In The Clear: Games IV
Level 2 - Common Room - 1:49 AM
Lawrence doesn't exit when the doors finally open.
Now, this isn't particularly strange in and of itself. Plenty of the other contestants offhandedly do the same, no doubt waiting for their counterparts to leave the cell blocks should they be capable of doing so. When Lawrence looks up, they can see one such reunion happening right in front of them. Their eyes narrow slightly when the girl throws her arms around the short-haired contestant. Lawrence expects a jolt, perhaps one strong enough to separate them. Instead, 018 relaxes ever slightly into the embrace, their expression hidden from view.
It seems not all the rules have been reinstated, Lawrence muses. They know enough to not take the voice at face value, however they still find this observation worth noting. Thinking back, they don't remember any of the contestants appearing to receive one such shock during the trials. Anyone else might have wondered if they misheard the instructions. Lawrence does not; they rarely doubt their own accounts.
It's quite unlikely that they heard wrong. It's far more probable that the voice was simply lying.
Lawrence waits at the far entrance to the room. Several inmates have already passed, and a few more have done so since they've stood here. They're not sure what they're waiting for. The announcement that followed the end of the trials was clear. All contestants have ten minutes to disperse; The Cut rules will be reinstated at that time. Lawrence wonders if some are waiting here for that aforementioned moment. They don't think they wish to be here should that happen.
Death does not particularly bother them. It might be strange to state that, but they know it to be true. Lawrence has witnessed the end of many lives; they've seen the muscles relax around men's faces as stillness took over. It had always been a rather euphoric experience. Lawrence felt powerful, not afraid. They understood that someday, someone might see their end too. That did not bother them either.
It's the way things are. Natural or not, death is unavoidable.
Lawrence raises their eyebrow ever slightly, waiting for that other feeling to emerge but it doesn't. They find that their aforementioned thoughts still ring through. They are not afraid of death. They are not afraid of the fact that The Cut has likely brought their death far closer. They are not afraid.
The spear piercing through Madigan meant nothing to them. She took a gamble and lost, though Lawrence can understand that it was illogical for Omar to have chosen that. He has made far more enemies than friends now. He has proven that he will choose himself over others, which is a fact of most humans but one that many try to push to the back of their mind. Omar has not made it very easy for the other contestants to give him such grace in the future.
Someday, no doubt soon, he will wear the same vacant expression as his trial mate.
When Lawrence remembers the moment it happened, it's not the scene on screen that sticks out. Madigan did not scream, there was no time to. There was no suffering to witness down in the cell blocks. No, what Lawrence remembers took place mere meters away from them.
It's been several minutes now, but Casi has yet to move from in front of the screen. They dove at it the moment both rooms were revealed, as if perhaps he believed they could change what had already happened. If the screen were more fragile, Lawrence believes their pounding fists might have done something. However, it would not have changed the fact that only fifteen contestants remained in play.
It had been far too late for that.
Lawrence watches silently as Omar comes to stand in the threshold of the common room. His cheeks have gone ashen, his eyes bloodshot as if perhaps the screen simply hadn't captured his tears. His limbs stand tense around him as he peers inside. Lawrence wonders why someone like him would bother coming up here at all. Selfishness is to be expected, but once proven it'll be impossible for the others to ignore. This feels illogical.
"It's okay." 001's words are soft, barely moving the lips of the contestant that gently approaches. Their arms stretch out around Omar and their fingers shake against his back as if not understanding where to grasp. Omar leans his head down gently on 001's shoulder. Otherwise, he doesn't appear to move.
"How could you?"
Everyone still left in the room seems to turn towards the words in tandem. While Omar appears simply stiff, Casi looks entirely different. His eyes squint tightly together, but tears still fall freely. The skin beneath them is raw, streaked with red and glistening moisture. His legs shake enough that Lawrence has to question how they're still standing.
Yet, in all the times Lawrence has overheard Casi's conversations, they've never heard him sound quite like this. It's fascinating.
"Casi-" Omar starts. His words come out in blunt cuts, but there are no shivers between them. To Lawrence, they sound far smoother than his ashen complexion. "I wish- I didn't-"
"She trusted you," Casi whispers, the sounds easily likened to the rattle of a cornered snake. He takes a half step forward, but it's as if they're unable to even see where he's going. There's no doubt they're trying to reach him. His steps just feel far too small to get even close.
Even Lawrence flinches when Casi leaps forward, sending a nearby bench screeching across the floor. Most of the few people still inside move further away, the exception being Omar himself. He stumbles back as Casi reaches him, though the only things that move are his hands up to protect his face. Casi tackles him to the ground, fists flying but it's impossible to see if any actually make contact.
All the while he's screaming. Lawrence can understand none of the words that leave their lips. An uncomfortable rumble plays in their stomach, but they don't believe themself to be hungry.
It reminds them of the woman from the courtroom. Lawrence's hand moves instinctively to their collar, the phantom feeling of her grip making his next breath far too dry. Why? They hear the single choked word echo in their skull. Why?
Perhaps that's why Casi's frantic shouts sound so familiar. He too sounds like their lungs are being filled with rising water. Lawrence glances down as a pained cry comes from the threshold. When they look up again, Casi is panting against the wall and his entire body is trembling.
"Contestants have three minutes to disperse."
The voice wants them gone. No doubt the cry Lawrence heard was another jolt from the prison's mechanisms meant to force Casi away. Yet, Omar climbs shakily to his feet with the help of a gentle hand. Lawrence squints, but no shock comes.
Strange.
"Let's go," 001 says stiffly. They don't look at Omar, nor back at Casi. Instead, they look to where two more contestants are waiting shoulder-to-shoulder roughly ten feet away. The girl nods sharply, the long-haired boy beside her does not respond. They follow behind as 001 leads the group away.
Casi tries to rise, but their knees seem to buckle beneath him. His hand slaps the ground in frustration and another sob rises from their throat. Eventually both hands come up to shield his eyes. Lawrence doesn't realize they haven't left until the final person moves around them to do so. 014 doesn't say a word to either of them, but his eyes drop quickly when they reach Casi.
It quickly dawns on them that they too should consider leaving. However, their feet don't seem to make the same rationalization. Instead, Lawrence stays precisely where they are. They don't even realize they're still staring until Casi's eyes rise to meet theirs a moment later.
Lawrence's drop to the floor almost instantly. Words tingle on their tongue, but none seem particularly important nor assistive. Casi too looks like he might say something, but not before Lawrence's eyes turn to the inside of the stairwell. They don't have to think about where they're going. All the better because they find themself strangely unable to do so.
