In The Clear: Pre-Games VII
Bridget Francis, 18, Victoria BC
The crinkling sound of Bridget's granola bar wrapper easily fills the dining room. Rather than at one of the two available tables, she finds Dom slouched against one of the walls with her head buried in her hands. She doesn't so much as look up when Bridget slides down beside her.
"I'm not coming." Dom's voice is muffled through her crossed arms, but not enough to skew her words. The other inmates dotting the edges of the room haven't made a sound. They're about as still as mall-window mannequins, especially now. If Bridget cared enough to look, she'd probably find two stares pointed in their direction.
"What?"
Dom's eyes lift barely above her arms, but what she can see of them are red-rimmed and narrow. "I'm not coming tonight."
"It wasn't a big deal," Bridget counters. "They're just trying to scare us."
"I'm not coming." Dom shifts up to her feet and shakes her head quickly before walking away. She considers following, but the finality of her words tells Bridget not to bother. She rolls her eyes and bites off a chunk of the granola bar. It's one of the driest things she's ever had the misfortune of eating.
She watches as Dom steps quickly towards the stairwell. Bridget wants to yell that she's being ridiculous, but instead just shakes her head again. She doesn't even bother to swallow before the scoffed whisper cuts her lips."Coward."
It was just more of the voice's tricks. So what if they refused to play some stupid hand game? What does it matter? It's just yet another adult demanding Bridget to follow their dumb instructions even if they don't make sense. Tapping their fingers on a fucking cup isn't going to rehabilitate them. Winning a stupid game isn't going to make any kind of difference in Bridget's life.
It's all about control. The voice thinks they have it but they're sorely mistaken. If all it has up its disembodied sleeves is turning the lights off and electric shocks, they're not going to win. Dom might be ready to give in, but she won't. She might've climbed her way into the cell block chair with her tail between her legs, but Bridget refused.
They both still made it out without playing the fucking game. After three hours were up, the voice still released them. So what if Bridget's limbs are still trembling? So what if there's still a leftover tingle of electricity in her ears and the scare of darkness spotted across her vision?
So. Fucking. What.
She isn't scared. She won and she'll win again. The voice isn't going to coerce her into staying here at its mercy or into playing by some stupid rules that are just for show. It's not going to break her again.
Bridget slams a fist against the wall behind her and tries to calm her breathing. Dom's just another coward; she should've known better. She hasn't wanted to discuss their plans for tonight since she agreed to come along. She was freaked out just by the time warnings during their session.
She begged Bridget to just sit down when the lights went out.
Bridget doesn't know why she cared. It was her choice to rebel. Dom pulled herself into that chair and made her own, but she wasn't about to make Bridget's too.
Yet, a small part of her still remembers Dom's body twitching with each shock even after she was seated at the table.
Not my problem.
Bridget doesn't feel bad that the ally she chose is a fucking wuss. She only feels stupid that she has to start all over again. She only feels enraged that she's the only person in this place with a goddamn brain. She only feels frustrated that no one else even wants to try for the freedom they were promised.
The sound of footsteps grabs her attention away from the glass floor. When she looks up, she half-expects it to be Dom, but of course it's not. The steps came from one of the far tables, one of the other inmates Bridget hasn't bothered to meet.
His long hair mostly covers his side profile, but that doesn't stop her from calling across the room. "Are you scared of this place?"
His gaze lifts slowly, as if emerging from a fog she's unable to see. He stares blankly at her with a handful of trash still caught between his fingers. Bridget clenches her teeth, annoyed all over again. "English?"
He swallows. "I-I didn't hear the question."
She rolls her eyes. As if her next interaction after losing a hundred pounds of coward from her side is just more of the same. What rotten luck. "Are you scared like everyone else?"
"Scared?" he asks. His expression hasn't changed from meek vacancy since he first turned to face her, but at least he hasn't run away. Honestly, Bridget is about ready to follow if he tries. She has enough frustrated energy coursing through her veins to break the voice's stupid rule about not sending a fist first class to his jaw.
