In The Clear: Games II
Level 2 - Common Room - 1:23 PM
Myra's hands tremble against her temples.
She doesn't know how long it's been, more than likely little more than a couple of hours. In truth, it doesn't feel like she's left the cell block. The walk up here was blurred with tears that have left the taste of salt on Myra's tongue. She's not even sure how far they made it. The thought of getting up again makes her entire body shake so violently it seems like an impossible task.
Yet, at the moment she feels safe. Myra knows it's not real. She knows that any security she feels is only because she's not currently looking at the tip of someone's blade. She knows it won't last.
The girl that sat at the table in Cell Block A just a couple of nights ago is dead. Myra saw her as they ran past; she told herself not to look. She told herself that the blood pooling around the girl's head was only a shadow. She wishes she were that naive.
"What are we going to do?" She whispers as another tear slides down her cheek. The words feel familiar on Myra's tongue. The silence that responds feels the same.
They've just been sitting here.
Ram shakes their head and stands quickly, ignoring the dizziness that threatens to ground them again. She's right. They need to do something even if Ram has no idea what that something is. They look around, realizing for the first time where they ended up. The blue haze outside the main level looks no different, even though near-everything inside the prison has changed.
They don't wait to see if Myra's going to follow. Truthfully, Ram doesn't want her to. They were too stunned to tell her to get lost when they left. Ram isn't even certain they realized she was following them until they both sat down. They aren't going to make that mistake again. It doesn't matter that the room itself makes them feel guilty for their choice.
This isn't a team sport. If telling someone to leave them alone is too much, what is Ram going to do when the days demand more? What are they going to say when they come face to face with someone that needs to die for them to continue? Now isn't the time to think. Now isn't the time to let the waves calm their flames.
It's enough that they're not going to kill her. It has to be, because that's all Ram is willing to offer.
They look over their shoulder when footsteps start behind them. Myra meets their eye easily, tears still heavy within them, and nods. Ram forces their gaze forward and squeezes their eyelids shut for a moment. They have no reason to feel bad about this. They're not the one who chose her, who put them here, who decided that only one is getting out.
Yet, she chose to stay and Ram doesn't plan to.
"I'm doing this alone," they say quickly, because if they pause for another moment Ram doesn't think they'll get the words out.
They make the mistake of turning around. She hasn't walked away, not that they expected her to. Myra stares at the ground, her arms wrapped so tightly around herself that they're visibly shaking. Ram can't bring themself to look at her face. They don't have to. They can hear the sniffles that are trying and failing to keep the tears at bay.
"We can't both win," Ram continues. They don't know why, but they can't stop the words. "It makes sense. We'll both be better off not worrying about someone else. You have a weapon, you can-"
"Please," Myra whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. It feels like no matter how hard she holds herself, she's still seconds from falling apart. She can't be alone. She can't stop thinking about blood, about the girl and Ram and herself covered in it because at the end of the day that's what's going to happen. She doesn't care if Ram's explanation makes sense; honestly, she doesn't know if it does. She can't think of anything except them walking away, about hearing their announcement, about not even living long enough to do so.
"Myra," they say and she can hear the rest in their voice. It already sounds like they're a kilometer away even if they're barely a meter ahead. Ram doesn't want to stay. She wishes she understood. She wishes she could nod and wish them luck and move on with the nightmare that's unfolding around them but she can't.
All Myra can think about is the fact that, even when someone was dead, even when it was her that killed them, Serena still promised she would stay. She shouldn't compare a friend of years to one of days, but it's impossible not to. Serena promised to come find her that night. She would come find her if Myra was anywhere that could be found.
Ram made no such promise, but she wishes they would have. She wishes she had something to say, anything to say, that would stop them from walking away.
She can't be alone here.
She can't be alone.
"I won't hurt you," she says between sobs. "I won't kill you, I promise. You can have it."
Myra shoves the hammer into their hands without waiting for an answer. She stares at them even as tears blur their face. She doesn't have anything else to give them. Without the weapon, Ram doesn't have to worry. They can stay.
"Please," she whispers again, but the word is muffled by the tears spilling past her lips. Myra knows she can't make them. She knows they have no obligation to her, but she can't do this alone. She can't do this at all but this can't end with her being alone and bleeding. It already feels like that's exactly where she is.
"Down." Ram moves so suddenly that she doesn't have time to react. They grab her and pull her away from the door, dropping them both to the floor but she can't see anything. She puts a hand over her mouth as sobs still pour past it. Ram keeps their hand out to stop her from moving.
And Myra can't help but feel safer. Even as a figure passes the door. Even when she sees a long weapon in the shadow. Even when their footsteps echo around the floor and neither her nor Ram seem to even breathe.
It feels safer because they haven't left yet.
And when the footsteps fade they still haven't.
"He's not from ours," Ram says quietly and she furrows her brow, not understanding at first. She considers the shadow - tall with broad shoulders and short hair. The only person that even somewhat matches that description from their cell block is Ram, but they're still crouched beside her.
And when they stand up again, they don't say anything to stop Myra from following.
Cell Block B - 2:04 PM
"What are you gonna do when he comes?"
At first, Riley doesn't know how to react to the question, much less answer it. He stares forward, absentmindedly scratching the top of his wrist until it starts to sting. He expects she doesn't mean much by it. Little does Lilliana know that he was just considering basically the opposite - what is he going to do when no one shows up?
And how long is he going to wait?
He turns to her, expecting some kind of ridiculous smile but she surprises him once again. There's barely a crack of one on her face, and it's not excited but rather uncertain. If Riley had to guess, he'd say she's probably considering the same things as he is. Lilliana, like almost everyone but the blond-haired girl, just seems reluctant to admit what they're all starting to realize.
