In The Clear: Games III
Level 2 - Common Room - 11:48 PM
The room is far colder than Riley remembers.
He walks numbly from the stairwell, the moisture in his eyes frozen in seconds and out of view. The Common Room looks the same as the rest of the prison - different. He still carries the same weapons he brought past this level hours ago. He still holds the same septic anger just as closely.
Riley scans the room, not for any single person but instead for a hole. He shouldn't stand too close to the exit, he's still not certain what to make of the announcement, but he has no desire to venture far either. Truthfully, he wouldn't be here if there were any semblance of a way around it. Riley spent enough time considering the possible punishment for disobeying the voice's instructions. In fact, he looks to be the last one here.
He doesn't look for them. Riley forces his eyes away from every person he crosses just in case it's either one of them. As far as he's concerned, they're one in the same. If it weren't for the rules being back in place, he might just be tempted to show them how badly they fucked up.
He's under no illusion for how this is going to end. Either Riley will never see the outside of this prison again, or he'll have to murder everyone inside to get out. He knows without hesitation what he'll choose if given the option. It's almost a blessing that things worked out as they did. If not, Riley might've made the mistake of feeling bad for what he knows he'd have done anyways.
Riley's eyes move along the wall as the screens start to buzz around the contestants. He ignores every startled gasp and wide-eyed stare. All he wants is for whatever this is to be over with. The Cut is not his friend. He would take any chance at getting out if it were possible but it's not. The sooner the game continues, the sooner the game will be over.
Win or lose, all Riley wants is for it to be over.
"The trials are to begin momentarily."
His ears perk up immediately, noting the difference in language as the door to the common room slams shut. Trials; plural. The restlessness of the room picks up even more, the few people who'd been sitting at the tables now rising to their feet. Riley's fists clench instinctively. He doesn't know what's going to happen; the rules were clear but that doesn't stop the chill that runs up his spine. Nothing about this room feels safe.
In an instant, every screen in the room is overtaken by a dark silhouette. At first glance, he expects the same one from the first day but he couldn't be more wrong. This one has an almost-cartoonish texture to its hair and its torso is one long shape that disappears into the bottom of the screen. It takes Riley this long to realize that the voice itself sounds different too.
He jumps as a loud thud silences the room.
"Order in the court, order." The silhouette moves its head from side to side as if it might actually be looking at them. Riley swallows and glances at a few more of the screens. The image doesn't change. No matter where the screen is in the room, each one seems to stare back at him. "First order of business - calling of the defendants."
The silhouette disappears as quickly as it'd come. In its place is a single block letter 'A' and even it seems to glare at them. Riley takes a subconscious step backwards, nearly knocking into the person behind him but she doesn't even seem to notice him.
"A." As soon as the voice starts, the letter disappears from the screen and rotates quickly through various lines. They're all the same shape, but differing colours that are hard to catch. As the rotation starts to slow, Riley can name all three but that doesn't give him even an ounce of an answer as to what the fuck is happening.
Finally, the screen stops on a single line that cuts perfectly through it. The contestants stare as if in a trance, Riley included, but for a moment there's nothing more. Still, he finds himself unable to look away.
"Light blue." The voice announces. "Six."
Riley doesn't know if he should understand what any of that means. He breaks his gaze away from the screen and it locks in on one of the contestants across the room. She looks down at their arm, where a light blue band stares back. Riley snaps back to look at the screen as his hand instinctively wraps around his own wrist.
"Angel Jardinez and Madigan Ulrich."
Hushed whispers don't even have the chance to make it through the room as another letter takes over the screen. Riley looks back at the contestant with the blue band, but they've rolled her sleeve down as if to hide it.
"B."
His thoughts are racing, but they don't even touch the speed of the second rotation. Riley's eyes immediately lock on the first colour that appears. His chest tightens every time he sees the red line pop up again, but it's gone before he can even be sure he saw it.
"Light green. Five." The voice pauses. "Noam Steiner and Vasilisa Zhukalova."
There's no shout or joke, even though at this point Riley very much expects one. Much like the first two names, these ones are followed by silence that fills every inch of the hollow room. He can't even tell where they are, though he knows they're not far.
If he cared, Riley would wonder if he was a bad person for how easily the smug look settles on his lips. It's a good thing that he doesn't.
"C."
He doesn't even see the lines change this time; Riley's eyes see only the earlier light green until the line settles on its final choice. "Orange. Four. Eris Perrault and Lyanna Coramar."
Riley recognizes the final name and his brow furrows as the silhouette reappears. She was one of the announcements, the first one if he's remembering correctly. He doesn't have to think for very long as another sharp thud echoes through the room. None of the contestants seem to have moved from when Riley entered moments ago. The names appear in cursive on the bottom of the screen, each one with a band of their corresponding colour behind it.
"Defendants report immediately to your assigned cell block. All other contestants must remain in the Common Room until further notice. The trials will begin momentarily."
Casi grabs her hand the second they take the first step away. His eyes haven't left the screen, the silhouette that in any other setting would be hilarious. Except Casi isn't laughing. In fact, the feeling sinking in their stomach makes him want to do just about anything else.
"Casi," Meg only gets out that single word before he pulls her into a tight embrace. Casi doesn't know what's happening, but it feels wrong. They don't want them to go. He doesn't have a choice but to let them. The voice's instructions are clear and the doors elsewhere are locked. Meg's name was called and Meg has to go. End of story.
Casi just can't get themself to let go. She shivers in his arms and hugs Casi back with the same tightness. Over Meg's shoulder, he spots Omar with his sleeves rolled up to reveal the light blue band on his wrist. Casi's body goes stiff as he walks towards them.
"Him?" Casi has even less desire to let go. The other four are moving far too quickly towards the staircases. He doesn't want Meg to get in trouble for being last. They just can't stop the visceral realization that she's going down there with him.
"Angel's his first name," they whisper. "We'll be okay, okay?"
Casi nods but they don't know how she can be so sure. Meg squeezes his arms before running to catch up with the others. If he hadn't felt the fearful shivers in their hug, Casi wouldn't even be able to say that she looks afraid. Meg even gives a half-smile to Omar as he waves them through the door ahead of him.
And if the door to the stairwell wouldn't have slammed shut behind him, Casi just might have run in after them.
Bowie wraps their arms around themself as the room falls again into silence. There are only five less of them, but it feels almost completely empty now. No one speaks, not even the screens buzz with static. It's like they're all afraid for the silhouette to come back, to call their name and send them somewhere that the rest of them can't see. Except, for Bowie, that would be a kindness.
They glance back to see Shane and Bridget pull apart. Bowie gives her a gentle wave but if she sees it she doesn't respond. They had waited in the stairwell for most of the evening, but ventured upstairs to look for food just before the second announcement. The three of them had run back down to the platform just after, but if Bridget had come that way she was long gone by then. Bowie knows that Shane was disappointed even if he didn't say anything.
Whatever this trial was, Omar said it was their best chance to find Bridget and he was right. Bowie should be glad that they're reunited again. They are glad. They just can't help but miss the arm around their shoulders even more when they see the two side by side. They wish they could've gone down with Omar even if they don't know where he's going.
They jump as the walls start to shift on the round part of the room. The screens seem to fold directly into it until they disappear altogether. The next thing Bowie knows, they're staring at a completely bare wall that's somehow even darker than it'd looked moments ago. They can't pinpoint what else has changed until the static finally reaches their ears.
The whole thing is one large screen, and that only makes their pulse quicken.
"He's gonna be okay, right?" Bowie whispers in the pair's direction when they start back towards them. They furrow their brow as a flash of annoyance comes across Bridget's expression, but it's gone so quickly Bowie worries they imagined it. Shane doesn't even seem to hear their question.