Level 4 - Workshop - 2:03 AM
Bowie walks only slightly ahead of the others. They mean to walk beside Omar, maybe to sling their arm around him because they know how upset he must be, but they can't force their steps to slow. Instead, they settle for barely ahead - just enough that no one can see what they're thinking as it no doubt scribbles across their face. Their mom always told them that they couldn't hide a smile from a dentist.
To this day Bowie's not really sure what she meant by that. It usually only made their smile bigger, the genuine one that their mom always poked them to get instead of the tight-lipped one they wore at school. She used to say it was the only feature they got from her. Bowie used to love when she reminded them.
Now, remembering her only makes the pit in their stomach grow a thousand times deeper.
They don't want to look at him. They hate that their thoughts sound like that. He's still Omar, still the closest thing they have to a friend in this living nightmare. It feels hypocritical. It feels wrong to blame him but every time Bowie closes their eyes they see her. Bowie doesn't remember killing anyone. They still know in their heart and in the blood splatter on their collar that they did.
How many times did Shane whisper that what happened wasn't their fault? How many times did Omar tell them the same thing as Bowie sobbed into his shoulder?
Yet, here they are unable to even bring themself to walk beside him.
Bowie skips a step and turns quickly as Omar catches up. They offer him their best reassuring smile, hushing the voice that tells them it's nowhere close to their mom's. Omar's eyes almost immediately drop to the floor. Bowie reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder. That action is enough to pull him back, though his gaze still feels like it's somewhere else.
Bowie searches for the right words. He would know what to say, but they can't ask him now. They have to be strong just like Omar was for them. They have to make sure he knows that, just like Omar told them, this doesn't define him.
"I'm sorry about what happened." It's not perfect but it's a start. Bowie tries so hard to hold onto that all the while their mind screams that it's nowhere close to enough.
"Me too."
"It doesn't make you a bad person." Bowie cringes again but they don't know how to better say what they mean. "I mean, like, just because you killed her-"
Omar stops mid-step and shakes his head forcefully. "I didn't."
"I'm sorry?"
"I didn't kill her." Omar's jaw is clenched so hard that his words emerge only as a hissed whisper. "They did. I would never have hurt them. They chose what happened. They killed her."
Their lips part but no words come out. Bowie doesn't understand. They saw it, right? Omar chose to stay outside of the box. They think harder - was there a problem with the door? No, Omar would've said something or shown some kind of confusion. Were the options unclear? Bowie doesn't remember being unsure what each meant. They look off to the side, willing the scene to replay so that they can be sure but for the first time it refuses.
Am I blaming him when it wasn't his fault? Bowie doesn't know. They don't understand how his choice could've played out any other way. They remember seeing Omar decide, but suddenly that memory is unclear as well. They scramble for the pieces but they're so far out of reach Bowie can't even see them anymore.
They swallow and their hand tightens gently on his shoulder. Omar relaxes into it, relief evident in his posture but his eyes don't leave them. Bowie doesn't know what else to say. "I'm sorry, I must've misunderstood."
Their mouth feels even drier than before. Their heartbeat is in their ears as they start to tremble. The last thing they want to do is upset him. How could I think that Omar would kill anyone? He knew Madigan. He wouldn't do that. Those are the thoughts they settle on, no matter the pit now extending further down their stomach.
"It's okay," Omar says gently. "That's all it was… a misunderstanding."
Bridget and Shane walk about as far behind as they can. Neither of them has said anything about what happened, and honestly Bridget isn't eager to break that silence. If anything, the trial only cemented the hesitations she already had. It didn't teach her anything new. If she were smart, she would stay as far away from Angel Jardinez as humanly possible.
The only problem is that walking away right now is just as terrifying.
Bridget knows that Shane would come with her. He's been close by her side since they reunited and there's been no hint of that changing anytime soon. As much as she can, Bridget trusts him. Shane said he would stay out with her not once but twice and he did. He hasn't lied to her yet. The weapon he carries is always swinging from the hand furthest from her.
It's not a promise, but it's the best she's going to get in a place like this. Her remaining two allies are different. Bridget doesn't trust either one as far as she can throw them.
She wasn't planning on coming back. When the remainder of the game played out in her mind from the cell block, Bridget had been alone. She didn't have anything against Shane, but alliances didn't sound very useful. Only one person could win, and Shane would be with Bowie from the start. They had the luxury of starting out in the same cell block.
There was no doubt in Bridget's mind that Omar would find them. He seemed to have an already too-close relationship with Bowie for the amount of time they'd known each other. The two of them talked like siblings and close ones at that. While she didn't necessarily have anything against Bowie personally, they were so far up Omar's ass that they probably couldn't see anyone else. If Bridget decided to keep Bowie around, getting rid of Omar would've been like removing their right arm.
And the last person she wanted to be around was Omar. He proved he couldn't be trusted during their last night in the cell block. He was supposed to keep the door open or at the very least stay out with them. Bridget watched him scoot back into the safety of his cell, leaving the three of them to be punished instead. She knows he couldn't have stopped it. Logically, Omar's inclusion in their upright punishment wouldn't have changed anything on her end.
But it would've shown that he wasn't a coward. Instead, it proved exactly the opposite.
He killed his partner this morning. That in itself doesn't mean much to Bridget. She has no idea if they were close or what kind of promises he might've made them. What's more telling is the recount he gave just minutes ago in a voice loud enough that half the prison probably heard.
A misunderstanding? Are you kidding me? Bridget's nose scrunches as his words repeat. Either he believes all three of them are pathologically stupid or he's really that fucking nuts. The way that he keeps squeezing his eyes shut, a telltale sign of someone trying to force a memory away, makes her keen to believe the latter.
It makes him almost more dangerous in her eyes. There's only one thing that's strong enough to keep her within throwing distance of someone delusional enough to say that. Bridget can't even bring herself to let the word echo in her mind. The last thing she wants to be right now is afraid.
Yet, the pressure returns to her throat and the fingerprint bruises feel like indents in her skin. Without even closing her eyes, Bridget remembers. Her panicked breaths return as if she were once again surrounded - surrounded by people who cared more about each other than they did about her.
It was her fault, sure it was. She decided that enough had been enough. She decided that she wasn't going to put this horrific game on pause because some guy she didn't know said so. She decided that she mattered more than whoever would be at the end of her blade.
Did it feel better that it was supposed to be Dom? It doesn't matter.
In those few seconds when the other contestants had rushed inside the cell to stop her, Bridget made a terrible realization. Numbers were enough to kill her. She had been prepared to take Dom in a fight if it came down to that. She had convinced herself that she would do the same for the rest of the game, that she would fight tooth and nail for her chance to get out.
Numbers as a factor never crossed her mind, but standing in that cell block it became all too clear.
