In The Clear: Pre-Games XII
CW (Omar's POV): Brief, nondescript mention of sexual assault case. Short discussion of SA is done through a perspective that does not take into account the serious nature of this topic. I have a copy of the chapter with this section removed entirely, available upon request.
Vasilisa "Vasi" Zhukalova, 18, Montreal QC
Vasi's doesn't particularly like the quiet.
They stare at a spot where a window should be, but the wall doesn't break. Still, it's the most interesting thing on this level right now, maybe in the entire prison. All day it's been more of the same, but as soon as the dinner rush ended everything's gone so still. Noam didn't even want to hang out, in fact he didn't even make it to dinner.
Vasi sighs loudly and slumps down on a nearby treadmill. It's not exceptionally uncomfortable, actually to them it feels little different than the deflated mattress in their cell. They watch the ceiling, hoping to see something but there's not even an ass on the roof to stare up at. It feels like Vasi's the only one not already in their cell.
It's not even curfew, they think bitterly. It's not like they had a good argument for why Noam should stay up with them. Truthfully, they were shocked he made it to breakfast this morning. He seems to be taking the nights a hell of a lot harder than they are. Vasi at least is still standing or, more accurately, laying down and bored out of their goddamn mind.
They turn over, scanning the room quickly as if something might've changed in the last couple of minutes. Of course nothing has, but Vasi still sighs with disappointment. Even their bored huffs seem to be swallowed by the prison almost as soon as they leave their lips.
If they're being honest with themself, they're just about ready to turn in too. Given that nothing's even moved beside or above them since Vasi got here that might not be the worst idea. Yet, even as that thought forms they flop back down on the treadmill.
Sleeping early feels like they're wasting time. There's so much to explore, so many people to talk to, or at least there should be. Vasi hasn't had this much control over their comings and goings for… well ever actually. First it was their parents, then Clement and the Children, and then their parents round two. When Vasi was finally shipped off to prison after their trial, it'd felt like a godsend.
It was only then that they'd realized they didn't know what freedom was.
When they'd been with Clement, free was the only thing Vasi could think to call it. No one criticized their clothes, their hair, the way they spoke, the things they did. No one sighed and told Vasi over and over again that they wished they were someone else. Clement accepted their name without asking twice. He saw Vasi, not Vasilisa - a girl who had never actually existed.
But did he really? They close their eyes, remembering the nights where one couch cushion was a good enough bed and one smile was as good as acceptance. Clement had given them a way out of everything, but when push came to shove he threw them under the bus to keep himself safe.
Vasi might lie and say they never fell for any of it, but it'd be just that - a lie. They loved Clement more than both of their parents combined. They thought he loved them too. A few times, Clement had even said Vasi reminded him of his son.
They frown as their mind stops suddenly as if hitting the wall above them where a window should be. They can't remember what happened to him. The anger flutters in their chest like it always does when they think of Clement, but there's something else this time. Vasi just can't put their finger on what to call it.
They stare up at the ceiling as the strange feeling starts to melt away, leaving behind a bitterness that tastes like bile in their throat. The simple fact of the matter is that it doesn't matter what happened to him. It doesn't matter what happened to Clement or the others that got rounded up during the same protest that brought Vasi back from the metaphorical dead.
Vasi will be behind bars long after they're all released.
Their collective testimonies made sure of that. Vasi was the ringleader. Vasi was to blame for all of the crimes that the Children of Cizeron had committed over the years.
And they're not sad about it. They haven't cried a single day since their trial, when once again the world proved that it never gave a shit about them. Maybe they should've, maybe it would've made the bitterness recede from the back of their throat. Vasi had never been interested in marking the time in their old prison. Yet, how many days did they spend wishing their fists were strong enough to break through metal bars?
They let the next breath out slowly, feeling the warmth hover above their lips. Until now, these angry thoughts haven't escaped their cell downstairs. Even then, they haven't been nearly as strong. Every day they spend in prison their rage decreased just enough to let in another breath.
Here, it sometimes feels like it's gone entirely.
Vasi's happy here. They don't know where they are, why, or how long they'll be staying. Still, the uncertainty isn't hard for them to accept. They know how much worse being sure can be. Vasi woke up everyday in their parents' house certain that they would be miserable. They'll choose this ambiguity in a heartbeat.
