In The Clear: Pre-Games VI
Ramsey "Ram" Thorn, 17, Vancouver BC
Ram sits with their back against the outside wall. If they will themself not to turn around, they won't see it. If they don't see it, they won't think about it. If they don't think about it, they won't have to remember how trapped they've become.
They squeeze their eyes shut even tighter, but still there's no part of them that forgets.
They search the level again, making sure that there's no one around for what feels like the dozenth time since coming here. No matter that it's become Ram's least favourite room, they can't make themself stay away. They keep hoping there will be more. They keep convincing themself that this time, this time, there will be something beyond the fog that seals them here.
And each time, they're disappointed all over again. Ram clenches their fists on top of their knees, but it doesn't take away the stiffness of their posture. Nothing seems to.
They hate how hopeful they'd been when the voice appeared in their cell. They hate it so much there are no words to describe it, no ways to avoid it, and not nearly enough teeth to chip to get rid of it.
More than the empty haze outside the windows, however, Ram hates what it's brought to the surface. They thought they got rid of their naivety during the first weeks of prison. They were able to promise themself that no one was coming and believe it, because no one had. They had to take care of themself and they did.
Anger. Bitterness. A handful of broken teeth and a jaw that could no longer sneer in their direction. That was all Ram was capable of producing now. Not hope. Not stupid optimism that someone was going to free them simply because they wanted so badly for it to be true.
They thought those things died in their last jail cell.
Ram wishes they had.
They sigh heavily into their palms, leaning the rest of the way into their cradled knees. As much as they can't regret shutting down 014 yesterday, they know that the reason behind it was a mistake. Ram can't take on other people's problems. Sure, they weren't always alone in their last prison. Sure, they might even call the people they hung around "friends", but each one of them could take care of themself. None of them would've stuck out their neck for each other. That was the safest option for all involved.
Yet, they broke that simple rule on day fucking one. Ram hates people like 014 who think picking on the weaker inmates is okay. That doesn't mean they're willing to fight her battles for her.
She's never going to last here if they do.
And Ram doesn't need any more danger than they're already in. Not now when the field is so new and they don't know who to watch their back around. There might only be eighteen of them, but there's always someone ready to test the waters. Ram has to keep their eyes open during every hour they're not locked in their glass cell.
It's exhausting. They're exhausted. What should've been their break last night was anything but. Ram was woken up by sounds of eerie creaking and whispers that sounded not at all human. After the first couple of times, they never made it back to sleep.
There's something different about this place.
Ram runs their hands down their face. Sitting here now might as well be as comfortable as the cot downstairs, but they can't sleep. They can't let their guard down and they can't give anyone the wrong idea. They have to be strong, tough, angry. It's the only way to survive here.
They can't be scared. They can't be hopeful. They can't let the underdog take shelter beneath them when Ram hasn't yet made their own shadow.
They push forcefully off the wall and press their eyes shut as groggy stars spin in their vision. I can't just keep sitting here.
And, Ram knows exactly who they have to find. They're not going to feel safe without an example. The others need to know them, not as a person but as the rampant flame they entered their last prison as. It doesn't matter that those fires have died to embers. This is for survival. They can be that person again.
Embers can still leave blisters.
They march up the stairs, trying both to keep an even expression and to carefully search the levels. They need to find 014, he's the only one that makes sense. For as large as he is, Ram can take him. Fuck the rules. Fuck the voice that promised them freedom because it's not going to protect them here. No one has protected them for years, but they haven't fallen. They refuse.
Saint Catherine's couldn't break Ram. Prison couldn't break Ram. They are stronger than all the things that tried to shatter them.
And just like that, the embers give way to maddened flames once more.
They walk quickly through the dining room, noting someone moving about the kitchen. Ram hasn't seen anyone since their earlier session with Myra, not at breakfast and not in their cell block. The silence feels louder than any of yesterday's excited shouts as the inmates explored. They have to be somewhere; there's nowhere to go.