If she's caught alone again…
Bridget shudders. She doesn't even want to finish that thought.
Level 4 - Library - 2:17 AM
Dom pushes another shelf of books down onto the floor. She flinches as each one hits the ground but doesn't bother to try and stop them. It feels good to get some of the frustration out no matter how stupidly she's going about it. Someone is going to hear her. The last thing she should be doing right now is tempting fate yet it's the only thing that's making her feel better.
It's going to be her. Dom grips the hardcover so tightly that it dents beneath her fingers. The trial should've been nothing to her. She wasn't in any danger. She didn't have ties to any of the others. Sure, she didn't want to see anything happen to them but one less contestant meant one more step towards the exit sign.
But all Dom could think about as she watched the trials happen was the fact that she could be next. Three of them were finished, which left six more to go if her math was correct. She could be in the next group to go or she could be in the last one. Either way, at some point, Dom would see her again.
As if Bridget needed another excuse to try and kill her.
She crouches quickly to the ground and puts a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She's just about the last person Dom wants to see again, let alone in a trial where murdering each other is certainly on the table. Perhaps that's even what the network wants. Maybe they decided that Bridget and Dom had too interesting of an interaction during the first phase to let them off the hook. Would there be a way out of their trial that didn't involve a bloody corpse?
Dom tells herself to breathe but that's never worked to calm her down before. She presses her palm even harder against her lips. She tastes blood just before realizing that she's biting down on the inside of her cheek. She needs to calm the fuck down before something far worse than Bridget comes through that door.
She kicks the pile of books away and sits pitifully down alongside the strewn paperbacks. She doesn't even know how long she has to wait. The next trial could be tonight for all she knows, a week from now even. Dom can't spend whatever time she has left worrying about someone who could very well kill her even without a trial. Bridget's already proven to have more than enough motivation.
Dom turns quickly towards the doorway. She heard her following but figured she wouldn't have come all the way here. She doesn't know what to say to the girl. Days ago they spent a couple hours together right here pouring over 016's notebook. That was all before the game was revealed, they haven't spoken since. It feels like things have to have changed.
Yet, Dom could pick her footsteps out of a lineup at this point.
"I know you're there," she calls, raising her voice as much as she dares. Dom's sure there must be more people on this level, but she hasn't been able to hear them yet. That's about as reassuring as not yet seeing the skunk waiting in the sewer drain.
016 steps around one of the shelves and Dom jumps. She hadn't been expecting her to already be so close. "I wasn't trying to go undetected."
"What do you want?" Dom asks flatly and 016 seems slightly surprised at her tone. She doesn't understand why. 016 could easily be here to kill her. Dom could easily whip out a weapon and try to do the same. They don't even know each others' names. The only connection they have are the couple hours they spent talking about something that doesn't even matter anymore. 016's notebook was full of possible answers as to why they're here. That's one thing neither of them can wonder anymore.
"Help," 016 answers stiffly. She hasn't come any closer which at least gives the indication that she's aware of the danger. Dom scans her quickly and finds few other differences. The bags under her eyes might be more pronounced but her posture is just as stark. She doesn't look nearly as fazed by what's happening as Dom feels.
She straightens despite herself. It doesn't matter, or at least it barely matters how she looks. Dom just hates the thought that she looks more afraid than someone else even if she has reason to be. "With what? Getting out?" She laughs, but there's no humour in it. "Past sets were in the middle of nowhere. Even if we busted through these walls do you think they'd just let us go?"
"No."
Dom pauses, not expecting that answer to come so quickly. She can almost clock it as defensive, like maybe 016 is only now realizing how idiotic she's being. However, one look at the girl tells Dom that she's not lying. At least, not about this.
"I know we can't get out," she continues after a moment. "But there's more happening here than we know. I think if we can figure some of it out, we can give ourselves the best chance."
Amadis is shocked by how even she's able to keep her voice. She's practiced this a dozen times in her head, knowing that she was going to try and find 003 as soon as the trials were over. If she pleads her case well enough, 003 will see no reason not to help her. It's mutually beneficial.
She needs help; they both do. There's more to this season than in past years and Amadis isn't sure how far that's going to stretch. The trials are new. The way the prison is laid out is certainly new. There's enough danger in The Cut without having to worry about what else will pop up. It only makes sense for Amadis to seek out someone to watch her back. The more they can figure out about what might happen, the more prepared they'll be.
It's the only thing Amadis can think to do right now. She refuses to go back to the utility room. She won't allow herself to wallow in the fear that became everything late last night. She isn't going to just lay down and die even if it's no doubt what they want.
"I got my block out without anyone dying," she says quickly, noting the apprehension on 003's face. "There's a weak point by the doors of the cell block, where the door meets the corner. If you go to the basement you'll see that I'm telling the truth."
003 looks off to one side as if considering what she's said, but Amadis doesn't give her the chance. She knew how hard this would be. She's asking for an ally when the game has already started, when she has every reason in the world to lie to get ahead. Amadis needs 003 to believe her, and eventually to trust her. Otherwise, this will be a ticking bomb from the start.
Groups are dangerous, but so is being alone. Amadis isn't lying, she wants to get to the bottom of as many of the tricks as possible before they happen. She knows that the best way to do that is more eyes. She also knows that she's working against gravity here.
"There were only two announcements," Amadis says slowly. "Lyanna from C and Lilliana from B. No one from A."
"I remember," 003 replies.
Amadis nods. She doesn't want to push too hard, but every moment she stands here is only making her feel more vulnerable. She forces her tongue to be silent, and eventually it pays off. "What do you know about the trials?"
Amadis shakily reaches into her pocket for the notebook. She found it again on the first day, tucked under her mattress exactly where she'd left it. Just about the only things she's added so far have been from the trials. Amadis takes a slow breath to try and get rid of the trembling before she holds it out towards 003.
"Everything is still in here," she says evenly. "I'm trying to figure out who was in each block, but I think one trial pair was pulled from each."
It's an estimate at best. Amadis has the descriptions of each of her block-mates and she knows that Madigan and Omar were the only two from A. She also knows that she has to make it seem like she's making progress.
003 reaches out and takes the notebook carefully. She flips to the last page that has writing on it. It's the exact descriptions Amadis was just thinking about, along with the names of each of the people in the trials. It feels like forever before 003 looks up at her again. Amadis tells herself to be patient and it's just about the hardest thing in the world.
"Noam and Vasilisa were B," she says finally, pointing to a spot on the page that Amadis can't see. "Eris must have been C if neither of us recognized her."
Amadis swallows. She doesn't want to get ahead of herself but she nods eagerly and hands 003 the pen she'd found upstairs. The one she'd been using before hadn't been with the notebook when she found it. 003 takes it and scrawls down some notes of her own on the same page.