She's never been much for prison scuffles, but that might be the one thing capable of making her feel better right now. Besides, it's not like 002 seems the type to put up much of a fight. He's more the kind of inmate that Bridget would expect to find hiding behind the stairs.
She stands as half a warning and half an invitation, but he doesn't seem to notice. 002's brows furrow slightly before he gives a slight shake of the head. "No."
"I don't believe you," Bridget counters. She takes a few steps forward but keeps her eyes firmly set on his. 002's chin dips slowly, but that's the only indication he gives that something's changed. His eyes shift away from her, but quickly return. While clearly uncomfortable with Bridget's continued steps forward, he doesn't retreat. "Prove it."
She watches for a reaction, but doesn't see one. "Tonight, I'm staying out after curfew. I'm getting out of here. Prove you're not scared and you might too."
002 searches her expression, which Bridget fights to keep as even as possible. He's not the loudmouth type that she despised from her last prison. He's also not the cowering type that jumped at their own shadow. Truthfully, she's not certain what to make of him.
But he hasn't run yet.
Bridget hates that that's enough, but it has to be. She doesn't expect the voice to just let them go, she isn't stupid. She needs more than one working brain to find a way out. The shocks, the dark, the sounds - they're all just distractions to keep them from thinking clearly. They're not enough to keep her here. Nothing is.
She deserves freedom. She's heard enough lies.
"I'll visit soon." Her sister sat with a pile of homework that was always more important than Bridget.
"We'll never forget her." Her mom hugged her close and the next day cleared boxes from Anne's room.
"I'm sorry." The last words Bridget heard through the cracked car window before entering the police station alone.
She can't depend on anyone yet at the same time needs all the help she can get. If not Dom, then 002, or someone else - it doesn't matter. Bridget doesn't care who it is as long as they're willing to do something besides sit here like good little mockingbirds. They can repeat the rules all they want but Bridget isn't going to listen. Not to the voice. Not to Dom. Not to 002 or anyone else that bothers to try.
"Where is out?"
She was prepared for another stupid warning. She was prepared for outright refusal. She was even prepared for him to simply walk away without any answer at all. If those responses were fuel to her fire, 002's is like a glass lantern around her.
"Anywhere that's not here." Bridget's stomach turns at the answer, but not for its dishonesty. In contrast, it's the most truthful answer she can bring herself to give. She doesn't know where exactly "out" will lead her. She hasn't permitted herself to think that far ahead.
Yet, a twinge in her chest wishes she could've said home.
Thankfully, 002's eventual nod doesn't seem to notice.
Noam Steiner, 18, Ottawa ON
One can only imagine Noam's excitement when he walked down to Cell Block B to find an entire gaming setup. The chairs were lackluster as ever, about as comfortable as the business end of a thumb tack. Yet, Noam plunked himself down in the nearest one without hesitation and leaned forward on his elbows. The loading screen was little more than white text against a shadow but he was fucking ready.
Unfortunately, that was the highlight of this so-called "game".
He watches as Vasi presses their face against the glass that separates them from the adjacent cell block. Noam can only describe the sounds they're making as vaguely demonic, but he still manages to leave a cordial smirk on his lips.
He's half-asleep by the time they turn around again. "No one's even looking, lame."
"They must be as invested in their games as we are," Noam sighs. "I mean, who wouldn't be."
They both turn back to the same loading screen and Noam can't help but roll his eyes. According to the screen, they still have eight more rounds to play. He swears they've been here all day and he's dying to do just about anything else. Dinner, another walk, a nap, anything.
Come to think of it, a nap is precisely what he wants. Noam leans forward until his forehead catches on the table. It's not anyone's definition of luxury, but he's pretty certain he could manage a nap in this position if he were so inclined. It's not like Vasi's sat down long enough to finish this stupid game. In fact, they seem hell bent on doing pretty much anything else.