They don't realize they're still staring until Bridget's lips curl in a half-smile and she nods. "I'm sure he will be."
Basement Level
The cell block is dark when Eris reaches the end of the stairs. She swallows and forces herself to keep walking, forces her eyes to adapt to the place she left barely an hour ago. The only thing she can tell is that it looks too pristine. There is no blood on the floor, or at least it's too dark to see the shape if it's there. She can't see if her cot is still blocking her own cell's entrance. Eris can't squint enough to look inside any of them. It takes all of her focus not to walk into the table in the center of the room.
She doesn't know what else to do, so she pulls out the first bench and kneels on it. Eris can't see anyone else around, and that shouldn't exactly be a surprise. The girl whose name was called alongside hers is dead. She's the only one that headed for Cell Block C when the stairs opened.
What am I waiting for? Eris looks around slowly but finds nothing even resembling an answer. It's an empty cell block with an empty person kneeling inside of it. She glances up as the familiar sound of static starts to creep through the darkness. She can't see the screen yet but she knows it will show itself when it's time.
And Eris knows not to listen to it when it does.
"You have all been brought here for a second chance."
Vasi squeezes their eyes shut as the screen starts to brighten the dim room around them. They don't want to see it; they don't want to see him even if they felt every breath on the back of their neck as Noam followed them downstairs. The last thing they wanted to do was be here again. It only makes them feel as stupid as Vasi should've felt the last time they sat at this table.
It's only been a few hours but the only thing they can feel when they picture him is anger. Shame burns Vasi's cheeks even now, but that's not what courses through their veins. How could I be so stupid? Except not even that statement burns the way it should. Vasi opens their eyes and the first thing they see isn't the screen looming over them. It's Noam, sitting across from them with his wide eyes staring at anything that isn't them. How could he be so stupid?
That's what Vasi grabs hold of, not the hatred that threatens to turn inwards but the spikes that've already started towards him.
"In honour of the tenth season of The Cut, each of you have been chosen in the likeness of a Winner."
Meg offers a sharp nod as the words begin, but they can't make herself listen. They hold Omar's gaze, willing him not to look away because she doesn't know where that will leave them. The cell block looks the same as they left it, broken glass at the entrance and all, but Meg's doubly afraid to look out at it. He returns her nod with a nervous smile, but they can tell that it's not genuine. He is just as afraid, or maybe that's just what she wants to believe.
"You, like each of them, must overcome what binds you to this darkness you sit within. Season 4, Alexis Lassiter. She came into The Cut a victim of her pride, unable to control her competitive nature and vicious jealousy. In her season, she learned to harness these vices to not only become a powerhouse in her sport, but an empathetic teammate.
Eris Perault, you have been chosen in her image. You possess not only the same callous selfishness but the same competitive mentality for others in your life. Thus far, you have let these traits define you, much as your predecessor did before The Cut."
Eris stares at the screen as the words seem to drip like water down her spine. She squints, but her lips remain firmly pressed together. She wants to shout that it's wrong about her, but is it? There is only one person that it could be referring to in her life, but is that enough evidence to say it's not true? Eris isn't as sure as she should be about that.
"Season 5, Zoe Sanford. She came into The Cut a hostile individual with thoughtless disregard for law and order. In her season, she found a healthy outlet for her fearlessness and became a gifted developer that brings ingenuity to the tech world.
Noam Steiner, Vasilisa Zhukalova - you have been chosen in her image. You each possess the same disregard for rules and traditions alongside a egotistic sense of self-importance. Thus far, you have allowed these traits to guide you away from civilization, much as your predecessor did before The Cut."
Noam swallows as he looks across the table. His hands are already shaking, but he clenches them together as hard as he can. For the first time in his life, not even his thoughts rebel against the slights. He thinks back to mere hours ago in this same cell block, to Riley, to Vasi who now refuses to even look at him. He allows his gaze to slip to the floor.
"Season 6, Rajan Bhau. He came into The Cut with a lit fuse that he could not control, willing to betray himself so that others could reap the rewards. In his season, he learned to never waiver on his core virtues and became an honourable scholar and a gracious speaker.
"Angel Jardinez, Madigan Ulrich - you have been chosen in his image. You each possess a virulent protectiveness over matters far beyond your understanding. Thus far, you have allowed this to supersede your own wellbeing, much as your predecessor did before The Cut."
Omar furrows his brow as he looks above Meg's head. He doesn't turn to look at the screen, nor does he listen to the words for long enough to let them melt against him. There's nothing dangerous about his desire to protect others. There's nothing wrong with what he did. The voice, like many others, just doesn't understand. He allows his gaze to drop down to Meg, who faces the light with lips parted in disbelief. There's nothing wrong with either of them.
"The Cut gave each of them the chance to prove that they are more than the vices of their past. Now it's your turn to prove if you are capable of following in their footsteps."
"Will you be fearless?"
"Will you be innovative?"
"Will you be resolute?"
"Or has your time already run out?"
Level 2 - Common Room
Myra feels like nothing but a backdrop to the stillness that meets every corner of the room. She hasn't been able to take her eyes off the screen since it rippled to life moments ago. All she wants to do is hold onto Ram who sits mere inches to her right. She worries that even a slow reach would push them farther, not bring them closer. She still remembers their earlier conversation; they haven't brought it up again but it still sits in the heaviness of their eyes. She's been able to ignore it, but in the silence that's becoming harder and harder. Still, it's the last thing Myra wants to think about.
Not when there is so much more to consider. The voice is so loud, it may as well be coming from the wall beside her. Myra can hear every word no matter how much she wishes she couldn't. It hasn't been said, but it doesn't have to be. These three might be the first, but there are six more seasons, six more Winners.
They'll all be down there before long.
Myra glances at the sliver of dark violet behind her sleeve, a perfect match to the one around Ram's wrist.
They'll be there together. She doesn't know whether to be relieved or terrified by that realization.
She supposes she'll know soon. The screen, which so far has been split into even thirds, spreads until only Cell Block C is visible. Instead of a pair, only one girl sits at the table with her fists settled stiffly on her thighs. She doesn't look like she's moved since the voice started. Myra wonders how much louder the words are down there. She can't help but picture herself in the girl's spot, but even then it's hardly comparable. Even then, Ram is beside her.
Her mind refuses to conjure up anything different, even in her waking nightmares.
Myra flinches as the voice begins again. "Eris Perrault, you are the only surviving likeness of Alexis Lassiter. For the completion of your trial you are required to select a new counterpart, else one will be selected at random."
Eris looks upward, her eyes seeming to note the camera's exact location though her expression doesn't shift. It's hard to tell if she's considering her options or if she even heard the voice at all. Her dry eyes give away nothing at all. Myra can't see an answer in them, they're as blank as the wall behind her.
"Select one."
Myra doesn't register the words until the screen has split again. As names stream by in seemingly random order, she latches onto only one. It's all her mind can see, the only one she is even half-capable of reading, and even when it's not there it never seems to leave. Her posture shakes and she looks down for barely a second to find the edge of a table to hold onto.
When she looks back, the room is no longer silent. She's no longer surrounded by still water with her chin high enough to breathe. Now it's rushing around her. It pulls her in every direction. Her legs kick but she's drowning and the only thing she can reach for is already walking away.
It's them.
It's their name that sits above the girl's blank expression.
It's them and she can't fucking breathe.
Cell Block B
Neither contestant moves as the room transforms around them.
