In The Clear: Pre-Games XI
Myra Ranet, 17, Fredericton NB
"You don't have to say it."
Myra flinches as they finally speak, but when she looks over their eyes are still closed. It took several minutes of coaxing and several more of rest between steps to get Ram up here. Truthfully, Myra wasn't certain they'd make it.
And as soon as they did, Ram fell into a sleep so deep it scared her half to death.
What were all those things gym teachers said about concussions? Rest but make sure the person can still be woken up. Keep the lights low and don't focus on anything in particular. Except Myra can't control most of those things.
She got Ram up here to the infirmary cot, but no one's come to help them. She's not sure why she so firmly believed that someone would. Maybe because one look at their injuries told Myra that they needed help. Maybe because there's still blood crusted over their temple where the skin split. Maybe because they haven't been fully lucid once since getting hit.
Myra can't bring herself to yell to wake them up even what little first aid knowledge tells her to. Her frightened whispers don't cut it. She half considered shaking them awake a few minutes ago until she remembered the rules. The last thing Ram needs is more electricity.
How could they be so stupid? Why did this happen? They could've been killed.
Myra knows how little that takes sometimes.
"I wasn't going to." Her voice is as even as her nerves allow it to be. She watches them, staring at the only visible injury she can see and wondering how many more they have. Ram still sounds like they're half-asleep. She doesn't think that's a good sign.
Myra glances over her shoulder at each door, still hoping to see someone coming despite how long it's been. Her old prison had nurses and a doctor that could be called in. Sometimes, inmates would be transferred to the hospital across town for care. The guards didn't just leave them on the floor or in their cells or wherever they fell. Someone always came to make sure they were alright.
She blinks back more worried tears. Why isn't anyone coming?
"How are you feeling?" Myra asks, once again trying to keep her voice level. Truthfully she doesn't know what else to say right now. She wants some confirmation that they're okay even if she knows that's untrue. As selfish as it sounds, she wants to know that she didn't make it worse by bringing them up here.
"Like I've been hit by a plane."
Myra tries to smile but it doesn't go past her lips. "You kind of were."
She's not sure if the sound Ram makes is a laugh or some kind of painful cry. Myra leans forward, her hand flinching up ever slightly as if she might reach for their cot. Thankfully it doesn't make it nearly that far. When Ram's eyes squint open, she's once again sitting as far back on her stool as physically possible.
She's not even certain they see her. Their eyes pull closed again the second the light hits them. Myra gives an apologetic look despite knowing they won't see it. "The lights don't have another setting, sorry."
"It's fine," Ram says groggily. They roll onto their side and immediately their expression contorts in pain. Myra's posture stiffens and for a moment it feels like she won't be able to stop herself from reaching forward. However, the longer she looks at them, the easier it is to keep herself planted on the stool.
She doesn't want to overstep. In fact, the more she has time to sit here the more convinced she's become that she already has. Ram never asked for her help. She still remembers what they said to her on the first day. It's been playing through her head ever since.
If your plan's to just follow me around, you'd better think of a new one.
Yet no matter how much Myra tries to avoid them, she keeps failing. Yesterday she didn't have much of a choice. They were both put in the same session, where she spent the entire three hours trying to say as little as possible. Then, Ram came up for food at the same time that she did. Is that her fault? Myra hadn't known if leaving was too awkward or if that was exactly what Ram expected her to do. Finally, they all but ran into each other this morning when leaving their cells. Myra had been too embarrassed to even apologize until they'd already stomped away.
And now this. She can't exactly say this time isn't her fault. Myra had been in the schoolroom when the fight broke out in the gym. She's not sure why it happened, but like everyone else she all but flocked to it.
Unlike many of the prison fights she's seen in the past fights, this one felt different. There were no cheers or taunts. Nobody seemed to be egging them on or even trying to stop it. Everyone, herself included, just stared. It was like no one knew what to do, but most of them knew to be afraid.
Rule number one. They all had to remember it, Myra certainly did.
It was the rule that was supposed to keep her safe. Except the rules don't seem to matter anymore. Someone's stayed out both nights so far, yet reappeared the next morning like nothing had happened. Several people have knocked into each other, mostly accidents but there are no exceptions. She hasn't heard of anyone skipping their sessions, but how would she know?