Noam wonders how the hell they survived in prison. Truthfully, he wonders the same thing about himself most of the time. He and Vasi are two very similar definitions of people that go against everything prison's supposed to be - rules, structure, and sitting in one place.
At least Noam seems to be getting the hang of that last one. Someone will have to physically peel him from this chair after their session, because though the concrete has numbed every nerve in his ass, he has no desire to move elsewhere. Noam runs his palms down his cheeks, stretching the skin down towards his neck. You know, maybe a nap isn't a bad idea.
"This is stupid." Noam opens his eyes just in time to watch Vasi plunk back down in their chair. They cross their arms, but rather than exhausted they still genuinely look about the same as yesterday. The bags under their eyes must be a permanent feature, but Noam requires at least eight hours of beauty sleep.
"You just noticed?"
Vasi snorts. "No."
"Think they'll let us out early if we finish this shit?" Noam asks.
Vasi lifts an eyebrow. "Since when are you so hot and bothered about following the rules?"
He slides his head against the table until he's facing them. "Since when are you so hot and bothered about not shutting up?"
"It's like you don't even know me," Vasi smirks before rising from their seat again. Noam lets out a shot of air from his nose, but that's about all the laughter he can manage. He didn't realize how absolutely exhausted he was until he let his head hit the table. Now, one note of a lullaby would probably send him straight to dreamland.
Better than nightmare city, he thinks bitterly. Truthfully, Noam's less and less certain that what happened last night was a nightmare at all. Vasi briefly mentioned a bunch of bullshit keeping them awake too but neither continued that line of conversation. They don't dwell on anything important, which suits Noam just fine. If there's anything he hates more than interrupted sleep it's being serious.
Yet, when he looks for the sarcasm that's usually waiting on his tongue it's not there. Instead, he just shifts his eyes back against the table as Vasi paces around him. Every footsteps echoes in the near-empty cell block, but he can't find it in himself to care.
All he wants to do is …
…
…
"Hey." The word pulls at the edge of Noam's consciousness, but it's not enough to force his eyes open. "Sleeping Beauty? Wake up."
He groans and blinks against the light as he shifts away from the voice. He can't even really remember falling asleep, but if possible he feels even worse being woken up. "Fuck you."
"At least buy me dinner first."
He doesn't even bother to try to laugh as he lifts himself grumpily from the table. Noam wraps his arms around himself and squints against the bright room. When he sees the loading screen still waiting with eight more rounds to go, he has every desire to smash his face back against the table.
"Morning sunshine," Vasi snorts. "How was your sleep?"
"Wonderful," he mumbles. "What pleasure do I owe this rude awakening to?"
They shrug. "Mr. Rules for Brains decided you're beautiful enough as you are. I tried to argue, but they made great points."
"Great," Noam sighs. "Are we done?"
"Who peed in your salad?"
"What?"
Vasi rolls their eyes. "It's a metaphor."
He presses his palms into his eyes and tries to stretch out some of the exhaustion, but it doesn't work. When he looks back at the screen, he catches a glimpse of the timer in the bottom corner. He was only asleep for ten minutes, fifteen tops. There's still over an hour left and Noam feels about as excited as a sedated giraffe about that. Fucking bullshit.
"Can we just finish the stupid game?" he snaps.
Vasi gives him a look, but sits down anyway. They stare at him so long Noam wonders how many fucking tails he grew while he was asleep. "What?"
"I'm just wondering why you're being such an ass."
"I'm not."
Vasi shrugs. "You are, and not the sexy kind."
He considers firing back but, for the first time since meeting them, Noam realizes they're being serious. The shit-eating grin that has permanent residency on their face is gone. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he might think Vasi's actually concerned. "Sorry."
"What's up?" They ask.
Noam brings his arms in closer as if to form his own barrier. Unfortunately, it doesn't work. He can still see Vasi watching him and he can still feel the gross pity that's stinking up the stale basement air. He rolls his eyes, but they don't laugh.