A barrier emerges from the centre of the table, splitting the cell block in two as the surrounding walls shrink in close. 009's eyes shoot up as the barrier between them grows into a thick screen, the darkness blocking his view of 010. His hands pull back and a trio of keys appears where they'd just been. 009 leans away from the table, but the tall-back of a chair prevents him from straying too far. Arms grow from the base of the chair and surround him. He tries briefly to slide the chair back, but the wheels don't allow it. On the other side of the barrier, 010 automatically reaches for the black headset that appears on their left.
It feels familiar, far too much so. The screen is larger, the chair's arms are taller, but not enough to break the illusion. Noam's head snaps up as the bottom right corner of the screen flickers to life. Vasi. Their eyes go to the same place as his, no doubt seeing a similar stream of him. It doesn't take long before they flinch away.
Noam's heart beats in the pit of his stomach. The room is so much smaller than it'd just been. If he could make himself try, he's sure he could touch the wall behind him. He feels like he's going to throw up, and if he does he's going to have to smell it for however long he'll be trapped here.
That should be the least of his concerns.
The chair, the screens - it looks so much like the gaming setup in his dad's house that a short laugh escapes Noam's lips. So much for a trial. Yet, he can't shake the anxiety that causes his whole body to shiver despite the heat. If he didn't know better, he'd guess he was inside the PC, not staring at it.
"Round one."
He swallows as the words that had just been strewn across the screen disappear entirely. He doesn't catch a single one. Noam's panicked eyes find Vasi once again, but they're looking steadily ahead. He can see the hardness in their eyes; it hasn't let up even a little bit. After their block was released, he wanted to chase after them. He didn't want them to go. He didn't want to be alone.
He just didn't know what he'd say if he caught up. I do care. It's not a lie, but it may as well be one for how much they'd probably believe it. Noam hadn't meant to lie. Realistically, he hadn't. Any good father would have come. He and Noam have had their differences, but they were still blood. His dad had still opened his front door when Noam's mom sent him back to Canada. He didn't hate him enough to leave him homeless. He shouldn't hate him enough to leave him to die either.
At first, Noam had believed his dad would come, but when did that end? He doesn't have an answer and doesn't know if he still wants one.
There are more important things to think about. Yet even as the buttons in front of him light up awaiting an answer, Noam can't think about any of them. Focus.
"Player 10 locked in."
Noam stiffens, looking down at the 009 that sits on the left of his shirt. What am I supposed to do? He stares at the three symbols, finding one marked with a shield, one with a dagger, and one with what looks to be some kind of long stick. He has no idea what they mean. Noam doesn't know which one he's supposed to choose. He grabs the headset and forces it over his ears, but the only thing he hears is a countdown.
"What do I do?" His eyes turn frantically to Vasi, who stares down at their desk. He doesn't know if they can hear him, but he's desperate. What kind of trial acts like a video game? He tries to remember what the voice said, but the only thing that comes forth is a name - Zoe Sanford. All Noam knows about her is that she released a video game last year that he played for about two hours before realizing it was about as exciting as watching paint dry.
The numbers are getting smaller. Noam's running out of time.
"Vasi! What do I do?!" The only answer is the slightest flicker of their eyes, just enough to prove that they heard him. He scans the symbols again, trying to remember anything he can about the stupid video game. Unfortunately, every bit of information is blocked by the panic pounding in his ears.
Noam slams his palm down on the shield button as the countdown reaches three. It feels like the safest bet; if you don't know what to do in a game you put up your shield. He hopes that bodes true in whatever the fuck game is happening here.
"Player 9 locked in."
The shield appears on the left of the screen, blinking along to the beat in Noam's chest. There's another countdown, this one with words instead of numbers. In an instant, the game comes rushing back and Noam clenches his fists to keep from screaming. It's fucking rock, paper, scissors. How could he not remember?
The game takes place on the old prison set - its winding hallways filled with up to seventeen other players. There were only a few controls to master, that wasn't the part that frustrated him. No, it was the gameplay that happened when you ran into someone else. Shield, baton, blade. Noam spent two hours getting laughed at by kids online simply for getting unlucky in the game. He got positively sick of seeing the stupid cut screen deaths.
When the countdown ends, the second icon appears on the right of the screen. Baton. Noam's shield is struck through by a red X, but that's not what causes him to jump in his seat. No, that's courtesy of the sudden crack that strikes the wall behind him. Noam pulls the headset from his ears and turns as far around as the chair allows, eyes wide in the dim room.
It doesn't take long to find the thin splinter barely a foot from where his head was resting against the chair. The light shining through is a dead giveaway.
"Vasi," Noam says as evenly as he can.
Once again there's no answer. His hands are shaking as he forces himself to slide the headset back on. "Please tell me you heard that."
His voice is barely enough to break through Vasi's concentration. Their jaw aches from clenching, but they can't force themself to release it. They won. It might just be round one but they can't help that it feels good. You can't get away with it. Vasi doesn't understand the game beyond what the instructions told them, but that's all they need. It's worked so far.
They don't care that it's, at its core, a game of chance. Vasi isn't going to let him win.
"Round two."
"Vasi." They ignore him, refuse to even look at his image at the bottom of the screen. Vasi isn't going to listen to a word he says; they won't let themself be lied to again no matter that they always make it so easy. Not again. That's a promise. Never again.
They don't care if it's not convenient for him. They don't care that their mind keeps trying to come up with excuses. Noam's no different than Clement who's no better than their parents. Vasi's thoughts might want to forgive, but none of them have ever even asked for that. They don't care about them. Maybe in some small way they used to, but not enough. Vasi is never a priority, only a nuisance. They can always be discarded. They can always be blamed.
Vasi refuses to do the same. They refuse to blame themself. All they did was care. All they did was allow themself to be used, but never again. Once is a mistake, twice is a choice, but thrice is an absolute disgrace and Vasi is anything but.
I didn't deserve it. They don't know which instance they're referring to. It doesn't matter.
They hit the same key without thinking. "Player 10 locked in."
"Vasi!" Noam's voice is much louder now. "I know you're upset. I know and I'm sorry. Please listen to me, something's happening."
Their eyes turn slowly to look at the bottom of the screen. Vasi had every intention of ignoring him, but they suddenly can't stop themself. They search his expression without saying a word, and find exactly what they expect to. There are no tears in his eyes nor anguish behind them. He doesn't stare into the camera, in fact he keeps tearing away to look behind him. It tells Vasi everything they need to know.
He's lying.
He's not sorry.
"You have ten seconds left." Vasi's words don't sound like their own, in fact they don't sound like a person at all. Their lips may as well be an extension of the voice, refusing to listen and saying only things he already knows. If he doesn't care, then neither do I. Vasi is almost surprised to find no resistance to that statement.
The anger has frozen over. It's no longer red hot, but instead ice blue. Noam's pathetic excuse for an apology slides right off.
"Player 9 locked in."
Vasi stares through their eyebrows as his shield appears again at the end of the countdown. There's no smile, not even a hint of one. If someone were watching their expression, and they're sure that many are, they would see absolutely nothing.
Inside, however, it already feels like victory. A small one, perhaps even a meaningless one in the larger scheme of things, but a victory all the same.
"Round three."
Vasi doesn't hesitate this time. They made their choice before the round even started. They've chosen the same icon twice, and Noam's done the same. He's panicking. There's a small chance he chooses shield again, but they doubt he will. Even he can't be that stupid.
"We need to tie!" He shouts, but they don't respond. Instead, Vasi slams their hand down on their next choice and the selection appears on their screen a second later.
"Player 10 locked in."
If Noam says anything else, they don't hear it. They don't care. Nothing he says will change anything. They're not going to tie. They're going to win. According to the instructions, the first to three wins. Vasi is only one turn away.
Noam makes his selection only a few seconds later. "Player 9 locked in."