"I don't want to talk about that," he says simply. Lilliana sighs and he watches her settle further against the wall. He hasn't moved very much in the past few hours, but she seems to pace between sitting alone and sitting beside him.
"What are you thinking about?" She asks, looking closely at the morose changes to his expression. Lilliana's been watching him since this started, partially because it makes sense to but also because she doesn't mind his company. Riley seems reasonable. Last night, when she asked him to tell her about the prison, he met her story with a mixture of pity and disbelief. He was on guard to say the least, but Lilliana never got any indication that he was lying. He doesn't appear stupid either.
So then, why does he believe Noam? He knew the boy's name, and maybe that's a start, but they don't seem close. Riley hasn't spent more than a few minutes at a time at the table with him, and most of it was just arguing. Lilliana doesn't think he's fighting to believethe story out of obligation to a friend.
He has every chance in the world of winning; he's the biggest threat in the cell block by sheer size alone. Even if Noam is wrong, Riley would have a great chance. There's something else going on, and when he meets her eye again she sees it.
"You're missing someone," she says softly. It's not something that Lilliana's ever thought to look for in other people. In fact, she's only seen it in the mirror with redness clouding the whites of her eyes.
Back when she was too young and stupid to understand that her parents never missed her back.
Lilliana bows her head gently as he looks away. She doesn't actually expect an answer, but the heavy silence seems to become just that. Riley squints as he stares hard at the floor, but she can see the thin gloss of tears. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she sees an almost imperceptible nod.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
And she's telling the truth. The rest of today hasn't been lies, not really, but this is the most sincere she's felt. Riley is good for her logistically, not only as a possible ally but as a threat that seems to have taken kindly to her. He hasn't brushed her away like Noam and his friend. He doesn't seem to mind when she sits down.
Lilliana half-wondered yesterday if it was because he was developing a crush. The look in his eye could be for anyone - a friend, a family member - but she has a hunch in another direction. That then begs the question, why isn't Riley pushing her away?
"If he comes," Riley says stiffly. "We'll all go back to prison. There's no point in making a plan to see anyone."
Lilliana nods. It's probably the most confirmation she's going to get that she's right, there is someone he's thinking about. It also strangely feels like Riley's pointing at her specifically. Before finding out where she was, Lilliana already knew that she wanted to find her parents. They deserve to be punished for what they've done to her. She didn't know what form that would take, but it was all she thought about last night.
It feels like he's telling her not to bother. Normally, nothing would infuriate Lilliana more but this feels different. It's as if he's trying to save her from disappointment that he couldn't possibly know anything about. She never told him about her parents.
What could I really do to them?
Lilliana bows her head and gently closes her eyes. Especially now, when the whole country's seen her here, there's likely nothing she could do to them. No one will believe a convicted criminal. If they're smart, and she knows they are, her parents aren't going to let anyone near her even if she wins. Who could blame them for that either? If she wins, it only proves how dangerous she is.
She's never going to win.
This time she isn't talking about The Cut.
"You're right," Lilliana whispers.
Riley turns to her. It's hard to know if she's imagining it, but his expression is almost… softer. He brings his brick onto his lap, no doubt drawing Lilliana's attention to it for a reason. "But if we don't get out, if he's lying, find someone else. Okay?"
Her first instinct is to ask why, but she doesn't need to. All Lilliana has to do is watch the way his eyes turn down, the way his fingers tighten around the pitiful weapon. Desperation - another look she knows well. He's going to do whatever it takes to get out no matter what today's outcome is.
And, in a strange way, his warning is the closest thing to kindness that she's felt in a long time. Lilliana can't ignore the disappointment, but it's easier than she expected to push it to the back of her mind. No one's ever tried to help her, and maybe this can barely be classed as helping but it feels the same. He's saying he doesn't want to hurt her.
No one ever seems to care even that much.
Level 2 - Common Room - 2:06 PM
Omar steps lightly down the stairs. He knows it's the opposite direction to where he should be waiting, but it's been hours. He was on the third floor for what felt like an eternity. He even went down to the second to see if maybe he could help Meg and Casi find what they were looking for. Omar didn't find a single sign of either one.
It's possible they went back down to the cell blocks. He's not sure if he should still be looking for them, but he agreed to their plan. Omar isn't the type of person to go back on promises, no matter how small.
He remembers the standing shadows from the night before, but pushes them quickly from his mind. They have nothing to do with this. Omar couldn't have guessed what would happen at curfew. He didn't break that promise by his own volition; it wasn't his choice. He would've gladly taken the same punishment if things had ended differently.
He knows they'll understand.
Just like he knows that, when he finds Meg and Casi, they'll be able to explain where they went. In the meantime, Omar will continue to look for them and anyone else that he can find. Someone has to know what to do next. He just has to rally them together and they'll be able to figure this out.
It's all probably just some huge misunderstanding.
The Cut meant to pull the real criminals - the murderers, armed robbers, the type of people that actively chose to commit those types of crimes. They don't cast people who made mistakes, who show promise towards positive change, or who's only sentence is for trying to help people. Omar hasn't met anyone here that deserves to be. This has to be some kind of error.
His heart leaps when he starts down towards the platform above the cell blocks. There are splatters of blood across each of their faces and more sprayed across the front of Bowie's sweatshirt. Despite the fact that they're looking in Omar's direction, Bowie doesn't even seem to see him. Shane's eyes, in contrast, seem to all but scream for help.
Omar runs straight to them, grabbing each of Bowie's shoulders. "Are you okay?"
Bowie's face scrunches up even further and they collapse into his chest. Omar brings his hands up around their back near-automatically. He can't tell if they're hurt; they're shaking so violently it's impossible to peel them away to check.
"What happened?" Omar asks, directing the question at Shane but he already seems to be elsewhere. Omar can at least say that Shane doesn't look injured. Besides the flakes of dried blood on his face, there's nothing out of place.
