In The Clear: Games I
Main Set - 6:50 AM
The prison sways softly against the haze of blue, a gentle creak sung like a lullaby between levels. Air seems to move freely through glass walls, nothing to halt its path and nothing to end its probing curiosity. Light pours downwards, becoming fainter as it falls towards the basement. Quiet comfort envelops every slumbering figure, their weary minds deaf to the vitric breaths that start above them.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The walls curl beneath each one, the pause between them shortening as mechanical chords descend. Fragile groans grow and wither as one-by-one the upper rooms blink to consciousness.
Then, a sharp flicker as dark walls encapsulate each floor in turn. Three sets of eyes widen, their legs straining to hold them upright. They hear every scrape, every echo, that rises above their own short breaths. Fifteen others do not flinch, the sounds only scraping the remnants of dreams, yet not enough to awaken.
Not yet.
Main Set - 7:00 AM
Ram shivers beneath the sheets as a chill runs up their spine. They don't open their eyes. The soft light that beats against their eyelids is enough of a warning alongside their throbbing headache. They remind themself that the noises are just that, noises. If I stay here I'll be safe. They try not to dwell on how pathetic their thoughts have become.
Myra leans forward against the glass, her eyes slowly blinking shut every few seconds. When she wipes her breath away, she can still see them, their body moving with each breath. They're still there; still safe. She flinches as the screen starts to brighten. When she turns back, she can no longer see them through the glare and that frightens her infinitely more.
Amadis shrinks into her cot as the brightness pulses around her. She doesn't want to look away, doesn't want to turn her back on what her racing heart knows is coming. Deep breath. No part of her listens. Her hands hold tight to the sheets still pulled in close, the only thing keeping them steady.
"It's time."
Casi leaps from their cot as the voice comes suddenly. He holds the flattened pillow close to their chest, eyes wide and wandering. Their eyes eventually lock on the screen, tears building as he forces them to stare no matter the burning brightness. "Time?"
Riley's entire body goes stiff. He stares at a spot on the wall below the screen, the closest point at which it doesn't hurt to look. There has to be more. He stands slowly, his eyes automatically going to the cell's door but the bars haven't moved. There has to be more.
Lilliana glares steadily at the screen, the brightness no deterrent to its words. Her jaw clenches, reminding her of the leftover migraine but she hardly pays it any mind. She traces the screen with her gaze, daring it, no begging it, to continue. In her eyes, she's the only one it's speaking to and she's more than ready.
"Freedom comes at a cost."
Eris' brows furrow as she turns away from the voice. I know it does. The freedom to live the way she wanted came at the cost of her future, her family, her sister. She doesn't want freedom. There's only one thing she wants, one thing the voice promised her. Is it selfish to still believe I deserve it?
Lyanna straightens, her eyes deadset on the screen no matter the tremble in her shoulders. She tries not to let the relieved tears build, but they don't listen. She tries not to believe that this will be anything but another lie, but she does. Her heart leaps for the screen, begging it to say more. I deserve this.
"Now, remember."
Vasi blinks, looking around the cell as the words echo throughout. Their stomach turns as they glance at everything - the walls, the bars, the plastic mattress they sit on - none of it feels any more familiar. Their eyes reach the screen and their blood runs cold. The memory of dozens more hung across the prison dots their vision. Fear isn't something they've felt for a while, but now it's everything.
Noam swallows and the taste of bile hits the back of his throat. He's watched every season, some multiple times over, in his parents' respective dens. They both hated it, his mother more so. His dad simply refused to watch more than the censored highlights. Noam remembers screaming 'pussy' at him from across the hall. But I didn't-
But I didn't say yes. Meg is shaking so violently that their legs refuse to catch her. She slips to the floor, their knees curling beneath them, but her eyes never leave the screen. It's the same one from the ads with the same tiny inscription. This is impossible. She knows what comes next. Their neck turns to the bars, but her tears are too thick to even see them.
"Follow instructions and you'll have everything you've been promised."
Omar stands to face the screen, nodding as each word settles in turn. He doesn't know what he's supposed to remember, but he tries anyway. The voice sounds confident and he takes that as permission to straighten even further. He will follow instructions. He will have everything he's been promised and more.
"Fail and you'll receive nothing."
Marcy presses her palms over her ears. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut but even that can't block out the brightness. This feels like a dream; like a nightmare. Even sitting here, it feels like the world is moving so quickly around her, spinning faster and faster but she can't stop it. The words don't make sense, but the voice alone is enough to frighten her. Wake up.
Lawrence stares up at the ceiling, their breaths even and alert. The instructions fall over them like the thin sheet discarded on the cell floor. They do not know what they should be remembering. They search their mind for foreign thoughts but find nothing. Everything is precisely as the evening left it.
Bridget stands at the door to her cell. Her fingers are so tight around the bars that the tips begin to numb, but she doesn't let go. Don't believe it; but she does. She can feel the energy sparking around her. She doesn't know what's about to happen but she doesn't care. When the bars open, she walks through without thinking. She walks through with a smile though her legs threaten to give out.
Dom's glassy eyes fall across every inch of the cell block, but it's all so much darker against the glaring screens. She swallows, but the lump in her throat doesn't budge. There's a familiarity when she remembers the words, when she finds Bridget who immediately looks away. Dread settles in her stomach and she allows it to keep her firmly in the threshold of her cell. The words replay - fail and you'll receive..
Nothing. Shane wraps his arms around himself as his footsteps join the rest, but that's all he feels - nothing. The temperature isn't hot nor frigid; the air isn't dense or fluttering. He doesn't feel awake or asleep. His eyes search the surrounding faces, but don't find who they're looking for. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and he makes six. They stand in front of their cells but no further. Shane obeys the imaginary barrier as well.
Bowie uses the hem of their sleeve to wipe the tears from their chin. Their legs feel numb from hours of standing, their wrist raw from the handcuff that only clicked open mere minutes ago. Their mind is still groggy from whatever brought them to sleep on the cell block floor last night. There are a hundred questions, not a single answer, and a room full of faces they fear will be punished next.
What did they do? What did any of them do? Bowie's lip quivers as the question slinks to the back of their mind, far enough out of reach that it won't be heard. However, when they look at the cell block, it's with new eyes.
They've seen this before. How could they not realize it until now? Bowie's entire body trembles as they lift their chin to the largest of the screens, watching as a silhouette grows at its center. There are no eyes to meet, but Bowie can still feel them staring straight at them.
"Welcome to The Cut."
Cell Block B - 7:05 AM
Bridget should've known.
She should've known better than to believe that anything she deserves would actually manifest. She should've known not to think for a moment that anyone was actually going to help her. She should've known that nothing good would ever be freely given, no matter what someone promises.
As she glares up at the silhouette, a shape so well-known that even people who've never seen the show would recognize it, she cannot stop the bitter tears that build across her vision.
