In The Clear: Pre-Games V
Dominique "Dom" Briones, 17, Hamilton ON
Dom takes another bite of the sandwich, pretending to be enthralled with the motion instead of with Omar's words. It's nothing special, a few more condiments than she should've put on deli meat but it tastes better than most of the past months. Still, if she's going to have access to this quality of food she should start making the best of it.
"You don't talk very much," he says after several minutes.
Dom shrugs, allowing herself even more time to finish the next bite. "You didn't seem bothered."
"I'm just making conversation," Omar says with the same warm smile. He was the only person up here when Dom decided that breakfast would be a decent idea. Despite the fact that he seemed to be washing up when she got here, he shows no signs of leaving. She's not particularly upset about it, but he's starting to get grating.
No one's in this good of a mood in prison, no one.
Dom's not sure what game he's playing but she's unwilling to partake in anything but her own. She isn't particularly antisocial, but that could change pretty soon. It's just Omar's luck that there's no one else up here to see it. That's the biggest motivator for Dom to simply ignore him and not make him an example.
Hell knows she's starting over again and could use the boost.
The reputation Dom built at the Roy McMurtry Youth Centre wasn't easy and she's not exactly looking forward to starting over. A combination of good luck and a whole lot of awareness meant she could fly through that place mostly unscathed no matter the climate. No one particularly disliked her, at least no one that mattered. Dom was tough enough to warrant respect but not enough to be useful to those looking to prove their worth.
And now all of that doesn't matter again. She's back at square one with a group of people that couldn't be more different than the last one. She would be annoyed if she didn't feel so completely hollow at the idea of being scrutinized all over again.
Everyone will be searching for weak points just like the girls did when Dom first arrived at Roy McMurtry. She needs to make sure there isn't a single one visible. For the second time in her life she needs to bury down everything that could be considered a weakness and pretend it's a strength instead.
Pretend it's not destroying her to act like she doesn't care what happened.
Pretend that she doesn't hear that mother wailing for her dying child every time it gets too quiet.
Pretend that she doesn't regret every step that led her towards Gore Park that night.
Dom pulls her expression in as she finishes the last bite of her sandwich. Maybe it's the fact that sleep felt impossible last night, but her nerves have already been pushed to the edge today. The last thing she needs is to break down when now's the time to stand strong. She needs to pull herself together.
She turns to Omar with a deadpan frown. "What do you really want?"
"I can't just talk to someone?" He asks, raising a curious eyebrow.
"You can," she says quickly. "But you don't seem the type."
It's a bluff and she knows it. Dom doesn't have a good read on him and frankly she's not that interested in continuing to try for one. Contrastingly, he seems to know exactly what to say to make her feel warmly on edge. Dom didn't know that was even a feeling someone could force on her.
He watches her for a moment as if maybe she's gotten through, but his smile doesn't waver. Instead, the thing that eventually breaks their silence is another body walking through the door. Dom gives a nod as Bridget makes her way over and casually plunks down on the adjacent seat. She barely seems to notice Omar, and Dom doesn't think she imagines the flash of annoyance that warps his face.
"How was last night?" Dom asks and, this time, the slight smile doesn't feel quite as forced. She doesn't know Bridget very well, the pair only met yesterday evening, but she's grown to sort of like the girl. She reminds Dom of herself in a lot of ways.
"Terrible," Bridget says quickly.
"You can say that again," Omar cuts in. When Dom turns, he's wearing the same kind grin he greeted her with this morning. The more times she sees it, the more she has to wonder if any part of it is genuine.
He seems like just a normal guy, and in most sectors of life he would be. However, prison isn't most places. If Dom's going off the assumption that he was previously in jail just like her, his disposition doesn't make sense. He would've gotten the snot beat out of him day one just for daring to open his mouth.
"I wasn't talking to you," Bridget says coldly.