No one's paid her much mind, at least not in the way of fists. Most of the inmates look too exhausted or in their heads to really feel threatening but is she right about that? 014 had big words for her that first day but he hasn't actually done anything yet. The rules were stopping him, or so Myra thought.
Maybe nothing's stopping any of them.
"You don't have to stay." She jumps when they speak again, still with their eyes firmly shut. Myra swallows. Their words sound so much harsher, so much more like the ones from her memory. Yet, when she looks at them she wonders if harsh is the right word.
Ram's giving her permission to leave, perhaps even begging her to. Still, when Myra's feet finally reach the ground again, they don't go far. She rummages through the cabinets on the near side of the room. She's not sure what she's looking for, but her hands seem to know.
She heads back over to the cot and stands as close as she dares. "Put out your hand."
"What?"
Myra swallows, but doesn't allow her voice to drop back to a whisper. "You need to clean the cut on your head. It looks deep."
Ram doesn't answer. Instead, they reach up and gingerly touch the scab that's formed on their temple. The area around it is caked in dried blood, as is the plastic pillow under their head, but it at least looks to have stopped.
Finally, Ram puts their hand out and she drapes a saline-soaked gauze pad over their fingers. They rub the cut roughly and crusts of dried blood flake onto the cot. Trickles of fresh blood start to dribble down their forehead, but she doesn't think they care.
It's not a lot of blood. Myra swallows but she can't stop herself from staring. She didn't used to be the queasy type, but there's something so freshly unsettling about the sight of blood. It reminds her a little too much of home.
More specifically, it reminds her a little too much of the last time she saw Serena.
Myra doesn't hear what they say, but the sound of Ram's voice shakes her from the memory. She looks away from the blood soaked gauze pad as Ram places it on the cot beside them. She tears open a fresh piece and holds the package close to their fingertips. They grab it without prompting.
"Put this over the cut and I'll cut some tape."
It takes several more minutes to get the injury wrapped. Almost as soon as it is, Myra can already see tiny dots of blood peeking through the bandage. It doesn't look like a lot, but she still wonders if that means she's done something wrong.
"You don't have to help." Their words feel like a nick, like when you try to peel an apple and barely catch the side of your finger. It doesn't burn or bleed much, but the sting doesn't go away either.
She swallows, once again feeling the fearful tears start to build. "You didn't get up."
Myra expects them to argue further, perhaps to get angry that she hasn't left yet or remind her of what they said two days ago. She sits back on the stool quietly, hoping that they won't hear because she's made up her mind. She isn't going to leave. They might not want her help, but looking at Ram now she knows they need it.
Because if the last couple of hours have proven anything, it's that no one else is coming.
And maybe Ram knows that too, because they don't argue further. She watches them, waiting for more harsh words, for what feels like hours. Instead, the only response she gets is even, heavy breathing as they fall back to sleep.
Dominique "Dom" Briones, 17, Hamilton ON
Dom jumps as approaching footsteps bring her from half-sleep. She peels her fingertips from her forehead and blinks the fatigue from her eyes. When the overhead lighting reaches her again, it feels far brighter than before. She doesn't quite remember where she settled after the commotion earlier, but looks up to find herself surrounded by shelves of stacked books. That doesn't help much to pull her from her tired fog.
Simply by the precision of her steps, Dom expects she knows who it is. Her suspicion is easily confirmed when she turns around to see the girl standing between two of the bookshelves. 016 isn't blocking her path, but just having one less available exit makes Dom immediately nervous. There's nothing specifically domineering about the girl, but her confidence alone makes Dom shrink a few inches.
"What?" She asks before 016 can speak. Dom's the one that wants to control whatever conversation is about to happen, even if she knows she doesn't. Truthfully, she doesn't want to continue this at all. That's probably why she's here and not back in the kitchen where they first spoke.
"I was hoping to continue our conversation." She's jealous of how even the girl's voice is. 016 looks as tired as everyone else, but that exhaustion doesn't seem to have infiltrated either her posture or her speech. Dom remembers noticing her on the first day, calm eyes circling the common room like she was analyzing every inch instead of shitting herself.