She should've known.
The air feels no different. The tables and chairs haven't moved since the last time she sat between them. Even the people surrounding her look the same apart from the stiff fear keeping their spines upright. There are no jokes. There are no laughs or snide comments. They all just stare.
Bridget hates that, no matter how broken her world becomes, to the rest of the world it looks like nothing has changed.
"Join me, contestants." Her fists clench at her sides and she can feel her entire body tremble with anger. Even the voice sounds no different, the uniformity now a mockery of her entire situation. It doesn't care about her; it never did. It was only there to prepare her, and Bridget had no idea until this very moment. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."
She's the first to start walking. She doesn't look to see if the others follow, but instead grits her teeth and pulls out one of the benches. Bridget's tightened fists are the first thing to touch the table. She doesn't take her eyes off the silhouette. She knows it doesn't see her; it's likely little more than an image used to personify the voice.
But at this moment, Bridget hopes she's wrong. She hopes it can see her. She hopes it feels every bit of disdain she has for the promises it never meant.
It never cared about her pain. It never cared about Anne's memory. It never cared.
Slowly, she feels the others join her. She doesn't know who sits beside her, is unable to see more than their shape through her quivering tears. None fall, but they refuse to leave. The tears burn like hot embers, but Bridget hardly cares. She'll walk through smoke to keep glaring on the off chance that the voice will see her; in the hopes that anyone will care even if she knows they won't.
"Welcome." The voice comes again when the room stops moving. Bridget looks to either side of her and finds the benches full. No one's making this any more difficult than it has to be. She almost wishes someone would. Bridget half-urges herself to be the one to stand, to be the one to shout that none of this is fair and that she's not going to listen.
The voice speaks again before she can move an inch. "Justice has brought you here. You've all been given a second chance to earn the freedom that you've so hastily thrown away."
Her fists tighten again until she all but watches them turn white. Bridget can feel her nails biting into her palms but she doesn't care, she doesn't release them. I didn't throw anything away. I didn't do anything but set myself on fire to stay warm when everything around me turned to ice. I didn't do anything to deserve this.
Bridget will not allow herself to think any different. Every time she blinks she can see the screengrabs shared across Twitter and Instagram. Even through the censor blur she can see little but red, blood red, filling her phone screen. Her eyes feel as hot as coals as she forces them not to close again.
She shoves her fists together to make them stop shaking against the concrete table.
Those bloody screengrabs are the reality she now finds herself in.
"Freedom, as you know, comes with a cost."
She clenches her jaw, unsure if a whimper is building but unwilling to allow it. She needs to show them right now that she's not going to break. She needs to show herself again and again until she believes it. She's withstood so much more than anyone wants to witness.
The table begins to glow a soft blue that melts quickly into navy darkness. She gasps and pulls her hands away. Everyone else follows suit until the glow dissipates just as suddenly. When it does, an object is now sitting in front of each of them, Bridget's is exactly where her fists had been moments ago.
She touches the edge of the knife's handle. The light of the screen reflects off its smooth blade, the whole weapon no longer than her forearm. Bridget clenches her hand around it; she can't peel her eyes away. Her heart picks up speed in her chest.
If it didn't feel real a minute ago, it certainly does now.
"Your goal is to eliminate the other contestants. All prior rules have been revoked." Bridget can hardly hear the words as she fights to keep herself still. Every instinct tells her to run, to scream, to do something, but she can't. She has to sit silently until it begins. She has to come up with a plan for what to do when it does.
"The last contestant remaining will earn their freedom."
It feels like every inch of concrete surrounding her is now sitting on her chest. She can't breathe. Every shift of movement around her feels like a threat. Bridget flinches away from the table, then holds her hands so forcefully against it that she couldn't leave if she tried. This is taking too long. Then, at almost the same moment, I don't have enough time.
"To begin the game, one contestant must be eliminated from this cell block. Until then, the doors will remain locked and further access to the prison and the other contestants will be denied."
She tries to lift the knife but it refuses to budge. Bridget bites the side of her cheek hard enough that she tastes metal.
The dark walls brighten suddenly, ripping everyone's attention from the screens as the silhouette melts away. Bridget turns along with them, finding the blackened room has gone clear again. She can feel every eye that frantically meets hers. Bridget forces her attention back to the knife. It still won't move.
Mere seconds later, the walls pulse back to black.
The panicked eyes disappear. The only thing Bridget can see is the light of the surrounding screens; the only thing she can hear is the blood pounding in her ears.
Her knife lifts from the table.
"Justice above all."
Cell Block C - 7:10 AM
The room falls so quickly into silence, it's as if the whole prison has gone underwater.
Myra trembles from head to toe as she stares down at the object in front of her. She recognizes it, her parents each kept a toolbox in their respective garage, but in this context she doesn't even want to touch it. The claw of the hammer looks too sharp. The metal looks too heavy she half-fears it will fall through the concrete table.
She feels like she's going to throw up. Myra can't even wrap her arms around her stomach to calm it. In the stillness that coats the cell block, she doesn't even want to move. She fears it will all shatter if she so much as breathes.
"This isn't right." Myra looks up through the tears quivering in her eyes. A girl with dark coils, 011, has one hand on the sword that lays on the table in front of her. Her eyes seem to almost dare someone to disagree.
Instead, an inmate with short hair bearing the number 001 nods. Their whisper is far softer. "We shouldn't be here."
Murmurs scatter across the table, but Myra catches none of the words. It feels like her heart is beating inside her skull, like every sentence that should be passing through is being overtaken by its frantic pulse. She turns to Ram, who sits on the bench directly beside her. It's at this moment that the sparse rain of tears turns to a storm.
She hiccups as her hands come up to collect them, Myra's entire body shaking as she fights for any sense of control. She desperately wants to wake up, whether it be back in Fredericton or a prison cell she couldn't care less. Myra simply can't open her eyes and still be here. She can't believe for a moment that this is the freedom that she'd been told to believe in.
Yet, when she opens her eyes, nothing's changed.
There are more hands on weapon handles, less whispers of disbelief, but the same room surrounds her. Myra reaches instinctively for Ram, who hardly seems to notice when her fingertips touch their arm. She pulls them away just as quickly.
Finally, one of the other girls stands up from her bench. 012 looks directly at the center of the table, purposefully avoiding any of their faces. "If we didn't deserve to be here, we wouldn't be."
She grabs the sword from in front of her and walks away without looking back. 001 stands as if they're going to try and stop her, but they don't take a single step away from the table. In fact, a moment later, they sink back to the concrete bench.
It feels like a lifetime goes by before anyone even breathes.
Cell Block B - 7:11 AM
"Stop it!" Lilliana turns as one of the boys steps up onto his bench. His face is still as white as a sheet, his eyes bloodshot like near-everyone else's. However, if he's trying to cut the tension, all he's so far done is redirect it. Lilliana stands the furthest back out of everyone, positioning herself closest to the exit just in case.