Two blades appear on the screen; a tie. Vasi's jaw tightens even further, their teeth shivering against the pressure but they barely feel it. Noam's eyes brighten and in an instant the frost is gone. Vasi's gaze snaps to him. If they could reach through the screen right now, the baton in their lap would be an afterthought. He thinks he can win. He thinks he can talk his way out of this, make them go along with whatever he wants. He thinks he can do it all again, but he's wrong.
He's not in control.
They are.
Vasi doesn't hear the round begin. Blood rushes in their ears, blocking out every other sound until it's all they can hear. Where seconds ago they felt cold to the touch, now every part of their body burns like seared metal. Their skin vibrates as if coals were dancing against it; their breaths are hot as they travel to their lips and condense against the screen. They know what to choose without even thinking.
"Player 10 locked in."
"Please!" They don't even look at him. Vasi's eyes are locked to the screen as the numbers fall like meaningless thunder around them. They don't need to hear him. They don't need to care for anyone but themself. God knows that no one's ever cared about them.
"Just tell me what you chose," Noam pleads, his voice growing more desperate as their pulse thunders in their ears. "We can run it out, it'll work."
He's lying.
"Why should I believe you?"
They don't even finish their sentence before his answer is locked in beside theirs. He didn't even listen; he didn't even try. The flames don't get brighter. At this point that feels almost impossible. More heat and the entire room would melt to nothing with them inside it. Still it hurts. Still Vasi promises themself that it will never hurt again.
They can't see the icons through the tears scalding their vision. Vasi watches as red slashes across the right side of the screen - their icon. Whatever Noam chose, he won this round. A loud crack explodes in their ears, but it's impossible to tell where it came from. They don't care where it came from. No more ties. They refuse to lose again. They will not fall for his trap.
They're not a victim, far from it.
Cell Block C
Both contestants turn as the room transforms around them.
The walls fall further away as each rises from their seat. The room's growth is impossible to follow as barriers split the space into more and more parts. The table disappears entirely, though neither contestant even sees it. 012 keeps her shoulders turned towards her partner; 018 does the same. Soon enough, the room they're standing in seems to be the same size as the cell block. The main difference is that, in place of stark black, the concrete walls are grey with dark stains dripping down.
It doesn't take long before a flash of recognition falls across each face. The Cut's first set isn't hard to remember.
012 spots the running instructions first, her eyes sticking wordlessly to the screen facing them. There is no voice reading out what they must do. In fact, there are barely enough words to convey that much. There are only four lines, each no more than five words.
Red is Hunter
Blue is Prey
All rules have been withdrawn
First to blood, wins
Ram only has time to read the first two lines before the girl rushes towards the center table. They don't see what she's going for but, as they barely manage to get out of the way, they know it wasn't them. Ram hears a hard thud as she slams her hand down on something. They catch the briefest flash of red and blue before both buttons disappear from the table entirely.
"Round one."
012 faces them with a stoic expression. Her entire body is tense, like she's preparing for something that Ram's thoughts can only grasp at. Hunter… Prey… They know the connotations, but beyond that they have no idea what's about to happen. Their mind is running in three directions - towards Myra whose sobs they still hear, back to the screen but the words have gone, and away from this girl.
Ram takes a step back, their eyes scanning the half-familiar room. They've seen it before, but only through a mobile screen. Yet, their head knows which direction to turn in order to find the exit. They don't know if they should run. They don't know what they're expected to do.
There wasn't time, they think but 012 shows not a hint of confusion. Her lips are set in a stiff line and her eyes don't waver from them. She either knows what's going on or has one hell of a poker face. They try to force themself to have the same, but it's impossible to know if it works.
A flash of red appears in 012's hand. An identical blue one warms their own. Ram swallows and the two lines they did read play again in their head. Red is Hunter. Blue is Prey.
Run.
The word doesn't even register before their legs take off towards the exit. Ram expects to hear footsteps behind them, but there aren't any. It doesn't matter. They don't have time to look back. Ram barely chances a glance down at their hand, finding a rectangular piece of what feels like wood staring back at them. It glows a soft blue, no different than the one that brought the weapons this morning.
Ram only half-remembers what appeared in the girl's hand, but as they run the image fills out by itself. The long shape sharpens at one end, the red glow accentuates the metallic sheen. It was a knife… no something bigger - a sword. The realization only makes their steps faster, no matter the tightness forming in Ram's chest.
They don't even hear the countdown until it's down to the last five digits. Ram skids around a corner and throws themself inside the nearest room. They don't have the old map memorized, far from it, but they have to hide. They don't have anything to defend themself with. I have to hide.
"3… 2… 1 -"
"Four minutes remaining."
As soon as the countdown ends, the black box dissolves from around her. Eris scrambles to scan the room, her feet suddenly numb beneath her. Every breath feels heavier than the next, but she forces herself to take it. She can't panic. It's not going to do her any good. She needs to figure out what she's going to do.
The sword in her hand feels infinitely heavier than the last one. It glows a soft red that warms the concrete floor, but there's no comfort in it. It looks like blood. It's as if the weapon already knew its purpose long before Eris had to accept it.
First to blood wins.
She isn't going to pretend like she doesn't know what that means. Eris isn't stupid.
And if she wants to get out of here, to guarantee that she'll be the one to win, she needs to move. It doesn't matter that Eris doesn't know what winning will grant her. In fact, it doesn't matter if winning will grant her anything.
For the first time since the game started, she understands what's at stake. It's staring her in the face, through the walls and the screens and the people she can't see that are no doubt watching. If the penalty is death she can't risk it. For all she knows, that's exactly what it'll be.
Eris sprints through the door, touching the wall ahead to swerve her momentum. She jumps as it glows where her hand had just been, a blood-red handprint that seems to drip down the wall. She can't stop herself from looking, but there's nothing on her skin. There's no blood. She's okay. The pulse pumping in her ears screams differently.
The hallway is silent and Eris slows her steps to try to match. She glances back and sees a series of red footprints trailing behind her. Out of habit she checks the bottom of each shoe, but again there's nothing out of place. Part of the game, no doubt.
Game. Eris shudders at the flippant word. And this time there's no hiding.
She keeps walking. Nothing looks different and truthfully all of the doors look the same. Eris watched some of The Cut in previous years, but that isn't helping her at all. She was never here. The concrete walls feel like they're repeating as she walks by. There's no sign of Ramsey.
"Three minutes remaining."
Eris picks up her pace. She just needs to choose one. There's no doubt in her mind that they would've picked a room to hide in, but which one? There's some hope that she'll open a door and see the blue, but it's bright enough out here that that isn't guaranteed. She needs to think. She doesn't have time for that kind of luxury.
She opens the nearest door as loudly as she can. She pauses for a moment in the hallway. Maybe if Eris picks a room nearby to where Ramsey is hiding, they'll come out expecting her to have gone inside. She gives it ten slow seconds, but nothing in the hallway moves.
Eris ducks inside, but the room is hardly a room at all. It's small and there's nothing but thin racks inside. It only takes half a second to realize that there's no chance of them being there. She lets out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and allows the door to close loudly behind her.
As she pushes open the next door, another warning sounds. There are only two minutes left and suddenly this whole thing feels impossible. Eris swallows and scans the room quickly, but she doesn't take the time to go inside. This is the wrong approach. It has to be. Four minutes isn't enough time.
She looks back in the direction she'd come. Eris isn't even certain she went the right way when she left the cell block. She retraces it in her mind. The hallway she'd run down had ended in a large room and Ramsey hadn't been there. There were three options of where to go from there, but Eris at least remembers that two - the other cell blocks - would stop at dead ends. Ramsey wouldn't trap themself. Not if they're smart.