I'll find him, Ram promises themself. The flames flicker but they don't die. They know 014 doesn't necessarily deserve this, but they need someone. One example can keep them safe. Word travels. Then, they can go back to how things were and everyone will leave them the hell alone.
Yet, standing in the kitchen is the last person they want to see. Myra turns quickly as they stomp through the door, her expression falling to the ground a moment later. She looks just as she did throughout their session as they each flipped idly through the required readings - away.
Ram swallows and looks around, but there's no one else inside. They crane their neck upwards, but as usual the multiple levels standing above makes them dizzy. There are more shoe prints, which means more people. 014 could very well be one of them.
But the flames are gone. It's as if merely seeing her meek expression has doused their clothes in stale water. Myra refuses to look in their direction as she places a bowl on the counter. Most notably, she doesn't turn completely away. Ram recognizes the body language. No one ever turns their back on someone they're afraid of.
She's afraid of me. This doesn't feel like new information, but it still leaves a bitter taste on their tongue. During their session, they were all but forced to face each other. There had only been two available seats and a pile of combat-themed books between them. They didn't speak even once, but it'd felt more awkward than fearful.
Ram hates how much this revelation bothers them. Wasn't that their goal? It's what kept them safe in their last prison after all. One fight with someone a head taller, fifty pounds heavier, and no one ever bothered them again. Ram knew back then it was fear that kept them safe. They're not an idiot.
Why is this different? Ram doesn't truly believe that it is.
Yet, rather than leaving to search the other levels, Ram's steps take them slowly to the counter. They can feel Myra's gaze following them, but they find a bowl of snacks to stare at instead. Ram grabs one off the top and tears it open, wrinkling their nose when the smell of pungent berries hits first. It's got to be their least favourite flavour.
Ram looks up again just as she glances back down to her cereal. It's obvious she was watching them and just as obvious that she doesn't want them to realize it. They consider calling her out, but the words never make it to their tongue.
And before they know it, Ram's sitting in the chair at the opposite end of the counter.
"You don't have to sit with me." The words are meek, just as quiet as the last time she spoke. Ram looks up to see her eyes watching them cautiously. She hasn't taken a bite of her food since they got here. In fact, her spoon is still firmly gripped in one fist as if she's trying to will it to help her.
Ram takes a bite of their granola bar, expecting the taste to be worse than it actually is. They chew slowly, considering her words but unable to come up with any kind of answer. I know and I'm not going to. Then why are they still here? I want to. They don't. I'm just here for a snack. They weren't even hungry when they walked up the stairs.
Instead, they opt for no response at all. The silence is just as awkward as their morning in the cell block. Ram wonders if she's going to leave simply because there's nothing holding them here together. They think they'd be okay with that.
But when they hear Myra take her first bite of cereal, they can't help but feel just a little bit calmer.
Casimir "Casi" Kaminski, 17, Revelstoke BC
"She's just so frustrating," Casi groans. They take the steps two at a time no matter that he keeps having to stop. The inmate in front of them walks a lot more slowly, which itself should annoy Casi. However, after the morning they had, he barely even notices the stalled progress.
The inmate in front of them hums, which is about the only sound Casi's heard him make. They don't even truly remember where they first started talking to him, but that hardly matters. Meg's gone to her own session now, and there are a hundred frustrated emotions burning holes in Casi's cheeks. The only thing that matters about this inmate is that they're not currently Amadis.
"It took forever to get through anything," they complain. "It was I Spy for god's sake. She couldn't relax for a second and just play? She's impossible."
Another hum from up ahead and Casi sighs dramatically. Normally, it would take a lot more than one stubborn girl to get to them but right now they're positively fuming. They're sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the amount of sleep they didn't get last night.
Casi rubs his palms down their eyes and part of them considers just laying down right here for a nap. Yeah. Absolutely nothing.