She's in the ideal position to watch every eye in the room turn towards him.
It gives Lilliana the freedom to, for the first time since the voice left, take a deep breath. She's processed just enough of it to understand, but not nearly enough to conjure the fear she knows she should have right now. Her hands hold the broken bit of brick that'd appeared on the table in front of her. It doesn't feel heavy; it honestly doesn't feel like it's there at all.
She grapples for any emotion, but it feels like they've all been pulled straight through the floor. Lilliana can feel the tension that's made every breath, every movement so much heavier. She can see the difference in the expressions that range from terrified to pissed off. She knows which she wants to feel if given the option.
Not too far away, Riley takes a step forward. Out of everyone here, he's the only one she has even a bit of a read on. She wonders if he's going to be the one to start, but his shoes don't move past that single step. He stares forward like everyone else, though his expression could only be described as blank.
She tries so hard to mimic it.
"What?" She can't tell who spoke, at this point it hardly matters. They're all probably wondering the same thing - why the hell is he trying to attract attention right now. He hasn't even grabbed the baton from his spot at the table.
She takes a quick survey, finding three variations of weapons. Apart from the baton and cracked brick, the remaining two contestants were given smooth-edged knives. Lilliana notes that both of the girls have picked those up. In fact, the only person who hasn't grabbed whatever appeared in front of them is the guy standing over them.
What's his plan? Lilliana wonders. She knows what hers needs to be, particularly because of how difficult it is to even wrap her hand around the brick. If she sticks close to Riley, anyone else would be stupid to approach. He's at least a head taller than everyone here, ridiculous weapon aside he's in the best position.
"We don't have to do it," 009 says finally, throwing both hands out like he couldn't possibly have a care in the world. Lilliana frowns, his expression doesn't match the gesture even remotely. He looks terrified to say the least, desperate if she had to guess. "Everyone can just sit down and chill for a second, okay?"
She immediately decides that she doesn't believe a word he says. She can't imagine anyone else will either. Over the years, Lilliana has become a very difficult person to lie to.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" One of the girls on the opposite edge of the room asks the obvious question. 004's eyes bore into him like hot coals as she puts one hand on her hip. The other, probably not by accident, holds her knife in a tightly clenched fist. Lilliana takes note of her. The girl's no bigger than she is, but there's confidence there.
Lilliana's eyes scan the contestant standing closest to 009, with short dark hair and two ears full of holes, but there's little to go off. They look uneasy, but that's not surprising. The remaining girl, 003, has a guarded expression and wraps her arms around her chest like she's trying to disappear.
She's the smartest of the group, besides Lilliana herself. 003 isn't trying to stick out, and right now that's just about the only safe option. There are six of them, one making a fool of himself, one making immediate an enemy of him, and Riley who couldn't disappear if he tried.
The math works out perfectly in her favour. She allows her shoulders to relax just a little bit lower.
"My dad's never going to let this happen," 009 says, taking a breath that tells Lilliana he's trying to calm himself. "He's part of the senate. There's no way he agreed to this, and I certainly the fuck did not. He's probably calling them now, and he'll sort all of this out. I'll make sure of it."
Lilliana raises an eyebrow, but she can feel the shift in the room. She narrows her eyes ever slightly, but directs them to the floor instead. Not an inch of her skin believes him.
She knows that stating that aloud will do far more harm than good.
Sometimes you simply have to give in a little, not because it's right but because it's the only safe option. Lilliana could've kept fighting against the guards, the needles, all of it. She was never going to win. She could've screamed to her case worker about what was happening, but she recognized their last name. They weren't going to help her. Lilliana wasn't going to be able to fight her way out of prison.
More often than not, it's a waiting game.
And she can wait a little bit longer. Her eyes move from 004, her blonde hair now all she can see, to 009, still standing on the bench. It'll be one of them, she all but guarantees it. She tells herself that she's okay with that. They're impatient, they're not waiting for the right opportunity but instead trying to create it. They're already making multiple mistakes.
Lilliana straightens as Riley takes another step towards 009. She can't see his expression, but the caution in his step tells her all she needs to know. At least partially, whether he's admitting it or not, Riley believes him. "This isn't the time for a joke."
"I'm not joking," 009 says with a sharp nod. If Lilliana didn't know any better, she'd almost think he believes it himself.
Cell Block A - 7:14 AM
Marcy keeps her head down as silent tears continue to fall. She doesn't know if anyone can see them, in fact most of her hopes they can't. She hasn't been able to stop them since she left her cell. She hasn't been able to think for most of that time either.
This can't be real. However, when she looks through her frizzing bangs, it doesn't feel like a dream. There's too much detail, the shadows are too perfectly placed. This can't be anything but real.
Marcy squints and another pair of tears fall rapidly down her cheeks. She hasn't bothered to wipe any of them away. They're silent, unlike the spinning sobs that she left behind in her cell. She wraps her arms around her abdomen, but her fingers shake so violently against her sweater that it feels like everyone will be able to see it. Marcy settles for shoving them into her pocket.
"We just need to think." It's been the same voice speaking each time. If anyone's listening they, like Marcy, give no indication. He doesn't sound as rattled as she feels. In fact, his words seem to almost sound like he's comforting a small child, one that doesn't understand any of the gravity of what's happening. "We can try the door-"
"They said it'd be locked." This time someone does answer, her voice steadier than Marcy's could ever be. Her glassy eyes look up, but the only person even looking at him is a girl with fluffy dark hair. Whether it's the glare or reality, it looks like she too has been crying.
Without a word, Lawrence stands from across the table and heads towards the cells. He doesn't say a word, doesn't take anything with him. Just like Marcy, there was nothing in front of him when the blue glow disappeared. She wouldn't have wanted to hold one of the spears or serrated knives. Quite honestly, Marcy doesn't think she'd have been able to force herself.
Yet, the fact that she has nothing is no comfort. The only relief Marcy feels is because he doesn't have anything either.
She still shivers when Lawrence passes behind her. She still has every inclination to run despite there being nowhere to go. She's never watched The Cut, her parents found it deplorable and it never interested her. However, she knows the premise.
Marcy lifts her head, scanning the rest of the contestants in her cell block. Do any of them know what he did? How many of them did something worse?
She shrinks down even further into the bench.
"Where are you going?" 007 asks loudly, but there's no answer.
The girl with dark coils stands next and the bench scrapes loudly against the floor. 007 stands across from her. "Let's just all relax."
"I'm checking the door," 016 says flatly. "You suggested it, and it's not a bad idea to be sure."
She doesn't wait for a reply before walking calmly towards the cell block's exit. Marcy can't help but notice that she took the serrated knife with her.
"It's locked," 016 announces. No one seems surprised.