He turns to Dom but she just raises a silent eyebrow. Nothing about his expression says that the comment got to him, but something about the change in atmosphere tells her it must've. She's not sure what Bridget has against him, but Dom's not about to ruin the mood.
It feels like several minutes pass in silence before Omar finally stands from the table. "I'll leave you to it then. I hope your day's better than your night was."
They don't speak until Dom can no longer hear his footsteps. "What's up with him?"
Bridget shrugs. "He wouldn't leave me alone yesterday afternoon. Nosy fucker."
"You got that right," Dom smirks.
Bridget gets up to grab one of the granola bars from the bowl on the counter. At the same time, Dom rinses off her plate before resting it in the dish rack with the others. It all feels just a little bit too normal, a little bit too casual. If Dom didn't know better, she would think she were staying at a friend's house. Hell knows this place is too clean to be her own.
Given the circumstance, the feeling is more unsettling than it is comforting.
"I have an idea." The words come almost the second her ass lands back in her seat. Bridget swallows down the half-bite of granola still in her mouth but her expression says she's waiting for Dom's response.
"Go on."
While people like Omar seem content to make the most of whatever this situation is, Bridget is the opposite. The one thing Dom's learned about the girl is that she's about as unafraid of consequences as a puppy chasing a porcupine. Last night, Bridget had the bright idea to use some of the heavier pots to try and break through the glass on the main level.
The fact that they're both still standing here explains exactly how well that plan went.
"Tonight," Bridget says as she leans over the table. "We're staying out after curfew."
Dom's brows furrow. "Why?"
"There's got to be a reason they don't want us out here," she explains. "Maybe there's a way out, or we'll see something that can help us."
"Don't you think that's kind of dangerous?"
She hates the way her voice slips to a whisper, but can do nothing to stop it. Trying to break the glass seemed like no big deal, honestly she was shocked no one else had tried yet. This seems a few steps further.
"How?"
Dom's mouth goes dry. She doesn't want to argue, doesn't want to look like she's scared but it's hard not to. "The punishments-"
"You're scared of a little shock?"
"No," Dom says immediately. "We don't know what they'll do. Besides, we're gonna get out anyways, do we really need to push? What if they decide to go back on their offer?"
Bridget shoots her a look. "They promised we'd be free. Does this look free to you?"
Dom knows she's right. That doesn't mean she's going to do whatever someone tells her to. What Bridget's suggesting isn't an awful plan, but it feels too soon. Dom isn't scared, she's just being cautious. She doesn't want to blow this chance not knowing if she'll even get another one.
What chance? Freedom?
You don't even want that.
You don't even deserve that.
Dom closes her eyes for a moment as the thoughts come from every angle. She pushes them away with as much force as she can muster. Yes I do.
Then fight for it.
Riley Lenihan, 18, Turney Valley AB
Riley sighs as he makes his way down the final set of stairs. He knows that someone else is already there - Lilliana if he had to guess - which makes him all the more eager to drag his feet. Whatever is about to happen, he sincerely wishes it were already over. He's not a fan of surprises, not this one and not any.
He's still not sure what to think of this place. Riley would call it a hellhole if he could gather enough mind to care, but that's unlikely to happen. For every good - not being in morning group therapy or having a roommate - there's seemingly equal bad - a fucking ghost he's expected to listen to. Riley would say he's broken pretty much even in this deal.
He's still not in Alberta.
He still hasn't heard anything about Alec.
He still has a neck to wring and a pack of bullets to find in the storage shed.
Truthfully, that's the only thing he's capable of thinking about. Nothing in this place matters; it's not home and that's exactly why he despises every second here. Riley didn't particularly want to kill Alec's father, but it would've been so much easier if he had. Messier, more permanent, but at least Riley wouldn't have to wonder.
At least Alec would be safe when he finally wakes up from that coma. His limbs might be gelatin and his back might be covered in bedsores, but no one would hurt him. The only person that would've dared would be long past needing a hospital.