Their mother used to claim that he could sleep through the apocalypse. While Casi is known to sleep through a lot of idle noise or even some renovations, they wouldn't say she was right. If there's something interesting going on, it'll almost certainly get their attention. And when something grabs his attention…
Well, it would probably take an apocalypse to put them back to sleep. The kind with zombies that rip people's throats out.
Truthfully, that's just about the only thing that would've let Casi sleep last night. There were so many sounds, most of them unsettling but more so just interesting. Casi hadn't noticed any of them during the day, and now as he tries to listen they still don't.
So, that begs the question, what's happening while they're all in their cells?
"What did you hear?" They ask suddenly, interrupting their previous sentence. Casi pauses again as he catches up to the inmate, but this time rather than continue he turns slightly until they can see his face.
"Hear?"
Casi raises an eyebrow and the inmate turns away once again. His voice sounds almost nothing like they'd expected. It's far more… polite… than anyone else Casi's spoken to in prison. The inmate continues his meager pace up the stairs and Casi has to jog this time to catch up.
"Last night," he clarifies. "What did you hear?"
The inmate pivots slowly until he's facing Casi completely. Standing three steps above them, he looks far taller than he did downstairs. Yet, his expression isn't domineering. It watches Casi intently for several seconds as if searching for something. Casi takes an instinctive step back, but immediately questions why.
There's nothing intimidating about the inmate, not now and not at any point during their walk. He's said basically nothing besides the single word a few seconds ago. His posture is non-threatening, if not a little bit stiff. His expression betrays absolutely nothing.
As an uninvited chill runs up Casi's spine, he ignores it in favour of the intrigue that pulls them closer.
"Nothing," 005 says simply.
Casi pulls a face. "Nothing?"
The inmate nods sharply. They search his expression, but there's nothing to find. His immediate instinct is that 005 is being honest, but he's not sure they believe that fully. Meg heard the same sounds they did. He never asked Amadis, but the bags under her eyes were enough of a clue. Every person Casi spoke to or saw today looked like they'd been up most of the night, which pushes forward their hypothesis.
Of course there are other factors - nerves, nightmares, possibly sleep disorders - to consider. Maybe there's more research to be done here, but something still sits wrong about 005's response.
When Casi searches his face again, he finds the reason why.
There are light purple crescents under his eyes as well.
They swallow but nod, which acts as a cue to keep going. For the first time since entering the stairwell, Casi remains silent as they keep several steps between them. He's not sure what it means that the inmate lied, nor if it really matters. They just don't understand why when this feels so inconsequential.
Casi is still deep in thought as he follows 005 to one of the levels. They explored most of the rooms yesterday, but it's still difficult to get their exact bearings. He's never been afraid of heights, but there's something different about walking along what looks to be no more than air. Each time they exit the solid-walled stairwell, the same pit opens again in their stomach.
This time, however, it's hard to wholly blame the glass.
Casi grins to themself as he follows 005 through one threshold and then another. People have the capacity to be mysteries just like buildings and history books. In fact, Casi likes to wonder about people infinitely more than either of those things.
Just wait until Meg finds out.
They wrap his arms around themself as they venture further into the room. It's colder here than any of the others, including the roof, to the point where his hoodie isn't nearly enough. They explored a bit of this place with Meg yesterday, but now he remembers why they didn't stay long. As interesting as the strange room is, Casi absolutely despises being cold.
Yet, 005 doesn't seem to even blink. He walks between metal tables and finds a solitary chair at the furthest edge of the room. Without even a glance back at Casi, he takes a seat and stares intently down at the desk in front of him.
Casi furrows their brow and hurries to catch up. By the time they can see what 005 is looking at, he's even more perplexed. 005's fingers move along what looks to be a screen superimposed on the top of the desk. Over a dozen boxes in three straight lines stare back at them, but each one is empty.
"What's that?" Casi asks. 005's head turns slowly, but he doesn't seem at all surprised to see them standing behind him.
Rather than answer, 005 taps one of the boxes. Casi rises up on the balls of their feet as the box glows brighter, but nothing else happens. It's only then that the inmate speaks.