Everyone jumps as a low tone pierces through the room. It's no louder than a short buzz in Marcy's ears, but in the silence it may as well be deafening. When she looks up, the walls have already been stripped of the black covering. They're as transparent as they'd been the night before, when she'd watched three of the inmates stay out past curfew.
Her eyes search immediately through the two adjacent blocks as a countdown seems to come from directly inside her skull. It doesn't sound like the voice. It doesn't sound human either. If Marcy had to describe it, she'd say that the air itself was whispering the numbers.
By the time it reaches zero, the walls have gone dark again.
Marcy breathes somewhat of a sigh of relief. Everyone is still inside their cell blocks. Everyone is still alive. No one even looks injured.
But Marcy didn't see her anywhere.
Cell Block B - 7:16 AM
"We're really just going to listen to him?"
Dom is careful not to meet Bridget's eye as she speaks. She's wondering the same thing, but she's not willing to say it. There are too many emotions and questions flying around her mind for Dom to make sense of any of what's happening.
Could he really be telling the truth? Could he really get us out of here?
It reminds Dom far too much of the CPS workers, far too much of the counselors, teachers, and neighbours. We'll help, we promise followed by days of silence. As a child she believed them, she didn't have a choice. If there was no food to come home to, none of them would eat. It was better to believe there'd be something and come home to empty cupboards than to anticipate another hungry night from the time she woke up. It was easier to have some faith when, as a child, any hope of fixing it herself was out of reach.
By the time she was a teenager, Solene had a job. Dom could take some of the money her older sister made and turn it into food if she had to. She obsessively clipped coupons for their local grocery store, especially for anything that didn't require other ingredients to make.
And she stopped believing that anyone was coming to help them.
So why does she want to believe someone now?
Dom folds her arms more tightly across her chest. The answer is that she doesn't, but the alternative isn't much better. They can afford to wait a few hours; she'll lend 009 exactly that much faith. Perhaps he is someone important enough to come looking for.
"What do we have to lose?" Dom asks blankly. Bridget's eyes lock with hers from across the room. She has the immediate urge to look away, but opts to nod softly instead. She understands why Bridget doesn't want to listen. Dom doesn't trust him either.
But when the alternative is that someone here dies, there isn't much of a choice.
"Time," Bridget says sharply, using a step to punctuate every word. "If the others get out first, they have the advantage."
Dom swallows. She makes a good point, but that's assuming that everyone else is eager to play the game. When the walls went clear just moments ago, most of the others were still seated at the table. Theirs was the only cell block fully standing.
"Bridget-" she says as calmly as she can manage. They're not more than a meter apart at this point, all by Bridget's doing. Dom takes one step but, before she can even register the movement, a sharp pain slices across her shoulder.
She gasps and stumbles several steps back as red dots up between her fingers. The cut itself isn't deep, but it gapes the sleeve of her hoodie open when Dom moves her hand away.
"Hey!" 010 steps between them, their hands out to both but eyes turned solely on Bridget. "You heard what he said, chill out!"
Neither tries to move against 010. Instead, their eyes lock again, but this time feels infinitely different. It's as if Bridget is daring her to be the first to look away. Dom swallows. She wasn't trying to challenge Bridget. She's trying to make sure they have all the facts before they make a decision, and a couple hours to wait isn't asking much.
The slice on her shoulder starts to burn, but every other noise around Dom is no more than a faint buzz.
"Nothing's moving fast right now." The tallest of the boys crosses his arms, not bothering to move between them but his mere presence draws their attention. His eyes meet each of theirs, but all Dom can see is the brick held tight in his hand. It's the least assuming of the given weapons, but in his hand it might as well be a loaded gun. Dom saw what he did during the fight yesterday, and that was with nothing but his fists and boots. She doesn't even want to imagine what would've happened if he'd had the brick back then.
Bridget turns to him, no doubt about to say something, but he stops her. 014 cocks his head to one side and raises an eyebrow. "I'd say we have time to kill, unless you feel like volunteering."
Cell Block C - 8:15 AM
Bowie wraps their arms around their knees as the black wall becomes clear once again. For the first time in a while, Shane lifts his head from beside them and Bowie is almost relieved. He's barely moved since they sat down. All he's done is stare at the floor's edge where it meets the wall.
Bowie hasn't done much different. They've looked around, checked to be sure that nothing's happening but the whole cell block feels like it's gone to sleep. The girl that left at the beginning, 012, hasn't come out of her cell since. Another pair split off and is so far staying inside a cell on the opposite end. The remaining girl, 011, sat back down at the table after all of them walked away.
There's no agreement, no stated plan, just silence.
Bowie glances across the other cells and finds Omar almost immediately. He's sitting at the table with two other contestants they don't recognize. He's okay, for now at least and hopefully for a while. His cell block, at least, seems to be trying to figure things out.
They wish they were there. Bowie leans their head against the glass as it goes dark again. They try to catch Shane's eye, but he doesn't even look in their direction. He seems far more distracted. In fact, it reminds Bowie of their session together. His mind was elsewhere, not even in the maps or the maze where Bowie might've been able to find him.
They swallow and inch closer, being careful not to invade his space. It feels safer here, but not by much. Their surroundings still look too much like the commercials. The screens staring down at them just remind Bowie of what the people watching are hoping to see.
Tears leak down their cheeks before they can stop them. Bowie wipes them away again, but at this point their sleeves might as well be dripping wet.
They stare at the top of Shane's head, begging him to know what they need to do because they sure don't. Their gaze strays briefly to the locked exit; no one is going to let them out until someone's dead. They don't want to think about who it's going to be.
Bowie turns back to Shane as another tear drips to the floor. He still doesn't so much as lift his head. What are we going to do?
Eris carefully eases the bed down along the cell's threshold. She's sure the others can hear what she's doing, but not one of them has come to check. She'll count that as a win.
She drops to her knees on the furthest edge of the room. There aren't many more things she can move, and the entrance is far from impassable. At this point, Eris is using this as an excuse to keep herself busy more than she actually believes it will stop anyone. If they want to kill her, a wire cot that she can lift by herself isn't going to stand in their way.
Eris fiddles with the sink, but its attachments to the wall are far more secure. She won't be able to use it without shattering the whole thing, and that's definitely going to draw some eyes. That's the last thing she needs right now. If she wants to survive…
That thought stops mid-breath. She's almost glad for that.
Eris brings her palms up to her eyes, but they're as dry as they've been all morning. The only emotion she can completely grasp right now is disbelief, and it's trumping everything else. No matter how many times she looks up, she's not prepared to see the screens. They're proof enough of where she is.
"If we didn't deserve to be here, we wouldn't be."
She wishes she would say that the echo doesn't sound like her voice, but it does. She's the one that said it and she meant every syllable. The Cut is a punishment, and no one makes it here by accident. Eris didn't exactly agree to be here, she knows now that what happened with the waiver was a trick, but to claim she doesn't deserve to be?