Yet Riley didn't fucking think. Isn't that the revelation of the century? He didn't think about getting caught. He didn't think about being shipped off to Ontario which may as well be light years away from the Foothills Medical Centre. He didn't think no one would bother to fucking tell him whether Alec even woke up.
He must have.
Riley's jaw clenches as he finally forces himself into the cell block. He did and he's okay. He did and he's already back to being an annoying prick. He did and he's trying to get word to me right now. Those are the only thoughts he'll entertain because they're the only ones that would make this whole shitty situation inconsequential. It'll always be worth it to confront Alec's father, but worth it isn't enough.
It needs to have worked. Alec needs to survive, to be okay, to be safe. That's the only possible outcome.
Riley stiffens as he hears the threshold seal behind him. He stops at the edge of the room, his entire body prepared for a fight when he knows there isn't going to be one. He's no stranger to mandatory programming. It's always been an immense pain in his ass. Riley doesn't want to talk about his feelings and frankly no one can make him. His last social workers learned that pretty fucking quickly.
"Please, have a seat."
He doesn't have enough time to even take a breath before the majority of the chairs seem to blink completely from existence. Riley flinches backwards and brings a hand to wipe the fatigue from his eyes. When he starts to open them again, he expects to still see six chairs.
He only sees two - one on either side of the round table. As if mocking him, Riley can just make out a blue haze in the air where the others had been.
"What the fuck," he mutters under his breath. Lilliana - assuming that's who is crouched on the ground outside the bottom cells - doesn't even seem to notice. Her head is down, her gaze fixed to a spot on the floor. It's like he's not even here or, more accurately, like she's not.
Not seeing much of a choice, Riley stiffly approaches the closest chair. He eases himself down carefully, half-expecting it to disappear just as suddenly beneath him. The girl still hasn't moved. Riley considers checking for a pulse, but decides just as quickly that it's not his problem.
No one here is. If they leave him alone, he's content to return the favour. And, technically, her sitting at the edge of the room is the very definition of leaving him alone.
Again the voice repeats its request.
Again, Lilliana doesn't even flinch.
Riley swallows as a sense of dread begins to build in the pit of his stomach. He peers towards the girl, half from curiosity and half - as much as he would never admit it - from concern. He's seen enough evidence that the voice's instructions are not optional. Still, Riley can't force himself to intervene.
Not even when an audible spark sends her to a limp heap on the ground.
He squeezes his eyes firmly shut, soundlessly willing her to get up but he doesn't hear any movement. He listens as she flinches against the floor again, no doubt the consequence of another warning.
Finally, Riley's legs find their place beneath him. He closes the gap between them without allowing himself a moment to reconsider. He hooks his arm under hers and pulls Lilliana unceremoniously to her feet. She slumps into him for a moment before seeming to find her own footing. Riley all but throws her into the seat he had just been occupying before depositing himself across from her.
He can feel her eyes on him. The gaze burns like embers on his cheek but he doesn't meet it. Instead, he stares wordlessly at the screen as it seems to flicker with pixelated life.
"Activity three now in session."
This voice is different. It's the one from the cell that instructed him where to place his hands before stabbing them. Riley is about as inclined to listen to it as he is to listen to a caged bull.
He crosses his arms silently against his chest. Yet, no amount of stubborn resolve prevents him from flinching when the table glows blue in front of him. Riley instinctively pulls himself away but, instead of taking the table with it, the hue leaves behind a familiar box that actually makes him laugh out loud.
He pokes the box and, sure enough, it's as solid as the chair he's sitting on. One side of his lips turns up as Riley pulls it ever slightly closer. He hasn't seen this game in at least a decade, but he bets if he went digging in his basement long enough he'd find an identical one.
Afterall, Battleship used to be Daniel's favourite.
"They can't be serious," Riley questions aloud, but of course there's no response. He chances a quick look at Lilliana, who watches him with eyes he can only describe as absent. She doesn't look alive let alone awake. He instinctively pulls himself as far back on the seat as humanly possible.
