In The Clear: Games VI
Level 4 - Library - 10:54 PM
"What was that?"
Dom can't be completely certain which of them said it, but by the look on their faces they're both thinking it. It's an echo that she wishes weren't familiar - the slamming of a metal door - but it's somehow even worse. The doors between blocks at her last prison were so loud they basically popped her ears if she stood too close. This, though much further away, sounded even louder.
"A door?" Dom says with the question evident in her voice. Amadis wrinkles her forehead but nods in response.
"Where?"
Dom shakes her head but both of them are looking towards the floor. The sound almost certainly came from below them. "I don't think there are any."
Realization flashes across Amadis' eyes as she takes in the statement. Her lips part as if she's about to speak, but in the same instant the entire room goes dark around them. Dom stiffens and reaches out instinctively to grab hold of something solid. Her fingers curl around one of the bookshelf's edges but the lights don't come back on.
The room feels so much more sinister in pitch darkness. Dom lets a slow breath slip through her teeth, but that doesn't stop the palpitations. She turns her head in every direction but her eyes don't adjust quickly. After so many days of LED brightness, she can almost convince herself that they never will.
Dom isn't sure if it takes one breath or a hundred, but light eventually starts to make its way to them. In comparison to the persistent overhead lights, however, the small strips of brightness on the floor are nothing but an eerie glow. Dom steps out carefully from between the bookshelves and finds similar patterns of light throughout the rest of the room. Despite being here for so many hours, it gives the entire place a hue of unfamiliarity.
"You're right." Amadis' mind feels like it's travelling at a hundred kilometers a minute. There aren't any doors, or at least not below them. Upstairs and on this level the rooms are separated, but not down there. She tries to remember what she can about the levels below. Kitchen… Cell blocks… There were no doors separating the kitchen level and none below that in the cell blocks, only staircases. And if there are no doors…
Where did that sound come from?
Amadis doesn't realize she's left the library until she's already running downstairs. Something's changed. She doesn't know what it is but a door could be huge. A door could mean a way out, it could mean somewhere that the contestants haven't been able to access yet. It could mean anything.
She pauses at the entrance to the kitchen level. Her heart is beating so quickly it feels like it's punching her in the chest, but her mind still pushes her forward. Something's changed - the lights and the door and there could be more. Except those hastened thoughts aren't enough to push her across the threshold.
Amadis forgot, in those few moments racing downstairs, that she had any reason to be afraid. Staring out into the dark dining room, with tables and chairs casting shadows with the help of the faint lighting, she would be stupid not to remember. The sound could have been nothing. It could have even been a trap.
But it could be something. Amadis' hands tighten at her sides as she tries to find the nerve to step inside. As refreshing as it's been to sit and talk all of this out with Dom, that's not going to last forever. That fact has been the elephant in the room since the pair decided to ally. They were going to have to leave eventually, so why not now?
She swallows. Amadis can't help but wonder what her mom would do if she were here, but deep down she knows the answer. Her mom is the type to keep digging until she finds answers. She's brave. She doesn't let anything stop her. Amadis pushes away the thought that maybe she's not as much like her mom as she always hoped she was. It doesn't budge.
She turns quickly as panting breaths catch up to her. Amadis had all but forgotten about her ally, and gives a half-apologetic smile as Dom reaches her. She flinches as Dom grabs her wrist and pulls her close enough to whisper. "Where are we going?"
Even Amadis can hear the irritation in her voice. She pulls herself away and gives Dom a questioning look. "The sound came from down here."
"So?" Dom hisses. "It's dangerous."
"Something changed, it could be important."
Dom crosses her arms and her nails dig into the tops of her arms. "Did you even think to talk about it first?"
"What?" Amadis asks. She genuinely isn't sure what Dom means. They've talked about a lot of things, but this felt more urgent. Whatever made the sound might not be there in a few hours or even a few minutes. Why does she seem upset?
"What if I thought it was a bad idea?"
Amadis tilts her head. "You didn't have to come."
"I thought you wanted to work together." Dom is trying so hard to keep her voice down, but in the darkness it still feels like it's echoing. This is the last place to be having this discussion. In fact, Dom isn't even sure if they should be having it at all. She's frustrated that Amadis just up and left without warning. They're supposed to be a team. What if they got separated? All the things they've discussed so far would be for nothing.
Dom tells herself that's the only reason she cares. The other girl stares at her as if Dom had been speaking another language entirely. She's starting to wonder if she had been. "I do."
"Then where are we going?" Dom says with more venom than she means to. She feels ridiculous being this upset when Amadis doesn't seem to understand, but that doesn't change anything. Dom had to chase her through two rooms and down a flight of stairs without a hint of an idea what was happening. She feels like an idiot.
Amadis swallows and for a second she sees it - the uncertainty. Then, just as quickly, it's gone again. "You said there weren't any doors. It sounded like a door and I think we need to find it."
"Won't others have the same idea?"
Her eyes fall to the ground. Amadis hadn't considered that. Then why did Dom come down here?
"Let's go back," Dom says softly.
Initially, Amadis feels inclined to agree. The library might not be safe but no one's bothered them there so far. The safest option would be to retreat and regroup, maybe come up with a plan before coming back down here again. Dom is right, it's dangerous. Yet, Amadis finds herself shaking her head.
She doesn't want to be scared. She is, even more so now that Dom's pointed out two very obvious reasons why they should be. Amadis isn't going to tell her there's nothing to be afraid of, because that would be a lie. She wants to continue despite the fear and figure out if whatever made that sound can help them.
She wants to prove that she is like her mom. Even if it's just to herself.
"I want to keep going."
Dom's lips narrow into a line. "Amadis-"
"You don't have to-"
"If you want to go I'm coming."
Amadis blinks, not understanding. Dom was upset that she came down here without discussing it first. No doubt she is upset at her making this decision without her as well. Her reply doesn't make any sense.
Truthfully, it doesn't make any sense to Dom either. But neither does walking away.