Vasi's only fear is that, one day, they'll actually have to leave. That's what everyone's been whispering about, right? The voice that welcomed them here when they woke up promised freedom, but only now does Vasi actually fear what it might've meant. To them, this is freedom. They can be stupid and loud and no one can take it away because they've already hit rock bottom.
They can finally be themself - not some imaginary daughter, not some dead son, just Vasi.
And as much of that realization is pure relief, it's also the scariest thing in the world. Every time they've had anything, any smidge of hope or happiness, there's been someone waiting to crush it to pieces. Vasi didn't get to make friends, put together ungodly sandwiches, or even play stupid video games in their last prison.
But they also didn't have to worry that one day the bars might be pulled back. Vasi was supposed to be there for life, there was no chance that anyone was coming for them. The only people that could didn't even want them back.
They don't want freedom. They don't want to go home or back to the Children or anywhere else that the voice might be thinking of taking them. They want this.
"Where will you take me?" Vasi asks softly, directing their gaze to the screen above them. They swallow, not recognizing the gentle quiver in their words. They know the question doesn't make sense, but the voice seems to know everything about them. Vasi hopes it'll understand.
They don't know how long they sit with their chin tilted up to the screen. It feels like far too long, but Vasi wants to believe so badly that it's going to answer. They swallow the lump in their throat, but it doesn't taste like acid this time. Instead, it tastes like the saltiness of unshed tears and that's so much worse.
When the first curfew tone cuts through the prison's silence, Vasi finally forces their gaze away. They can only hope that the voice meant what it said when it welcomed them home. At the time, they remember laughing, but now they feel the closest to crying that they have in months.
Maybe because, for now, they actually have a place that feels like home.
Vasi can only hope it won't be another pretty lie.
Eris Perrault, 17, Winnipeg MB
Eris wonders if it's late enough to be close to curfew.
The last thing she wants to risk is moving back downstairs only to be instructed away. She doesn't know if the sessions are still happening or will happen again. Truthfully, she hasn't been listening to the announced names enough to even know if everyone's had one yet. Eris hasn't been doing much of anything since she came up here this morning.
She's not completely sure what this room is supposed to be. The others she's passed through have been fairly obvious - an infirmary, a library, a kitchen - but this one is stacked wall to wall with sealed boxes. If Eris wanted to, she probably could have torn open most if not all of them by now. Maybe that would've been a better use of her time.
She doubts it. Eris leans her head back against the only non-transparent wall in the room. She knows she's not exactly hidden, but this is the closest she can get. Every single room feels like a fish tank and every time she sees one of the other inmates it makes Eris wish she were floating at the top. This room at least has a few privacy barriers.
She doesn't want to talk to anyone, and even if she did she doesn't know how. Too many of them seem far too okay with what's happening while others seem to be falling apart only three days in. Eris isn't in either camp. She doesn't want to laugh or cry, really both reactions are pointless. She accepts this place for what it is, not what some delusional people are trying to make it out to be.
No one's coming to save them. In fact, Eris can't think of anyone in the world who deserves that less. But, at the same time, this place isn't the setting of some 90s slasher film.
It's jail - a place to rot in your memories until a judge decides you're safe enough to release.
Sometimes it feels like Eris is the only one who understands it when all of them should know better by now.
She sighs and looks up towards the roof. She hasn't spent much time up there, but still finds her eyes travelling there often. The blue haze seems to attract every inmate, at least for a few hours, but not Eris. The moment she saw the … she can't even call it a sky… the second she saw it all open up in front of her she froze.
The only clouds she's seen since the previous summer have been obstructed by barbed wire fences and concrete walls. The glass barrier is practically invisible by comparison. If she wanted to, it felt like Eris could simply keep walking and there'd be nothing to stop her.
Just like that, she could leave, but instead Eris raced straight back downstairs.
She hasn't gone back since and she suspects she never will. No one wants to be here, but Eris can't think of being anywhere else. Prison is nothing compared to what she's put others through - Kaya through. Eris' burns have mostly healed. Her lungs don't taste like smoke anymore. She opened her eyes days later in the hospital but two others never got that chance.
All because she wanted what? To impress some people she barely knew? To not throw away her best chance at spending time outside of her bedroom walls?
Eris knows it was much more than that, but her thoughts refuse to remember.
I was stupid.
I was resentful.
… I was hurting.
