. She swallows as she once again takes in the dark silhouette. It could be anyone, but the voice that comes next assures her that it's the same person from the basement.
"Welcome home."
Myra's teeth begin to chatter and she shoves her sleeve between them in an attempt to remain silent. Despite the lasting tension in the air, no one seems eager to refute its statement. Probably, like Myra, they're simply too taken aback by the words to speak.
They're almost kind, welcoming in the purest sense. However, this is not home and the voice is no one familiar.
Something's not right. Myra hasn't been able to get rid of that sense since she woke up here, but new alarm bells sound through this statement. There's something about it that feels … final.
She shakes her head. The voice promised freedom, and staying here forever would not be freedom. It's not prison but it's not home. Truthfully, Myra doesn't know what it is.
All she knows is that, right now, the voice is lying.
"I wish to congratulate you all on being so.." There's a pause, but no one in the room seems to even breathe. "Eager."
Silence. It feels as thick as the darkness below and despite Myra's every effort it seems to transport her back there. The cell with its slick walls and cold floors. The way the air seemed to pull every bit of oxygen from her lungs then force it all back once the voice finally returned. It's waiting for something, but no one seems to understand what that something is.
Someone at one of the center tables begins a slow clap, though his eyes roll in the process. Dark hair sticks up in several directions and he turns slowly to look around the room. Myra expects the same self-assured gloss to coat his eyes, but as they make their way between the walls they look almost afraid.
The inmate beside him with cropped hair and thick eyebrows jumps up to join him. They clap louder, even letting out a whoopee as they seem to soak in the attention. Slowly, a smattering of applause makes its way around the room. Myra can only bring her hands together once before the now-familiar chill freezes her back to the seat.
"In record time, you've all made the independent choice to join us here, in your new home. Now that we're all together, I've been tasked with explaining the rules. Listen carefully."
Myra swallows as the silhouette disappears from the screen. In its place, large block letters annotate the voice's words.
"Rule number one: inmates are forbidden from touching one another.
Rule number two: inmates must return to their assigned cell each night. There will be two sets of tones, each fifteen minutes apart. Curfew begins once the second tone has ended.
And finally, rule number three: inmates must attend all assigned sessions.
There are no exceptions to any of the aforementioned rules. Failure to act within these guidelines will result in immediate punishment in accordance with the offence."
It feels like several minutes pass before the words finally disappear. No one is brave enough to say even a word in response, not even the pair at the middle table. In fact, they look just as shell shocked as every other expression Myra can see. She tries to replay the rules in her head, but can only remember the first. Mainly because it doesn't make sense.
Yet, she's relieved.
Anyone who touches her will be punished. Myra glances for a half-second at 014, but he's not looking her way. Suddenly, she's not nearly as afraid of him. Despite the eerie surroundings, the strange voice, and the many questions running through her mind, for the first time in months Myra actually feels safe.
She jumps as the voice comes again despite the darkened screens. "You're home now. Explore as you wish."
There's no sign to indicate that the voice has truly left. The silence feels just as fabricated as the ones between its words. Maybe that's why, for several seconds, no one even stands much less leaves. As far as Myra knows, the only place left to go would be back down her cell.
Then, various synchronized grinding sounds make half of them jump. Myra's head spins around in time to see a piece of the wall disappear entirely to reveal another room. On the opposite end of the semi-circular room, she finds another similar gap. The loudest of the sounds, however, comes from the circular platform they all came up from.
That's where most eyes go and in fact where Myra's morbid curiosity pulls her. Except, when 018 stands to head for one of the new rooms, Myra finds herself at their heels. She barely realizes until they're both far past the wall and standing together in a window-lined room.
018 stares past the panes and Myra's gaze follows. She isn't sure what she expects to see - maybe the yard or a fence, even guard towers or transfer trucks. However, she sees none of these things.
In fact, she sees nothing at all. The pale sky outside the windows is lit with glowing sunlight, but it's as if every piece of the world that should be there has vanished. There's no grass, no water, nothing but pale blue that seems to go on forever.
"I'm not here to protect you." Myra flinches as 018 speaks without even turning to face her. "I'm not your mom. If your plan is to just follow me around, you'd better think of a new one."
Before Myra can even respond, 018 has already started walking back towards the main room. Her cheeks burn red with embarrassment. She hadn't meant to bother them, but now that it's been pointed out she can see how desperate she must look. Even if she had the mind to argue, what would be the point? 018 was right, afterall.
And when they're finally gone, there's nothing to stop Myra from curling against the first window and wishing she could fall straight through it.
Vasilisa "Vasi" Zhukalova, 18, Montreal QC
This place is weird. Vasi and Noam don't speak much as they make their way up the spiral staircase with a trail of others following not-so-closely behind. Strange as it might be, the two of them seem to have become the unofficial leaders of whatever exploration is happening here. They can't say they mind too much. Noam might be a bit of a dork, but at least he isn't moping in a pool of his own snot like some of the others downstairs.
It's far easier to focus on weird disappearing walls and staircases than the alternative. Truth be told, this place is a hell of a lot cooler than their last prison already. For one there are no guards, just an ominous voice that Vasi's parents would probably think is some god. Secondly, there are only three rules where in the last place there were more like a hundred. Even Vasi can remember three rules.
Whether they'll commit to behaving within them, well that entirely depends on what happens next. For now, Vasi is content to play by the rules for the sole reason that they seem simple enough. Eventually, however, the no touching rule will probably get annoying.
What? They have needs, okay. There's nothing wrong with a little human nature if Vasi can find someone entertaining enough.