Level 3 - Security - 11:01 PM
Riley slams his fist down on every button he sees. It's not like they're very well hidden, because if they were he wouldn't even see them. Every panel in the dim room glows like a waiting beacon. He couldn't give less of a shit what any one of them does.
His body is still vibrating like an overheating tractor. His eyes have only half-adjusted away from the panel lighting that's been constant since arriving here. He can't think, but really he shouldn't be surprised. That's never been Riley's strong suit.
He presses his palms over his eyes as he melts into the office chair. There is only one button on the panel in front of him and Riley's only half aware of what it did. The words 'temperature regulation' mean little to him. He doesn't care. He doesn't care about any of it.
Stop fucking thinking.
Remembering what happened after Vasi's announcement is like trying to remember a fragmented dream. The shins of Riley's pants are half-stiff, half-wet with blood that he doesn't recall kneeling in. One of his hands has been stained the same colour, presumably from getting himself off the floor. There were words and the glow of blue lines along the floor. Then he was here.
The reward.
A fucking joke if anyone were to ask him.
He peels his hands from his eyes just long enough to take in the room. Riley didn't even realize there was a room at the center of the stairs. It's only a couple meters in diameter and mainly overtaken by a circular desk. In the middle of the desk is a cutout just large enough for the chair Riley's managed to squeeze himself onto. He can spin to look in any direction from here.
His elbows come to rest on the desk and Riley jumps. In an instant, what he saw is gone as he pushes himself away from the surface. He shakes his head as if maybe that will be the thing to knock some sense into him. As if no one's ever tried that before.
Slowly, Riley moves to put one hand back down on the desk. Just like before, the wall in front of him starts to shift. It takes several seconds for his eyes to make any sense of what he's seeing. At first, his brain likens it to a screen but that's not quite right.
He's looking straight through the walls, just like before.
Riley instinctively removes his hand when he spots two of the contestants walking towards him. He doesn't know either one's name, nor does he stare long enough to read off their numbers. The strange thing is that, despite moving straight towards him, neither one of them looked at him. It's like they can't even see him.
He puts his hand back. They're walking down the stairs towards the basement but there's still no indication that they can see him.
"Welcome."
Riley jumps immediately to his feet and the walls darken around him. He looks around for the source of the voice despite knowing he isn't likely to find it. Sure enough, nothing inside the room has changed besides the fact that he feels a hell of a lot more awake.
And the smell of roasted chicken makes him just about throw up from excitement. His head turns in every direction trying to locate it, but it doesn't take long. Riley half-leaps over the desk when he spots the open cabinet. He grabs a fistful of chicken and potatoes and shoves it unceremoniously between his teeth. He expects it to be scalding hot, but it's somehow the perfect temperature.
"You may remain here for up to twelve hours."
Riley can barely hear the voice over his own chewing, nor does he care to. It's only been a couple of days since he's eaten but it's been months since he's had anything resembling this meal. The last time he'd had chicken this good was when Alec made it.
That thought is the only one capable of making him pause shovelling food into his mouth. Even that only lasts a minute and he's straight back at it. Normally the thought of his name would make him sick with worry.
This time, it reminds him of why he's doing this.
It makes the blood on his pants as meaningless as a paint stain.
"The choice is yours."
Cell Block A - 1:28 AM
Myra sits between two of the light strips on the floor. It's nowhere close to the same brightness as before, but it lets her pretend that it could be. If she only stares at the ground, the light burns her eyes in almost the same way. It's when Myra looks up that things are proven different. She's been trying not to do that more than necessary.
They're supposed to be taking turns resting, but she can see from here that Ram's eyes are still open. She thinks it's still her turn, but she's not sure. It's gotten warmer with each passing hour it seems, which is making it hard to relax. They haven't spoken very much since leaving the kitchen. Myra's tried, but they don't often answer. When they do, it's in broken sentences that have managed to convince her she's done something wrong.
She's played the scene over in her head. She wants to ask what she did wrong, but she doesn't want to upset them further. All Myra wants is for them to be okay.
This was the best possible outcome, at least in her mind. Ram is okay. She is okay. 014 is gone. No one got hurt, at least not that she could see. They're safe again even if that's never going to last.
"Can I ask you something?" Her voice is so soft that she isn't certain it will travel far enough for them to hear. It feels like it takes Ram forever just to turn their gaze towards her. As soon as their eyes meet, Myra can feel the tears start to return.
"Sure."
They don't sound mad. Their voice is the same as it's always been, or least as it's been for the last day. If Ram was going to ask her to leave again, they would've done it already right? Myra isn't as sure as she had been a second ago.
"Are you upset with me?"
Ram sits up from the floor, but just as quickly turns their face away. "No."
"It seems like you are."
"I'm just thinking."
Myra swallows. "Can I ask about what?"
"I'd rather you didn't."
She nods but wonders if she understands. There are plenty of things she's thought about that she hasn't told them, not because she doesn't want to but because there doesn't seem to be a good way to do it. She's thought about home more than she ever did in prison. She's wondered what her parents think about what's happening. She's thought about Serena.
She's wondered what it might be like if she were here instead of Ram. There are enough similarities that Myra wonders if there'd be any difference at all.
Myra likes them, even if that's not always the easiest thing to do. She feels the same way about Serena, even when it was her who kept getting them in trouble. Serena understood her, was kind and listened no matter what was going through Myra's head that day. Ram helped her on the first day when they had no reason to. In their own ways, they both held on.
Even when Myra tried to push Serena away.
Even when Ram tried to push Myra away.
It always ended up with them together. No, that's not true but Myra still can't get that fact through her head. Serena promised she would come back for her and, despite all her flaws, she never promised anything she couldn't do. It's been months, maybe longer by now. There's no logical way she could be coming.
Yet Myra still kind of hopes that she will.
Just like she kind of hopes that Ram will tell her that asking her to leave was a mistake.
She knows that saying any of this aloud would be a mistake.
"Can I ask you something else then?"