"Does this mean you're in?" Amadis needs confirmation. She doesn't want to guess if this alliance is happening or not. Either she's in and Amadis can trust her or she's not and she'll need to look for other options. This isn't the place or time for uncertainty.
"Fine." It takes everything in Amadis not to relax into the words. They're not a guarantee, just a hint of a promise and one that could be easily broken. 003 seems genuine, but who is she to say? Amadis has never been the best at making friends and there's a whole lot more on the line here than friendship. It still feels like a step in the right direction.
And that's all Amadis can do right now, put one foot in front of the other.
Level 5 - Infirmary - 5:27 AM
Eris didn't think it would be possible to sleep in this place.
Yet, hours after stuffing herself beside the cot furthest from the door, she opens two groggy eyes and finds a pounding headache between them. Eris blinks in an attempt to force the fog away, but she's only rewarded with a sharper ache behind them. The room is still as bright as before with several rectangular lights beating down on her. They remind her of the ones from her high school that were so old they made a near-constant buzzing sound. She must've been pretty damn tired if this is what she fell asleep to.
Unfortunately, she doesn't feel much better for her efforts. Eris slowly rises to a crouch, trying to delicately work the numbness from both legs. For a while it seems like they're not even going to be able to hold her upright. Luckily, it only takes a couple of minutes before the soreness tears through.
She far preferred the numbness if she's being honest.
Eris rubs both hands down her face and shivers. It's not particularly cold here, but her hoodie is barely even comparable to her last prison's blankets. Not to mention that, even there, she would at least have a semi-safe bed to sleep in. Even with how tired she was after the midnight trial, Eris still knew that it was a bad idea to lay down on one of the infirmary cots. To get too comfortable here feels dangerous.
She sighs, remembering only at the last minute to make it a silent one. So much for vowing never to complain. Eris guesses that ship's long sailed by now.
She rests her forehead back down on her knees. She's still trying to make sense of the trial, and this is far from helping. Feeling sorry for herself isn't going to do anything. Truthfully, very little Eris does now is going to mean anything. She's in prison. Scratch that, she's in prison on The Cut. Even if she could convince herself that she could get out, she's not even sure that she wants to.
What's waiting for her on the outside?
All Eris hears in response is the buzzing of the overhead lights. The same as it's been since she got here early this morning. Now the only thing that she has to come to terms with is… just about everything that happened during the trial.
She didn't give up. Honestly, that scenario would've made more sense to her. Eris doesn't have anything worthwhile to go back to, she has little desire to stay in prison besides the fact that it's how this should work. It wouldn't have surprised her if she found herself waiting in that hallway for Ramsey's sword to reach her. She's not saying that's what she wanted to happen, but it would've at least made some sense.
Instead, the memories Eris has from the trial are of pumping arms and aching calves. Whether she was hunter or prey, she ran as hard as she could down those hallways. She searched. She hid. She did everything she could to steady her breath so that no one passing by would be able to detect her.
Not a single one involved her giving up. In truth, there hadn't been time to really consider it. Every round felt shorter than the one before it. Yet, Eris can't deny the fact that she tried her very hardest in every single one.
And she won. It shouldn't mean much, it doesn't mean much, but she did. At least technically, even if Ramsey's cut was so superficial it looked more like a paper cut.
She won.
That thought is interrupted by a loud creak and Eris has to fight the urge to hit the floor. Nevermind her legs, her entire body goes numb when she hears it. It's the loudest sound she's heard since entering the stairwell post-trail. Not only that, but there's no denying where it came from.
If she sits up even an inch further, she's sure she'll be able to see the culprit. After all, she was able to see the way the bed gave under them near-perfectly.
Eris' breaths feel like smoke in her lungs. She holds one hand against the floor to steady herself. If they laid down, it's more than likely they don't know she's here. That means she has the advantage here, at least for however long it takes them to realize. Eris' hand starts to shake and she closes it into a tight fist to stop it.
She has to make a choice. If there's only one of them, can she take them? What if there are more? Is it worth it to run when the only place she'll be able to go is deeper into the adjoining rooms? She could do a loop and hope they follow, then leave down the stairwell. What if she runs into someone else?
There are too many options. The best one would be to fight, but the only experience she has with a sword is from the trial. She's not even sure that counts.
What do they have? It could be anything.
Eris swallows. She's taking too long to decide. Any second now they could see her, hear the breaths that sound way too loud in her throat. If they do, any advantage she has will be gone.
She isn't expecting the next sound. In fact, it takes several seconds for Eris to even place it. She'd been listening for footsteps, maybe another creak or a voice telling her she'd been caught. This…
Are they snoring?
Eris eases ever slightly onto her toes and gets her answer. There, on the second cot from the door, is a black bundle of clothing with their face to the ceiling. Every time their chest rises, she hears another one. They're definitely snoring.
Yet, that realization is nothing compared to the one she has upon seeing who it is. It's not hard to recognize him, even if Eris had put effort into not learning any of the others' faces. His large frame alone gives him away. She doesn't know his name, but anyone here would be able to pick him out of a crowd. He's the one who got in a fight with one of the other contestants on their last "normal" day. In fact, he's the one who beat the absolute snot out of them.
Suddenly, asleep or not, Eris feels even more on edge. She doesn't know what weapon he was given. She has even less of an idea as to whether he's a heavy sleeper or not. The first thought that comes to mind is to get rid of him, followed by about a dozen or so reasons why Eris would be insane to even try.
If he wakes up before I'm done… She shivers and glances behind her towards the door. It'll be a long way to get away from him, but that's no doubt the safest option. The more levels that separate her from him, the better.
It feels like an eternity before she is able to take the first step away. Her feet feel too heavy against the floor despite barely making a sound. He snores again. It doesn't sound like he's waking up but how confident is she that she'd know what that sounds like? Not very.
She moves like that all the way to the door - waiting for another sawing breath between each step. Eris tries to tell herself to look back to make sure he hasn't stirred. She can't bring herself to. Even asleep, he's not someone she wants to see. Not only is he at least a head taller than her and everyone else, he's also proven that he can fight.
Eris eases the door open slowly, holding her breath as the opening grows just large enough for her to squeeze through. Once on the other side, she resists the urge to run straight through to the next room. She doesn't remember how many rooms lay between her and the stairs. She puts gentle pressure on the door so that it closes without making any more than a small click.
That's when she remembers that the only way to get to the stairs will be to pass him again. The platform only has one door and it leads straight into the infirmary beside him. For however long it takes for him to wake up and move, she's effectively trapped.