He fucking hates this. They look like his sister, Tamar, and not in the "I'm-going-to-bail-you-out" sort of way. They have the same narrow frown that Tamar had when she knew something was bothering him. Except Vasi isn't Tamar and he doesn't have any obligation to tell them shit.
So why is he about to?
"I'm so tired I think I might actually die and I'm being forced to play virtual rock-paper-scissors in a dungeon with someone that has a shorter attention span than I do. What isn't up is my patience, what is? I don't know, maybe my fucking blood pressure."
Vasi smiles and he has every instinct to slap it right off their face. Thankfully, his common sense takes this opportunity to prove it does exist and keeps his hands firmly on the table. Not just because that would be dramatic even for Noam, but because the smile actually makes him feel just a little bit better.
"Maybe we should replace beauty sleep with sanity sleep."
Noam rolls his eyes despite the fatigue resettling behind them. "You're right, I'm far too beautiful already. It's hardly fair."
"Wow, look," Vasi snorts. "The zombie has jokes."
"I may be tired, but I'm still just as stupid."
They both burst out laughing. It doesn't feel anything like yesterday, when Noam's entire body hurt from the exertion. It's not as carefree because unfortunately he has significantly more things to care about now. Priority one now being getting tucked into bed tonight with earplugs and hopefully waking up a week from now.
Priority two being prying the late-night whispers from his mind and tossing them in the nearest garbage bin.
And priority three being maybe a sandwich without mayo.
Still, Noam has to admit that laughing feels good.
Madigan "Meg" Ulrich, 18, London ON
Meg stretches out their neck for what feels like the dozenth time this afternoon. All this looking down and reading is something they're not used to, at least not while sitting on a concrete chair. Back in the day, she was one of the library's best patrons and one of the reasons they had to acquire the Percy Jackson series in four different languages. It's just that, normally, Meg would read laying down or even upside down.
This feels like school, and not the fun kind of school. It's more like the "sit down and learn" type instead of "look at this cool rock" type, which Meg has never been a fan of. They're not sure how she managed to make it through most of high school when the past hour and a half have felt like medevial torture.
And, again, not the fun kind.
"Well, do they match?" Meg flinches, only now remembering the person across from them. She gives him a confused look, searching his warm expression but still having no idea what the hell he's talking about.
Finally, Omar shakes his head. He reaches forward and taps the cover of the book they're holding, being careful to avoid her fingers. "The pennies?"
Meg flips the book over and lets out a half-laugh when they read the title - Game Theory Explained: Matching Pennies. She allows it to drop the rest of the way to the table and lays their head on top of it. "The ones on the cover do."
His smile brightens. "Have you learned anything?"
"It's a game," Meg shrugs. "Matching pennies. Playing seems about as boring as reading about it."
"How do you play?"
She shrugs again. "I don't think I've read a single word in the past forty minutes."
Omar laughs, but it doesn't quite seem to reach them. Normally, she'd be the first one to latch onto some milliliter of joy but this time it refuses to stay. They have nothing against Omar, truthfully they don't know enough about him to. She just sort of wishes Casi were here instead. It's a lot easier to stop thinking with them.
Meg only got to see them in passing at lunch, finding him just minutes before her own name was called. All they got out of Casi was that they were not happy about their own session. Now, Meg can see why. This fucking sucks and they're barely halfway through it.
Truthfully, game theory does sound like something Casi might enjoy. Unfortunately for Meg, it hasn't been able to keep hold of their brain cell for more than a few seconds at a time. The little bugger's been off somewhere doing more interesting things without her. If they had access to their old lab's many power tools, Meg would use them to break through the glass and go join it.
They can feel Omar still watching and sigh. She doesn't mean to be rude, and honestly he doesn't deserve it. Her boredom is, thankfully, not his fault. "Learned anything?"
His smile widens but he shakes his head. "I don't think I'm any closer to understanding the prisoner's dilemma than I was when I picked up this book."
Meg perks up slightly. "Seriously? I could've been reading about that?"
"I take it you're familiar?" He laughs.