"I did it." Bowie can't even hear their own voice through Omar's sweatshirt. Their mind is still throbbing, their legs still feel numb underneath them. Nothing feels real and yet it all feels too heavy to carry at the same time. It feels as though any single breeze will knock them over and truthfully Bowie doesn't care if it does.
I did it.
I killed her.
Why did I do it?
When they close their eyes there's nothing but darkness, but they know. Shane whispered to them a dozen times downstairs that it wasn't their fault. He told them that he understood why it happened. He didn't seem afraid of them but how could he not be?
I killed her.
Bowie's hands don't feel like their own as they cling to Omar. They want to tell him, but they don't even remember how it happened. All they know are the matching hatchets that Shane now carries and the fact that one of them - theirs - is stained with blood.
None of it feels real.
It has to be, Shane wouldn't lie.
Omar gently pulls them away and his concerned expression only brings another wave of guilt. Bowie tries to wipe their eyes but their arms won't listen. All they can feel is their clothing shaking against them. All they can see is Omar watching them like they've done something wrong.
I did.
"I killed her," they whisper.
Omar throws his arms back around them and Bowie can't help the tears from falling faster. He rubs their back gently and they cling to him so hard they wonder if they're hurting him. "I'm sure you didn't mean to."
"She attacked me," Shane says quietly, his eyes still trained away from the pair.
Omar nods and hugs them tighter. "Then you saved him. It's okay, you didn't want this to happen. You didn't do anything wrong."
He says anything he can think of, and it seems to work. Bowie still clings to him, but their grip loosens and the violent shivers fade to soft trembles. They shouldn't feel guilty. He knows that Bowie wouldn't hurt anyone by choice. He might not know what happened, but he can fill in the blanks enough to know that it couldn't possibly be their fault.
Omar gives them another squeeze before releasing them. "We should go upstairs."
He's not sure, but he thinks it will be safer up there. Only one person's died so far and it was anything but malicious, but Omar can't be certain what will happen when the last block is released. Their best bet is to head up and maybe find Meg or anyone else hiding up there. The others can join after when they've cooled off.
Omar firmly believes that, when they do, a large enough group of them will be able to come up with a plan.
Bowie nods and they start to head towards the stairs. The third level is probably their best bet if the trio wants some privacy. Omar spent enough time up there to know it's empty, and maybe Meg will be back soon too.
"We can't leave without her."
Omar turns to find Shane hasn't taken a single step. He glances back at one of the descending staircases, but it's impossible to know if it's hers. Of course, Omar knows who he's talking about. He would never have left without Bridget. She's as much a part of this group as Bowie or Shane.
"Upstairs might be safer-" Bowie starts but Omar puts a hand up to stop them.
"Of course we're not leaving her behind," he says, pointing to the ascending staircase. "We'll only go one floor up, she'll pass us on the way."
He nods specifically to Shane before taking the lead up the stairs. It doesn't take long before Bowie starts to climb up beside him. When they get up to the next level, Omar sits down a meter beside the top of the staircase and Bowie takes the seat directly beside him. Bridget won't be able to miss them. Omar motions for Shane to sit on his other side with a gentle wave. Instead, he sits another meter away from Bowie's opposite side.
And it's hard not to feel like it's on purpose.
Level 5 - Morgue - 3:46 PM
This room feels far too different. Lawrence looks around, but truthfully the only difference from the day before are the walls. Rather than transparent glass, each one is solid black making the room appear both smaller and darker than before. Seeing as though every bit of furniture is either silver chrome or white, they're notably out of place. It's thrown the whole thing off balance.
Contrastingly, Lawrence themself fits in perfectly against them. Their all-black outfit matches well enough that if they stood against the dark walls they'd likely disappear. Not completely, of course, because their head, neck, and hands would remain exposed. They only mean that their current outfit seemed to have been some kind of hint about what would happen to the prison.
That only leaves… Lawrence examines their sleeves and pulls it up just enough to expose the yellow band beneath it. That colour seems to fit neither aesthetic, nor any that they've seen throughout the rest of the prison. Concrete, metal, and darkness - that's all that seems to be left now that the glass is gone.
Nothing yellow. Nothing as bright as the sun that doesn't quite reach through the rooftop haze. Nothing the colour of wildflowers that used to grow near the river by their house.
How strange.
They step confidently between the tables, none of which have been moved. Lawrence is unsurprised, as there was no attempt made to disguise the room before the announcement. In fact, they can't honestly say that they were surprised by the announcement either. It connects far more dots and loosens only one string in the web.
The Cut has a Winner. There should be no use for the eighteenth coffin. To Lawrence, this only means one thing - they've yet to completely understand this room. That's no doubt why they've walked so far up the levels to see it again.
Perhaps, but would it not make more sense to have waited down lower? There is still a final block to be released and five contestants who will be leaving from within it. Lawrence has little doubt that they could make use of their knowledge in a far more productive manner. Of course, there begs the question of a weapon. Themself and Marcy, the girl who they shared a session with, did not receive one. Lawrence would have expected themself to be more disgruntled by this fact. It's a clear disadvantage.
Yet, this fact is only now crossing their mind and they can't help but find that in itself even stranger.
Cell Block B - 5:17 PM
Bridget takes another slow breath as she holds her head in her hands. It feels like her body's been frozen like this for far too long, but if she even lifts her gaze the ice turns to quivering flames. It feels like the anger is going to consume her before she even gets a chance to let it free.
She already feels like she's lost. Nothing fits. The stillness of the cell block feels like a weight against the inferno building in her chest. The silence feels like a hand over her mouth when there's a scream trapped behind it. Bridget doesn't know how long she can just sit here. She doesn't have a choice.