Ram doesn't answer, but they turn ever slightly in her direction. That's probably the most permission she's going to get.
"What happened the first time with 014?"
They blink and quickly shake their head. "It was stupid."
"What was?"
Ram knows they shouldn't have said anything. They don't owe her any answers for their actions, especially not ones that happened days ago. They weren't together back then. Truthfully, Ram's not even certain they're together now. They haven't been able to think long enough to make a rational decision about it.
Yet, they can understand why she's asking. What happened earlier, the anger in 014's eyes when he found them, wasn't just the game. Ram could see that he wanted to hurt them. Just like how, days ago, Ram wanted to hurt him.
If only they'd have known how that was going to end.
"You don't have to tell me." Ram realizes it's been a while since they said anything. They turn back and Myra is staring at the floor as if embarrassed that she even asked. That's good. It means they don't have to answer. It means they can both sink back into the silence until something else fucking happens.
"I didn't want anyone to bother me."
Her forehead wrinkles as her gaze shifts back to theirs. It's clear that she doesn't understand and Ram didn't think she would. She doesn't seem like the type to care. Ram didn't know her in prison, but she seems like someone that would be content to just fly under the radar. She would be bothered, but not much. The words that come to mind when Ram looks at her are simple - easy target.
They're almost jealous that she might be okay with that.
"Did he bother you?"
Ram swallows. Their logic felt so solid at the time, but now it seems stupid at best. Short term pain for long term payoff. If they won a fight against the biggest guy here, no one would think to bother them. Except Myra's simple question makes them wonder - would anyone have? The Cut aside, Ram didn't see any of the normal bullying they'd grown used to. Did they jump the gun?
Their instincts say no, but that's not the loudest voice by a longshot.
"No."
"Then why-"
"I needed to show that I could fight. Because if I can fight, then people are less likely to try. They'll leave me alone."
She nods, but even that feels like a question. Ram knows it was stupid. They didn't consider The Cut, but even then maybe they should've waited. They just didn't want to let it happen. They didn't want anyone to prove that they were a victim before they had the chance to say otherwise.
They're so sick of being the victim all the time- at their uncle's, at camp, Ram hates that in every single circumstance they needed help, hell they even asked for it. Yet, no one gave it. It was up to Ram to fend for themself against their family, even if their cousin Rachel wanted to be on their side. She was still in that house; she still needed to survive. She couldn't help but Ram so badly wanted her to. They needed someone.
It was up to Ram to stand up for themself at camp. Their peers did nothing but stare, but shoot looks at them every time they messed up as if Ram did it to personally spite them. How many times did Ram look up and hope for any sign that they were on their side? How many times were they disappointed?
The fire was the only way. It was the first time Ram wasn't powerless. Sure, in prison they had friends but only after they'd made a name for themself; only after they'd broken another inmate's jaw to prove that they weren't going to take anything lying down.
The fire, the fight - both of these were only done after being hurt too many times. For once Ram didn't want to go through that. They wanted to be proactive, to prove themself before they had to go through even more. That's the only reason they picked a fight with 014.
But their tongue refuses to say any of that aloud. No one needs to know that they were never strong to begin with. No one needs to hear for certain that Ram is nothing but prey cloaked in wolf fur. Yet, without any of that context, they sound like a stupid bitch who rightfully got the shit kicked out of them.
They can't blame Myra for thinking that when they can't certainly say they're much better than that.
"You did what you felt you had to."
This time it's Ram's brow that furrows. They expected more questions that poke and prod at their reasoning. They expected to have to fight through every one of her next words. They don't know what to do with this.
"Yeah."
She shrugs. "No one can fault you for that."
Level 5 - Infirmary - 4:53 AM
Casi doesn't need more than the dim lights to recognize them. He's only just managed to convince Lawrence to leave the morgue. They have no idea what time it is; truthfully it's not a question that's crossed his mind. There's enough of a plan in Casi's mind that nothing else matters.
They're going to find him. It's just about the only thing they've been able to think about since he woke up.
End of plan.
Only the girl has enough time to jump up from the cot she'd been laying on. Casi lunges to the further figure, the one whose face is turned away from them. He doesn't even feel himself move, one moment they're walking through the door and the next he's standing over him. Except it's not him.
For half a second, that doesn't actually matter.
It's them even if it's not him. It's the people that walked with Omar just minutes after he ensured that Meg never got the chance to stand again. The dreams of her mouth filled with blood, the memories of the way they just stopped moving, it all comes back again. The tears and choking sobs that took over every inch of their skin now transform into a red hot brand in the center of their chest.
It hurts. It hurts so much they can't breathe, yet somehow that's not enough to stop him.
It's their fault.
Casi can't see through blurred tears as they rip the long haired boy from the cot. He had already been moving to stand, but with the added momentum he ends up stumbling until he falls to the floor. He looks up with wide eyes and messy strands of hair splitting his face. The memory only gets stronger.
He wouldn't look at me. He wouldn't even look at me as he followed Omar away. After what he did, after what he saw, he wouldn't even look at me.
Casi grabs a fistful of hair and yanks it until the boy's eyes are facing forward. He gasps and squirms as he reaches for Casi's hand but their grip doesn't falter. The boy's eyes are wide as he tries to free himself. The heat in Casi's chest burns even hotter. Now you don't have a choice.
"Shane!" The screech has no effect on him. Casi can't tear his eyes away from the person in front of him. He remembers. They remember. He isn't Omar but he's no better. He and the girl, they're willing to protect him. After what he did to Meg they're still going to protect him.
Guilty. They're all guilty.
The same word the voice used for Meg.
Except it was wrong. This, this, is the only thing that's going to make it right again.
Lawrence faces the girl, her blonde hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. They can hear the sounds behind them, can barely see movement in their peripheral vision. Casi and the boy are far enough away that there's no imminent risk so they focus on her. In turn, she watches them. Her eyes flicker around Lawrence to the longhaired boy. Back and forth, like she's not sure which one she's supposed to keep in view. Lawrence can't imagine that she truly wishes to see the scene behind them.