"There's eighteen."
005 watches Casi's face as if waiting for a reaction, and they're near-certain he gets one. Eighteen. That's how many inmates were in the main room when the voice came back, and Casi hasn't seen anyone new appear. Each of the three cell blocks contains six cells - eighteen total. The number means something, it has to.
Casi counts the boxes themself, but sure enough 005 is correct. There are three lines of six, making eighteen total boxes. He swallows and looks around again, the room suddenly feeling colder. "What is this room? There's a kitchen, bathrooms, cells, a gym, but I've never seen a place like this in prison."
005 leans back in his chair and watches the still screen for several seconds. Casi wonders if he's going to answer at all, and truly the silence bothers him more than the cold at this point. They want answers, but all he seems to find is more questions. Casi doesn't know whether to feel more excited or frustrated about it.
"I'm not sure," 005 says softly. He looks Casi in the eye as he speaks; there's no flick of his lip or twitch of his eyebrow to give him away.
Still, Casi would bet their life on the fact that he's lying.
Lilliana Sterling-Hargreaves, 17, Ottawa ON
Lilliana can barely feel the surface beneath her. She can't be sure if it's a chair, a cot, or simply a cold piece of floor that she's slumped against. Her head throbs every time she tries to change positions, but still she tries to will her stiff neck to turn. The only sound Lilliana can make out is her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She can't remember a time she's felt so sick. Her eyes open and she's staring at the legs of a wooden chair, her hand gripped so tightly around one that it's turned white. Lilliana's stomach turns as she moves her eyes slightly to take in more of the room. She can remember, but it only makes her pulse spike again. She wonders how long it can go on like this.
But she can remember.
Lilliana trusts that; she has to.
There's no one else in the room anymore, but she can still feel them. There are eyes somewhere, eyes like the cell she's spent so much time in. Eyes that make sure she's curled into the wall, her limbs too heavy to lift and her gaze half-shut to avoid the ever-present brightness.
Eyes that, today, appear not to see her. Or not to care.
Lilliana focuses on the hand that grips the chair leg. She cannot make it let go, but she can make her knuckles tighten further. She can see the trembling tendons in her hand that respond when she wills them to. She has control, far more control.
She feels so sick. The smell of vomit is familiar, and as soon as she identifies the scent it seems to take over. Lilliana's stomach spasms and she hears an awful sound from her own throat. That too feels familiar.
"Your time has elapsed. Please exit immediately."
Lilliana spits onto the ground in front of her, but most of it lands on top of her thigh. She doesn't know where the exit is. She knows she won't be able to get there. In fact, she can't recall how she got here at all.
She closes her eyes.
"When did you discover your skill with computers?"
"Have you spoken to your parents since your arrest?"
Lilliana trembled against the chair, her back curving into it until her hands reached the floor. White walls surrounded her, not glass. She remembered someone lifting her beneath both arms. Lilliana still felt the indent of their fingers in her armpits as they dragged her up the stairs.
As hard as she tried to remember, there was no face attached. Hands. No voice. She wasn't even sure she had heard them breathe.
"Help me," she begged. Since waking, those were the only words her tongue remembered. She can't be sure if she said it to the faceless figure, or to the screen staring down at her.
Lilliana forces her chin up and retches as the room spins again. There's nothing in her stomach that's willing to resurface except a bitter fluid that makes her gag again. When she no longer feels the imminent threat of sickness, she opens her eyes.
White walls, not glass.
She's still in the same room someone brought her to. The room with the questions that she didn't answer no matter how many times they were asked. All Lilliana recalls is asking them to help her. The voice was different, it wasn't the one she despised, the one that lied. It almost sounded kind.
Still, he didn't help her; he's not the one who picked her up. He left her here, retching until there's nothing inside and with not nearly enough self awareness to leave.
Lilliana hears a new sound, but she can't identify it. The room feels lighter, the scent of bile not quite as pungent as it'd just been. She tries to turn and this time the dizziness only lasts a few seconds. She's gaining control. They must be coming back.