No one would believe that; she certainly doesn't.
Yet, when she lifts her head again, her palms are wet with fresh tears. Eris wipes them on her pants, but her eyes still burn with humiliation. She does deserve to be punished for what she did. She's the one that took lives away and ruined countless others. It's all her fault and Eris can't pretend otherwise. Everything that the news outlets are probably saying about her right now - their explanations for why she should be here - are probably true.
Yet, that's not even what bothers her right now. All she can think about is that the voice isn't going to tell her what happened to her sister. It was only letting Eris believe it would so that she'd agree to play this fucking game.
And she fell for it.
How stupid could she be?
She lets the tightness coil again in her chest as more tears fall, but she doesn't let herself make a sound. Betrayal is the only word Eris can grasp, but it feels so empty. There's no anger that bubbles alongside it, no wish to make the voice pay because what can she really do from here? It's over before it even started. She doesn't deserve more than that. She's spent months in prison and she deserved it. If she's going to die here, no doubt she'll deserve that too.
But that doesn't mean she's not wholeheartedly terrified.
Cell Block A - 8:43 AM
Amadis is careful not to concentrate her gaze on anything in particular.
She walks methodically along the edge of the cell block, ensuring she doesn't step too close to any of the formed groups. She especially avoids stopping anywhere near the table, where Casi sits with two of the other contestants. Amadis recognizes one as Omar, who'd spoken with her briefly a couple of times, and the other as someone Casi spent a lot of time with outside of their session. Nothing that they've been discussing is particularly useful, but she also doesn't want to completely ignore them.
Groups are dangerous. Amadis never watched The Cut, her mom didn't allow it in the house, but this much feels instinctual. She almost wishes she would've listened harder when she overheard the chatter amongst her classmates. She also knows that hindsight isn't going to help her.
Amadis needs a plan, and she's starting to get there. Luckily, things seem to have slowed for the most part. The last time the walls changed, no one had been actively fighting or looked to be doing anything besides minding their business. She doesn't know how long that will last, but it gives her some time.
She absentmindedly, or so she hopes that's how it looks, lays her hand along the wall as she walks. Amadis still carries a knife in her opposite hand, no matter that her fingers have started to cramp around it. Putting it in her pocket would mean it was too difficult to access should she need it. Putting it down entirely isn't an option.
Amadis jumps as she narrowly misses running into one of the others. He glances back at her, seemingly unsurprised that she didn't see him. He must've come out of one of the cells without her noticing.
"I'm sorry," she says quickly. "I'm just stretching my legs-"
She barely stops herself from continuing. She isn't doing anything wrong, at least not by the standards that he should be considering. Amadis doesn't have to explain anything to him; the more she tries, the more suspicious she'll look for the cameras.
005 doesn't respond, instead observing her for a moment before stepping back towards his original cell. Amadis watches him leave, but decides to continue pacing the block. She wants to get back to the inner edge, but she can't spend too much time there either.
She swallows and forces herself not to look at the screens. She doesn't know for sure that's where the cameras will be, and more than likely there are far more cameras than that, but it still feels like the safest bet. If there's one thing Amadis is certain about, it's that they're watching.
And that they're not going to like what she's trying to find.
Cell Block C - 9:08 AM
Ram completes another lap of the cell, their head pounding as they finally reach the ground. Their vision swims with the change and they have to force their eyes closed again. Their head hurts at least as much as it did yesterday, though truthfully it's hard to compare. There's a lot of yesterday that simply isn't there when Ram tries to remember.
When they open their eyes, Myra is staring at them again. "I'm fine."
"I know," she says softly, but no part of her expression says she believes it. Ram resists every urge to start arguing again. They know it's not going to do anything but make their head keep throbbing. They know she hasn't technically done anything wrong.
They know Myra deserves more gratitude than they're willing to give and more of an apology than their lips can form.
Ram just can't bring themself to talk about yesterday. They can barely look her in the eyes knowing she witnessed it, knowing that - more than likely - she watched them until curfew and maybe even got them to bed. They have no idea what she did or didn't do for them. Ram wants to tell themself they didn't need help, that they can handle the consequences of their own actions just fine.
They're just not as certain as they should be.
"I'm not just gonna sit here." Ram feels each word part their lips, but their legs don't move in response. They feel paralyzed beneath their body, caught between their ass and the concrete. As the second pass, they eventually turn away, embarrassed to even look at her.
Myra speaks softly. "Just wait, we have to be careful."
"Wait for what?" Ram asks stiffly. They can feel the anger flaring up with each word. Their fists clench near-instantly in their lap, so tight they might as well be made of concrete themselves. "For someone else to decide to kill me?"
"That's not what I'm saying."
Ram grits their teeth, but when they look up it's hard to keep the rage aflame. There are still leftover tears in Myra's eyes. They can tell how terrified she is just by looking at her. Pathetic, but that thought is followed immediately by one that asks why they think they're any better. "I know."
I'm sorry. That's what they should be saying. She's trying to help, she's seemingly always trying to help and Ram can't stand to do anything but argue. They can't blame her for wanting to stay put and wait it out. She's scared just like everyone else sitting outside.
Just like I am.
Ram pretends they don't hear that one.
Cell Block A - 10:52 AM
Hours later and Casi finally has to admit something he never thought would be possible - they're fucking sick of talking.
Nevermind the fact that every time someone so much as breathes they want to jump out of his own skin. Nevermind the fact that the three weapons still on the table make his stomach turn like there might actually be something inside. Nevermind the fact that Casi's always lived by the mantra that if they talk it through for long enough he can solve anything. That apparently doesn't apply here, because it's been hours and they're still no closer to finding a way out.
The clear walls happen every hour for somewhere around 15 seconds. Bashing the walls then is no different than bashing them when they're dark - absolutely nothing happens. Meg, Casi, and Omar even broke one of the sinks off a cell's wall and tried that. It didn't make so much as a dent. Meg offered to try and pick the lock, but there isn't one. Not even he can fit through the bars, in fact there seems to be something blocking behind the bars that won't even let Casi try.
They've done every single thing any of them can think of, no matter how stupid. There's simply no answer other than the one they've already been given.
How long until they admit it aloud?
Casi puts their head in his hands and sighs. Omar is still chattering on, but at this point they can't even hear him. It's all just one loud buzz that makes Casi want to pull his own ears off. There has to be an answer.
He knows far too much about The Cut thanks to years of internet deep dives. If there was a way, Cai would find it. Last year, rumours spread about some kind of breach but information was so limited. Most of the forums agreed that it was done by the same group that tried the year before. Casi had always believed the small subset of people that thought it came from inside.
Now, they're beginning to think he was wrong. Unless someone came in here strapped with a bomb, blowing past these walls was going to be next to impossible.
"Can we just stop talking for a minute," Casi snaps, not even bothering to look up from the table. It's such a relief when the air goes momentarily quiet, but it doesn't last long.