If she tries anything, he's going to kill her. He's practically said as much and Bridget can all but feel his eyes on her each time she so much as flinches. He's taller than her, heavier, and even if the weapon he holds is pathetic she has no doubt it would suffice.
The knife in her own hand feels pitiful against him. It's the best weapon in the cell block, yet it feels like nothing. The only person who should even have a chance is the one holding a matching blade, but she's not even on Bridget's radar.
She turns to see Dom, who sits on the opposite end of the wall of cells. She's gotten up a few times, presumably to use the bathroom, but other than that she hasn't moved. It's exactly what Bridget expected from her, and yet she's still annoyed to see it.
We could've had a chance. She knows it's only a wisp of a thought. They weren't friends, not really or at least not for long. Bridget just made the mistake of believing they had something in common when that couldn't be further from the truth.
She narrows her eyes as Dom looks over. If the girl sees it, she gives no indication. Coward. Bridget hopes she feels scared. She should. If Dom's not willing to do what it takes, this game will be over for her before it even begins. Bridget scans the room, noting everyone's shoulders-up posture. It's going to be over for all of them. They can't live scared; being scared here is only going to end in death.
Bridget isn't scared. She's angry and not just with the idle people sitting around her. She's angry that she's here. She's angry that someone looked at her pain and decided that she deserved to die for it. The fires never hurt anyone, not really. They could've but they didn't. The only person that got hurt was Bridget - over and over with every passing day, with every hour that ended with her sister still in the ground, and with every second that people used to forget her.
Someone looked at that and decided Bridget was dangerous enough to get rid of.
And she's not sure if she disagrees, not anymore, because all she wants to do is burn this whole place to the ground. She wants to run straight through the glass and find whoever's in charge. She wants to set them on fire and watch as every bit of skin melts away.
Maybe then they'll understand how she felt, how she still feels most days when she opens her eyes and remembers that Anne is gone.
Bridget doesn't want Dom to sit with her so they can be like the other pairs. She doesn't want to trust anyone here and she won't. Omar backed out of their plan last night; Shane and Bowie made no effort to stop the sleepiness that started as soon as the cells turned dark. It was only Bridget that got up and tried to fight against it. She didn't make it even halfway up the stairs, but she tried. No one else cared enough to go even that far.
It's their fault that she woke up and spent the whole night handcuffed to her cell wall. It's their fault that when the sleepiness receded, Bridget was left wide awake and standing until her legs turned to splitting embers. It's their fault.
Her arms shake against her chest, and it's all she can think about.
Level 1A - 5:23 PM
Mercy looks up the staircase, but her feet remain firmly planted on the platform. She can hear the whispered voices just above her. She doesn't recognize them, but she doesn't expect to either. She swallows and looks back down the stairs she came.
It's hard for any part of her to want to go back.
She waited down there for a few hours, but only because she was too afraid to go anywhere else. Marcy thought that it would be a while before anyone felt comfortable returning, and that meant it would be safe until then. Everyone else had left almost immediately; Marcy had made sure to watch them go. It was the only way she'd be able to feel any semblance of security.
Marcy thought she'd waited long enough. There are so many things she's thought about doing and just as many reasons she's come up with to do none of them. She should look for food, but she probably has at least the day to do that. Besides, she'd heard one of the others mention looking around for supplies. She should also look for something to defend herself. As far as she knows everyone else got a weapon. However, Marcy doesn't even know where to begin. She could spend hours walking in circles and still come up empty-handed.
And if someone finds her during that time…
She shivers and hugs her arms around herself. Truthfully, none of her thoughts or plans mean anything. All of them have fallen to the side with every stray sound or eerie creak. Marcy knows what she should be doing; she knows what supplies she needs to give her the best chance. The problem is that she's too afraid to even leave this platform.
She bows her head into her hands expecting another wave of tears but they don't come. She's alone. The only voices she hears are above her, and they don't sound violent or scary. They just sound like the same ones Marcy's heard the past few days. Even back then they used to frighten her, but for a whole host of different reasons.
Right now, she should be afraid. That's the only concrete thought Marcy's been able to keep hold of.
She turns away from the staircase and towards one of the other sets of stairs. She knows that one of the blocks has been released, so there's a 50/50 chance she's going to run into a locked set of bars. However, when Marcy reaches the entrance, the bars have receded into the adjacent wall. This must be Cell Block C; the only one that's been officially released.
The show never announced A's release. Marcy can't help but shiver again when she remembers. She doesn't know very much about The Cut, but she can imagine that they don't like surprises. According to the rules, one of them should've been dead in order for them to have been let out. She doesn't know what, if anything, the show is going to do to them now.
Marcy tries to keep her steps as light as she can. She's banking on the fact that everyone left her own cell block, so they all probably left this one too. She hasn't been in any of the other cell blocks, but it's a perfect mirror of the one she left. As she walks, the same heavy silence surrounds her. It feels like, by coming down here, she's gotten nowhere.
She barely stifles a gasp with the palm of her hand when she sees it. Marcy closes her eyes as the tip of her boot smears the pool of blood at her feet. Almost instantly, all the nausea she'd managed to settle hours ago comes rushing back.
There's an outline that she can almost imagine was where Lyanna's head landed. The broader shape that was likely her shoulders is less pronounced. Still, Marcy can't help but notice that if she fell down now she'd likely land perfectly inside it.
She turns away and continues towards the cells. The smartest thing for her to do right now would be to check each one to make sure they're empty, but why? Marcy's not sure if she plans on staying here. She's even less sure where she'd go if she decided to leave. Everything feels like it's on the brink of changing.
And if there's one thing Marcy hates, it's change.
Change was her transferring to Little Flower, to British Columbia where she didn't know anyone and no one wanted to know her. Change was when they brought her to prison, where she was only known by a catchy headline. Change was waking up here, where days later she would be expected to die.