She shakes away the last one, the words softer yet they still manage to wrap around her chest. Nothing about what she did was justified. People died because of her. She deserves to be here just like everyone else does. Some of them might be able to make up for what they did someday, but Eris never will.
She's just fine rotting here for the rest of her life. She's okay to stare at sealed storage boxes and ignore any hint of joy she might be able to pull from this place. She doesn't mind that she's alone, prefers it actually.
No one can get hurt because of her if there's always a mile distance between them.
The first tone brings her back and she tries to swallow the dryness behind her teeth. Eris looks around, but while yesterday there was half a stampede to get downstairs the prison remains largely still. She pushes herself up and waits another couple minutes before leaving just in case. She still has plenty of time to get back to her cell before curfew.
Eris has only taken maybe a half-step into the stairwell when something appears suddenly beside her. She gasps, barely stifling a shout, and whirls around. The other figure scrambles backwards, landing hard against the stairs leading to the next floor.
Eris wishes she could say she's shocked to see her, but this is getting to be a frustratingly familiar experience.
"Seriously?" Eris barks, facing the girl with clenched teeth. Did the same thing not happen yesterday? Or was it the day before? It doesn't even matter.
006 looks up at her through her overgrown bangs, eyes wide with surprise, fear, or both. Her hands grip the steps behind her as if they're going to jump between her and Eris, but of course they don't. Nothing stops Eris as she takes an angry step towards her.
Well, nothing but the mere thought of taking another one.
The indignation leaves Eris' body almost as soon as she locks eyes with the girl and she has to force herself not to look away too quickly. Her gaze drops slowly to the ground and the relief of reaching it can only be described as nauseating. The tension that started at her gritted teeth carefully takes over her entire body until it feels as stiff as the shock from their last encounter.
"Have you considered finding a new hiding place?" Eris snaps, but her words have almost none of their previous bite.
006 swallows and, if Eris' voice was soft, she doesn't know how to describe what comes out of this girl's mouth. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"Whatever," Eris says quickly, truthfully just wanting the conversation to be over. She starts to walk away, but stiffens when she hears gentle steps following not too far behind. Eris has half a mind to tell the girl to fuck off, but then she remembers the curfew tone.
It's just her luck that they're going to the same place. That doesn't mean Eris is going to so much as look at her on the way down. She makes her steps as loud as she can, trying to trick herself into believing that she's walking alone. The soft sniffles behind her don't help, nor do the short glances as she walks the semi-circle between staircases.
After what feels like a lifetime, they finally reach the lower platform. Eris picks the stairs straight ahead, and she knows for a fact that 006 will not be following. She walks quickly across the platform and is just about to descend when she makes the mistake of pausing.
Eris closes her eyes for half a second, but her tongue has already made up its mind. The word is out before she can force herself to sprint down the staircase to stop it. "Goodnight"
She waits for a beat before glancing ever slightly back at 006. Eris expects an immediate response, just like every other time, but 006 just stands frozen at the centre of the platform. Confusion is enough to keep Eris in place for a few more seconds.
She must imagine the next word that leaves the girl's lips, because it sounds far too much like someone else. 006 wipes beneath her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and shakes her head. "Whatever."
Before Eris can even think to respond, the girl's voice returns. This time she sounds much more like she did upstairs. The tears on her cheeks remain unwiped and 006 stares at the ground, only the bottom of her eyes visible through her bangs. "Goodnight."
She's not sure how long she stands there, but Eris is acutely aware of the girl watching her. Eris' mind shouts to go downstairs - to her cell where it's safe and no one will bother her - but her legs won't cooperate. She stares hard at the ground, her back teeth clenched so hard that it hurts, until someone else starts to clamour down from the above levels.
As soon as the footsteps start, the pair scatters to their respective blocks without another shared glance between them.
Angel "Omar" Jardinez, 18, Calgary AB
- CW -
There's nothing wrong with this.
Omar swallows but the now-sticky air of the cell block refuses to go down. He's in exactly the right position, doing exactly what he's supposed to be doing right now as the silent countdown continues. It's been several minutes since the first warning tone and it shouldn't be long now. The thin wall beside him that forms the front of Omar's cell should be a comforting embrace, but he finds it difficult to see that way now.
Bowie offers a nervous smile from inside the cell block and he returns it gladly. They're closer to both Bridget and Shane than to him, but that's not what's bothering him. It's the nagging feeling in the pit of Omar's stomach that's making it hard to feel at ease. It seems to think he's doing something wrong when in fact the opposite is true.