That's when he notices the sheet of paper sticking out from under the board game. Riley swallows and slides it the rest of the way out. He half considers reading it aloud, but another look up at Lilliana reminds him that she probably couldn't give less of a shit.
…
Activity Three
Inmates are permitted three hours of uninterrupted play.
Inmates may not leave prior to the end of the session.
Inmates must complete a minimum of three games.
…
Riley rolls his eyes, but they just as quickly flick back up to where the screen watches over them. The silhouette is nowhere to be found, but it's as if he can feel its presence. He's not sure if that makes him more inclined to play by the rules or less. Frankly, he'd sooner flip a coin then actually decide.
After a few more silent minutes, he slides the message across the table until it's directly in front of Lilliana. At first, she doesn't seem to even notice but after several painstaking seconds her eyes drop down to examine it. When she's presumably finished, her gaze returns to him. This time, the absence is, funny enough, gone.
She looks fucking pissed.
"I'm not doing shit for them." Riley swears he doesn't even see her lips move, but the words are clear as the summer sky.
He swallows, but nods. Interestingly enough, this is the least agonizing conversation he's had since arriving here. Probably since being arrested quite honestly. Whatever's already happened to her hasn't scared her resolve away. In fact, it only seems to have hardened it further. Riley respects that more than all the people sobbing, hiding, and joking put together.
Still, he has a feeling this is about to be the longest three hours of his life.
Amadis Navarro, 17, Brandon MB
"Something grey," Amadis says softly. Every time she speaks, it feels like the entire cell block echoes far louder than her words. The timer on the screen says it's only been forty minutes, but she swears it's been at least three hours.
She stares longingly towards the door to the stairwell. Despite knowing what the result would be, it's still tempting to get up and try the lock herself. If the voice wants to keep them here, it's more than capable. If it wants them to follow its instructions, Amadis is little more than a weak wind against it.
She's never been more frustrated in her entire life.
Nevermind the fact that she's exhausted. Nevermind the fact that she can't seem to get the sound of shattering glass out of her head. Nevermind that she still can't decide if what she heard last night was a dream. She has built up a wall of questions and can't answer a single brick. This isn't the way Amadis works. She knows how to figure things out but there's nothing here to help her.
Amadis isn't used to trying and failing. Even at her worst, her successes never slipped this far. She could make peace with a middle-tier grade knowing she would work harder next time. She could take a critique and use it to make her better. Not this time. No one here has answers and no one's even willing to help her search for them. They're all locked in their own worlds as if what's happening here couldn't be more normal.
And sitting across from her is a prime example. Amadis remembers them from the main room where they all congregated after leaving their cells. They sat beside a pretty person with an even louder laugh and seemed none the wiser to whatever's happening here.
This isn't prison. This isn't how the justice system works. And Amadis can't shake the absolutely nauseating feeling that she needs to get out of here.
"That's not what you're supposed to say," Casi hums, turning his face away to hide their smirk. Aside from being exactly as talkative as she assumed, there's been a lot more to find out about him. Number one is that they seem to enjoy being as irritating as humanly possible.
Amadis clenches her hands together under the table. Not mentioning their first words upon arriving here - a pretty inoffensive "hello" - every interaction seems to be getting more slighting. She hasn't exactly been the most welcoming, but making friends isn't at the forefront of her mind right now. Amadis just wishes they didn't seem to enjoy pestering her.
"You know what I mean," she says flatly.
"You're the one that spent twenty minutes reading the rules," Casi shoots back. She can tell they're just as irritated, but she doesn't have much compassion to spare at this point. "I figured you'd have them memorized."
"I figured you wouldn't," Amadis snaps before clenching her lips together. She doesn't see a point in arguing when, presumably, Casi is just as stuck as she is. Yet with over two hours left of their session they don't seem to be heading in any other direction.