Her eyes widen when she hears it, the faintest sniffle that she can almost convince herself didn't happen. Marcy tiptoes along the cells, but it doesn't take a long look to make a guess at where it might've come from. Most of the cells look no different than the ones she left, but there's one that stands out. From this angle, Marcy can see a grid of what looks like metal blocking the lower third of the entrance.
She swallows and ventures closer, not enough to be seen but enough to listen. Sure enough, she hears someone move slightly inside. That's all Marcy needs to convince herself not to stick around.
However, when she turns to leave, Marcy catches one boot on the other and has to grab the wall for stability. The sound isn't loud by any means, but in the quiet of the cell block she can't convince herself that no one heard it. Marcy tries to steady her breath as she watches the entrance of the cell.
It takes so long for anything to happen that she almost believes nothing is going to. However, just when Marcy is about to continue back to the staircase, a pair of dark eyes poke out from the cell. Marcy recognizes the girl immediately, despite only having talked to her a handful of times. She knows she should say something, probably something to reassure the girl that she's not here to hurt her.
012 speaks before she can get that far. She narrows her eyes, which are bloodshot and puffy even from a distance. She certainly doesn't look happy to see Marcy. "If you come any closer, I'll kill you."
The statement makes her cheeks pale, but 012 doesn't venture closer herself. Marcy can't see a weapon right now, but that doesn't mean the girl doesn't have one. Still, she finds that she doesn't feel nearly as scared as she probably should.
"Are you alright?" Marcy asks softly. Perhaps she's injured and that's why she hasn't been able to leave. Marcy doesn't have a lot of first aid knowledge, but maybe she can still help somehow.
012 watches her for a moment, but her expression doesn't change. "I'm not stupid."
"Pardon?"
"You're not coming in," Eris says flatly. "I don't need or want your help. I don't know what strategy you're trying to pull but it won't work. You might as well move on."
Eris shifts from her knees to her feet, not quite standing but in a better position than she was before. She remembers 006 from prior days, but that doesn't mean anything now. She doesn't know what the girl might be trying to pull. They're all here for a reason and, while she might not look like much, that doesn't mean she isn't a threat. Eris isn't going to believe someone based on a couple of non-violent interactions.
Things change; people change even more. That's just the way things are.
And while Eris isn't eager to spill more blood on the floor, she's not going to let herself be lied to. She doesn't know that she is, but assuming so is better than being surprised. At this point, none of them should have good intentions. Not if they have any hope in the world of surviving this.
"I'm not trying to, um, pull anything," 006 says, holding up both hands weakly. "I'll go if you want me to."
"I do," Eris says without hesitation.
006 nods and turns towards the exit. For some reason, a second later, she's back to looking at Eris. "You're not stuck are you?"
"If I am, all the better for you right?"
006 tilts her head to one side as if considering her statement. Eris doesn't know what there is to consider really. So what if she was stuck? So what if she were trapped in here because she has three broken bones? So what if she were on the brink of death a few hours into the game? It'll only benefit everyone else.
"Be careful," 006 says after a moment. "They didn't announce it, but my block's out too. I don't know if, when the last one's out, they'll come here too."
"I'm ready if they do," Eris replies stiffly, sounding far more confident than she feels. She doesn't understand why the girl is still here, nor why she's giving up this information. It doesn't exactly help Eris to know that another block is out but still. It feels wrong to give out anything that could even possibly benefit someone else here.
Is 006 being strategic, delusional, or just plain fucking stupid?
"Okay," 006 nods. "Are you going to stay here?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
She nods again. It looks like she's going to say more, but after a few seconds Eris watches her turn around. It doesn't take long before Eris can no longer see the girl without leaning over her makeshift barrier. She wonders for a little too long whether it's worth it to know where she went. When Eris finally decides to, 006 is gone entirely.
Relief doesn't even begin to describe how it feels to stare out at any empty cell block.
Cell Block B - 9:31 PM
It takes several hours before Dom heads inside one of the cells. It feels immediately wrong, but she's so exhausted she doesn't turn back around. This might be one of her last chances to sleep on an actual bed. Besides, the pair at the table already went back into theirs and so did Bridget. The two remaining haven't made any indication that they're willing to try anything. In fact, they barely seem to be awake themselves. If there's any time to feel safe, it's right now.
Yet, no part of Dom can settle. She positions herself on top of the sheets and lays on her side so that she has a clear view of the cell's entrance. Dom can't help but feel trapped despite the fact that she's the only one inside.
And when her bare shoulder slides against the sheet, she can't help but stiffen. The knife from earlier is still locked in her grip; it hasn't left it all day. Dom tells herself not to be so paranoid, but the shallow slice is proof that maybe she has a right to be.
She swallows, squeezing her eyes tight in an effort to calm her racing heart. Come morning, Dom has every expectation that all of this is going to dissolve. Bridget has been on and off pacing all day. The two who'd been sitting by the cells seem to be getting more wary by the minute. Only the final two still appear to actually believe that something good might happen. The rest of them are just rooted in dread that none of them want to face head on.
Dom certainly doesn't want to be the one to do it. She knows that she wouldn't be the first. She knows that it would be smart to cement herself as someone to avoid from the get go. She also knows that the last thing she wants is more blood on her hands. Dom knows as well as anyone how long it can take to wipe away.
She turns onto her back and stares up at the dark ceiling. She hasn't decided yet if she prefers it to the dizzying clarity. It's just different.
Dom sits up quickly as something moves in the corner of her vision. She's not even sure she registers who it is before they jump on top of her. Dom screams as her head is forced back against the cot frame, her legs kicking wildly until one of them finally lands. Bridget coughs as one hand comes free for long enough that Dom can look her in the eye.