"I'm trying to help, just like you are," Omar says kindly, but it only makes Casi want to slap him harder. They know he's trying to help, everyone sitting there is trying to help. What he doesn't understand is that it's not going to work.
Meg reaches over and squeezes Casi's hand lightly. "A short break can't hurt."
Cell Block B - 11:01 AM
"What's your plan now?"
Vasi is the first to get up from the table, spinning around to find the blonde contestant with her arms tightly crossed. It's clear she's talking to Noam, but they answer instead. "We wait. Did you forget already?"
"It's been hours," 004 snaps before leaning around them to face Noam. "How much longer?"
It's clear from her tone that she doesn't believe anyone's coming at all. Vasi almost wishes they could just leave her here when they do. They block her view once again, not stepping close enough to be in reach. Everyone else has been treating 004 the same way after what happened. "You know, government shit, it can take time."
The truth is that they don't know and they don't have an answer to her question. Noam is adamant that his dad will be working on it as soon as he knows, but that's about all he can tell them. Vasi's parents used to say they were the most impatient child alive. Clearly they never had the displeasure of meeting this blonde twit.
004 glares at them a moment longer before stomping away. Vasi sits down, but they don't take their eyes off her. She's the only one that seems upset to wait. Vasi doesn't understand it. Everything that's been revealed today has been a whirlwind but they have a way out. Noam said so. He wouldn't lie about this, he wouldn't lie to them.
Vasi knows he wouldn't.
They've quieted every whisper in their mind that wondered otherwise.
The sound of her footsteps are already driving them crazy. Back and forth she paces and Vasi swears she must be trying to make them so loud. They press their fingers to their ears to try and block it out, but they practically echo in their skull. The quiet is hard to deal with. Wondering how long until blondie over there snaps is somehow worse.
They don't want to think about anything. They want to chat and laugh just like every other day they've spent in this prison. The fact that in a matter of minutes everything has changed is too much. The fact that their dream of just staying here, in prison, forever, is too much to ask for makes them want to scream. It's all been chewed up and spat out. Vasi never thought they'd wish to leave this place but that's just about the only thing they can hope for now.
Otherwise they, and everyone else they've met here, will die.
And the freedom they finally found will too.
Vasi doesn't realize how close they are to snapping until they're already shouting across the cell block. "Can you fucking knock it off?"
"What?" 004 asks, stopping to cross her arms before continuing in the same direction. "I'm not allowed to walk?"
"If you could do it like a human being maybe."
"I'll do whatever I want, actually."
Vasi glares. "Not if I tie you to the fucking bars."
"With what?" 004 cocks her head to the side, almost as if she's amused by the thought. Vasi's only been aware of her for a few hours and they already can't stand her.
Vasi bites the inside of their cheek and looks around quickly. None of the weapons are very pliable, nor is the concrete. A moment later, however, their eyes land on Riley. "Give me your shirt."
"What?" He asks automatically.
"Riley," Vasi growls, not breaking eye contact with 004 as they hold out their hand. "Give me your shirt."
Riley scrunches his face in what's probably the highest class show of emotion they've ever seen from him. "Just leave it alone."
004 smirks and walks away before Vasi can even answer. It takes every bit of restraint for them to sit their ass back on the bench. It's all just an in-between, a waiting game, and Vasi's never been good at those.
Cell Block A - 11:12 AM
Lawrence has been watching her far longer than she likely realizes.
She takes the same path around the cell block each time and sits in nearly the same spot once the loop has been completed. They see that she takes far longer around the block's exit, and walks more quickly whenever the wall dips in close to the table. It's methodical; a rhythm they're not certain she is aware of. Lawrence finds it to be a satisfactory distraction.
Time has passed rather slowly, but that's only because they're aware of it. In solitary confinement there were no clocks. Here, it all but stares them in the eyes. Even when Lawrence looks away, they find themself turning back to see how far the hands have moved. Figuratively of course, as the clock itself is digital.
They tilt their head as they watch her pause again at the exit. She's already checked to see if it will open, but of course it hasn't and likely won't. Lawrence can't imagine the production team making such a mistake.
They don't have much knowledge to pull about the television show. They were never one to spend time watching anything, and besides their house only had one television in Marcel's office. Lawrence nor their mother had much of an interest. They didn't feel the need to weigh their cell phone down with more unnecessary applications either.
The same principle applies to themself. They're not going to weigh their mind down with what-ifs and wonderings. Whatever is going to be will be; they're certain of that much. Truthfully, they could end the waiting themself if they wanted. They know they're more than capable; but they're not eager for the opportunity.
It's not what they want. They're apprehensive that pushing forward will change anything in their favour.
Lawrence squints ever slightly as the inmate continues to stand in front of the door. Normally, she would've moved on by now but instead she traces her fingers in a line just beside where the bars meet the wall.
She seems to be waiting. She looks up nervously towards the clock, then on either side of the cell block. If the walls were clear, she'd be looking into the other blocks. However, currently, she is looking at nothing.
"What are you doing?" Lawrence recognizes the voice of Omar, as they've heard some others call him. He stands quickly from the table, as if only now seeing the girl despite her having been there for several minutes.
At this point, Lawrence could've answered for her but they don't have to.
The walls turn clear, precisely on schedule, but no one in their cell block looks in either direction.
They're all staring as the girl rears back. The handle of her knife points towards the line that her fingers had traced. She slams it hard against the now-clear glass and it answers with the faintest falsetto. Everyone freezes. Everyone but her, who instead slams the weapon again in almost exactly the same spot.
Seven seconds too early, the walls go dark once more.
Lawrence furrows their brow, but this doesn't seem to phase the girl. She pushes hard against the wall, where a visible crack can now be seen in the dark sheen. It doesn't seem to take much force before a tall shard of it breaks free.
At this point, near-everyone in Cell Block A knows what's happening. The three still seated at the table rush over to help, pushing on the wall until more pieces fall on the other side. The opening that results isn't very wide but, when the girl presses on the first bar beside the wall, it no longer matters.
It gives easily under her hands, and no one thinks twice.
Cell Block C - 11:15 AM
Lyanna is on her feet as soon as she realizes what's happening.
She sprints to the door of her cell block just as the walls go dark again, but that doesn't stop her. She saw what Amadis was trying to do, she heard the tiny groan that resulted. It's going to work. She found some kind of weak point. That has to be it.
And Lyanna can do it too.
She flips the handle of her sword so it's facing the same way. She doesn't have time to examine the wall for whatever seam Amadis may have found. Honestly, Lyanna doesn't even know that it worked other than the beating pulse in her ears that demands it. She's going to get out. She's going to be saved from at least this first level and Lyanna will figure it out from there.
She doesn't care about the people locked inside with her. They don't matter to her. But she doesn't want to kill them.
She doesn't want them to kill her.