By the sounds of it, there'll be plenty of time to explore that option later. As much as they kind of hate to admit it, this place is fucking cool. It feels like they're in some weird sci-fi book they never had the attention span to read. Sure, the colour feels a bit too 'psychiatric hospital' for their liking, but Vasi's willing to look past it. Not too many places have secret third levels.
There's no way Vasi missed it. They paced every inch of that main room at least twice out of sheer boredom. The only staircase was the one headed back into the basement and it wouldn't even let them go that way. Every time Vasi tried, a stupid barrier of static shocks made them turn around. They would've seen another exit; they practically begged for it within the first hour of being locked in there.
That's probably why, as they reach the edge of the third level with Noam, Vasi practically jumps to get inside. They're the first person to step foot on the next level and the smile on their face reveals every bit of pride they feel. However, before Vasi can even take in the new room, the floor seems to disappear beneath them entirely.
Vasi leaps back with a screech and barely avoids slamming directly into Noam. He hits the wall and screams alongside them, but the confusion in his eyes tells them he's not sure why. Vasi points inside with wide eyes, but their lips only manage to form one word. "F-floor?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Noam sighs as he finally catches his breath. "I doubt this place comes equipped to deal with the goddamn heart attack you just gave me."
"Pity," Vasi shrugs, but their own heart is still beating furiously in their chest. They scan down the spiral staircase and count at least four others staring up at them. Vasi can hear at least one set of footsteps thundering back down to the second level.
They swallow and glance back inside, this time keeping both feet firmly planted on the top stair. When Vasi looks out into what vaguely resembles the room below them, only smaller, they get the same immediate gut feeling. The floor is see-through, just like it was downstairs. Except the transition was gradual on the second level, whereas it happened all at once the moment Vasi's shoe touched the floor. Once they realize what happened, they can't help but laugh.
"Okay now I'm certain you're going nuts." Noam's comment only makes them laugh harder, but to his credit he doesn't actually look bothered. He sneaks past them and his eyes widen as soon as they reach the floor, but he recovers even more quickly.
"What the fuck is this place?" He breathes.
At the same time, Vasi forces themself into the room. Their legs might be trembling, but they're not about to pass up a joke opportunity, not even a mediocre one. "You mean you don't like being able to see straight down into the bathrooms?"
It's dizzying to stare down for too long, but Vasi points at where they can most clearly see one of the cells two floors down. Each of them apparently comes with a toilet for everyone's viewing pleasure, yet there's not a shower to be seen. Talk about the builders taking the wrong opportunity.
Noam pulls a face before his lips eventually land in a smirk. "Oh Riley, have you checked out the facilities yet?"
Vasi practically spits as the pair erupts into another fit of laughter. They have no idea if Riley followed them up here, odds are he didn't, but just the thought of him overhearing is funny enough. Noam was right, he's not as awful as he looks. In all honesty, Riley looks pretty damn fine if he'd wipe that frown off his face. Unfortunately, it seems like a fairly permanent part of his facial structure.
"This place is fucking weird," Vasi sighs as they move slowly across the floor. They want to strut confidently across it, but something still tells them it's about to shatter. Truthfully, if it did, they'd be too far away from the platform to really do anything about it. Besides, would a one to two story fall really kill them?
Vasi shrugs; strut it is.
The room is largely the same as the one below them but with only three round tables instead of five. In fact, when Vasi stands close enough, they realize the three line up perfectly with the ones on the level below right down to chair placement. They look up and find more screens strung up on the walls, again in the exact same places. The only difference seems to be size, it's less than half the length. It's an awful waste of space if you ask them.
"What is this, my parents' house?" Vasi snorts but no one's close enough to hear them. Noam has only made it a few meters from the door and still has one hand firmly on the white wall beside him. However, as soon as his fingers move from the rounded wall to the flat one, it too becomes clear.
Noam shrieks and stumbles further into the room, eventually landing on his ass beside one of the tables. He and Vasi stare as another room becomes visible through it, this one resembling the communal shower from their last prison save for the … obvious differences. At least there are white shower curtains to give them something that almost resembles privacy.
Vasi can't say they mind. When Noam looks back, they make sure their eyebrow is raised in the same suggestive greeting they gave Riley. Instantly, Noam turns back to the stairs on the off chance he might be in the small group that followed them up. "Oh Riley!"
He doesn't wait for a response, probably understanding that even if Riley can hear him he wouldn't give one. Instead, he dramatically wipes both hands down his face before turning back to Vasi. "Note to self, stop fucking touching shit."
"Come on," Vasi says, ignoring him entirely and heading for the remaining white wall. It looks the same as the one Noam just touched, which means it's probably another hidden room. That means this level, like the one below them, also likely forms a perfect circle. "Might as well find out what it is."
Noam rolls his eyes before pushing up carefully to his feet. "It better be a kitchen. I'm starving."
Vasi couldn't agree more. At some point halfway through whatever waiting game they played downstairs, they were offered a tray of things that almost looked like food, but Vasi didn't bite. The constant rumbling of their stomach now almost makes them regret that choice, and Noam made the same one.
Come on, Vasi thinks as if they were rolling dice instead of about to magically transform a wall. They high five the first part of it they reach and, sure enough, the white fades to clear glass just like last time.
And on the other side, as if the voice itself heard their prayers, is a kitchen filled with shining white cupboards just begging to be ripped open.
A/N: Our lovely contestants have finally been unleashed on the main set. This set is probably the most complicated of the three I've made, but I'm very excited for all its twists and tricks. For those of you interested, I have put a map up on the blog under 'Tour the Set' for your viewing pleasure. I apologize, it's a bit confusing but I tried very hard. If you have questions, don't be afraid to ask.
~ Olive