Level 5 - Isolation - 5:41 AM
Marcy rests her head against the open door. More than anything, she wishes she could lock herself inside the tiny cell behind her. It doesn't look anywhere close to comfortable, but it has a stiff cot that might as well be made of clouds by how tempting it looks. She can't be certain that she hasn't dozed off once or twice while sitting here. All Marcy can do is shake herself awake when she feels the exhaustion start to win out. This is not the place to rest. Nowhere is.
Every instinct tells her to hide. She's nowhere close to doing that, in fact, she's sitting just barely off the main hallway that runs through this room. To her back are three cells, each far smaller than the ones downstairs. Just ahead is a viewing area, the top-half of its wall made of glass. Marcy wasn't able to find a door to get inside; she's doubtful that one exists.
She glances up at the glass again. It feels like someone is watching, even though that's no doubt true no matter where she is. The feeling is just far stronger here. If she had somewhere better to go, she's sure she wouldn't have settled here.
The truth is that she's been able to find something to fear in every room she's passed through. This one is logically the safest. It's at the center of the level and has a clear way through to either of the adjacent rooms. If someone comes in one, she'll leave through the other. The cells also provide some decent hiding spots if it comes down to that.
Marcy stuffs her hands further into her hoodie pocket. That's just about all she can hope to do - hide or run. She doesn't have the means or nerve to do anything else.
She bites the dried layer of skin that coats her lips. There's only one thing that would make her feel better and she knows even that won't mean anything. A cigarette only provides a temporary calm, a means of deep breaths that Marcy finds herself unable to take otherwise. It feels like ages since her inhale has reached past the base of her throat. She wonders if they'll ever reach further again.
This is all Marcy's done since the trial. The prison feels like part of a dream and no part of her can admit that this is really happening. She's tried to convince herself that it is. She has the tiniest bit of hope that if she realizes it, something will change. Perhaps she'll get braver, perhaps she'll suddenly know what to do. Perhaps she'll see a way out that isn't in a body bag.
She has nothing else to do while she waits.
Marcy turns quickly towards one end of the hallway. She doesn't recall hearing anything, but the sudden unease in her stomach is enough of a reason. She leans forward and tries to get her feet under her, but they've gone basically numb. Marcy tries to put some weight on the right one and cringes as the tingles move up her calf. She knows she isn't imagining the rhythmic creaks heading in her direction.
Is it even worth running? Tears build at the base of her vision as she stares down the hallway. If not now then when? She isn't going to fight anyone. Marcy doesn't know how and she doesn't have anything but her bare hands with which to try. If she runs this time, and the next, and the next, how long before they catch up? How many more nights is she going to sit here, barely awake and barely breathing, before this finally ends?
Her foot finally stops tingling, but Marcy doesn't try to right the other one. Tears quiver in her eyes and her stomach becomes so tight that it hurts, but she doesn't get up. She feels pathetic. She is pathetic, but what else is she supposed to be?
She bows her head as the figure finally turns the corner. Marcy's shaking too violently to face them; too terrified to want to see what will happen next. If this is where it ends, all she prays is that it's fast.
There's a pause in the creaking. The contestant's footsteps are too light to really hear, but the prison still shifts with their movement. Marcy raises her chin ever slightly, but the figure is too blurry to place. All she can see is their dark clothing, but for a moment it doesn't come any closer.
When it starts to move again, Marcy ducks her head back to the ground. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut as the creaks come closer. She expects pain, in fact her entire body tightens in preparation. She doesn't expect for the creaking steps to move straight past her, close enough that she can feel a slight breeze on her cheek.
Marcy turns slowly and sees the back of a familiar head. She recognizes the braids tied in a tight knot at the base of her neck. Marcy swallows as her eyes shift down to the sword at the girl's side. It reminds her of the trial from hours ago; the trial that Eris won.
It'd have been impossible for Eris not to see her, but she gives no indication. Her eyes are trained on the door at the opposite end of the hallway and she's just about reached it. Then, another sound joins the gentle creak of her movement. There's no denying what they are, even if they're faint enough that Marcy has to strain to hear them.
Footsteps. They're coming from the door in front of Eris. They seem to grow closer, closer, and then they grow further away again.
Eris turns, but instead of looking at Marcy her eyes land straight on the opposite door. She then stares back at the one a mere meter in front of her. Marcy wonders what she's thinking, but it doesn't take long to make a guess. There's someone in both rooms. That is the best explanation for why Eris came in here in the first place and risked walking past her. Now, she's realizing that she can't go to the next room either.
Whether either of them realized it before right now, both girls are trapped.
Marcy swallows. None of her interactions with Eris can quite be classified as friendly. In fact, last time, Eris warned that she would kill her if she came any closer. The fact that she hasn't hurt her yet could be a good sign. It could also be to avoid alerting whoever was in the room she just left.
As her thoughts continue to run wild, Eris does the last thing she was expecting. She slides to the floor in one fluid motion, resting her head against the door of the nearest cell. Like Marcy, she doesn't go inside. Their stances are almost identical - each of them has one foot under them and one hand wrapped around their stomach. They both have one eye on the other, and one eye pretending to look just about anywhere else.
Level 4 - School Room - 7:52 AM
It only takes a few minutes of sitting at one of the desks before Ram is once again on their feet. They're exhausted, that's one fact they aren't even going to try to dispute, but that's nothing compared to the building anxiety. They can only sit for a few seconds before it becomes overwhelming, a few minutes before alarm bells ring and tell them to move. It doesn't change anything about Ram's situation. Truthfully, it's only tiring them out from an already long day. Still, that might be the best option right now.
The less their legs move, the more their mind does. Ram will do just about anything to stop the thoughts from cycling.
Out of the corner of their eye, they see Myra's head lift again. She looks exhausted, not that they likely look any better, and Ram thought she finally fell asleep. They've thought that every time they've managed to squeeze themself back behind the desk. It's the only time she seems to relax.
They wish she would just sleep. Ram knows that's a tall order, it's been over twenty-four hours since they've slept and they're nowhere close. There are too many thoughts running through their head. Ram's heart is still beating at the same tempo as it did during the trial. The trial they lost.
That's the one that always comes back. Ram's thoughts cycle from being worried about someone finding them to being worried this game will last forever. They wonder how long it'll be before 014 finds them. They consider their odds if he does. But they always return to the trial.
There's no reason they should've lost.
They tried, goddamnit they tried as hard as they could for every second it lasted. Ram's legs are already sore from all the running. Their lungs still feel like they're smoking when they take a breath that's just a little too deep. The cut on top of their wrist has scabbed over and been picked back open a half-dozen times. Pathetic.
