In The Clear: Pre-Games X
Lawrence Yao-Satre, 18, Montreal QC
It's not often that Lawrence seeks out company. In fact, they can't recall a time in recent history when that sentiment was true. More often, they specifically look for solitude. It's far easier to understand when their surroundings are as static as themself. The objects Lawrence finds themself slotted between presumably have far more in common with them than the average person.
Yet, rather than carry their lunch back to the upper floors, Lawrence chooses a place at the far edge of the dining hall. There are only a few other inmates present, most of them in pairs, but all relatively quiet. None of the prison's louder occupants seem to be hungry at the moment, which is ideal. Lawrence doesn't particularly care for them.
Truthfully, they don't care for many of the surrounding inmates either. This is the reason that they often spend time far apart from the rest, well and the fact that it's simply what Lawrence is most used to. They still remember all their table manners, however dining with guests is more complicated than that.
Lawrence finds it terribly draining to pretend they don't notice the stares. Not everyone is bold enough to ask, but they can read the questions as if plastered across their raised eyebrows. They've heard more than enough of them. It seems that many of the inmates have seen their face before. Lawrence isn't exceptionally surprised.
Nothing much accomplishes that. Intrigue, contemplation - but rarely true shock. No part of them was surprised to be arrested that night. Bitter, upset - but little more. Lawrence sees the world for what they have generally experienced it to be. Unfair, belittling - but relatively predictable.
They hold their tongue at the roof of their mouth and shift the utensils back in order on their tray. This prison might be the one thing in their life capable of true disbelief. At first, the reason for that was clear. Lawrence had been locked away nearly a year ago, the metaphorical key thrown away by the judge that looked upon him with disdain. Yet, here they are.
Perhaps the world is capable of shocking Lawrence afterall.
The prison has proved itself different yet the same. Their routine has been entirely disrupted now being away from solitary confinement. Lawrence does not remain within the same cell, but instead is expected to walk the halls like any other. They partake in activities that should justly be reserved for school children without knowledge of the way blood runs. They're allowed to prepare their own meals, to wash themself without supervision.
They've been allowed near the others. Somehow the disembodied warden doesn't fear for their safety in Lawrence's presence. They've been permitted to speak to them, to be alone in a room with one inmate and today another.
How strange.
Lawrence has, in a way, even been allowed to break the meager rules put forth. That is the most surprising element in all of this. They remained on the upper floors past the prescribed curfew that first night, yet come morning that offence appeared to have been forgotten. Punishment occurred, or what Lawrence would assume was punishment.
Then.. the only word that comes to mind is forgiveness. Upon morning, they were released from solitary confinement where they'd been forcibly taken. There was no mention of the broken rules or further repercussions. Lawrence was allowed to continue their day, which was little different than the one before. Today has been much the same. Their session with 006 was not cancelled nor made particularly unpleasant. Their food does not smell of rot, as it sometimes did when the guards perceived a slight against them.
How strange indeed.
Lawrence allows a heavier breath to slowly leave their lips. Though their observations are in perfect order, they can't quite put their finger on the new weight in their chest. It's been there since they were released yesterday morning. In fact, it seems to have grown heavier. It would make the most sense for it to be fear, but truthfully they're not sure. It feels quite strange that they might not know.
But when have they ever understood what they're feeling? What have they ever… felt that didn't involve that primal satisfaction of looking at a dead-eyed stare?
Curiosity? Confusion? Betrayal?
All but one are relics of the past. Lawrence cannot feel betrayed if there's no one that they trust. Those they expect transgressions from cannot hurt them, it's simply not within their capabilities. They understand far too much to be confused. They spend far too long turning over every sensory experience until it threatens to fracture. Even the prison doesn't confuse them, because Lawrence knows that they'll soon find its answers. Curiosity is certainly their favourite of the three. They often liken it to the tapping of piano keys at the peak of a crescendo; the feeling that occurs before great discovery.
None of those emotions have ever been a weight in their chest. None of them have made them cautious of being alone for too long.
Cautious. Not afraid.
Lawrence vehemently believes there's a difference.
They turn as another pair enter the dining area. They prattle on in turn as if having no comprehension of the silence they've disrupted. In fact, the wide smiles on their lips give the assumption that they're content in doing just that. Lawrence frowns but, as Casi turns to wave at them, it lifts ever slightly. Not a smile of their own in any sense of the word, but perhaps best described as neutral.