Omar's eyes rise to Shane, and finally Bridget but only one meets him. Shane gives a slight nod though his expression remains as neutral as ever. Omar doesn't mind. When Bowie introduced him to Shane and Bridget, it wasn't Shane's reaction that unsettled him. In Shane's own way, he seemed content with Omar's presence. Omar could even stretch to say he might've been happy about it.
No, the only person on the rooftop that met Omar's smile with a frown was Bridget. Even as Bowie chattered along about how much the pair have in common, she regarded Omar with a raised eyebrow. Even as Bowie tried to include all three of them in conversation, she didn't speak directly to him even once. Omar was able to shrug it off of course. Perhaps they hadn't gotten off on the right foot the first couple of days. First impressions are difficult for anyone.
Yet, it still bothers him. Omar doesn't understand what he's done to warrant such hostility. He's willing to give her a chance, just like he's willing to do for everyone in the prison. Omar doesn't think she's a bad person simply for being here or because of a couple harsh words.
He can forgive that.
It bothers him that, perhaps, Bridget doesn't see things that way.
No one else has been like this, and Omar's talked to near-everyone here. That should be a comfort in itself but it only makes Bridget's case stand out that much more. It makes Omar want to both push forward to change her mind and, at the same time, pull back in uncertainty.
He's dealt with his fair share of people - lawyers, judges, journalists - who didn't like him. Omar didn't have the option of even trying to change their minds. They were set in their convictions, set in the idea that what Omar had done was wrong when they simply didn't understand. He couldn't go back and talk to them after his trial. That part of his life, those people, were lost to him.
Omar has never wanted to count anybody out. He sees the good behind the layers of bad decisions and worse circumstances. He doesn't even have to look them in the eye to know; reading their files was enough more often than not. Omar can see the regret in their mugshots, the plea in their statements.
That's why, in the last case from the University of Calgary, he shredded the evidence reports. Omar suspected the prosecutors would be able to get another copy, but that could take months or longer. The hospital has more pressing things to attend to, and there are hundreds of files in their databases. With any luck, they wouldn't be able to track it down at all.
And without that DNA evidence, no judge alive would condemn a thriving UOC student to prison. There is no footage of the alleged assaults and no witnesses to say that any of them definitely happened. The student has already been expelled. He already knows the steep consequences of what he did.
But a lifetime on the sex offender registry? Years in prison?
What happened over those seven months was wrong. The lives that have been destroyed by this student didn't deserve this. Yet, Omar just knows that he would never do it again. He'd be willing to bet all he owns on it. The student isn't a bad person, none of the people that Omar's helped have been bad people.
All they need is a chance to forget what happened and prove that there's good underneath it all.
That's all anyone who's done wrong needs.
He refuses to put Bridget in the 'lost' category so soon. Omar likes Bowie, and feels a closeness with them that he hasn't felt in a long time. Despite being his age, Bowie feels like another younger sibling. Omar wants what's best for them; he wants them to know that life doesn't have to stop here.
That's why he has to break the rules. It's not for himself, but for Bowie and for everyone. If they can find a way out like Bridget seems to think, all of them can be free right now. It's what everyone here deserves. Maybe the voice has other plans, but none of them deserve to wait. If the voice wants them to be free like it said, it won't punish them for trying despite the rules.
In fact, what Bridget described from last night makes Omar wonder if it was the voice punishing them. According to her and Shane, they spent the night separately in near-total darkness. The sounds from the cells were apparently whispers in comparison. Each time he fell close to sleep, Shane was awoken by electricity ringing in his skull. Bridget said it was too loud to even close her eyes.
The voice wouldn't do that, would it? Omar shakes his head. From outside the threshold of his cell, Bowie tilts their head softly as if silently asking if he's alright. He nods and pulls the smile back to his cheeks.
The only other conclusion Omar can draw then is that the voice is trying to protect them from the night, not punish them. It makes sense. Neither Bridget nor Shane remembers hearing the voice speak during the night. They seem skeptical of Omar's theory, but Bowie admitted that they can't rule anything out.
Not without more evidence.
That's what tonight will offer at the very least. Bridget was adamant about staying out again, and it was her idea to use the cell blocks. Apparently the only reason the night was able to lure them into solitary was by splintering the glass beneath their feet on the upper levels. The floor of the cell blocks are black, and it's the only level without obvious gaps in the walls where windows should be. Bridget thinks that means it's underground, and he thinks she may be right about that.