Ram tried as hard as they could. They can't think of a moment during which they stopped trying, yet their efforts didn't matter. They didn't matter with 014 and they didn't matter in the trial. Perhaps, when the time comes and a knife's pressed against their throat, it won't matter then either.
The fists clenched at their sides are shaking as they change directions. Their pacing hasn't brought them anywhere near the door since the pair arrived here. Ram knows it's because they're scared. They know it and they hate it. They turn and face the door; it's not scary it's just a door. Who cares if someone could come through at any moment? Who cares if their life could be over the second someone does? They shouldn't be scared. It's just a fucking door.
"Are you okay?" Her words are barely a whisper, but Ram jumps anyway. They spin around to face her, their heart picking up speed as if expecting her to be standing behind him with the hammer she no longer has. Myra hasn't moved from the desk; her hands are still empty.
"Just go to sleep." Their tone is harsher than they intended, but they don't bother to try and soften it. Ram turns away and steps - no, forces - themself towards the door. They only make it a meter or so closer.
"That's not an answer." Myra's words are gentle, yet they can't help their posture from tightening in response. They don't owe her an answer. If she can't read their body language enough to know that they're fine then Ram can't help her. She's the one who jumps up every time Ram stands. She's the one that needs to worry about herself and stop watching them like she's some kind of guardian. They don't need her. She shouldn't care even if they did.
"Worry about yourself, okay."
She pauses. "I can multitask."
"Well stop." Ram turns away to walk back in front of the whiteboard. They don't even have to look at her, they can feel the way that the room deflates around them both. They shouldn't feel bad. They don't want to. The simple fact is that every time they snap at her they can feel it cracking against their ribs. If there's any place for selfishness it's here. She needs to understand that. Ram promises themself that they already do. "Stop trying to help people, it's stupid."
"Why?"
Ram tries to pull the tension from their shoulders but not an inch of it moves. There are a thousand answers to her question. Focusing on anyone but yourself makes you vulnerable. The person you're helping could stab you in the back. People aren't who you think they are. Their tongue scrambles to form any one of them into words. Ram understands, they know how easy it is to worry about someone else. They used to do the same for Rachel, their cousin who couldn't possibly have approved of sending Ram away to camp. It got them nowhere.
She never came to save them.
They know they never should've expected her to. She still had to live with their uncle for another few years. She had to protect herself because not even Ram could imagine what their uncle would do to her if he found out. When faced with the very worst pieces of the world, the only answer is to expect selfishness. The only answer is to be selfish.
Myra might not have learned that lesson yet, but they sure have. They're not going to worry about her because there's nothing they can do to save her without laying themself on the train tracks. They're not going to bother because it'll only end with more heartbreak. They don't need anyone. They can't need anyone because absolutely no one is coming.
"You can't need anyone here," Ram says, their voice a low whisper. "That's why."
"I don't need anyone. I want someone, there's a difference."
They pause, but that doesn't mean they believe her. "Is there?"
Myra catches their gaze when they make the mistake of turning around. Her eyes are glassy with tears as usual, but none of them have fallen. Her forehead is wrinkled as if it alone is standing in the way of that. Ram looks away almost immediately.
"Yes." They barely hear her response, the single word is so quiet it almost gets lost in the surrounding air. Ram closes their eyes for a moment, guilt washing over them. She needs to learn this before it's too late. Ram won't save her, they can't, but she deserves a fighting chance of her own. The sooner she understands that that's all she has, the better. By the softness of her tone, Ram thinks she might be getting close.
Yet she still said yes, and the look in her eyes makes them think she believes it.
Level 1A - Platform - 8:09 AM
It's stupid to go back. The last place Noam wants to see is the cell block again, but it's where his feet take him. At this point he's tired enough not to fight them.
He's spent hours looking and he can't quite explain why. Giving up is something Noam's pretty familiar with; truthfully it's one of his only talents. He's given up on countless sports, numerous clubs, and at least a hundred video games he barely started. One of his parents would pick him up from an activity and Noam would moan about it until they let him quit, only for him to find a new one.
It's not just extracurriculars either. Noam's given up on more people than he can count - friends, family, hell even himself. There's never been a good reason to keep trying. If someone wants to walk away, why not let them? If someone would rather take the easy way out than stand by his side, who can really blame them? Not Noam.
Yet, here he is well into the morning and no closer to stopping. He's certainly slowed down and anyone listening would be able to hear his dragging footsteps. The fact that he hasn't stopped, however, is almost impressive. Noam just wishes it wasn't going to be for nothing. He's no closer to finding them, and even more convinced that they don't want to be found.
He really fucked up, eh? Noam rubs the exhaustion from his eyes as he starts down the stairs. He's had time to think through everything since the trial. He's not going to tell himself he understands everything because that's not exactly his style. However, he thinks he might be starting to.
"Vasi?" The figure sitting on the bottom step couldn't be anyone else, but Noam still can't believe it. They flinch, but it's slight enough that they must've at least heard him coming. He's just thankful they haven't run yet.
He swallows. "Can we talk?"
Vasi shakes their head, but their lips rebel. "Okay."
They turn just enough to make sure that it's him, but truthfully they don't care who it is. They haven't been running. Sure, it started that way after the trial but before long it just felt so pointless. Where were they trying to go? They wish they had an answer because they haven't been able to find one. Eventually, Vasi found themself back here. They don't know how long they've been sitting here, only that they don't want to go any further.
"I'm sorry." They don't know why, but they expected more. He sounds sincere, but can Vasi really trust themself to know? What is he sorry for? What do they want him to be sorry for? Vasi allows their face to fall into their hands. Nothing is simple, not here and maybe not anywhere. All they want is for things to be easy again. Maybe they never were.
Do I trust him? If I accept his apology, do things go back to normal? Is that what I want? Vasi doesn't have an answer for even one of those questions. They know what they're supposed to say. They're supposed to accept the apology if they believe it and refuse it if they don't. Either he's a friend or an enemy - that's the way things should be.
He lied to them - enemy.
He saved them - friend.
Vasi doesn't know what they're supposed to think. "For what?"
"I don't know," Noam says after a moment. "I know I hurt you, but I don't know how to fix it. I don't know what I did but I shouldn't have done it. I just-"
Vasi knows what he's going to say long before he does. It's what they want too, but what they can't have. He hurt them. Just like their parents and Clement and everyone else they've had to leave behind. Sorry isn't enough. It can't be enough because it's not going to make the bitter fire in their throat disappear. If Vasi forgives him, then do they have to forgive everyone else? Just because they want things to go back to how they were, does that mean stepping all over themself to make it happen?
No. They're not going to let themself be a victim. Not again.
"Stop."