Dom spins her body the rest of the way until she's facing the girl. "Why? What are you really trying to gain here?"
016 leans slightly back as if startled by her response. Truthfully, Dom almost hopes that puts an end to it. She doesn't want to talk about Bridget or think about the fact that she hasn't seen her yet today. She's not sure if that's because of lingering guilt for not going with her or jealousy that Bridget might actually have made it out like she said.
Either way, 016 is not entitled to her feelings.
"Like I said earlier," she says evenly. "If she's not here, there's a chance she found a way out last night."
Dom stands and lets out a huff. "Then go look for her. I don't see how this is my problem."
"It's not," 016 admits. "I saw the two of you together yesterday. I figured she might've said something that could give me a clue as to what happened."
She was looking for a way out. Dom doesn't think that knowledge would help the girl and that's why she's even more hesitant to tell her. 016 seems so certain that Dom knows something. Enough that she's approached not once but twice to ask questions. Admitting to knowing next to nothing about what happened is only going to point 016 to the truth - Dom was too scared to try and escape.
That's the last thing she needs people knowing about her. Truthfully, it's the first thing Dom wishes she didn't even know about herself.
The second is the fact that this place scares her.
Dom feels her face go pale as that thought reaches her. It's not exactly news, but it's the first time she's admitted even silently in so many words. On the first day, she'd been angry at the move. Her situation had been fine in her last prison and she didn't want to start again. Yesterday is when that started to change.
The session with Bridget is the first time she felt real fear here. Not because of the session itself, but because it was the first time Dom saw consequence. In her old prison, the worst that would happen was solitary. Sure, the inmates would rough each other up when needed but that was never allowed to go that far. The prison itself didn't try to hurt them. The guards didn't beat, strike, or shock them into submission. Promises of privileges being revoked was usually enough.
In their cell block when Bridget had refused to participate, Dom hadn't hesitated to join her. It hadn't felt like that big of a deal. So what if they didn't want to play some hand game? She figured at the very least that the punishment would be slight. No access to the snack cupboard for a few days or whatever.
The first shock had stripped the smirk from Dom's lips. The second had pulled all the air from her lungs. It felt like she was being set on fire for seconds at a time only to be reignited several minutes later. It only took four for Dom to crawl to one of the chairs, ready to do whatever it took to make them stop.
Seven and she was begging Bridget to do the same. Eight and there were tears welling in her eyes but the constant spasms didn't let them fall in harmony. Nine was where she finally she lost count.
Dom isn't sure how close together the shocks were, only that they kept coming every so often. For presumably three hours, which is how long the session was supposed to last, that's all they did. She cried, her muscles burned from exhaustion, and Bridget still wouldn't listen.
She's not sure what scared her more - the punishments or the fact that Bridget didn't seem to care. Dom saw her tear-filled eyes; she heard the gasps that were just as loud as her own every time the stillness was interrupted.
At first she was angry. Dom knows how badly Bridget wants to get out, but this wasn't going to free them. She was just being defiant for the sake of showing the voice that it couldn't control her. She didn't care about Dom or even about herself. She put them both through that and for what?
Now, Dom's still angry. She's angry, but at the same time she understands. Bridget might be older than her, but she reminds Dom of her younger self. Didn't she used to do the same thing? Tagging cop cars and cutting brakes just so that maybe someone, someday might look at her instead of through her?
And they did, but Dom hated the person that they saw.
She still does.
"She said she wanted to find a way out," Dom says finally, keeping her voice low. "She thought that because they were locking us away at night, there must be something they're hiding. That's all I know, okay?"
016 nods, but Dom can't help but think she looks disappointed. Just when she thinks the girl might finally leave, she instead pulls a neatly folded set of pages from her hoodie pocket. 016 selects a book from a nearby shelf and crouches down. She places the papers on top of the book like a makeshift desk and starts adding to the bottom of the last page.
Dom's brow furrows as she watches. "What's that?"
The girl looks up for a moment before going back to writing. "I'm making sure I don't forget anything."
"About what?" She's not sure where 016 got the paper let alone what she might be writing on it.