Or maybe that's exactly what they'd do. Eris takes a fast breath and sprints back towards the large room. She doesn't know if she's right; truthfully she's almost certain that she isn't. The timer beats in her chest and she knows she has to choose something. Eris can't just stand here and waste time.
Ramsey only had twenty seconds to hide while I was on lockdown. Eris tries to replay the start of the round as she heads back. Where could they go in twenty seconds?
There are too many options.
"One minute remaining."
Eris counts as she runs. It takes her twenty seconds to get back to the main room. Fifteen more to reach another cell block after thankfully remembering which one they started in. She considers not going to the second level of cells, but that's exactly where she would hide if it were her. Unfortunately, there's no one there.
Far past out of breath, Eris sprints back down the stairs and towards the hallway. If her countdown is anything close to accurate, she only has ten seconds left. There's not enough time to find them. Eris stops in the center of the cafeteria and collapses to her knees. She doesn't know if she's going to get a break before the next round starts. She should've thought of that sooner.
Suddenly, another black box climbs the air around her. For the second time. Eris has to calm the fear that immediately slams into her chest. She tells herself on repeat that she's okay.
She doesn't believe it even once.
Eris is expecting the words long before they come. Part of her still hopes, but it's so quiet she can barely hear it. She does everything she can to slow her breathing. She forces herself to her feet the moment the box starts to dissolve again. She can't waste any time.
For a moment, the air inside is blue. Then, Eris is staring out at the cell block once again.
"Round two.
Four minutes remaining."
Ram takes off as soon as the countdown ends. They're hardly surprised to see themself back at the starting point. Truthfully, they barely notice. They know how the game works now, at least at a base level. The closest thing that Ram can liken it to is hide and seek.
The only difference is the sword now clutched tightly in their hand. Ram chooses not to think about what'll happen when someone is found. One way or another they're going to find out.
Ram sprints out to the cafeteria and takes a fast glance around. They don't have time to do anything but follow their instincts, and those take them out the same way they'd gone last round. Ram half-stops in front of the same door they'd gone through, but decides to pass it by. Two doors down, they crash inside.
Empty.
"Three minutes remaining."
Ram stares back down the hallway before deciding to head back. It took them one minute to get here and check a large room. That probably means that 012 wouldn't have been able to make it much farther than this. Not unless she's far faster than Ram but, at this point, they need to go with their gut.
And their gut wastes two precious minutes leading them through two more empty rooms.
It doesn't matter where they're going anymore, they just have to get there. Ram all but kicks open the next door and looks around wildly. They're looking for blue, but something forces their eyes to settle on the string of cupboards on the opposite side of the room. That's when they hear it.
Ram jumps back just in time to block her path. 012 throws the makeshift shield up in front of her but they can still see every bit of panic in her eyes. She looks the part of the given name - prey. Ram pauses as the pair stares at one another. By look, neither seems to know what to do, but that would be a misinterpretation.
The sword shakes in their hand so violently it takes all Ram's focus just to hold onto it.
But before they can bring it even an inch closer, black walls rise up around them once again.
"Round three."
Cell Block A
One contestant flinches away as the room transforms around them; the other doesn't tear their eyes away from their counterpart.
A barrier splits the center of the table before the surface disappears entirely. The remaining three walls converge on each contestant, stopping when they form a long rectangle. 007 rises quickly and the bench is gone a moment later. He turns to find a small square table in the center of the first room, a wooden chair pulled out to welcome him. 008 looks down at the matching set in her half, but their eyes quickly rise to where 007 had just been. Now, all they can see is the dark wall separating them.
"Take a seat." Both contestants do as they're told near instantly. Almost as soon as they do, four glass walls spring up to encompass them. Outside, there is little more than a short hallway in front of the glass and a plain door cut between them. Meg swallows, but their throat feels a full size too small. She doesn't know what they're looking at. None of this is making sense.
She rises slightly in their seat, trying to see if they can see anything past the hallway. Omar is still there, or at least it would make sense for him to be. Is he looking at the same thing? Is he scared?
Meg folds her hands together. Am I?
It should be the easiest question in the world to answer, but a blue glow in front of them cuts the thought off completely. Meg watches as an open-faced box forms in front of them. It takes up almost the entire length of the table, but nothing about it rings a bell. Meg doesn't understand what, if anything, they're supposed to do. She swallows and stares down at it, but the blue glow doesn't dissipate and nothing more appears.
"Round one."
Suddenly, the wall in front of them seems to disappear. Meg looks wide-eyed for a moment before they see him and an anxious smile crosses both their faces. She can see a similar long box in front of Omar, in fact their little rooms appear to be identical.
"You each have a choice." Omar's eyes move upward, but there's nothing to see. There is only the voice. However, when his gaze returns to Meg, the wall between them has become solid once more. "You may place your weapon in the box or leave it on the floor beside you."
Omar glances down to where his spear lays still by his feet. "If both of you do not give over your weapon, the boxes will shatter when opened again. If both of you give over your weapons, neither one will be lost. If only one of you gives over your weapon, the giver will lose their weapon and the one who holds back will receive an upgraded weapon of their choice."
He swallows, trying to keep each of the options straight but the words are impossible to catch. Omar flinches as each of the options appears in neat printing in front of him. He scans each again, then a second time. It reminds him of something, but for the first several seconds he can't put his finger on it.
The prisoner's dilemma. Meg lets out a slow breath and reads over the options again. They remember reading about this, not just in her session with Omar but before that too. If they both go against what's being asked - refuse to give their weapons - they get a neutral outcome, in this case nothing happens. If they both do the opposite, it should be a dual poor outcome.
Her brow furrows as they look at the box. If Meg had to guess, and if the dilemma is being given properly, the box is going to do a lot worse than shatter. She swallows. What was the other option?
One of them tries to get an advantage - in that case one loses and one wins. No, the best outcome is that both of them put their weapons in the box. Meg stoops down and grabs her spear without another thought. This is what we have to choose. They look up to where Omar should be, but all she can see is a blank wall. Still, she isn't worried.
The countdown begins from ten and that's when the pit opens in Meg's stomach. They know the first option won't happen - the boxes won't shatter because she put her spear inside. Neither of them will get hurt. That's the most important thing. Yet, as Meg stares at the spear inside the glass box, they can't help but feel positively sick.
Nothing's going to happen. She repeats for as long as it takes until the wall goes clear again. Meg's eyes fly immediately to the table in front of him. The breath of relief they take is almost in sync.
The lid of the box opens with a soft pop and Meg carefully lifts her weapon from inside. It feels warmer, but that's the only difference. There's no advantage, they're both still stuck with a large and pretty inconvenient weapon, but that doesn't matter. They won the dilemma.
"Round two."
Meg lets out another breath to calm herself as the wall goes dark again. The box that was just in front of them is gone by the time she looks down. In its place are four straight lines of tape formed into a square that's no more than four inches wide. In the center, a dark hole that looks like it's been cut into the surface of the table.
When Meg leans forward, she can just barely see the tip of something metal inside. Their mouth goes dry as they stare. If she could will themself to look away right now, they'd do just that.
"You each have a choice." Meg's heart beats in her ears. It's the same thing it said last time, but does that mean it'll be the same game? There were dozens of them in the books they and Omar read. It could be any one of those, but something in Meg's chest tells her it won't be.
"If both of you place your hand in the box, you will receive a minor punishment. If neither of you do, you will receive moderate punishment. If only one of you does, that person will receive a major punishment and the one who holds back will receive no punishment."
Meg clenches their teeth together as the words appear again in front of them. It's the same but different. Their mind flips through all the options, but there is no double neutral. All of the options end in punishment for at least one of them. Meg doesn't know what that punishment will be, but her mind swings back to the metal. They try to rise slightly to get a better look, but find leaving the chair next to impossible.