They do wonder why Casi was so insistent on telling them his name. In fact, there's a lot about them that contributes to Lawrence's wondering. They had many ramblings to share regarding the screen upstairs. It's one of the reasons why, after noting that Casi wouldn't likely be leaving them alone, Lawrence led them there.
Of course, they'd known what the room was long before then. The deep set of cabinets had given that away along with the medical-grade tables. Casi was the one that had connected the screen to it all, but Lawrence is unsure whether he understood any of it. They firmly believe that if they had, he would've told them.
The person that walks alongside Casi gives them a half-smile before the pair disappears into the kitchen. Their voices dip, but that could be as much a product of distance as anything else. The pair is certainly not the loudest of the groups, however Lawrence was able to hear the second inmate's laughter from the stairwell. They remember that she looked more content yesterday, when they came upstairs to look for Casi.
That's what Lawrence finds quite interesting about this particular set of inmates. So many of them look rather satisfied in their circumstances. There's little outright violence that they've witnessed. Many seem to have gotten close in the few days they've been together. When Lawrence used to pass other inmates to attend their yard time, they never saw this many upturned lips.
Truthfully, they can't remember seeing any back then.
In some ways it makes sense. There are fewer rules here, no guards to provoke or boredom to rebel against. In other ways it makes no sense at all. Lawrence can only relate it to ignorance, to blind belief that everything told to them thus far has been true. They'd heard more talk of freedom going down to their cell block last night than they ever did in solitary.
Yet, it's all a mirage. There is no freedom coming. This prison is likely the only freedom any of them will ever taste again.
The room upstairs is a morgue, and with eighteen coffins in eighteen slots on the wall, it appears that none of them will be leaving anytime soon.
At least, not alive.
Amadis Navarro, 17, Brandon MB
Amadis stares down at the scribbled pages, flipping through each one though she hasn't read a word. While yesterday this seemed like the best idea to organize her thoughts, today it feels far more overwhelming. She can't imagine she got more than a few broken hours of sleep last night. She's feeling that exhaustion in every possible way.
She leans down and rests her cheek against the table. Amadis doesn't know what to think. Her mind is telling her to react, to panic, to scream, to do anything to get someone's attention that something's wrong. Yet, at the same time, her body is telling her that an upright nap is the only option.
Everything here looks exactly as it did yesterday.
It shouldn't. She heard it. Hours ago, Amadis would've sworn that she saw it while looking up from her cot.
Now, she doesn't know whether that thought is the joke or if it's the room that's mocking her. Truthfully, she doesn't know anything. This makeshift notebook was a stupid idea and believing she could figure this out on her own was a stupid assumption. Just when Amadis thinks she's on the brink of something, it shatters.
Was last night just another nightmare? This morning, she made a beeline for the upper floors to search for signs of cracking but there weren't any. Every wall and floor piece is perfectly intact with only footprints to mar it. Did she imagine the empty bed two cells away? She couldn't have. That doesn't make any sense.
If someone broke out, there'd be evidence of that. But then where was the girl that Amadis knows should've been in that cell? Was that the source of the creaking she heard? Why did it last so long? Surely, if an inmate was able to break through the glass walls they wouldn't have stuck around for hours for the sole purpose of haunting her.
The simple solution is to find the girl, but her tired memory refuses to reveal which one was in that cell the night before.
Bands. Amadis peels herself from her pages and forces herself to focus. She can figure this out, she knows the numbers go up to eighteen. All she has to do is cross each number off as she sees them today. Then, she'll know if anyone's missing. Why didn't she think of this sooner?
She starts to write out the numbers one through eighteen as a new section beneath the last unfinished one. Something about the band colours, but not everyone keeps their sleeves rolled up enough for Amadis to see them. She's noted six different colours so far, but is that all there are? Her and Casi have the same one, but do all the people who shared sessions? Does everyone even have bands? The rules said they're forbidden from removing them, so they have to all have them, right?
Amadis shakes her head quickly. It's become harder and harder to control where her mind wanders off to. That's easy enough to attribute to lack of sleep, but that doesn't make it any easier to cope with. She's used to thinking of her mind as an ally, not an obstacle. Right now, it seems to be taking on all of the anxiety that Amadis is refusing to let herself feel.