016 shrugs. "Anything. I'm trying to figure out what this place is, or maybe why we're here."
"Oh." It's all Dom can think to say. On the one hand it makes her feel embarrassed that she hasn't even tried to figure anything out. She wasn't brave enough or stupid enough to go through with Bridget's plans. She wasn't clever enough to think about noting down her observations. What has she done?
At the same time, this makes her dislike the girl in front of her a whole lot less.
"Do you want to take a look?" 016 asks after a pause. Her gaze is what Dom can only describe as apprehensive, but it's not exactly hostile either. "Maybe you have things you can add."
Dom hesitates. She doesn't think she'll be able to contribute much of anything. Truthfully she hasn't been looking for answers as much as she's been trying to hide from them. The prison is terrifying, but 016 doesn't seem scared. No, she seems determined.
And maybe Dom could use a little bit of that in her life.
Lilliana Sterling-Hargreaves, 17, Ottawa ON
She can remember most of today.
As Lilliana leans against the thin post between her cell and the next, that fact more than makes up for her pounding headache. She can fit today on a single timeline, mostly because she hasn't done very much but also because the memories are distinct. She remembers waking up. She remembers leaving her cell when the voice demanded it and remembers not needing any help to do so.
In fact, she hasn't seen him all day. Lilliana doesn't know his name but his face is one of the few that feels familiar. Most others pass by like strangers, some staring as they do but even more simply ignoring her. She doesn't know how long she's been here, but no one seems particularly surprised to see her here.
Lilliana doesn't know if that's a good thing or not. As the dizzying nausea and timelessness have receded, her feelings of confusion have grown tenfold to outnumber them. The last clear memory she has is a cell much greyer than the one behind her. In between that and today's events, Lilliana can't pull away many specifics.
She knows what her parents did. Well, know might be too strong of a word. It's not like they would've ever admitted it, and if they did she can't remember. Yet, despite the uncertainty that sheaths most of her mind, Lilliana is sure about this.
She only wonders where they went wrong. Lilliana smirks to herself as she lays her head back against the wall. It's her choice this time to close her eyes, not someone else's. She might not feel quite well, but that almost doesn't matter. Lilliana feels like herself.
She feels like breaking out and wringing her own parents' necks before they can realize she's free of their wealth-funded spell. She feels like shoving a knife into the arm of every guard that followed their orders. She feels like demanding answers would be a waste of time when the only thing that's going to make this right is action.
Yet, before Lilliana can do anything she needs to know what's going on. Not with her parents, but with the towering prison she now finds herself in.
Her last jail cell wasn't considered safe enough. Her parents knew, or perhaps suspected, that Lilliana understood what they'd done. They were no doubt scared that she would ruin their plan to come out looking like the saints they never were. Yet, here she is without so much as a set of iron bars to hold her.
She needs to know that this isn't some new trick of silence, or if it is she needs to know what she's up against.
And the only person Lilliana trusts to give her that information is some boy whose name she doesn't know.
That's why she's here. The circle of cots in glass cells tells Lilliana that he'll have to come back eventually. It's half a guess that his cot will be near hers, based solely on the fact that she has so many scattered memories of him. If she's wrong, she's hoping to at least spot where his cell is so she can try again later.
Lilliana looks up as fast footsteps reach her from the stairwell, then her smirk widens. Good thing I'm rarely wrong.
He gives her a half nod of acknowledgement before continuing towards his cell. Luckily enough, it's one of the ones she's seated between. That means he's her neighbour, which can explain some of the memories. Not all of them though.
"Hey," she starts, returning the nod.
His head turns quickly when she speaks. For a moment, his expression betrays a hint of surprise but it melts back to neutral a second later. "Hi."
"Can we talk?"
There's no point in beating around the bush. Not only is she not the type, but he looks like he's a one-second pause away from locking himself in his cell permanently. She needs to get as much information as she can before making any plans. That in itself is motivation enough.
Lilliana doesn't know how much longer she can keep herself still. She's never felt anger like this, never felt anything that's legitimately made her skin shiver outside of an Ottawa winter. She feels not at all like her yet more herself than she's ever been.