Noam does and that only confuses them more. They want things to be okay again, but they're not. They still feel like their heart's being ripped out when they look at him. He lied to them; just like Clement did when he said he said he'd keep them safe. People that lie aren't good. They'll hurt them again. He'll hurt them again, Vasi knows he will.
They didn't want to leave the prison. This was their happy place and yet Vasi would've left for him. They cared more about his friendship than about anything else, and maybe that's where they've always gone wrong. The idea of something always sounds so much better. The idea of him certainly was.
"I don't think I can believe you."
Noam feels the pit in his stomach deepen, but he doesn't argue. What legs does he have to stand on when he can't even articulate what he's apologizing for? He can't blame Vasi for not believing him. Noam isn't sure he believes himself either. He misses them, for reasons he can't explain or wipe away. He wants to make things right, but he's never been good at that.
Still, this might be the first time he's actually trying. "I don't blame you."
"I know what you did in the trial." It's only when Vasi turns that he sees the tear stains soiled down their cheeks. Not even they seem to be aware of them, but Noam can't see anything else. "Why?"
"Why?" He echoes.
"It was your choice," they say softly. "You could've said I was guilty. You won." Their words drop off even more. "I don't know what I would've chosen."
"I-" Noam starts, but he's not quite sure that he has an answer. He doesn't remember the choice - not making it and not considering the other options. The words 'Winner's choice' play in his mind, as does his quick answer. Noam wants to say something better than the truth. He wants to say it was because he didn't want to let the past affect them or some similar bullshit. The truth doesn't sound nearly as valiant. "I didn't really think about choosing anything else."
Vasi hangs their head. He wonders if he said the wrong thing and considers backtracking. He's not sure what else he can say to get out of it. Besides, isn't getting out of things what messed this up in the first place?
"I'm sorry I lied to you," Noam says finally. The words feel like a punch to the gut, but he doesn't let that stop him. The last time they saw each other before the trial, he never actually apologized. He never even admitted to what he did. "There was never a plan. I hoped my dad might come, but I never knew. I don't know how I would've gotten anyone else out even if he did. It was stupid, I was stupid for saying it. I'm sorry."
Vasi turns away again and he wonders if he fucked up. It's as genuine as he's ever heard himself, but they don't have to believe him. Hell, Noam's not sure that he would if he were them. They have no reason to.
Except that he so badly wants them to, but Noam knows that's not what matters right now.
It feels like it's been hours since he spoke, but he forces himself to keep waiting. If they want to get up and walk away, he'll let them. If they want to ask more questions, he'll answer them as honestly as he can. The ball's in their court at this point. Noam's done enough damage.
"I don't know what to think right now," Vasi whispers finally. They turn back to him with fresh tears that make their eyes look like glass. "Can I trust you? Should I? I don't know if this makes us better, Noam."
He swallows and sinks down to the step above them. He doesn't know if he should answer those questions or whether he even can. He wants to say yes, yes they can trust him. He knows for a fact he wouldn't believe himself if he did. This game is only going to get harder. Noam doesn't plan to lie to them again, but promising right now isn't fair either.
"What if you don't have to choose now?"
Vasi looks up, and their gaze forces his away from the stairs. He looks different, less certain than he did when they first turned around. They don't know how to read that either. They're not sure what to do about any of this. Their heart screams one answer while their head shouts another. Either way, they're letting some part of themself down.
"You don't have to trust me," he continues. "You can decide where we go, and you can walk behind me if it makes you feel better. I'll… I'll trust you and you can decide when you're ready. If you're ever ready."
Vasi furrows their brow. They'd never thought of that as an option. Life for them has always been two feet in or two feet running. That goes both for people and for situations. When they decided to stay with Clement, there was no doubt about anything. They decided they were safe without ever looking around to make sure they were. They did the same in deciding that home was no longer safe - none of it could be. Not their classmates or their bedroom or anything about it.
In between sounds so much scarier, but maybe it doesn't have to be.
They don't have to decide if they forgive him, but they also don't have to be alone. For what it's worth, Vasi does miss Noam. They used to believe they could stay right here in prison forever, and he was part of that. They were ready to jump in with both feet, and then at the trial they were just as prepared to run away from all of it.
Dipping one foot in to test the waters is just about the least Vasi-like thing they've ever heard of. But maybe they're due for a change. Vasi allows the corners of their mouth to lift ever slightly and he mirrors it without thinking. It doesn't feel the same as it used to be, but maybe that's the point.
Level 5 - Morgue - 11:01 AM
"I need your help."
Casi expects him to flinch, but he doesn't. At the very least they expect to see some kind of surprise on 005's face upon turning to see him, but it doesn't happen. His expression is one of slight curiosity and the same underlying calm that Casi's grown used to seeing. Truthfully, at this moment, his reaction is about as inconsequential as everything else.
005 watches them with idle interest as Casi moves further inside the room. They don't know if he should be here. Honestly, he wasn't going to come at all except what the fuck else can they do? Casi tried to find Omar. From the moment he came to their senses in the common room, his eyes so raw they felt like they'd been sandpapered, all they could think about was finding him.
They wasted so much fucking time.
It didn't feel real. It still doesn't. For as much time as Casi spent trying to find him, they realized he was still looking for her. For every door they pried open there was a little bubble of hope that burst upon entering. Meg wasn't behind any of them. They were gone and, even if Casi knew that, he wasn't prepared to believe it.
This is the closest they've come to admitting that she's actually dead. Meg never would've come up here; they wouldn't have had a reason to. If she were still here, both they and Casi would be sitting in one of the other rooms hopelessly trying to believe that everything was going to be okay. They wouldn't talk about plans or killing people or anything else. It sounds so fucking stupid now looking back, and yet Casi would give anything to have that again.
It's real now. It's so real the spear might as well have gone through their chest, but it didn't. It killed Meg. He killed Meg. For no goddamn reason, he killed her. They chose to save him. Meg chose the option that would've ended in her getting hurt too but they did it for him. She didn't want anyone to die yet he fucking killed her anyways. The person who deserved this the least is dead. It's real.
And maybe Omar's won't be the next name that's sung or even the one after that, but he's not getting out of here either. Casi is going to personally make sure of it.
What else am I supposed to do?
"Okay." 005 responds as if he'd just been told there will be a ten cent upcharge for their value meal. His eyes drift back around the room and Casi can't help but allow their own gaze to follow. It's strange how calming that simple act is.
"Do you know where he is?"
005 cocks his head. "Angel?"
Even the way he says the name forces a chill up Casi's spine. It's ironic that he can be called that, when near-anything else would be more fitting. An angel? Not in this solar system. "Don't call him that."