She nods and leans across the table. Sure enough, the cover of Omar's book is identical to the one they read in tenth grade. "It's a lot simpler than it sounds. As long as both parties choose the group, everyone gets a better deal."
"But don't individuals benefit by defecting?" he asks as he places the book down between them. He flips to the first chapter and points to one of the middle paragraphs. "Here - if one person chooses to testify against the other, that person walks free."
"But if both choose to testify against each other they each get three years jail time," Meg counters. "And if they both stay silent they both get a much lesser sentence."
"So it's a trust exercise?" Omar suggests. "You both have to assume that the other person won't betray you."
Meg shrugs. "Pretty much."
He starts to flip back to where he'd been reading, and she's shocked to see that he's actually gotten pretty far in the book. They remember it taking ages to go through it in class, and Meg's school only made them read a few chapters. Honestly, they're a little bit impressed. She glances back down to their penny book and immediately wonders if Omar would be open to switching.
"Do you think someone would really defect?" He asks finally. Meg looks up again to find him watching them with the usual smile gone from his face.
She nods. "I think that's the point of the dilemma, people do."
Omar closes the book slowly and pushes it a few inches away. "It's hard to think about."
"What is?"
"That people would hurt other people for their own gain," he sighs. "You're right, it happens all the time. I just would rather think about people being good."
"I think people are good," Meg nods. She can tell there's something bothering him, but it feels weird to press the issue. He's gotten further in the book than they ever did, but Meg doesn't remember it being this disheartening. "Maybe not everyone, but most people."
"Yeah?"
They crack a smile, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, you don't seem so bad."
"Thanks," he replies as the warm grin returns to his cheeks. Something still seems off about it, but she's just glad to see him smiling again. It feels like maybe Meg actually accomplished something this session other than reading four sentences of some stupid book. Truthfully, that makes them feel a little bit better about being stuck here.
Stuck. That's not exactly an unfamiliar feeling to Meg, but being so easily reminded of it hasn't been easy. There's always been something preventing them from going where she wants to. First it was money being tight, then it was babysitting their younger siblings. Then, even when Meg got the position in the lab it still felt like she was stuck. They were only there because of her sperm donor and one wrong move against him would rip it away.
Meg glances around the glass walls. Funny enough, they feel less trapped here than she did in their last prison and even in the few months before arriving there. There aren't as many rules and she likes a lot more of the people. Maybe she's even made a friend already. This place isn't as frightening as she first thought; at least there's no monster lurking in the cell blocks and no one's turned the lights off again.
They sigh and lay uncomfortably across the cold chair. Her feet dangle above the floor and it feels like there's a metal rod pressing against their back, but looking at the ceiling is a hell of a lot more fun than the penny book.
All the floors and rooms superimpose on one another in a way that most people would find dizzying, but Meg finds so interesting. It feels like there are a million places to go even if she knows that's not true. There is an end to this place, but from here they can't see it.
Meg's always been able to see where her opportunities end. Their whole life has been that way, and truthfully it still remains that way. Maybe someday the endlessness won't be an illusion. She'll be able to go where they want and do whatever makes her happy. They can visit Sal in Edmonton, maybe she'll even head over to Egypt to see Helios' Temple herself.
Limitless - now that's a word Meg would love to get familiar with. It sounds so much better than stuck.
A/N: Hello all! Thank you for being patient with me, I am happy to announce that I'm back from my break. I can't promise that there won't be more of these along the way, but we'll get through them. For now, I'm glad to be back to finish the second half of pre-games. I even have a small stockpile to help me.
I will be returning to a weekly update schedule on Wednesdays for the next few chapters. Once we finish pre-games, I'll try and explain what I'll be doing for games updates as it will be quite a bit different schedule-wise.
On another note, I have a new poll up on my profile that will remain open until the first games chapter is posted. The results may or may not have impact, so probably vote or something.
Finally, a special thank you to rising-balloons for looking over this chapter for me! You are very appreciated.
~ Olive