Instead of meeting her gaze, Bridget arcs out with her knife. Dom had all but forgotten she was holding one too, but that hand is still being held down by a knee in the middle of her forearm. Dom can pivot her wrist, but there's no power behind it. It's barely enough to slice up Bridget's pant leg.
Dom sputters as ice seems to slide across her throat. She manages to pull both hands free, dropping her knife completely as they both swarm to the wound. She screams again, terrified to look down because she doesn't want to see how bad it is. It stings more than anything, but Dom refuses to let go.
There are more figures in her room when she looks up, but she can't focus on any of them. She manages to pull one hand away and it has a stripe of blood painted across it. It feels like she can finally take a breath. A couple more drops of blood dot her sheets as she scrambles to her hands and knees.
The first thing Dom grabs is her knife. The first thing she does is point it directly at Bridget. This time she meets Dom's eyes instantly, but what she sees is far different. It's not fear, it's not the anger she's become almost immune to, it's something else entirely that she can't immediately recognize.
"What's going on?" Lilliana says, her voice loud in the tense silence.
Riley is right behind her as they stop in the cell's threshold. He was almost asleep when he heard the first scream, but that didn't stop his feet from knowing where to go. There's no mistaking the sound and he has every suspicion of what they might find inside.
This was never going to last the night. That's why he and Lilliana never went back to their cells.
Sure enough, one of the girls has a narrow stripe of blood across her throat. It's not hard to guess where it came from. 003 stands on top of the cot, her knife shaking in her hand as it points at the blonde girl. 004 holds her own blade, an exact match to the other, but it's much closer to her. Riley can only see the side of her expression, but he doesn't bother to examine it. He already knows what happened. 004 thought she would take the chance while most of them were dozing off.
It's almost hard to blame her.
"She came in-" 003 starts but her breaths are too heavy to continue. It looks like she's a half-step from an all out meltdown, but thankfully her legs are more steady than the rest of her.
004's head snaps back towards him and Lilliana, as if only just noticing their entrance. A second later, she looks again at 003. Riley can't imagine that her eyes go anywhere but the line of blood across the girl's throat. He wonders if the hesitation is because she got caught, or for some other reason.
How much should they really interfere? He's been asking himself that question over and over since the first time. If they'd just let 004 kill 003 to begin with, they wouldn't still be trapped here. He's not so sure that would help him either. It would be one step closer, but several dozen away from any kind of escape plan.
Do I really still believe Noam?
No.
And Riley should've stopped lying to himself about that hours ago.
He puts a hand on Lilliana's shoulder. She turns to look at him, a question in her gaze and he just shakes his head in response. It's smarter for them to let it happen. It would've been smarter for them to have never come in here in the first place. For once, he finally has to admit that 004 might've had the right approach from the start.
If Riley wants a chance, he'll have to choose to do the same.
Things move far too quickly. By the time Riley turns towards the movement in his periphery, there's no sense in moving out of the way. His hand is still perched lightly on Lilliana's shoulder when the force of the blow rips it away. He doesn't even see the knife until it's already lodged to the handle in Lilliana's black sweatshirt.
Riley moves automatically, pushing her away from the entrance as he lunges towards 004. His body feels like it's been engulfed in heat, and it's moving without any thought. His hand wraps around 004's throat and pushes her into the nearest wall. 004's hands come up to try and free herself, but his fingers don't budge. Riley isn't even looking at her. He can't see anything beyond the red smearing his vision.
The tiniest gasp comes from behind him and he makes the mistake of turning around. Lilliana crouches on the ground just a meter behind him, one hand trying to steady herself and the other hovering near the knife's handle. There's no blood, at least none that Riley can immediately see. It's all hidden behind the black sweatshirt.
He doesn't remember letting go. It feels like time has frozen around him and he has no choice but to watch, but no part of him knows what to do. Riley hears something hit the ground in front of him. He doesn't turn back to see. There's footsteps, but they don't go far. He can still hear them outside the cell.
Riley doesn't know how he gets there, but the next time his vision clears he's crouched in front of her. Lilliana doesn't look at him; he's not sure she could even if she wanted to. Her eyes stare at the exposed knife handle. That's exactly where his eyes land too.
It feels like the air around them has gone heavy. There's more shouting outside, but Riley can't hear any individual words. They're waiting for the doors to open; that much he understands. It's been months since he's felt hatred this deep, but right now it runs through every pulsing artery. They're just as bad as everyone says.
The Cut runs on the basis that the people involved deserve it. There are countless articles digging into each contestant's criminal history and personal life, ones Riley has never had an interest in reading. He always figured it was an exaggeration, but now he wonders. Lilliana sits here dying - dying because she came to check on someone - and everyone's just out there waiting for the doors to open.
If Riley wants to win, she has to die.
That doesn't mean he doesn't feel a fucking thing when it's happening right in front of him. She's still a person, one he barely knew but a person all the same. Lilliana looks up at him with wide eyes. Her face has already gone so pale and she sinks further into the wall. It doesn't even look like she's in pain, but she knows. She has to know.
No one's going to survive something like this. It's only a matter of time; time she's no doubt going to spend in absolute agony.
And so, when Lilliana looks down at the wound again, he takes it as permission. Her hand barely twitches towards him as Riley grabs hold of the handle and pulls it free. He can even convince himself that it's what she wanted as tears swell up across his vision. Riley turns and slides down the wall beside her as her body slumps forward. He doesn't sob. He doesn't think himself capable of that much, but he stays with the bloody knife in his hand until her announcement finally comes.
"Lilliana Sterling-Hargreaves has been eliminated. Sixteen contestants remain. Cell Block B has been released."
And, for some reason, Riley still can't bring himself to leave.