At night, that's not so simple. At night, when the prison sounds drown out her thoughts, Amadis doesn't have anything to pull that panic from her chattering teeth. At night, more than the noises which at this point she believes she could sleep through, it's the shivering dread that keeps her from closing her eyes.
It feels different than the nights in her last prison. She didn't sleep well, but she wasn't wide away with adrenaline pumping in her ears for hours at a time.
Amadis presses her hands against her face. All she wants is to talk to her mom. How long has it been now? Is she still in prison? She can't be, right?
Breathe. If only the voice telling her that sounded like anyone but herself. Maybe then it wouldn't feel like she's figuring all of this out alone. Amadis isn't alone, there are seventeen other people, but no one else seems to have the same dread.
That begs the question - is she out of her mind or are they? She suspects she knows the answer, but that doesn't shake the feelings. In fact, each time Amadis gives the anxious nausea any attention it only intensifies.
She finishes writing the last of the numbers, noting the heavy slant of her pen strokes. Then, just before folding the pages she crosses out her own number - 016.
Great, only seventeen to go.
Amadis forces herself to stand and heads for the stairwell before even thinking to check the other rooms. She rolls her eyes at herself and heads to the back of the dining area, scanning into the bathrooms then the kitchen. She recognizes the girl hunched on the farthest barstool, but doesn't know her number off the top of her head.
With a sigh, she heads in. Amadis' eyes go straight to the girl's rolled up sleeves and the dark green bands that sit on each wrist. She tries to remember if she's seen the colour before and decides that she has.
As she heads to the cupboard of snacks, hoping to catch a glimpse of her number on the way out, the girl looks up. Then, Amadis remembers where she's encountered the girl before. She sleeps in the cell to the left of her, right between Amadis and the girl that was missing last night.
"Do you know where that other girl went?" She asks, barely realizing the question doesn't make sense before the words are already out.
003 looks up slowly with an apprehensive frown. "Who?"
"In the cell beside you," Amadis tries to clarify. "She wasn't in last night."
"Oh," she looks back down to a half-eaten bowl of dry cereal and pushes her spoon around.
Amadis can't help but be annoyed at her response. "Well, do you know where she went?"
"It's none of your business."
She swallows down whatever annoyed remark was about to come out. This is already going about as well as most of Amadis' other encounters. "I'm just worried."
"Why?" 003 says flatly. "It doesn't affect you."
"It might," she replies carefully. "If she's gone there are two options - either she got out herself or someone let her out. I don't know about you, but I'd be interested in either one."
003 looks her up and down as if re-reading an essay question. Amadis isn't sure what to do other than stand here, nor is she sure what to make of the situation. She doesn't know a lot about her neighbour, but something tells her she might have some of the answers Amadis is looking for.
"I haven't seen her yet today," 003 says slowly, very obviously choosing every word. Her expression betrays concern for only a moment before it's once again overtaken by indifference. Amadis isn't sure what to make of that either. She hopes that 003 is going to keep going, but doesn't know what to say to make that happen.
Instead, both girls jump as a shout comes from the stairwell. "Hurry up!"
The vaguely familiar voice is loud enough to hear over the pounding footsteps that pass by their level. Amadis' face scrunches in question as 003 leans over the table, but whoever it was is already long gone. Seconds later, another round of steps runs up behind them.
Amadis turns back to the other girl, whose expression asks the same question. What's going on?
Ramsey "Ram" Thorn, 17, Vancouver BC
Ram's tongue tingles with static as the breath is once again sucked from their chest. They swallow the cough that tries to sputter out, instead forcing their shut eyes open. The white outside walls feel like they've gotten even brighter. The glass one that sits at Ram's back feels like one edge of a fishbowl.
Get up! The usually simmering voice is louder than they've ever heard it. On the floor nearby and just as blurry, 014 is already starting to press himself to his feet. Despite the dizziness that brings the ceiling down towards them, Ram follows suit. They're not going to be beaten. They know how far behind that would put them.
Ram stands to their full height, albeit several inches shorter than 014. The last time they looked at him, they barely caught a glimpse of his expression before striking. Now, it seems to boil along with the voice still shouting in their mind. 014's fists clench at either side, which he no doubt believes will intimidate Ram.
It won't. They quickly close the gap between them and swing again. 014 shrugs out of the way, but Ram catches him on the other side. No sooner has their fist landed in his gut than do both inmates stiffen again with nauseating synchrony. Ram tries to reach out for something, anything, that'll be strong enough to keep them standing. Instead, they land with a gasp on the ground with static still alive between their temples.