They recognize the determination in Casi's words, in the way their eyes don't seem to focus on anything in particular yet still burn with life. It's like violence, revenge, is all he can think about. Lawrence can almost feel it too. It's what they saw in themself when they looked in the mirror, when the constant insults at home got to be too much. Lawrence would see in their eyes that they needed to let it out. If the fire burned too long, it began to drink the oxygen from their lungs. It consumed them. In more than a few ways, it became them.
Lawrence knows how impossible that is to control. It's why they didn't say no to leaving the morgue. When the fire starts, it only grows. The only thing that can calm the flames is letting some of it out. Not enough, never enough, to put it out.
They never got to extinguish their own burning. All those men that suffered at their hands, they weren't the ones that started the fire. They were rotten, corrupt, no loss to the world, but their blood wasn't their gasoline. Their stepfather's is.
And deep down, the embers still burn. The increasing heat of the prison seems to only remind them of that fact.
They close their eyes for a moment as the sound of heavy impact reaches them. They did not expect to enact any kind of plan so soon. They agreed to this, but in reality they thought they'd have more time. Part of Lawrence had even hoped that the game would bring the glowing embers back to life. Afterall, that's what they should want, no? They should want to win and thus want the fires to burn again.
Then, why has their abdomen taken on an uncomfortable tightness? They would thank the lack of resources, namely food, but that feels illogical. Lawrence did not have this feeling back in the morgue.
They can't say they enjoy it.
Lawrence is pulled quickly from their ponderings as pain erupts at the top of their knee. Their eyes fly open as they are pushed to the side. They barely react in time to grab hold of the girl's hands that had just left their chest. Lawrence stumbles one step back, but she is pulled along with them.
"Shane!" Her face is red with effort as she tries to free her hands. One leg comes up and kicks them again on the opposite knee, but this one doesn't land nearly as hard. "Shane!"
They wonder if they are supposed to kill her. That would, in fact, be the most logical conclusion. Casi has only spoken about Omar and, whoever this girl may be, she is not him. Lawrence remembers that she left with him after the trial, as did the boy behind them. There was a fourth member of the group as well, but Lawrence does not see them.
It's possible they and Omar may not be here at all.
"He's not here." Lawrence finds their words have no effect. The girl still struggles in their grip. The grunting sounds behind them do not cease. When Lawrence forces themself to turn ever slightly around, Casi is on top of the boy with his hair locked between their fingers. Another heavy sound hits the wall behind them.
Their stomach tightens further. There have been no screams beyond the girl's. Lawrence saw no blood when they turned around. It's quite peculiar that those thoughts should comfort them, but there's no denying that they do.
Lawrence's brow furrows. "He's not here."
Their voice echoes far louder than they've ever heard it. It hits the walls and reverberates back at them, forcing everyone inside to pause along with Lawrence themself. They swallow the dryness stuck in their throat, observing the room as it spins. They don't want this to happen. Why not? This isn't a new concept to them. Death is as normal as the rising sun.
Yet, the thought that repeats doesn't waver.
I don't want this to happen.
"You want Omar?" The girl's words shake as steadily as her tangled hands. Lawrence releases her and she crumples to the ground. She isn't hurt. She can't be hurt because they didn't do anything to harm her. Yet, she trembles like she's in pain.
No, not pain, fear. She's afraid.
Of me.
Lawrence doesn't know if Casi can hear her. In truth, they're not certain he heard them either. The sounds continue. Lawrence doesn't wish to describe them as much as they don't wish to hear them. This is different. They don't know why but it is. It shouldn't bother them that the girl is afraid. It never bothered Lawrence when their victims watched them with the same terror.
They answer for Casi. "Where is he?"
"Let him go," she says between panting breaths. "Let us go first."
Lawrence nods. They step across the room, forcing themself to watch what's happening so they don't get caught in the crossfire. There is no blood except a small cut that's opened up above the boy's eyebrow. Casi is standing over him as if prepared to be stopped. Yet, he still flinches when Lawrence's hand glances their shoulder.
"He's not here."
Casi is shaking as he allows themself to be pulled away. His eyes don't leave the boy, Shane, who curls against the wall like a cornered animal. His hands are up around his face for protection, protection from them. Blood drips steadily from the cut by his eye before disappearing against his black uniform. His eyes don't leave Casi even when they finally manage to look away.
"Where is he?" Even Casi's voice trembles.
The girl rushes forward without an answer. She grabs Shane and pulls him up from the floor, which he doesn't fight against. She pushes him behind her, but his lack of balance sends him even further. Shane slowly makes his way into a crouch, his eyes held in his hands as if even the dim light were too much for him.
"We left him one level down." She basically spits the words at them, but there's no indication to say that she's lying. "The shop room. I don't know if he'll still be there."
Lawrence nods for them both. They keep one hand hovering close to Casi, not touching them but not far either. Part of them expects them to lunge at her, maybe back at the boy. Casi does neither of those things. He stands with shaking fists at their sides and eyes burning a hole through the cement floor. They look more like he did last night, when their dreams woke him with tears.
Casi sinks down as the girl collects her ally from the ground. Lawrence doesn't see where they go, though perhaps that's what they should've been watching. Instead, they find their eyes stuck on Casi. Lawrence recognizes the disappointment, the realization that the fire might not be in their throat anymore but that the gasoline is still leaking in their bloodstream. The day-after feeling that the victim they chose wasn't the predator they wanted.
It feels different seeing it in someone else's eyes. Lawrence, however, knows that nothing they do will take it away. Only one thing will do that; the very thing Lawrence never built up the courage to do.
They just have to find Casi's gasoline.
Level 5 - Security - 5:02 A
The pair is out of Riley's view as soon as they start down the stairwell, but he hardly notices. He stands in a room near-identical to the one on the floor below with both hands on the table in front of him. From here, he can see everything in the five surrounding rooms. He watched the whole interaction happen and it made him feel a whole lot better about his chances.