Omar keeps both hands close to his body as he reads the options again. He knows which one they should pick by the third read through, but one word keeps his hands at his chest - punishment. It's too vague. Minor, moderate, major - what do any of those words mean? Does minor mean a shock? He is more than willing to take one of those if it means avoiding the worse options.
But he isn't sure if that's all it will be. Omar quickly throws his hand forward, wincing as it hits the table around the opening. It takes every bit of strength to keep it there, and his whole body is shivering as he does. This is the right option… for both of them. Omar knows it's what she's going to choose. Meg knows this problem better than he does.
As the countdown bleeds to its final digits, he feels the very tip of something sharp come to rest against the center of his palm. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't have to. It reminds him that, when the wall clears in mere seconds, something much worse is coming. Minor or not, Omar can feel in the base of his chest that something horrible is about to happen.
Meg is going to see. That's the only thought that keeps his hand firmly planted.
He looks away as a restraint loops itself around his wrist. He doesn't look across at the other room. Omar doesn't even have the strength to keep his eyes open as a scream pierces straight through the barrier. The only reason he doesn't do the same is the fact that his teeth are firmly planted against his tongue.
He scrambles to move his hand away as soon as the restraint dissolves. Blood trails back along the table and wets the front of his sweatshirt. It only hurts when he tries to open his hand, then again when he tries to close it. The cut spreads horizontally across his hand, deep enough to bleed but not enough to see the underlying structures. A minor punishment.
Level 2 - Common Room
Marcy sits as far away from it all as she can.
Her hands shake around her ears as the scream continues to echo. It was the loudest that's come so far, but she doesn't even know where it came from. Marcy has been doing everything she can to not know what's happening downstairs. Thus far, that strategy has only been minimally successful. She doesn't know what each trial entails, but she can't stop her gaze from wandering.
She mainly looks at the other contestants - the other spectators because at this point that's all they are. Nearly all of them hold weapons, and one of the guys even has a second sitting heavy in his pocket. If the rules hadn't been reinstated, Marcy has every expectation that someone else would be lying dead on the floor.
She shivers. It feels wrong to think that, but it's only realistic at this point. Marcy herself hasn't seen anyone die, but given where she is it's only a matter of time. Truthfully, that thought is still too optimistic. She doesn't have a weapon. She doesn't have any allies. More than likely, the next person laying dead on the floor is going to be her.
Marcy drops her head onto her knees. There are plenty of tables to sit at, but hardly anyone's taken the chance. Most people are still standing near-exactly where they were when the trials started. A few others are pacing the circumference of the room. In fact, the only one who's sat comfortably the whole time is the boy with the crumbled brick in his pocket.
She averts her gaze again as another round of one of the trials ends in a loud thud. This is the one that seems to have the most movement, but also the one Marcy is trying the most to ignore. It's the girl, the one inside the cell that she couldn't give the name of if she tried. 012 - it feels disrespectful to call her that - is drenched in sweat and her breaths look almost painful. Marcy wishes she knew what would end that trial.
She knows the others, even if she wishes she didn't. She wishes she didn't know anything about them. More than anything, Marcy wishes she hadn't turned her head when that first scream pierced through the screen. She swears there was far too much blood on each table for only one scream.
Marcy has been afraid since the trials started, but the moment that shriek touched her ears she became downright terrified. Even before she saw the blood, she knew. No one screams like that for any other reason. Yet, Marcy still turned with everyone else - some sick hope in her chest that she would be able to help.
It was only when she heard that scream did Marcy actually believe the trials could be dangerous.
Not when she heard the words 'first blood' because she's heard the same term in video games. Not when the walls started to shatter with every round of another trail. Marcy wanted so badly to believe that somehow, some way they would be safe even if that safety only lasted through the trials.
But no, they're in more danger than ever. Only instead of sixteen of them it's just six. And another day, perhaps much sooner than Marcy realizes, it'll be another six. Someone will always be in danger until someone comes out on top.
Marcy feels like she's scraping the very bottom of the earth's inner core, no lower if that's even possible. She is beneath all of these people, not just in chances but quite literally. There's no one else curled nearly as far into the room's walls. There's no one else not just willing but begging to make themselves smaller than a speck of dust on the floor. She's as afraid as it gets, as scared as they come.
And the longer she thinks about it, the prospect of resurfacing only seems to get further and further away.
Cell Block B
Round five is when Vasi finally sees the cracks.
The light behind them streams against their screen with an annoying glare. They can still see their icons, but the interruption makes them turn around. It disrupts the indignant rage that's flowing like molten lava around them. Vasi's eyes widen slightly as they turn around to see a spider web of light shining back at them. It makes the forceful crack echo again in their ears; it makes it suddenly make sense.
Noam is trying to win. He's tied the game and both of them are now one round away from winning. This is the first time that it's occurred to Vasi that there might be a punishment for losing. It's the first time they've considered losing.
They swallow and turn back around just as the sixth round begins. The three icons are lit up again in front of them, no different than before. Vasi shakes the cold fear from their shoulders, but it refuses to disperse.
"It's breaking." Vasi doesn't mean to say anything, but the words come out regardless. Their voice still sounds as dead as before. They haven't looked towards Noam and they don't plan to. Vasi doesn't know what they're trying to accomplish by speaking. They just need to focus. They just need to win.
"That's what I was telling you." It's not hard to hear the relief in Noam's voice. They watch him lean towards his camera in their peripherals. "We need to tie, just tell me what you choose."
"Why should I believe you?" What Vasi wants to say is no, but that's not what comes out. They clench both hands together on the desk as the countdown flows around them. They don't have much time. Vasi already knows what they need to do, but choosing blindly suddenly doesn't feel so smart.
Vasi's nose scrunches. "So you can win?"
"I don't want to win!" Noam exclaims. "The rooms are breaking. I don't want either of us to get hurt."
"Isn't that what you said before?" Vasi spits. "That you just didn't want anyone to get hurt."
Noam squeezes his eyes shut. He did say that, and at the time he meant it. He just doesn't know how to explain that when there are only twenty seconds left to choose. Neither of them have locked in an answer. At this point, if they don't choose the same icon, one of them is going to lose. Noam heard the cracks from their stream. He's not sure if he honestly believes the rooms would collapse on top of them, but he's not confident enough to say they certainly won't.
This is The Cut. Two people have already died.
That's what the whole fucking show is about for hell's sake.
"I'm sorry, okay," Noam says. "I didn't want to lie to anyone but I did. I'm a shit person and I made a shit mistake. I don't know what else you want to hear, but please we need to do this."
"I know what you're trying to do and I won't fall for it again."
Their voice has dropped back into the realm of the dead for how much emotion Noam finds in their words. His eyes fill with terrified tears as he stares at Vasi's image. He doesn't know what else to say. Maybe it was a shitty apology but he's under some major fucking pressure right now. He wouldn't betray them here, not when he knows what could be at stake. Noam just needs them to believe him and part of him can't grasp why they won't.
"Just like I thought." Noam knows what's about to happen, but he can't find the words fast enough.
"Player 10 locked in."
He only has seven seconds left to choose. "Vasi, please."
They don't answer.
Noam can't even see the icons anymore. His fingers grab wildly to find one of them, because at this point he doesn't even know if it matters. They have to tie, but the odds aren't in his favour. If he chooses the one that wins, it's only going to confirm what Vasi thinks of him. If he chooses the one that loses, whatever's trying to get inside will have a one way ticket.
"Player 9 locked in."
He holds his breath as his icon pulses on screen for what feels like decades. He chose blade, which means that Vasi had to have also chosen blade to tie. Noam doesn't know what will happen if they tie. He doesn't know if there will be more rounds until someone wins, but he desperately hopes that there won't be. They can make more ties. They can keep going until whoever's controlling this whole thing gives up.