"Player one gives the colour of an object within eyesight of both players, beginning the clue with 'I spy with my little eye something that is-'" Casi starts. It's the most serious she's seen them. In fact, if Amadis didn't know what they were discussing, she might be inclined to believe it was important and not just idle mockery. "Player two then guesses until the object is identified. This signifies the end of-"
"Okay," Amadis interrupts loudly, slamming an open palm against the table. Her lips narrow into a thin line as if attempting to keep her calm, but it's clearly not working.
Casi shrugs, an impatient smirk taking over their face. "You asked."
"I don't think I did, actually," she huffs before rubbing both palms down her eyes. This isn't getting us anywhere. "Fine. I spy with my little eye something that is grey."
Casi snorts as he starts to look around the room. She can't stop herself from commenting, the frustration not even close to being flushed from her system. "What now?"
"Seems like you want these rounds to last forever," they say as they gesture around the cell block. "Everything's fucking grey."
"It's black," Amadis corrects.
They shake his head. "In dim light it looks black, but it's actually dark grey."
She glances up at the ceiling as if begging it to give her patience. "Have you always been like this?"
"Probably."
"Light grey, okay?" Amadis says sharply. "It's light grey."
"Is there a specific frequency cut off? Or perhaps a wavelength?"
"I'm taking a break," she says, getting up without giving them a chance to find some other snarky response. She's never met someone so insufferable in her life, let alone been locked in a room with them. What does playing children's games have to do with anything? Why is she required to sit here when there are a hundred other things she needs to be doing?
Like what?
Amadis pauses just before reaching her assigned cell. She glances back to see that Casi isn't even looking at her. The room is as empty as it was when they arrived save for the massive pile of junk on the table. Looking in either direction she can see two other pairs of contestants in their own cell block no doubt going through the same painstaking session. None of them have gotten up.
She's the only one.
What else are you really expecting to accomplish right now? Amadis doesn't have an answer, instead she can feel her face scrunching as a flush of emotion overtakes it. She fixes her gaze on the floor of her cell and scrunches every muscle in an attempt to undo it. Without a mirror, she can't be sure how successful she is.
This is just the next helpless circumstance in a string of the same. She's as trapped in this room as she is in this prison as she was in the last one. She's kidding herself if she believes for a second that she can break out now. Distractions don't matter. This stupid game doesn't matter. It's no one's fault that she's here except her own.
Except Amadis doesn't even really believe that.
There's more at play, much more that she doesn't understand. That's the only thing she can be certain of and it's not anything close to enough to help. What happened in the courts doesn't make sense. Her waking up in this place doesn't make sense. Yet, she's powerless to do anything about either situation.
How does one convince a jury that they're not a terrorist when the evidence all seems to fit? How does one break the walls holding them while knowing there's nothing on the other side?
Amadis turns away from the cell and forces herself back to the table. Her legs all but cave beneath her to bring her to the seat. She pulls all the tears that haven't fallen back where they belong and locks eyes with Casi. Her sharp stare all but dares him to say something, but her lips move before they even get the chance.
"What's your guess?" Her words feel forced but she doesn't care. There's no getting out of this, any of this, with the information she currently has. If whoever brought her here wants her to play along, refusing is only going to keep her in the dark. Can she be certain that doing this will get her anywhere? No.
But sulking isn't going to improve her odds.
She expects a snarky answer, maybe a wider smirk but their response doesn't matter. This is a means to an end, a game to play that will hopefully reap some sort of reward. Information is what Amadis needs, but she's at the mercy of these walls. At least until she knows enough to break them.
Yet, when she's once again breathing steadily enough to focus, Casi doesn't have the same infuriating grin on their face.
Instead, they're staring pensively at her wrist where a band sits unmoving against her skin. It's the same colour as the one they're toying with on their own wrist -
Grey.
A/N: Isn't this fun? I hope you enjoyed this one, it's probably going to end up being one of my favourites. We're nearly halfway there, so thank you to everyone that's stuck around so far. Y'all are great.
~ Olive