"His name?" 005 asks flatly and Casi deflates. They know how he sounds, but he can't stand to hear it. It's a fucking joke given what Omar did.
"Omar," Casi says after a slow breath. "I need to find Omar, that's his name."
005 nods and turns around, leaving Casi unsure whether to go see what he's doing or stand here waiting for a little bit longer. Their patience runs out and they head towards the same desk Casi saw last time he was here. It looks no different than it did back then.
Casi squints. No, that's not true. The first three boxes starting from the top left are a different colour - grey - while the rest are the same black as the screens downstairs. They reach towards the first, but 005's hand shoots out to stop him. Casi's eyes narrow as he looks up at him, but he doesn't give any kind of response.
"What?"
005 shakes his head. "I don't know where Omar is."
What does that have to do with-? However, before the thought can finish their brain moves onto another. "We'll find him."
"We?"
"You agreed, didn't you?" Casi asks.
005 hums, which is not exactly the resounding yes that he'd hoped for. Still, he isn't telling Casi to get lost. That's gotta mean something. Casi won't know what to do if it doesn't. 005 is the only person he could think of that might help them. He's strange, probably not trustworthy, but that doesn't matter. There's something about him that tells Casi he's the right choice. Nothing fazes him. He keeps to himself so is unlikely to have anyone else that'd have to tag along. No doubt he wants to win, and this is an opportunity to get rid of someone who's willing to play.
They hope he's not making a mistake. Truthfully, they almost don't care if he is.
This has to work.
"I need you to help me find him," Casi says carefully. "Then I need you to help me kill him."
005 raises an eyebrow, not exactly shocked but almost appearing to feign it. "Because of the others?"
The others - Casi nods, thankful that he doesn't have to say it. It's almost a blessing that they didn't run into Omar before deciding to come here. If the trial was any indication, he'll have three other contestants with him. How they can follow him after what he did is anyone's guess. Casi just needs help making sure they don't get in the way.
"Interesting."
Casi stiffens as 005 starts to walk away again. This has been more frustrating than he expected and at least as unsettling, but they're not giving up yet. He hasn't said no. That has to be enough motivation to keep going.
For Meg.
"Please," Casi says, closing their eyes briefly as tears threaten to start again. He thought they left them behind in the common room. "He's dangerous. Someone has to stop him."
"That's not why." 005 doesn't even turn around, leaving Casi to stare at his back. He's right.
"It's not." They take a breath. "Will you help me?"
Level 5 - Infirmary - 11:55 AM
Riley's been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour. He feels no more rested than when he laid down, besides the fact that his eyes haven't immediately closed again. His throat is dry and begging for water, but where he'll find that is anyone's guess. Food is just as big of a question mark. He scoured the kitchen cabinets but, unless someone got there first and ransacked them, production decided to get rid of all of it. Assholes.
He rolls over and is rewarded with a dull ache that burns up his side. Honestly, Riley's half-surprised he woke up naturally. He didn't bother to try and hide himself, nor did he really check the room to make sure it was empty. If something moved, he would've probably woken up. He's sure a stab wound or two would open his eyelids if nothing else.
It takes several tries to force himself upright. He rubs his hands down his face, hating how greasy he already feels but deciding it doesn't matter. Really, nothing does. He's awake and not dead yet. That's about all Riley has any right to ask for.
He needs to get moving again. This morning was a bust, either everyone went into hiding after the trials or he was just unlucky enough not to run into anyone. Most contestants would probably count that as a blessing. Not Riley. The longer he stays in this hell, the worse things are gonna get.
Everyone's gonna die. Quick and easy or drawn out and tortured, no one outside of these walls probably cares. Riley does. He doesn't care about the others, or at least not enough to stick his neck out even a millimeter. But he's willing to do one thing - make it fast. The games, their deaths, whatever. He just wants it all to be over.
And hopefully by then he'll still be able to feel the sting of exhaustion behind his eyes.
"Good morning contestants."
Riley jumps at least a foot off the bed and the top of his hand hits the metal railing. He shakes it out and pain rings through each bone. Even without meaning to, his eyes lock onto the first screen he finds. Before the person moves, Riley doesn't even realize he's a person at all. He was expecting another stupid silhouette. "Motherfucker."
"Canada has chosen to let you speak for them. In a moment, all of you will be given a choice. Please, choose wisely."
And just like that, the man is gone again. Riley climbs steadily to his feet and scans the room, but nothing happens. What the fuck was he talking about? He tries to remember anything he can about this stupid show, but his tired mind comes up blank. All he can do is wait which, funny enough, is just about his least favourite thing to do.
"Fuck." Riley flinches again as a wall suddenly appears in front of him. He lets his hands slowly lower from their defensive position and looks behind him. He isn't trapped; the wall only takes up the space directly in front of him. He takes a closer look and finds that the wall is covered in what look to be framed pictures.
It doesn't take him long to recognize the faces staring back at him. His eyes lock quickly on two that sit side-by-side, but Riley sneers and turns away again. As if he'd ever choose them.
It's then that the thought dawns on him. The odds of this being a nice prize are just about zero. This is The-fucking-Cut. That's all the convincing Riley needs.
He shoves one fat finger against Noam's image and the wall is gone a second later. All that's left to do now is wait, but suddenly that task has gotten a whole lot easier. Riley shakes the stiffness out of each leg carefully. He's not sure what position he managed to fall asleep in, but just about every body part hurts right now. Lucky him.
He still jumps when the voice comes again. However, he does manage to keep the curses off his tongue this time. "The results are in! For the next twelve hours, contestants have a shared target. Be the one to eliminate them and you will receive a distinct advantage for the coming days. Target, avoid elimination and you will be rewarded instead. Your twelve hours begin at the stroke of noon."
Riley's gaze intensifies as the man's image gives way to a ticking clock. It takes him a moment to orient the hands, but finds that there are only seconds left until the clock strikes twelve. He counts them in his head, his numbers going far faster than the ticking hands. Finally, a low buzz melts through every crack of the room and the clock disappears.
Riley is only a little bit disappointed when it's not who he was hoping for. He doesn't have to study their features for long before they're cemented in his skull. At least it shouldn't be too hard to find them.
With any luck, he'll be able to kill two birds with one stone anyways. At least if Noam isn't enough of a coward to leave his little friend the moment there's a target on their back.
But hey, that's none of his business.
No Deaths.
A/N: Hello hello. It's been a while but here I am with another chapter. Things have been pretty hectic lately, so hopefully I can get back into some kind of schedule but this is not a promise that can be upheld in any court of law, so. Please be patient with me.
Not much to say here, hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / supporting my varied writing schedule. I appreciate each and every one of you.
~ Olive