The girl from his cell block, 004, barely put up a fight. The boy she was with, 002, somehow worries Riley even less. Sure, they were caught off guard but that only accounts for the first few seconds. For all the screaming she did for her ally, she didn't even try to get to him for a while. Meanwhile, Riley lost count of how many times 002's head and torso hit the wall.
And maybe that's the most pathetic part. 002 still got up and walked away, even though the shaggy-haired contestant had a knife that never left his belt loop. It had more of a chance of piercing their own thigh than 002. It's hard for Riley to believe that they were even trying to kill him. Four contestants who clearly have no kind words for each other and yet every single one of them walked away.
It's like they're not even fucking trying.
Riley pulls his hand away as the longer-haired inmates crouches down beside his ally. In an instant, the wall in front of him has gone dark again and both contestants disappear. Despite the fact that this is literally his reward, it still feels slimy watching them. The longer he keeps the walls clear, the more he feels like some jerk watching from their lazy fucking couch. That's the last thing he wants to be.
I'm still in here. I'm still just as much a part of it as they are.
He's just here to gather… what? Intelligence? All Riley's been able to gather so far is that he's a whole lot more ahead of this game than even he thought. He's always been determined. He doesn't really have the option to be anything else right now. Riley has to get home, and to do that he has to win. Not just for him, but for Alec.
For the life I'm still convincing myself I can have.
Riley shakes his head and stands up. Not for the first time this morning, his mind centers on leaving. The voice said it was his choice to stay here. From what he can tell, it's safe here at least from the other contestants. He's shimmied up every ladder and back down again. He's able to see every floor including the basement level, though that one's only visible from above. If the purpose of this reward is figuring out where everyone is, it's served that function.
He looks up and finds the digital clock counting down above him. The screen is in the same place on every level, counting down from the twelve hours he was promised. There are still almost seven left which means he's wasted five sitting around. Riley could've been using that time to cut down the amount he'll have to stay here.
Using it to get closer to Alec. He shakes that quiet thought away too. He can't keep thinking about him, even if it's all the motivation he could ever need. As much as he can, Riley needs to keep his head firmly on his shoulders.
He shuffles down to the bottom level of the security core. That's what Riley's gotten used to calling it, mostly because that's what it looks like. The bottom floor is where he can see the main common area, the one where they watched the trials and waited for everyone to sign their lives away. Oddly enough, no one seems to come down here much.
Riley stares at the door for just long enough to steer clear of it. He needs to think rationally, and that's never been his strong suit. At the very least he should attempt to sleep before he leaves. That, and make sure that no more food is coming his way.
He eases himself down along one of the room's curved edges. There's nothing even resembling a bed in this place, but he's certainly seen worse. Riley folds the hood of his sweater up under his head and pulls the sleeves down to cover his hands. The security core has the same slight chill that the prison outside it had when Riley left. It's almost comfortable.
He sighs and rolls onto the other side. He doesn't want to give into the curiosity, but after a few seconds he can't help it. Riley reaches up and finds the switch at the top of the table at the room's center. Now, when his hand touches the surface, the walls behind him stay solid and the ones beneath him clear.
His eyes know exactly where to look. Riley tells himself that he doesn't actually expect to still find him there, but he knows that's a lie. He would've seen Noam if he came upstairs. He's not exactly hard to miss.
Riley swallows and looks down on the cell block. Noam is still almost exactly where he left him in the last cell. He's turned slightly to lay on his back instead of his side. In fact, if Riley wasn't already sure the walls didn't work both ways, he would think Noam was looking straight up at him.
From this angle it's easier to see the red puffiness that lines his eyes. There's still blood smeared across his chin, but it's fainter than before as if maybe Noam had tried to wipe it away. Everything else in the room is exactly as Riley remembers.
He removes his hand from the table as his full stomach turns. He promised himself that he wasn't going to think about them again. It wasn't personal, or maybe it was and it doesn't matter. Riley did what he had to do to get a meal and some rest, to get one step closer to leaving this place. Vasi wasn't anything special to him. They couldn't be. Anyone who allows themself to care about someone else in a deathmatch is a fool.
And if there's one thing Noam's always been, it's a fool.
Cell Block B - 5:06 AM
Noam can't remember a time when his body has felt this heavy. He's done his share of drugs, of drinking until puking was not only inevitable but wanted. He's been so high he's forgotten that he owned fingers, believed he could melt through the floor if he tried hard enough. Yet, he's never known a time when his limbs both felt like they were filled with lead and like they were nothing at all.
He turns his head, but the only indication that anyone had ever been beside him is the mostly dried bloodstain. Besides that, the room is empty. It's darker than it had been, with only strips of light along the walls to see by, but Noam can't say that he cares. It's better if he doesn't see it. It's better if some part of him can pretend that he's not here alone.
Not even he is stupid enough to believe that.
For all the people that told Noam that he would end up alone, he realizes that he didn't actually believe it would happen here. Eventually, sure. He can't imagine someone actually wanting to spend the rest of their life with him. Truthfully, Noam's not sure he could stand someone that long either. He's not one to dwell on the future, it doesn't really interest him.
Yet, how stupid of him not to realize it could happen here. This is the end afterall, isn't it? Noam's never hurt anyone on purpose. He's gotten the snot beat out of him more times than he can count. He's got a baton but no real skill to back it up. Against someone like Riley, like literally anyone else, he has no chance. Deep down, Noam's known that since this whole thing started.
He just didn't think he'd be the one laying here.
Vasi had more fight in them. Hell, for a while in the trial he figured they would kill him. It's always been framed in his mind as a joke - what isn't - but the thought was there. No one was going to come save him. For a little while Noam was able to kid himself, but not for long and certainly not now. He's nothing. He's the son of a politician who doesn't even like him. Who the fuck is going to care when he's gone?