Level 4 - Library - 9:34 PM
Meg presses each book to the side in turn, humming a few of the more interesting titles aloud as they do. The shelves are stocked full, and she's surprised they didn't end up here before now. There's nothing Meg likes better than a new library to explore. She's trying to focus on that right now, even if it's only half-working.
They turn around and see Casi still sitting at the same table she left him at. They've been quiet since leaving Omar behind, something that Meg is still trying to reason for herself. Casi seemed certain, but they have to worry anyway. This is no doubt a place where being alone would be much harder than being with someone else. Right now, it almost feels like they're alone and even that's been hard. The silence is driving her crazy.
Meg just seems like the only one interested in breaking it now. They sigh and push another book to the side before the next title catches her eye. They smile and pull it from the shelf, the cover image having little to do with the title but she shrugs. Meg half-remembers a television show with the same name, but this suspense thriller has seemingly nothing to do with it.
"It could be worse," Meg says with a gentle laugh as they place the book in front of Casi. 'Naked & Afraid' is printed in large letters across the top - impossible to miss. "At least we're not naked."
Casi's lips barely twitch before they push the book away, his head landing in their hands. Meg deflates into the chair across from him. It was a stupid joke, but she'd hope for even the tiniest hint of a laugh. They might've just made the whole situation with Casi worse than it's already been.
"I'm sorry," Meg says softly. They reach across and place one hand on Casi's shoulder. "I just wanted to make us laugh again, maybe make you feel better, but I didn't mean to make this into a joke. I'll stop."
Tears drip slowly onto the desk in front of her, then faster until Meg has to pull both hands up to catch them. They don't know what they're supposed to be doing. Casi seemed to have a plan in coming up here, but they've done nothing besides sit around. She's not saying they need to be doing something, but Meg doesn't want to have time to sit here and think. They just want to pretend everything is fine again even if it never will be.
"I don't want our last moments to be us just scared," Meg rasps through the tears. "If one of us isn't getting out of here-"
She wraps their arms around herself and the sobs come on fast. The truth is that they're already terrified, but she doesn't want to give into that. It's not who they are.
Meg doesn't even see him get up before Casi's arms wrap around her. They turn into Casi and that only makes her cry harder. "You don't have to apologize."
"What are we going to do?" Meg whispers.
She feels his arms tighten briefly before Casi crouches down beside them. Their eyes don't look as lively as Meg remembers, but they're more present than they'd been moments ago. She'll take the small victories. "I don't know, but if she can figure that one out I'm not about to let her have all the fun."
Meg cracks a smile and they return it readily. It might only have been a day, but she missed this. Nothing about it feels normal, but that's okay. Meg's never been a big fan of normal anyways.
Cell Block B - 9:42 PM
The cell block doesn't look any different than it had hours ago, but Noam can't say the same about himself. He wraps his arms around his stomach as another shiver rolls up his spine. He hasn't said a word since it happened. In fact, he and Vasi were still in one of the cells when the screams started. Noam hadn't wanted to go check it out. It was Vasi that finally got him out of the cell, but by then the blonde girl was already waiting by the door. He barely caught a glimpse of the other one before she disappeared into a different cell.
He'd convinced Vasi it was too dangerous to go see what was going on. He didn't know. The air didn't feel different or whatever bullshit movies try to sell. The only difference between when Noam woke up and when he cowered again at the back of his cell was the fact that the screams had stopped.
Yet, he still didn't know. Call him an idiot, but he didn't. If Noam had realized she was hurt or dead…
He can lie to himself all he wants, but he knows it wouldn't have changed a thing. Noam still would've tried to convince Vasi to stay inside with him. He still wouldn't have wanted to go see what was going on. In fact, he might've been even more inclined to stay put if he'd known.
Coward.
I know.
Noam doesn't bother to fight with the critical voice in his head. He knows it's right. He's an idiot and a coward, but for some reason people still decided to believe him. Noam didn't lie to them, at least he didn't initially mean to. He really did think that, maybe, his dad would pull him out of this stupid game. He had no idea whether he could've saved anyone else even if he did come, but Noam was willing to try.
You lied. Noam closes his eyes but he doesn't argue against this one either. Is this what politicians feel? Is this what his dad thinks when he makes empty promises he never actually believed in? At least I did it to live, not for a bunch of stupid votes.
That fact hardly makes him feel better.
He supposes that he really did inherit the Steiner family name. Years ago, his mom convinced his dad to marry her and split his assets. His dad convinced thousands of people that they wanted him as their MP before he was appointed to the Senate.
And Noam just managed to convince five desperate teenagers that someone might actually come save them.
Noam shrinks his posture as loud footsteps approach their table. He should've left. He knows he should've left, but he couldn't. Vasi wanted to wait for Riley, and he didn't have a good reason not to. In truth, he hoped that maybe, possibly, Riley wouldn't have yet realized that he lied. Vasi doesn't seem to know, or else they'd probably be long gone by now.
"Well?" Riley shouts before he's even halfway across the cell block. "What was your fucking plan, Noam?"
Noam's legs are shaking as he turns towards him. Riley's eyes are bloodshot and he's carrying a stained knife alongside the brick that's sticking out of his pocket. Noam has every reason to get up and run but he can't make himself. Part of him still believes that he can make this right, even if he doesn't know how.
He believed me once. He can do it again.
But the only answers that come to Noam's mind are more lies. He shuffles through them as he stares at Riley, opening his mouth again and again but no words come out. You didn't give me enough time. I can't stop 004 from doing what she did. More excuses but none of them feel right on his tongue.
By the time Riley stops a meter away, he still hasn't responded. Riley narrows his eyes and his jaw clenches even further as he turns away. "That's what I thought."
"Riley-" Noam puts his hands on the table to help him up, but Riley moves immediately to tower over him.