She doesn't care what her parents will think. Lilliana's done everything for them and it's brought her here. Stupidly enough, she thinks she could've lived with being in prison if her parents had only asked. Her entire life has revolved around them. If they would've told her to be silent, Lilliana firmly believes she would've been.
Instead they lied.
They did things that Lilliana doesn't understand and they did it to accomplish something she would've done for them anyway. Her old self loved her parents despite not having a good reason to. They've always been like this. They've never loved her like family even though it was all Lilliana wanted from them.
It took a prison of needles and lies to show her what was right in front of her nose.
And now that she's free, she has every right to burn their empire to the ground.
"About what?"
She swallows. "Everything. I want to know everything you know about this place."
He pauses and he half-turns towards the stairwell as if looking for someone. Lilliana half-wonders if he's going to refuse because that's exactly what his body language is telling her. His arms are crossed over his chest, his shoulders tense and raised. He looks about as likely to run back up those stairs as he is to punch her square in the face.
Judging by the blood smeared from his split lip, she presumes the latter is more probable. Either that or he's not a very fast runner.
"Why?" He asks, leaning even further away from her. She can tell she's losing him, or at least what little interest he has in this conversation. Thankfully, she's not willing to give up so fast.
She sighs. "I don't remember a lot from however long I've been here. I don't know how I got here or where here even is. The only thing I remember is you."
He examines her expression and Lilliana holds it as confidently as she can. It's impossible to tell whether he's convinced enough to help her. "You don't remember anything?"
Lilliana shakes her head.
He turns again to the stairwell despite no sounds coming from it. His lips narrow as he considers the options, but Lilliana can already see in his eyes that she's won. Finally, he motions inside the cell he'd been headed to. "Fine, in here though."
"I'm not interested in that," she says flatly, raising an eyebrow. There's no reason they can't talk out here. There's no one downstairs and, even if there were, they'd presumably know everything he's about to tell her. The only exception would be guards, but on her quick exploration of the upper levels earlier she didn't see any.
He takes a half-step inside the cell. "And I'm not interested in you. Now come or not but I have people to avoid."
Lilliana decides that she's willing to compromise. He continues inside and swings his feet up on the unmade cot, leaving her most sanitary seating option as the floor under a large screen. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on top of them. "Well?"
"You really don't remember."
She shakes her head again. "I remember today."
"Why?"
Lilliana swallows. She's not sure how much she can tell him nor how much she particularly wants to. He might be the closest thing she has to trustworthy, but that's not saying much. However, something in his glare tells her that he isn't going to be very forthcoming without some kind of answer.
"My last prison drugged me," she starts, unsure for the first time today what she's going to say next. Their earlier conversation was planned throughout the day, or at least most of it was. Now, her words sound far more careful. "I don't know why but they stopped. I'm guessing that happened whenever I was transferred here but I don't know for sure. Today's the first lucid day I've had here, but it's not a normal prison. I can see that much."
"What the fuck," he breathes. All Lilliana does is nod, partially because she doesn't want to say more but also because she doesn't know what more to say. After a moment, his eyes snap upwards so fast they almost knock her over. "Did you sign?"
"What?"
He lets out a slow breath. "Did you sign? When we got here, the- whoever- made us sign a contract."
Lilliana furrows her brow. "What kind of contract?"
"That it's gonna free us," he says. She notices that his expression has stiffened, which is just about the only reason she kind of believes him. Otherwise, he sounds like he's gone absolutely nuts.
"Then why are we still here?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know."
"What exactly did the … whoever … say?" She asks.
"Does it matter?" He snaps, his voice suddenly loud enough to echo through the cell and adjacent room. Lilliana leans further into the wall, part of her wondering if he's going to keep going. Instead, he turns away completely.
And she realizes at the same time that he's right. It doesn't matter. She might not remember signing a contract, might not have even done it for all she knows. Yet, Lilliana knows that if the opportunity were to present itself now she would take it in a heartbeat.
And maybe whoever brought her here already knew that.
A/N: Only one more chapter remaining before pre-games is complete. That's insane, honestly, and I'm not ready. Good thing I have an interlude to write before I start offing these kids. Vote in the poll if you haven't, it will close when the Bloodbath is posted!
~ Olive