For all he knows, this could be another famous Steiner political stunt- "I'm such a slut for The Cut, I let it kill my own kid". Noam wouldn't put it past him at this point. Everything with his dad has always been about making him look good. That's probably why he was always so eager to get rid of his problem child. It would get him ahead of the metric shit ton of scandals for just a little while longer. If it would help him get through the day, his dad was not only willing to do it but had probably already tried.
It's no wonder that Noam feels closer to his dad than ever.
Isn't that what I did to Vasi? To Riley? To everyone in the cell block that was stupid enough to believe me? Noam bites down hard on his tongue. They weren't stupid, they were desperate. Just like Noam was so desperate to believe his own lies, so were they. Noam would've jumped at the idea that one of them could get him out of this situation. Anything to last another day, even if none of it was real.
If he hates his dad, he should hate himself just as much. It seems as though the political blood didn't skip a generation after all. Aren't you proud, dad?
Normally Noam would laugh, even if he didn't feel like it. Anything to stick it to his dad. Anything to prove that he didn't actually care that everything his family thinks about him is true. Anything to pretend that this was all some elaborate joke instead of the life he fucking chose.
He's lost everything. And the saddest part is that he actually fucking cares this time.
That just might be the biggest joke he's ever heard.
Yet, not even he can laugh this time.
Level 5 - Isolation - 7:32 AM
Bridget hugs her knees even tighter to her chest. She tried to sit him up. She tries to wake him up but he just keeps falling into these fitful half-sleeps. Even when Shane does have his eyes open, she knows something isn't right.
What do I do? She bites back the tears as she stares at him. At this point, that's just about the only thing she can think to do. Her eyes burn from the smell of vomit that's gathered in Shane's lap. She used her sweater to mop away the first pile, it's getting too hot to wear it anyways, but he's thrown up twice more since. The garment is now between the wall and Shane's back, another poor attempt at helping him sit up that Bridget hasn't bothered to give up on.
She's not even certain what happened. He was able to walk with her help when they left the infirmary, but he kept saying his head hurt. Bridget told him to sit down, so they could rest, and because she wanted to allow herself time for her hands to stop shaking. It all happened so fast. She can feel her arms start to tremble again as she remembers. They appeared so fast.
Bridget truly believed they were going to die there.
When they walked away, she thought everything was okay. She knows Shane got hit. She saw it happen, she heard it happen and the sound still rings in her ears. She just thought… if he got up that meant he was okay. Except when Bridget sat him down here, he hasn't been able to get back up.
She's tried; she's tried to pull him to his feet but it looked like she was hurting him.
All she's been able to do is sit here, as far away as she can while still being able to look at him. It terrifies her. He was fine and now he's very much not fine, but Bridget doesn't know what to do. The red mark on the side of his temple just keeps getting darker. The bleeding stopped, but it's now the part under it that worries her.
Is he dying? Bridget doesn't know. She used to believe she was familiar with death, but she only truly knows one part of it. She knows the after, what happens when the heart's already stopped and the body's already buried. Bridget doesn't know this. There hasn't been an announcement; his chest is still rising and falling because she's checked a hundred times. Each time he grimaces in half-sleep, she gets hope that he's going to open his eyes. All she's been able to see are the whites of them as his eyelids flutter.
Is this what she looked like? Bridget turns her head away every time that thought surfaces. Anne died in a car accident. She assumes it was fast, or at least that's what people have tried to tell her. There wasn't time for wondering, not like this.
She wipes a tear away before it has the chance to fall. What do I do?
Shane walks through a silent forest.
For as far as he can see, there are lush green tree tops and beams of sunlight peeking through the leaves. The brush under his feet feel like nothing, sound like nothing, though when he looks down his feet are bare. They're stained with traces of dirt and greenery. They keep walking, they don't feel tired.
No, they feel alive.
He reaches out to the still air, but it too feels empty. Shane doesn't mind. The images are enough. He thinks he's had this dream before of walking through a forest that his mind seems to remember. A quiet part of him believes that he should know what it smells like, but for now it smells like nothing.
Shane looks down as a warmth envelops his hand. There's no fear, as if that same quiet part of him knows who will be there. In fact, he smiles as their fingers intertwine.
"You came back."
Bridget closes her eyes as the tears start to fall more freely. He keeps mumbling, but she doesn't know what he's saying. She doesn't know if he's in pain, if he's asking her for something that she doesn't know to give him. She's done everything she can think of and she's terrified. She doesn't want to watch him die.
She's beginning to suspect that's exactly what she's watching. Bridget hugs her knees even closer, but that doesn't take her any further away. It feels like the room is getting smaller, like the darkness is more suffocating than she's allowed herself to realize. The burn of vomit is starting to feel like it's being stuffed down her throat.
"Shane?" Her voice is so meek, so terrified that Bridget doesn't want to recognize it. She just wants him to open his eyes.
She just wants to stop thinking about her sister.
"Shane."
He smiles at the sound of his name. The warmth moves from his hand to the center of his chest, blossoming there until the cold he didn't notice is gone. She's here. He knew she would be. Shane has never seen this forest without her.
He turns his head and a familiar building comes into view. It's nestled among the trees like it's been there since the dawn of time, and perhaps it has been. Shane remembers it. His eyes fall to the furthest window, its pane open just far enough for a small hand to fit through. He knows without looking that the pews inside have started to rot and that rug down the middle will be damp. He remembers it too.
Home.
"Are we going home?" The words come from his mind, but Shane doesn't feel them on his lips. It's as if his mind is speaking to hers, but he knows that she will hear him. His neck cranes upward, his eyes willing the light to part so that he may see her. Yet, an intense brightness is all he sees.
Still, Shane is not afraid. He knows that she's there.
Bridget sniffles as one of his hands starts to twitch at his side. It moves only a few inches, but that's more purposeful movement than she's seen in hours. She unfurls herself from against the wall and slowly starts towards him. "Shane?"
He doesn't answer, but his fingers lift ever slightly from the floor.