And they're not scared, but the pounding of their heart against the floor makes them wonder for a moment if they should be.
Whispers gather between the walls and that's the only thing that makes Ram sit upright. They can't count how many people have arrived since this started - their blurry eyes won't let them. The entire room seems to ring with activity but it's hard to tell the voices from the dull ringing in their ears. They have an audience. This is exactly what they need.
Ram can't waste this chance because they're not going to get another. The protest of their throbbing muscles from whatever the electric punishment is doing to them isn't enough to stop. The thought that maybe this was a stupid idea isn't either. This is what they need to feel safe. This is what's going to let them sleep at night and stop wishing some fucking hero is going to save them. Ram doesn't need a hero. No one ever wants to be their hero.
Not their family who was supposed to love them. Not the prison system that was supposed to fix them. Not their mom who was never supposed to leave them to grow up alone.
Ram hates that right now, in all the bitter emotion, their thoughts blame her. They know she never had a goddamn choice in dropping dead on their kitchen floor. Yet Ram can't help the stupid, greedy child that knows they wouldn't be here if she hadn't. They hate these whiney thoughts. They can take care of themself. They have to, that fact's been proven in every "home"Ram's been shuffled between since she died.
They won't blame her. Their mom loved them more than everyone else who pretended to, a thousand times more.
I'll take care of myself. Ram knows this is the only way to ensure they can. They refuse to be another pawn in a game of inmates, refuse to let themself be moved around by anything but their own choices. They might be exhausted with angry tears burning holes in their eyelids, but they know what they're doing.
Win this fight and no one will ever mess with you again.
This time when the swimming darkness retreats, Ram doesn't bother to get themself to their feet. They launch themself across the short gap between them and 014, whose eyes only catch up to them at the last second. Ram braces themself for the shock and tackles 014 to the ground. No part of them feels anything but electricity as it pulses through every limb. They don't know if any of the punches they try to land ever leave their side.
Something pushes them hard backwards and Ram gasps as they try to force themself to fight against it. Their body is all but shaking, more exhausted than they felt even this morning. Yet, desperation continues to drive them forward even though their limbs refuse to move.
It's too late to be a coward. If they were going to give up, they should've stayed downstairs. Except every move Ram made down there felt like walking on lit embers. It felt like every step they took that wasn't this was going to burn them alive.
Sitting still, waiting for someone else to prove they weren't a victim while Ram fell again into that role, would've been like flames on an open wound.
Maybe they got themself in this situation, but at this point it's the only thing they know how to do. They don't feel sorry for themself. No one should. They should be afraid.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" 014 spits. Blood dribbles from his split lower lip but he doesn't seem to notice. He leans back against the glass wall with one foot still raised to kick Ram back again. Despite his growling tone, they can see the heavy breaths raise his chest. At least he's just as tired.
Ram doesn't answer. They grab 014's foot and move it quickly to the side, leaving themself an opening they can barely see as the static starts again. At this point Ram barely knows if their eyes are open or shut. Truthfully it doesn't matter. Their heart feels as fast as their breaths. They don't know who they have to blame for that.
The next hit Ram certainly feels. Not on their fist, but on the side of their temple. Their head snaps to the side, sending a nauseating tingle down their neck. The darkness they see next isn't blurry. Instead the room seems to go black around them and the whispered chatter falls silent.
Hushed voices are the first thing to return. Ram's body feels immediately cold as if every bit of flame's been frozen solid. Their eyes squint open, but it's too bright to keep them that way for more than a few seconds. A blurred silhouette standing over them is the only thing Ram can definitively make out.
A hard kick lands against their stomach and they sputter out a gasp. Above them, someone curses like they're the one that was struck, but the next kick comes anyways. Ram tries to catch their leg but their hands won't move fast enough. Each strike seems to knock the air from them, and each shock that follows seems to pull the oxygen even further out of reach.
"You're fucking deranged."
Ram doesn't hear him spit towards them as he finally steps away, but they feel it land on their cheek. They have every instinct to get up and make him pay for that, but no part of them follows through. Instead, they lay there in a curled ball while knowing they have no one else to blame for whatever happens next.
A/N: Hello! Nothing much to say here. There's only two more chapters of pre-games to go before we break for a quick interlude then enter the games portion. Please go vote on the poll if you haven't already.
~ Olive