Noam can barely make out what symbol appears on screen beside his own. However, he knows immediately that it's not going to be a tie.
The cracks from previous rounds are nothing in comparison. It fills Noam's ears even as he throws the headset off. The whole place shakes and he has to hold onto the chair to keep from falling out of it completely. He can't tell where any of it is coming from, not until his eyes finally reach the wall where the screen had just been.
It's gone.
Instead, Noam's looking into a glass box with concrete crumbled on top of it. It's short and narrow, probably no more than a couple feet in height and long enough for someone to lay down inside. Noam can't help but liken the shape to a coffin.
Vasi.
He doesn't think before running towards it. Noam's first instinct is to slam his fists against it, but the last thing he wants to do is break the glass. It's the only thing stopping the rest of the room from collapsing right on top of them. Noam tries to press his hand against it, but realizes immediately that he can't. There's a second wall of glass separating his room from the other.
He's safe. He's won.
"Let them out!" Noam shouts, turning around the room but it's now completely empty. The chair and desk have disintegrated. He doesn't have more than a couple meters behind him to run to, but Noam stays as close as he can to them. He can't see anything more than a curled shadow inside their room. He doesn't even know if Vasi's alright, but every part of his brain screams that they're not.
Vasi trembles as they stare into the darkness above them. The back of their head aches from the fall, but they don't remember how they ended up on the ground. They saw the icon. They saw that they lost, and then… they're here. Vasi remembers the sensation of falling, but that was likely just the chair coming out from under them. They don't know where they are; it's dark in all directions but one and they don't want to go there. They don't want to move.
All they hear is Noam screaming. He's telling someone to let them out.
Vasi swallows but they still can't bring themself to move. "Vasi!"
They don't answer. They don't know what to say. Vasi wants to be angry, but instead they feel a warm shame as it fills the inside of their chest. They expected him to be happy, he won and that's what he wanted wasn't it? Noam sounds more panicked than he had in any of the rounds. They don't know what to think about that either.
"Now for the verdict." Vasi flinches as a small screen appears just above them. At first it's paper white, but soon enough a rotating set of words start to flash against it. Vasi doesn't catch a single one.
It's as if it doesn't even matter.
They can see the debris piled on top of them, but the trembling in their hands is just about the only indication that they're afraid. Vasi's mind is elsewhere; on the thuds and shouts that still come from the other room. It's wondering if they were wrong while the rest of their thoughts vehemently argue that they can't be.
No one cares. No one has ever truly cared.
But as much as Vasi believes that, there's still a part of them that jumps at the idea that they could be wrong. It's the same part that squeezes their lungs so hard it feels like they've already been crushed by the debris.
"Winner's choice."
There's no hesitation. "Let them out! Not guilty! Whatever the fuck I have to say!"
Noam watches the blue glow take away one side of the glass box and he all but dives towards it. He taps the side of Vasi's foot, gently first and then more aggressively. They need to get out. Noam doesn't know if the room might still collapse but they can't take a chance. The voice said it was his choice but fuck if he believes that's going to last. They need to get out.
"Vasi, come on," Noam pants. They're still about as far towards the back of the box as they could get, but they start to sit up slightly. He no doubt looks insane half-crawled inside, but that thought doesn't stick long enough for him to care. They did it. They're safe if he can just get Vasi to get out of this stupid box.
He smiles as they look up towards him. He's not sure what he expects after what happened. Noam's not even sure if he cares how they react.
That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when Vasi pushes straight past him to scramble out. They don't stop to look at him, thank him, or even ask him if his nose is okay after hitting the wall that hard. One second Noam is trying to stop the blood that leaks from his nose and the next minute, they're gone.
Cell Block C
Eris has lost track of how many rounds have passed. She hears the number at the top of each one, but they may as well be in a different language. All she's been able to hear for the last half-dozen or so has been her own gasping breaths.
She's gotten close. She's gotten so close to winning and that's just about the only thing spurring her on right now. It feels like her heart is beating so fast it's going to explode and like her chest might not be able to handle another inhale. Eris has to force herself not to focus on her burning calves every time she takes off running. She doesn't even know if she's the hunter or the prey anymore unless she looks down at her hand.
Red is Hunter. Blue is Prey.
For some reason, despite the red sword in her grip, Eris feels like both and neither at the same time. It feels like she's been through every door Ramsey could've reasonably gotten to, but was that this round? They all sort of blur together at this point and it's making Eris feel like she's gone insane. Honestly, it might be easier to cope with the never ending game if she were insane.
This time, she's in the cell blocks. It's hard to tell if she went to the bigger hallway first or if this is just the start of her round. The only way to know for sure would be to wait for the minute announcement, but that would be a waste of time. All Eris feels like she's done today is waste time.
Not just here, but in her cell block, and later in her cell alone. All she was doing was waiting around.
This isn't some eleventh hour promise that, if she gets out of here, that'll change. This is different. If The Cut is a marathon then this is a hundred-meter dash. Eris doesn't know what she'll do if she wins other than hopefully not get killed. She's still not certain if getting blood is enough to end this game or if someone is truly expected to die. She's trying so hard not to think about it.
"One minute remaining."
Panic bubbles up in her throat as she sprints through the cell block door. One minute means that her round is almost over. One minute means that, for four minutes afterwards, she will have to play defence again. As desperate as Eris is not to go through that again, she knows by this point that what she wants doesn't matter.
The game will continue. And continue. And continue until someone finally wins.
Ram hears the door open and they force themself to stay as far back in the cell as possible. After hearing the warning, they're glad they went up to the second level. It should take her at least fifteen to twenty seconds to get up there and another ten or so to actually find them. If Ram had any way of putting the blue shield in another room to throw her off, they would have. Unfortunately, putting it down has proved impossible.
Another element of the game, no doubt.
They hold their breath as the footsteps come faster than they expected. Every sentence that passes through Ram's mind tells them not to panic. Standing up to run now will only give her the advantage of knowing they're in here. That's what almost got them caught last time. It's what will get them caught this time if they're not careful.
They can see the red light growing closer outside their cell. It's almost over. Just don't move.
Ram doesn't know if they believe that. They should've been counting so they'd be sure. If there's one thing that they've realized in this game it's that a minute feels a hell of a lot longer than it should. They let out their inhale sip by sip, but it does nothing to soothe them. If their estimate is wrong and she has enough time, Ram is just a sitting duck.
They're on their feet just before the red light reaches them. Ram charges at her, and she moves ever slightly out of the way. It's all Ram needs and they sprint towards the stairs. Why they chose the furthest cell, they'll never know. It feels like it takes ages to reach the stairs. At the very least it feels like it takes over the supposed minute she has left to catch them.
Ram barely feels it. They grab hold of the metal railing as they turn to take the stairs, but all they feel is the chill under their palm. They don't notice the sting across the top of their wrist until it too freezes over. The room is suddenly so cold, the blood feels like ice as it drips down the side of their arm.
They slam into a glass wall that hadn't been there moments ago. Ram ricochets off it and knocks into another just behind them. They look up and see another, down and there's even one across the stairs now seeming to hold them in midair. Immediately it's as if all the oxygen's been sucked from the small room. Ram pounds their fists against it, but the glass feels no impact. Their entire body is shaking, but the box doesn't open to release them.
"Now for the verdict."
If they felt warm before, they now feel positively scorching. Ram can't control their breathing. Each one comes too fast and yet it feels like they're chest hasn't risen at all. The blood that's already dried to their skin now feels like the sun itself has fallen on top of it. I lost. That's the only thing that plays as the nearby screens flip between words Ram cannot read. I lost again. I lost.