Bridget swallows as she reaches him. She moves his shoulders so they're stacked atop his chest again, hoping to keep him upright but he slouches back down again. Tears bite under her eyelids, but she blinks them away. He moved. He's trying to tell me something.
She doesn't know that, but every piece of her leaps at the hope that it might be true. Bridget gently places her hand over his and it almost immediately goes still again. Her hand starts to tremble. She watches his chest, but the breath seems to take forever to come. Bridget cranes her neck to look up, wondering if the announcement will come first. Finally, his chest rises again.
She pulls her hand away as her teeth start to chatter against the coming sobs. She can't do this. He's not going to wake up and she knows it, but she keeps on hoping. If there's a way, Bridget wants to find it. She doesn't know anything about medicine. She doesn't even know if the mark on his head is the reason he won't wake up. She just doesn't know.
She can't just sit here and watch him die. Someone could come, just like last time. They could have more weapons or more willpower or more of whatever stopped the last ones from killing her.
And, game aside, Bridget just can't do it.
She can't keep hoping. He was comfortable and he was trustworthy, but Bridget knew it wasn't going to last. What was it that she said just yesterday?
He isn't her, and he isn't forever.
"I'm sorry."
Shane feels the warmth leave his chest, run down his hand until it's gone from that as well. He looks quickly, but the light that was just there has already faded to a gentle blur. He can't even see the details of the tree leaves with how far away the light has become.
"Where are you going?" He asks, but once again his lips don't move. The words are like an echo in his head, only in his head. They don't pour outward this time. They don't reach the light. He tries again. "Where are you going?"
This time, the echo is even louder but it still doesn't reach her.
Shane looks around, but the building is gone. He can no longer see the cracked window, can't remember what the inside looks like even though the image feels so close. His mind can't grasp it, just like it can't come up with what colour the sky should be.
It's gotten so dark. The colours all look like shades of grey and not a single one is familiar anymore.
"I have to go."
Shane reaches out but the air feels like nothing. The darkness is only growing around him, stealing the tree tops and the sun beams that shone through them. He isn't cold, but he knows he should be. There should be warmth there but it's gone. She has to go. Shane tries to take a step, but each one takes him further from the dimming brightness.
"Please." His hand drops to his side but he doesn't want it to. He wants to keep reaching, to keep begging for her to come back until she turns around. He wants to go home. He wants to remember what home looks like because he's never quite been able to remember.
Is that where she's going? Is she going home? "Take me with you."
But the brightness is already gone, and the only thing Shane can do is wait in the dark once again.
Bridget only makes it one room to the right. She doesn't look around more than to ensure she's alone. The door swings closed and it's even darker here than the isolation rooms. She doesn't care, or at least she tells herself that she doesn't.
Her breaths feel like smoke in her lungs as she curls into the corner of the room. He isn't dead, but she doesn't even know if he's who she's crying for. She couldn't stay. She wanted to, but she couldn't. She couldn't watch him go. Bridget doesn't want to know what it looks like when someone is actually gone.
Is he in pain? Does he know she left? Could she sense that she was alone? Did she know she was going to die?
Bridget buries her face in her palms but the questions come as quickly as the shedding tears. It will be easier when the announcement comes. It will be easier when she knows. When he's gone, there will be no more questions because death is the easiest thing to believe. It just is and no one can say otherwise.
No one can argue against it, she knows she tried.
It never changed a damn thing.
Rooftop Stairwell - 7:49 AM
Eris pauses at the edge of the stairwell for the first time in hours. She hasn't moved far, nor fast, but one foot in front of the other is just about the only thing she can claim. It feels good. In fact, stopping is just about the last thing she wants to do. However, after hours of bare dimness the blue haze ahead seems like it's coming from a different planet.
One, two, three and then I have to keep going. Eris allows herself those few seconds for her eyes to adjust, three more to convince herself that there's nothing to be afraid of. She's been moving through the prison for hours and seen almost no one. Those that did pass by didn't even seem to see her.
At this point, the blue brightness is the most intimidating thing Eris can think of. If there's anyone inside, they'll see her immediately. If anyone comes up while she's inside, there'll be very few places to hide. Maybe it's not such a good idea.
She wipes the sweat from her forehead and rolls her sleeves even further up her arm. It feels like the entire place is slowly melting, but Eris is still unwilling to take off the hoodie. She doesn't want anything in her hands if something happens. Her sword needs both of them.
Eris only remembers the eyes behind her when she stops; that's why she's trying so hard not to do it. The longer she stands here, the more unsure she looks and the more pathetic she feels. Her only plan is to keep moving, to not get stuck again, to avoid anyone that even comes close. It's not a good plan but it's the only one Eris can think of.
She feels the girl's presence before she actually turns around to see her. 006 stands only a few inches away, just close enough to stare through the same opening to the rooftop. Her pale expression all but glows with the fresh brightness. Eris hates that she doesn't look afraid.
Neither do I.
She expects 006 to walk ahead of her. She's already proven that she's willing to do things that Eris can't, whether they be stupid or not. 006 was the one to check the infirmary; Eris wouldn't have dared. It only makes sense that she'll be the first one on the rooftop. Eris shouldn't even be upset about it; it only makes her position safer.
Yet, her inner voice only gets more insistent on moving the closer 006 comes. She almost convinces herself to take a step when eyes lock with hers. They narrow ever slightly, not in annoyance but in something that resembles concern. Then, 006 points back the way they came. Eris wants to shake her head, but all she does is drop her gaze entirely.
Marcy wonders for a moment if she's going to follow. For almost the entire time since they've left the isolation cells, Eris has been the one in front. Marcy doesn't mind. She doesn't really know where they're trying to go and she doesn't think it makes sense to ask at this point. She doesn't have a plan. Eris at least seems to. It makes sense for her to follow and she's not going to complain. This is the bravest she's ever felt even if it terrifies her at the same time.
The whole prison makes her skin crawl, but Eris seems far more at ease. Something about the rooftop makes Eris not want to go inside. That's more than a good enough reason to turn around.