Before anyone even touches her, she knows someone's there. More guards to point needles beneath her skin? More medication to keep her silent, to keep control of her own body locked far away? Along with her pounding heartbeat, Lilliana becomes aware of her breathing. The more inhales she counts, the more shallow they become.
She can't breathe.
Breathe.
She can't.
They're coming.
"Please assist 013 to exit the room." The same voice. The one she hates, not the one that was kind. She supposes it doesn't matter.
Neither wants to help her.
"Is she alright?" A new voice- no, not new. Lilliana's heard this one but she can't remember when. He's still faraway, like perhaps he's speaking through water but she can feel the new air of an open door. She manages to turn her head just enough to see a shape against the white walls.
"Please assist 013 to exit the room."
More words, no meanings. Lilliana listens but rather than understand, she instead feels coldness press against her cheek. She feels almost instantly better, though the pounding in her ears hasn't stopped. It feels like her body shivers along to that same beat.
More words-
Same as before, Lilliana feels him lift her to her feet. She can't feel her shoes touch the ground, only a pressure where they should be. Whoever is here with her is able to take almost her entire body weight. All Lilliana can do is close her eyes as a fresh wave of nausea rolls in her stomach.
The air outside the room is immediately different. When she opens her eyes, however, the difference is no longer comforting. She can see shapes of different sizes and clarity run in every direction. The contained white is gone, leaving glass in its trail.
And Lilliana feels as vulnerable as a guppy in a shark tank.
"What did they do?" It's the same voice, the sort-of-familiar one that doesn't yet feel like a threat. Lilliana reaches out and he's crouched right in front of her. She opens her eyes and she remembers, not just a shard of a memory but the whole thing.
"I'm not doing shit for them."
Her voice, not his. But the slight grin that stares back at her belongs to him. They were together in the cell block, whether that was weeks ago or just a few hours. Lilliana remembers.
The withdrawals weren't that bad then, not like now.
They've never been this bad.
… How long has it been?
"It's safe," she says finally. She's not sure if he asks more or if he's gone shortly after. Truthfully, she's not certain he stuck around long enough to hear her at all. She believed the room didn't help her, nor did any of the voices, but that's no longer true.
There were no needles, no medications, no guards to hold her down.
They are helping her. Lilliana lifts her hand ever slightly and, though it trembles, it obeys. She's more in control then she realizes. Her thoughts are clearer than they've been for a long while. The prison isn't silencing her like her parents demand. They're allowing the drugs to leave her system, that's why she feels so sick.
Lilliana lets herself fall the rest of the way to the floor. The air around her is empty of words except the ones that shout triumph in her mind. She closes her eyes as the room spins again, but this time she welcomes it. It's a sign she's getting better, a sign that she's in control again though it doesn't quite feel that way.
And, even as blood pulses in her ears like a thundering lullaby, she doesn't care to question why.
A/N: Hello again! This marks the halfway point of pre-games and the point where we've heard from each contestant twice. The second half of pre-games will feature the last set of POVs before the games begin. It's crazy that we're already this far along.
In other news, for those that have been following me for a while, you know that I've been writing more-or-less continuously since the summer of 2020. While I love this story and am committed to finishing this series, I have found myself becoming a little burnt out for the past little.
That being said, I've decided to take a break from updating for a little bit. I don't have an exact timeline for when updates will start again, but it'll be at least two weeks. I will likely still be writing and active around the fandom during this time. The goal of this break is to get a bit of a stockpile so that I can have less deadline-pressure while also allowing myself some time to simply not write for a bit if needed.
This story is not ending and will be picked up again. I just need a bit of patience from everyone for the next little bit. If you're in the SYOT Verses discord server, I'll probably be posting regarding a new update schedule/return in there.
Thanks to everyone for understanding. This isn't the easiest thing for me to do after being fairly consistent for a while, but I hope it'll help me end up with the best possible story for all of you.
Until next time,
~ Olive