"Don't even fucking try," he spits.
Noam expects to see the knife move towards him, but it doesn't. In fact, it turns with Riley towards the exit and they're both gone seconds later. He feels immediately relieved, but when his eyes reach the other side of the table all of that is zapped away.
"You did have a plan, right?" Vasi's voice is so low it barely sounds like them. Their dark eyes turn down as they hold his gaze. To describe Vasi's expression as devastated would be like describing Riley's as angry - it's not even close to a strong enough word.
Noam swallows, but this time his tongue finds the words. "I did."
Not a centimeter of his voice sounds sincere. Noam's eyes turn away from theirs before he can stop them. It only solidifies what they already seem to know.
"I thought you cared about us," they say softly as they rise from the table. Vasi grabs one of the batons at the center of the table and the one remaining looks pathetic by itself. Noam hasn't seen either of the batons alone since this whole thing started. It always made sense to keep them together.
And it makes just as much sense that, when Noam looks up again, he's the only one left.
Level 5 - Utilities - 11:07 PM
The only reason Amadis has found to move so far has been to slide herself further into the wall. She hasn't slept, in fact no part of her has even considered the idea. Her stomach grumbles every once in a while, but in place of hunger all she finds is nausea. In the dim room, all Amadis has been able to do is cry.
It's not the sobbing tears that come with grief or pain. It's not even a constant steam like when one of the neighborhood girls decided that Amadis wasn't invited to her birthday. These are more like a faucet that hasn't been properly closed. Every so often, another will drip down her nose before Amadis even realizes it's there.
She hopes that her mom isn't watching.
But, Amadis knows that if she's able to, she will be. Her mom always watched even if she liked to pretend that she didn't; to upkeep the rule of it being banned from their house. Amadis thinks she just didn't want her watching because she was too young, or it was too brutal. Amadis still saw some short clips or heard some highlights from her classmates. It was next to impossible to avoid it completely in high school.
Her sitting here isn't going to save Amadis from anything. She knows this. She understands that the best way to solve a problem is to face it head on. However, this isn't some schoolyard disagreement or unfair grade from a teacher. This is The Cut - a show she knows little about beyond her mom's opinion and a bit of hearsay.
And her mom always used to say the show was as vindictive as it was cruel. Amadis never asked her to expand on that statement, she rarely pushed anything when it came to The Cut. It was a tender point for her mom, who'd defended six kids that eventually ended up there.
Amadis can't help but think that, if her mom had been allowed to defend her too, it would've been seven now.
Six dead and one waiting.
She shakes her head but the sentiment doesn't leave so quickly. She doesn't regret what she did this morning, but she has to wonder if it was the smartest move. If The Cut is as vindictive as her mom said, what will it do to her? Amadis didn't technically break the rules, but she certainly skirted them. The voice didn't say anything about not being allowed to break out, but she suspects it was more of an unspoken rule. Perhaps they didn't even realize it was possible.
Neither of the other blocks did it. Amadis had hoped that if they saw her, even for a few seconds, they would understand what they had to do. That's why she waited until she knew the pattern of the walls and picked a time when they'd be clear. She suspected that production wouldn't give her another shot if she chose to break a wall between two blocks instead.
Yet, the two announcements proved that either the others didn't see her, they didn't care, or it didn't work. Two people are dead, needlessly and likely horrifically dead. Amadis' escape plan might've saved one person but it's not going to last forever. She's sure that they've reinforced any faults by now that would've let her do the same to the outside walls.
At the end of the day, did she even make a difference?
Amadis wipes another tear as it falls and tries to take a deep breath. She can't sit here forever, not just because someone will eventually find her but because she has to at least try. She's not sure if she means try to win or try to escape, but it doesn't matter. Her mom taught her that there is never a good reason to give up on something worthwhile.
"What about now?" She whispers. Amadis doesn't know what exactly she's asking. Is it okay to give up now? That doesn't sound like Amadis, but she can't help but wonder if that's exactly what her words mean.
But it's her mom's voice that answers inside her head a moment later. Your life is worthwhile, even if someone else has decided it's not. Her mom, if she even knows where Amadis is, has certainly not given up on her. She's not the type, never has been. She took every loss in court as more fuel for the next one. She taught Amadis to have the same fire in her chest. The one thing that Amadis has consistently wanted for herself was to be as strong as her mom.
And maybe this is her last chance to prove that she is.
The air crackles above her and Amadis tilts her head to look up. A moment later, she jumps as the screen in front of her lights up. It's so bright, she has to squint her eyes to even look at it.
"Attention contestants. Effective immediately, the competition is paused and yesterday's rules are back in place. All contestants report immediately to the Common Room, a trial is set to begin."
And when Amadis is finally able to open her eyes fully to face the screen, the silhouette she expected isn't there.
Instead she sees a gavel, yet it still feels like it's looking right at her.
17th: Lilliana Sterling-Hargreaves, 17
A/N: Hello again! Consider this Bloodbath part two I guess, or don't. The kids are doing well you see. I'm sure everyone agrees with me on that last point.
I would like to both thank and apologize to Chloe who submitted Lilliana. She had one of the hardest pre-games of any kid in my verse and she was just all around fun to write for. I also happen to know that she had a multitude of fans in her short time with us. For her, I knew that I wanted to give her a connection and I immediately knew she would work well with Riley. Unfortunately, it also felt correct to end it here. I hope you understand and thank you so much for trusting me with her.
I will not be discussing the last few lines. I will, however, say that anyone that is around my channel in SYOT Verses should keep an eye out for a second ping in the next twenty-four hours. Side note if you are not on discord (or in SYOT Verses) and would like to be involved, shoot me a PM!
Thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / telling me to look for that sentence I lost in my notes app. I appreciate each and every one of you very much.
~ Olive