And when she looks behind her a few steps later, she's relieved to see that Eris is right behind her.
Level 3 - Dining Room - 10:11 AM
Bowie doesn't even hear the words he's saying anymore. They sound like a buzzing sound, not the kind that plays in your ears when it's too quiet but like that of a hornet's nest as you approach. It makes their stomach turn every time. It threatens to make them scream or cry or do anything but sit here and listen.
Yet, their legs won't take them away. They moved, only down one level and with not a single look behind them. Bowie knew that he would follow. They hadn't told him not to and at that point their tongue had already felt like it'd been cut from between their teeth. It still feels numb when Bowie tries to open their mouth. It feels like it's on fire when they look at him.
They're angry, but they don't know if it's at him or at themself. They feel lost in a way that they haven't since the day they met their father. They want to cry but every part of their body feels so numb that Bowie's not even sure they would realize if they were. She's right. That's all they can think. She's right, she's right, she's right-
I killed someone. But Bowie already knew that. They saw the blood splatter, the way that Shane looked at them. They can feel the difference in their hands, that one doesn't feel like it belongs to them anymore.
So did he.
And deep down, Bowie knew that too.
He says he didn't, that it was the game, the trial. He's made so many excuses and Bowie wanted to believe him. He wouldn't lie to them. But he did. If Omar said he didn't kill her, then how could he have? He did. The scene keeps replaying over and over in Bowie's mind as if making up for the hours that they managed to suppress it away. They see them, the box, the fact that Omar was outside of it while Meg stood inside- trusting him.
She trusted him and he killed them.
He killed them.
He killed-
"I think we should go look for them."
Bowie lifts their gaze slowly until they're just able to see him through their eyebrows. Omar is staring up at the ceiling, a concerned look on his face that makes them want to listen. It looks so much like he cares. Bowie can even imagine themself agreeing, getting up, following Omar through the prison on some quest to find their other friends.
Except why would they? Bridget and Shane walked away. They walked away from him.
And I'm still here.
Bowie shakes their head. They don't know what else to do. Arguing feels pointless, but following feels even more so. Part of them still desperately wants to trust Omar. He's the one that found them on the roof, that welcomed them, that became their friend. He was kind to them and maybe that's the lowest bar in the world but it was enough. Bowie craved that closeness to anyone who would offer it. They wanted someone, it's all they've ever wanted.
Their eyes drop back to the floor. Bowie had been so willing to overlook what happened. Maybe because they felt obligated, afterall weren't the two of them guilty of the same crime? They listened to Omar's lies and they believed them, at least on the surface. But deep down they knew; they've always known. Their memory of the trial proves that.
Bowie can't look at him the same way anymore. They suspect it would be just as impossible to look in the mirror.
So where does that leave them? Bridget and Shane are gone, it's been hours since they last saw them. The two people they have left - Omar and themself - are the ones they're most disgusted by. There's no one else.
Bowie's far too used to that feeling.
"No." The whisper that parts their lips is so quiet, so nothing. Bowie hates that it's not louder, that they can't bear the thought of screaming even though it's the only thing that would make sense. Their closest friend is a murderer, a liar, as delusional as Bridget said and more. Bowie can't honestly say they're any better.
Then why not stay? The thought is just as quiet, but it doesn't leave so easily. Bowie has to push it away. Every ounce of concentration they have is focused on replacing it with anything else. Even then, it still echoes somewhere in the background.
"Forget what she said," Omar says gently. "What happened is in the past and it wasn't-"
"We're not forgiven," Bowie interrupts, their teeth clenched. "You don't get to make that choice and neither do I."
They feel a sudden pressure on the top of their knee and Bowie flinches. Their hands push out towards him, each of them clenching into fists before they can stop them. It's not him anymore. They're not in prison but in the unfamiliar apartment that came before it. The home that should've been theirs but never was. Bowie can even see the blood splattered on the baseboards.
Yet, before either of their fists can land, Bowie feels strong arms wrap around them. They stiffen, their arms now pinned on either side of their curled knees and their chin settled on Omar's shoulder. They're overwhelmed with the sudden feeling of suffocation, then of warmth. Bowie's body trembles as the hug tightens. All of the anger is slowly replaced with unexpected comfort.
What would have happened if their father had wrapped his arms around them instead of a slurry of threats?
They don't think they'll ever know the answer to that question.
They're still shaking when Omar finally releases them a moment later. He offers a consoling smile and squeezes Bowie's shoulder gently. They don't know how to respond. The next 'no' is on the tip of their tongue but it makes it no further. They want this; they crave exactly this. Omar isn't looking at them the way they deserve, the way Bowie would look at themself. He must see something else.
He never would've hugged them if he saw what they do.
The guilt starts to puddle in their chest once more. I never would've hugged him either.
Doesn't he deserve forgiveness? Bowie begs despite already knowing the answer. Don't I?
The loud slamming of a door somewhere nearby is the only response they get. Bowie jumps and Omar crouches to his feet beside them. The sound was louder than anything they've heard in the past hours. However, it's almost identical to the one they heard shortly after Vasilisa was eliminated.
"Attention contestants. Effective immediately, the competition is paused and prior rules are back in place. All contestants are to report immediately to the Common Room, a trial is set to begin."
Bowie feels their entire body go cold. They can't even hear their heart beating in their chest against the absolute numbness that overtakes them. They can't look at Omar. They can't look at the floor, the ceiling, or anywhere else. Everything around them feels like it's turned to ice.
Then, a distant voice breaks the spell.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
No Deaths.
A/N: Hello again! This update comes to you straight from NYC, a whole country away from my usual abode. Thanks to nano for getting my ass in gear, even though I came nowhere close to actually completing it.
Not much to see here. If you're part of the discord community, be on the lookout for another poll coming to you very soon. It's a fun one.
Thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / being afraid because fear fuels me. You are all very much appreciated!
~ Olive