"Mistrial."
The glass dissipates as quickly as it'd come and Ram skids across the next step. Their wide eyes search the word as it stays up on the screen, but they don't know what it's supposed to mean. They know the definition, but in these circumstances they don't seem to apply. Mistrial?
They look up at the girl, whose brow furrows from the balcony. She isn't looking at them with narrow eyes, no her gaze is pointed at the screen. She no doubt feels cheated. They both went through how many rounds of this just to have it declared meaningless. She won, but the expression on her face sure doesn't seem to feel that way.
Ram knows they should feel grateful.
Yet, all they feel is pathetic. Thankfully, at this point, that's nothing new.
Cell Block A
Omar stares at the button inside the glass box.
There's no countdown this time, or at least there hasn't been yet. It feels like he's been walking in and out of the box for the past month when it's probably only been a couple of minutes. This round is different, not just because he can stand but in the way the instructions were given.
The glass box had appeared first, one black button on the far end and one outside on the table. Those were the options; Omar knew that without being told. There were always two and so it made sense that these would be them. He just didn't expect what came next.
"You each have a choice." The round started with the same eerie words. It might be true in theory, but not in practice. Omar didn't have a choice, he had to choose the one that Meg would choose. It'd worked for the first two rounds and it would work this time. So while the voice claimed he had a choice, the truth was that he didn't.
At least, he thought he didn't. "If both of you stand inside the box, both will be subjected."
There was a pause this time when there had never been before. Omar barely had time to swallow before phantom pain ripped across his shoulder. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It felt like something was turning his joint inside out yet tearing it apart at the same time."
Yet, when it ended and he inspected his shoulder, nothing was amiss. The pain was gone and there was nothing in its place to prove that it'd been there. The first option appeared in neat printing in front of him and it suddenly made sense. If they chose this option… they would be subjected to whatever would cause that kind of pain.
"If neither of you stand inside the box, both will be subjected." This time, it was his lower leg that screamed. Omar had dropped to the floor with both hands around his shin. It felt like it was being torn apart by molten pickaxes, like the metal itself was becoming lodged between his tendons.
And once again, it was gone a second later. Omar took a shivering breath and tried to right himself back on the chair, but he hadn't been quick enough. "If one stands inside and one does not, the fate of the one inside will be decided."
The pain didn't come immediately that time. Instead, the screen directly across from him had lit up with a string of words he couldn't catch. Omar's entire body was tense, waiting for the pain that wasn't there. Finally, the rotating words came to rest on a singular sentence - viewer's choice. Two bars then appeared, and for several seconds they grew against one another. One was labelled with a thumbs up, the other with a thumbs down.
The poll disappeared before Omar could tell which option won.
Omar takes a sharp breath in as he thinks about the pain that followed. He can't even begin to describe it, and it doesn't resurface when he tries to remember. Instead, his entire body breaks out into shivers and it feels like he can't breathe. His hands press firmly on the center of his chest but it doesn't take the panic away.
He brushes his hand against the glass wall mere centimeters from the black button. This is what he has to choose. Omar knows this. Comparatively, the pain in his shoulder was the best option of the three. It would be a disadvantage, but doable. He doesn't plan to stay on The Cut long enough to need to use his weapon. The lower leg would be far worse. He can't imagine walking with that kind of pain.
He shudders as his hand comes to rest again on his chest. Every single option is terrifying, but he knows which one is the worst by far. He'll do anything to avoid it. The two of them just have to do what they've done for both of the prior rounds. It's going to work out. Omar touches around the black button again, but he can't bring himself to press it just yet. It's not that he's reconsidering, he knows that he can't. He just wants to make sure that he's making the right choice.
He trusts Meg. He hopes that she trusts him too.
Meg lowers themself to the ground as she waits. It's not cold inside the glass, in fact it's a little bit warmer than the room outside, but they can't help but shiver. She isn't nervous, but the waiting is just about the worst thing. They know that Omar understands the dilemma now. When they briefly got to see each other through the wall after the options were given, he even nodded when she touched their shoulder. Maybe the show is just pausing for dramatic effect or something.
They try to laugh, but it barely reaches the air in front of her. Meg doesn't know if there will be more rounds, but there might be. They have to be ready and at this point she is. The prisoner's dilemma works the same way every time. There's even a name for it - the iterated prisoner's dilemma. She's not so sure this situation would apply because the stakes have changed every time. Perhaps there's a name for this version as well.
These thoughts give them about a minute's solace from the trial, but soon enough Meg's tapping their shoes on the floor. It shouldn't be taking this long. There hasn't been a countdown, so maybe he doesn't realize how long it's been. That, or Omar's trying to delay their punishment as long as he can. Meg can't exactly blame him.
She rubs their shoulder, the same one that imaginary pain had ripped through several minutes ago. They don't want to think about what will actually happen when the round ends. It's easier not to.
Meg flinches as the dark wall turns white in front of her. They squint, unsure why it hasn't gone clear but this only solidifies their argument that this should be the final round. There was the 'viewer's choice' portion and now this. Usually, game shows don't change their image until it's almost over.
Is this what this is to me, a game show? This time the thought of a laugh doesn't even make it to her lips. The image of a thumbs up takes over most of the screen, beneath it the poll numbers that they'd been shown earlier. Meg still isn't sure what to make of this, but she gives a double thumbs up to try and calm their nerves.
The white pales until the wall is once again completely transparent. Meg climbs to their feet, squinting until she can finally see Omar through it. He doesn't look at her and their brow furrows. It's at that point that she realizes where he's standing.
He's not in the box, he's by the table outside of it.
Meg's eyes widen, not quite understanding as the glass walls shrink around them. Her lips part in question, but they already know the answer. He nodded. Meg thinks back to the tiny moment they shared before the walls went dark. Omar nodded and they thought it meant he understood.
He lifts his head ever slightly, and the shame in his eyes tells Meg everything they need to know. She gasps as the wall shrinks to hit the back of her head and the front one comes to rest mere centimeters from the tip of their nose. There's no fear in the breaths that follow. There are no thoughts at all, there can't be.
There's just Meg watching him, begging him to do something as his eyes turn further away. Tears well in her eyes, blurring the cylindrical metal that forms inside the wall between them. Meg can't bring themself to look. She doesn't understand.
"The verdict has been chosen by viewer's choice."
The pain that tears through their chest is unimaginable. Meg screams as the metal pierces straight through the glass in front of her and out through their back. Splinters of glass fly against her face, forcing Meg's eyes shut but they barely feel their sting. Her legs give out, but their body refuses to hit the ground. The spear keeps her upright long past the pain, long past the breaths that let out blood in place of air.
"Madigan Ulrich has been found guilty."
16th: Madigan Ulrich, 18
A/N: Welcome back, did you miss me? Apologies for the unexpected break, but some things cropped up that threw me for a bit of a loop this past month. Fortunately I'm feeling much more up to writing but unfortunately I leave for a trip in less than a week. Expect another month(ish) before the next update.
I would like to both thank and apologize to Nell who submitted Meg. She is a character that so many people, including myself, genuinely fell in love with. Their sunny personality and playful attitude were so much fun to write and brought a new dynamic to the cast. While a lot of the fun of SYOTs is seeing how the kids change, Meg was someone who I didn't want to do that to. They were an incredible character as she was and they will have lasting impacts. I hope you understand and thank you again for trusting me with such a special character.
Thank you to everyone that participated in my 24h poll all those weeks ago. Be on the lookout for more on the horizon. If you're not currently on the SYOT Verses discord and would like to be involved with these, shoot me a message.
And finally thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / being so patient with me as I do everything but write for several weeks. I appreciate each and every one of you.
~ Olive