And frankly, that's all she's been able to think about since this started.
Lyanna slams the sword handle again right in the corner where the walls meet. That seems like the most likely place for a weak point; that's what basic physics would tell her anyways. If this room were a perfect cube, the most load bearing corners would be weakest. However, they're underground. Lyanna has to take that into account, but she's not certain how.
All she knows is that Amadis hit here and it looked like it was working.
Tears build as Lyanna brings the handle down again, then again. The fifth time barely makes a sound. The sixth and she finally allows the sword to drop back to her side. Lyanna stares at the dark wall, looking as closely as she can through devastated tears, but it looks no different. It didn't work. She squeezes her eyes shut and bites down hard on the inside of her cheek.
Every bit of rampant hope that'd flung her to the wall moments ago drains to the concrete. It should've worked. Why didn't it work?
Tears burn down her cheeks as Lyanna becomes acutely aware of the eyes digging into her back. The last thing she wants to do is turn around; the last thing she wants to do is face the people who just watched her try so hard and fail.
This isn't some stupid calculus test; Lyanna's never failed one of those.
No, she failed in what may be the first situation in her life that actually matters.
She drops her chin and tears drip steadily from the tip of her nose. She tried, but that fact doesn't mean anything even to herself. There's no result. They're all just sitting here waiting for something to save them and Lyanna dared to think for a moment that it might be her. She won't say she was being a hero, she was trying to save herself not everyone else, but they still would've gotten out behind her.
But it didn't work.
What else am I supposed to do? Lyanna doesn't have an answer. I should just know; but she doesn't. The words from her parents come flooding back; the way they would smile as they bragged about how accomplished Lyanna was at such a young age. What would they say now? Are they still smiling at their televisions screens? Are they still proud?
… were they ever?
Lyanna is shaking from head to toe as she still faces the wall. She can't make the tears stop, she can't force herself to let go of the devastation of another disappointment. It wasn't my fault. That's what her mind always runs to - it wasn't her fault that Agent Nguyen chose her, it wasn't her fault that Amadis caught his eye, it wasn't her fault that Lyanna ended up here. It's never her fault, but she hasn't changed anything either.
She really thought she would change something, but she was unsurprisingly, stupidly, wrong.
If we didn't deserve to be here, we wouldn't be. The girl's voice echoes in her skull and Lyanna has every urge to slam the sword straight through it. She doesn't deserve to be here. She can't deserve it, because if she does then why is she even trying?
Lyanna takes a trembling breath as she turns around. The girl whose words are so clear in her thoughts is nowhere to be found. The inmates that have been crouched by the cell block wall are still there, watching her, knowing that she failed. Two more have appeared at the threshold of one of the cells, no doubt wondering how she could be so stupid.
If we didn't deserve to be here, we wouldn't be.
If we didn't deserve to-
"I don't," she whispers as another tear splashes down the front of her sweater. The four sets of eyes feel like they're burning straight through her. Lyanna's fist clenches around the sword so tightly that it hurts but she doesn't tell herself to let go. Her voice is so low she doubts any of them can even hear her. "I don't deserve this."
She's on them in seconds.
Lyanna doesn't think as she clamps both hands around her weapon. She doesn't see the pair scramble up from the floor through the acid tears. She doesn't care. She doesn't want this. There's no choice. Lyanna's never had a choice but to be perfect. She can't fail. I've already failed.
But she refuses to let it happen again.
If there's no other way, if Lyanna can't be some stupid hero, then she'll choose this.
She can't sit here a moment longer and pretend that everything's going to be okay. She can't wait. The only person that's going to save her is her. Lyanna's the only person she's ever been able to depend on.
The pair splits off before Lyanna can reach them. That doesn't deter her. She doesn't care who it is. Lyanna follows the closest one, a long-haired boy that moments ago had been staring at nothing. He spins as he reaches the wall between cells. He seems to know better than to go inside. He seems to have forgotten the hatchet still laying on the floor where he'd just been.
She swings as hard as she can, but there's no control. Lyanna adjusts her grip to be far closer and stabs the blade down towards him. 002 catches it with his hand, knocking it off course before it can reach something vital. Lyanna growls with frustration, barely seeing the blood that drips from his hand to the concrete floor.
It's not enough. It's not enough.
She has to do this.
There's no other way. She can't fail. It's not who she is, it's not who she wants to be. Lyanna wants to be proud. She should be proud. No one else matters; she doesn't need them. It's always just been her.
And that's always been enough.
She rears up for another blow, but it doesn't reach him either. The sword clatters to the ground as darkness pieces the back of her skull. There's no pain. There's no realization nor final inhale that seems to know what's going to happen.
There's darkness.
And then there's nothing at all.
"Lyanna Coramar has been eliminated. Seventeen contestants remain. Cell Block C has been released."
Cell Block A - 11:16 AM
Omar breaks into a half-jog to keep up as they rush up the main staircase. Amadis is already long gone, but he wanted to make sure everyone else got out first. That just means he's left trying to catch them as Meg and Casi sprint up first. He just wishes he knew what they were running from.
"Where are we going?" He asks, already out of breath. It took all of them to fracture the remaining glass, but only one hand to move the bars out of the way. Omar can't believe he didn't think of it himself. Of course there had to be some kind of breaking point. He's just glad he could help get them all out.
This all feels like a dream, but the scrapes on his hands sting too viscerally for it to be one. The Cut? It doesn't make sense. Omar knows about the show, but when did the premise change? It's supposed to punish the worst young offenders in Canada. Why am I here? He looks up at the back of Meg's bleached hair. Why are they?
He doesn't understand. Omar isn't a stupid person; not even the judge on his case could state that. His grades, alongside a hearty recommendation from his dad, were enough to get him the law office gig. Yet, he still can't make sense of it.
Omar nearly runs into Meg as they stop on the next landing. Casi is already turned to face him, and Omar greets him with a sharp nod. He doesn't know Casi very well, but he's willing to try. This has been a hard day by anybody's standards, he's sure they're both thinking the same things that he is. Omar can forgive whatever tension they left behind in the cell block.
He needs as many brains as he can get if he's going to figure them a way out of here. He isn't going to leave anyone behind either.
"Let's try to find supplies," Casi says quickly, glancing at Meg more than Omar but he doesn't mind. "You search this level, Meg and I will split at the next one. Meet at the third when we're all done."
"Got it."
Meg nods stiffly as Omar disappears onto the first level. When she peers out after him, everything looks so different. The clear walls have turned black, just like the first day. Everything inside looks so much darker, so much more sinister.
Maybe they shouldn't just blame the walls for that last one.
Meg hurries up the next set of stairs behind Casi, who seems to be moving even faster than before. However, when they get to the next landing, he doesn't even slow their pace. Casi leaps to the next set of stairs and she has to grab the back of their sweater to stop him.