So Bridget, Shane, and Bowie all sit in a semicircle at the edge of the common space. Omar came up with the idea to keep one of the cells open, both for an emergency shelter and for more objects to use to break out. Bridget said the glass to the outside wouldn't shatter with pots and pans from the kitchen, but they're pretty flimsy. It's possible they'll be able to free something from Omar's cell to use instead. All he has to do is sit in the threshold and the bars shouldn't be able to close.
He wraps his arms around his stomach and forces his smile to widen. There's the feeling again, the one that Omar can't quite place. It feels like his stomach has gotten heavier, like it's trying to sink down every time Omar thinks about where he's sitting. It's not fear, in fact there's little for him to fear. If things go wrong, Omar is the one that will be able to get to his assigned cell. That should quell any fear he might have.
The sinking presses deeper with these thoughts and Omar looks down at the ground. He might not know what to call this, but he hates it all the same. It's not a new feeling, far from it in fact. The first time he really remembers having it was back in the ski patrol office while they were still trying to find Sabina.
Back then, he called it missing her. Now, Omar's not so sure what name to give it.
The sharp tone pierces through the cell block and four pairs of eyes rise to the ceiling. Above him, the prison looks exactly as it had moments ago. There's no cracking, no whispers - in fact, Omar can't hear anything for several seconds after the tone ends. It feels as if everyone is holding their breath.
He can feel the eyes on him. The other inmates, their cells sealed the moment they walked inside, didn't seem to think much of the group moments ago. They probably figured the four would scatter to their cells soon enough. Now that they haven't, every cell seems to stare back at them.
Then, something starts to move beside him.
Still in the threshold between his cell and the block, Omar's gaze snaps to the right to find the squared bars moving towards him. He swallows and puts a hand on them, first gently and then with more force. Neither stops them. Omar squirms closer to the opposite side and continues to push back, but the bars don't even seem to notice him. He wonders quickly if they'll stop when they reach him.
He doesn't stay long enough to find out. As the space in the threshold gets smaller and smaller, Omar pulls himself back into his cell. His feet are barely out of the way before the bars snap closed, giving him no option to change his mind. No part of Omar wants to, until he lifts his eyes to find Bridget glaring from across the room.
His throat goes dry, just stopping the words that have already climbed to Omar's tongue. I didn't know this would happen. I couldn't stop the bars. There was nothing I could've done.
Believe that Omar wishes he could've done something to stop it. He doesn't want to leave them out there, and he would give anything to stay with them like he promised. Bowie jumps forward when they see him inside the cell, concern written across their expression. Omar grabs the square bars but almost as soon as he does, the entire cell goes dark around him.
He turns quickly, but there's nothing to see. The glass between his cell and the next is now coated in thick black like the first day. Omar can't see anything around him. The only thing he can feel are the bars under his fingers, but when his hands move away it feels like they were never there. Dryness coats the back of his throat. He half expects to hear screams, the voice, even the eerie noises that leak through curfew each night.
There's nothing. His cell feels empty. The prison surrounding it feels like it doesn't even exist.
Omar doesn't remember closing his eyes, in fact he doesn't remember leaving the floor at all. Yet, when they open again he's tucked neatly under the sheets of his cot and the walls are just as clear as before.
He sits straight up and faces out towards the cell block. He doesn't know how much time has passed, it's always been impossible to tell, but the common area sits undisturbed. Omar's grip tightens on the sheets, but no matter how long he stares he can't find any of them. His gaze travels upward, the sinking feeling falling once again in his stomach. It lets up only slightly when the prison above appears just as untouched.
Where- The question doesn't even have time to settle in his mind before a cell across from Omar catches his eye. For the most part, the cells are indistinguishable from each other - one lump on a cot-shaped shadow beside another. Omar counts one, two, and finally three that are different.
The shadows inside are standing.
And, as the sinking feeling deepens, Omar can't help but think that they're staring right at him.
A/N: And that's the end of pre-games! Thank you to everyone still following along this silly little journey. Next chapter we'll have an interlude, after which will be the start of the games portion. Updates will no longer be weekly, as chapters will likely be significantly longer and I have some busy periods coming up.
Reminder that the poll closes once the Bloodbath is posted. Get your votes in!
~ Olive