"We're at two," they say quietly. It feels like they should try to be quiet. She's not sure what difference it makes. None of the people in their cell block seemed eager to play murderer. More than likely they're all headed off to either gather supplies or hide. That fact should make them feel better, but it only does so much.
She's still here. They left the cell block before it was open. She doesn't know what that will mean for them.
Casi seems just as uneasy. "We're going to four."
"What?" She asks, motioning vaguely down.
He stops them before she can say his name. "I don't trust him. He knows everybody, or at least seems to think he does. I don't think this is much of a group activity."
"Numbers might not be a bad idea, though," Meg counters.
"Not him." Casi shakes their head. "I-I don't know how to explain, just… please."
Cell Block C - 11:19 AM
Shane is trembling so hard that he doesn't even feel himself hit the ground. All he knows is that, when he looks down next, his hands are pressed firm against the concrete. A few inches from him, a pool of blood is spreading lazily toward him.
Blood, that's all he could see as he turned her head to face him. Her breaths gasped like a fish on dry land, more blood stained against her lips. His hair felt damp as he grabbed for the gun still firm in her grip. It was so far away. He searched her body, but all he found was blood. Her hair, neck, and chest were all coated in it. When he tried to wipe it away-
The memory is interrupted by a piercing scream that forces Shane back towards the wall. His hands shake as he presses them to his ears. He looks up, further up this time so he can't see her, and there's someone else. They have their hands over their ears too, but it's their lips that are parted. It's their scream he hears.
Bowie.
Shane swallows and crawls towards them, bloody handprints painting the ground as he does. He can't look at her. He doesn't look at her. It's not her. Yet his eyes search the dark walls again anyways. Shane knows she was there. This isn't her. He can't force himself to look down long enough to confirm it.
She wanted to kill me.
She would never have wanted that. She loved me.
It's not her.
Shane barely reaches them just as Bowie collapses to the ground. He grabs their arm, but there's not enough strength there to pull them upright. Bowie shakes so violently it doesn't even look like they're breathing. When Shane places another hand on their opposite arm, they all but throw themself in his arms.
He sees the bloody hatchet beside them. He remembers, or maybe it's not a real memory at all.
The sound it made when it hit her skull still echoes in his.
Shane turns slowly, so slowly it doesn't even feel like he's moving. There's no gun. There's no rain falling from the showerhead. All he finds is a deep crack in the back of her head as she lays face down on the concrete.
It's not her.
"I didn't," Bowie hiccups. "I-I was-"
Shane doesn't respond. He doesn't know how to. The hatchet, the blood, all of it paints a picture that he doesn't want to see. Bowie sobs against them, their chest heaving so hard he fears it might give under the pressure. Shane doesn't know what to do.
He never has.
Cell Block B - 1:22 PM
"You really have a plan?"
Riley's voice is barely a whisper as he stands behind him. Noam flinches in his seat, somehow unaware even though Riley made no effort to quiet his steps. He wanted to be alone, to think, but that's driving him just as crazy as sitting here did. He has to be sure, even if he knows that's not an option.
He's starting to doubt what they're doing. There's been no indication that anyone's coming. In fact, the walls have stopped going clear completely. All he knows is that one of the blocks has been released. One person is already dead.
And Riley's putting all his faith into someone he's never once considered trusting.
"My dad wouldn't leave me here," Noam says. He tries to catch his eye, but there's nothing of note there. Riley wants to believe that he's telling the truth. He knew that his dad was some kind of official, but never cared beyond that. If Noam is being serious, this could mean everything.
It could mean going back home to Alec; maybe even sooner than he'd hoped. Even if he has to complete the rest of his sentence, which is probably true, Riley almost doesn't care.
He just needs to get away from here.
"If you're shitting me right now-" He sounds about as irritable as he feels, but he's not going to try and hide it. Noam is a piece of shit and always has been. He's never wanted to be within a few meters of the kid, but would he lie? Riley doesn't know.
Noam looks up and nods. As far as he can tell, it's genuine. "I'm not."
"- it's not funny."
"Take it easy," Noam tells him. "He'll be here with the key before you know it."
Riley takes a breath just deep enough to stop himself from strangling him. So far, it seems like Noam is telling the truth but is even that enough? Does his dad really have that much power? If he does, is he willing to use it to help any of them besides his son? Noam is so adamant. His idiot friend seems just as sure. Riley wants to be certain, but if he's wrong he's just wasting time.
He's getting out of here. One way or another, he has to.
If Noam can do it, that's easier, less risky, but if he can't-
Riley walks away before he says anything further and deposits himself back outside of his cell. He's not stupid enough to go inside, not when one of the girls seems ready to snap and he honestly can't blame her. Why should they trust Noam? He doesn't have a good answer other than he so badly wants Noam to be right.
It's his fastest ticket home, or at least out of mortal fucking danger.
"What'd he say?" Riley barely suppresses a flinch as Lilliana takes a seat beside him. She hasn't gone far since this started, but they haven't spoken in hours. The only people that are still trying to act normal are Noam and Vasi, but even they seem to be feeling the tension now.
He doesn't mind her. Lilliana is probably one of a handful of people that can claim that honour. "He's still sure he'll come."
"And you?"
Riley blinks. "What?"
"What do you think?" She asks simply. "Will he come?"
He wants to say yes, but just that single syllable on his tongue feels too heavy. Yes because I need him to. Yes because Noam wouldn't lie about this. Yes because I can't die here. No also feels too certain. If the answer is no then what is he still doing here? If he's not coming, why doesn't Riley just slit her throat right now and get all of this over with?
Instead, he shrugs. "I don't know."
And somehow that answer is far heavier to carry.
18th: Lyanna Coramar, 17
A/N: Welcome back! Now that the SYOT Victor Exchange is over, I'm back with more 3TC. If anyone's interested in what I've been up to, please check out my new story These Flowers Are Rotten. It's unrelated to this verse, but follows the story of Laszlo Richter through a (much more traditional) Hunger Games. And now, onto the chapter.
Firstly, I would like to thank Birdie who created Lyanna. She was so different from Vi and I really enjoyed writing her, but this unfortunately was the right time. It's never easy to choose the first death, particularly not with a full cast that I love as much as this one. I hope you understand. Thank you for trusting me with her and I hope I did her justice.
For those of you unfamiliar with my stories, this is the general format I'll be using from here on out. There are no defined POVs and chapters are divided into sections with a vast range of word counts. In future chapters, I may also jump between characters within sections. If things get confusing or you have any pointers, feel free to let me know!
As for the poll, the results are now visible on my profile. Congratulations to Meg & Riley for tying for first place (there was one additional vote cast for Riley that was not counted by the poll). I hope you voted wisely.
Thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / holding my hand and telling me the chapter is fine. I appreciate each and every one of you very much. Extra special thanks to Goldie for reading this over before posting, you're a gold(ie) star xo
Until next time,
~ Olive