In The Clear: Games VII
Level 2 - Common Room - 10:23 AM
"The trials are to begin momentarily."
It already feels like they've been sitting here for hours. Dom eases back down on the bench beside Amadis, but neither of them have spoken since the first announcement. They had already been on this floor at the time, but the others had taken far longer to arrive. Dom hasn't bothered to count, but by the sound of the announcement they must all be here.
The dread building in her stomach is enough to keep her seated. It's not like last time; she knows what's coming now. The only question that remains is who.
Dom doesn't realize that she's trembling until she turns to look at her ally. She isn't going to pretend they'll be lucky enough for the answer to be neither of them. If the pattern persists, they'll be in separate trials - Dom with Bridget and Amadis with someone named Casi. Is it possible neither will be called today? She isn't going to hold her breath.
You or me? She looks at Amadis, a thick lump in her throat preventing her from asking the question aloud. Or both of us?
The waiting is the hardest part. Dom crosses and uncrosses her legs. She loses count of how many times she tells herself that worrying isn't going to change anything. She knows it's true, but logic isn't going to help her now. If it's her turn, Dom isn't sure there's anything that can help her.
She feels a warmth fall gently on top of her hand and glances beside her. Amadis doesn't look at her. In fact, she wears the same faraway look on her face that Dom feels on her own. Yet, her hand doesn't move from on top of Dom's. The pair have spent so long talking, making countless plans, but now there's nothing for them to say. None of their plans are going to help if they don't make it through the next few hours.
This small comfort likely won't make a difference, but she's also not ready to let go of it just yet.
"Order in the court, order."
Ram watches Myra close her eyes as they turn towards the screen. It's the same image as last time, doing the same robotic movements that make their throat go dry. They've already been part of a trial. That should mean that they're safe. Suddenly, Ram isn't so sure about that fact.
They haven't given much thought to the upcoming trials. Sure, they were there somewhere in the back of their mind just like the process of breathing or walking. However, there were so many more things occupying the space behind their eyes. Ram didn't seriously consider the possibility that they could still be eligible until this very moment.
Afterall, they were nothing more than a replacement; a replacement who lost.
"First order of business - calling of the defendants."
Ram stares at the screen with enough intensity to shatter it. They can't do it again, but at the same time something inside them lunges for the chance. It's stupid. It's so stupid. They could have died. After hearing what Myra told them about the other trials, they almost believe they should have died.
"A." Ram watches two colours of lines interchange on the screen. They move so quickly that it's hard to decide what to call each one. Just like last time, the room is silent around the screens. No one can tear their gaze away, not even Myra whose eyes have been pried open.
"Grey." The voice announces. "Two."
Even if it's not their cell block, Ram can still feel the stiffness of their clenched jaw. Somewhere in this room, two people are no doubt feeling the same dread they did when walking down to the cell block. There's no way of knowing what is going to happen to them. Myra said each of the trials were different last time.
"Amadis Navarro and Casimir Kaminski."
The names are unfamiliar. Ram can't even tear their gaze from the screen long enough to check for a reaction. The next two colours are already swapping and Ram can feel every beat behind their ribs.
"B," the voice begins. Far too quickly, the screen has already made its decision. "Dark green. Eight. Dominique Briones and Bridget Francis."
It's moving too fast. Ram's fingers close so tightly around the edge of the table that pain takes their mind away from the screen. The bands are still moving. The air feels both too thick and like it's moving far too quickly down their throat. Ram's vision tunnels around the screen directly in front of them until it's the only thing they can see.
I should want to go back.
I should want a second chance to prove myself.
I can't do this again.
They don't even realize when the bands have stopped. Their eyes refuse to acknowledge the colour until Ram isn't even sure if it matches the one around their wrist. They can't look down; they can't move at all and it feels like the room has frozen around them. Ram can't even hear their own breathing, only buzzing nothingness as if their head's been forced underwater.
Only the names are able to get past it, cutting through the silence like a hot knife. Ram doesn't hear anything else.
"Myra Ranet and Ramsey Thorn."
"Defendants report immediately to your assigned cell block. All other contestants must remain in the Common Room until further notice." Lawrence stares at the floor as the words fall over them. "The trials will begin momentarily."
They feel the difference immediately as Casi leaves them. Nevermind that when Lawrence looks down it would be easy to tell that he's no longer beside them. There's only one pair of shoes in their vision, not two like there had just been. Something beyond that feels different.
Their hand twitches at their side but Lawrence sees no reason to let it get any further. They lift their chin towards the door, to the only logical place that Casimir could be going. No, Lawrence decides that Casi fits far better. They're not certain why that thought, of all things, is what occupies their mind now.
They've gone through this before. Just like the last set of trials, Lawrence will remain here until they've finished. They will not be involved as there are six people now heading towards the stairwell. That is the correct number. There shouldn't be any replacements this time. Lawrence will stay up here and observe, just as before. They're not sure why this fact repeats over and over in their mind.
Casi pauses only a metre away, not even halfway towards where they should be heading. He glances back at them for a moment and Lawrence can't help but wonder why. They stare back, finding their tongue feels heavier in their mouth than usual. That, of course, is illogical but it's the only way Lawrence can think to describe the feeling. Their tongue has not changed in mass or density from moments ago.
The two stare at one another for what must only be a few seconds. It's only when Casi turns back around that they wonder if they should've said something. There are no words ready between their teeth. Logically, there is nothing that Lawrence could say that would make any difference in what's happening. Casi has been called for their trial. He'll go downstairs and participate in whatever task has been chosen for them and their partner. He knows already to try, knows the consequences of not being the victor of this trial. Lawrence has no new information to offer.
Yet, they can't help but wish they'd said something anyway. Even if they have no idea what that something might have been.
Just before Casi disappears into the stairwell, they turn back around. It's much more brief this time, but Lawrence feels a slight tremor in their stomach as they catch his gaze. They feel themself nodding, despite not truly knowing what they're affirming. Casi's lips curl upwards ever slightly and he returns the slight dip of the head. They're gone before Lawrence can make any sense of the wordless interaction.
Though when they sit back down at the nearby table, they find that they feel just that little bit better. How strange.
Basement Level
Bridget is trembling as she walks down the stairs. She's the first one, not because she wants to go but because it feels like the only option. She has to go. Bridget had every thought to fight it, to try and leave for the sole reason that no one in the first set did. It's entirely possible that the door is locked, but she has no way of knowing. The show could just be banking on Bridget following along. Perhaps she could still get out of this.
Yet, she doesn't. Bridget files down at the front of the line because then no one will be able to see her clenched jaw. They won't be able to look at the red that rims her eyes and realize she woke up to the announcement in tears. They'll have no reason to believe that she's afraid.
She has no reason to be. Her opponent is Dom, someone who didn't have enough of a backbone to stand up to some stupid little game. Bridget has every expectation that she's going to walk straight back up those stairs when this is all over. The other option hasn't even crossed her mind.
Bridget pauses at the bottom of the stairs that lead into Cell Block B. It's even darker down here than the rest of the prison had become. The strips of light along the floor that have guided her every step are as black as the surrounding floor. Bridget can only see a few slight blurs of grey that sit against the walls. They're not nearly enough.
She can't force herself to step inside. She blinks hard, trying to force her eyes to adjust but it's too dark. Bridget can't do it. She turns around instinctively but there's already someone blocking her path. Not just someone - Dom.
Bridget stares at her, but all she can see is the glow of her expression. Dom's eyes are wide but she gives no indication that she's about to turn back. Bridget forces herself to take a step back across the room's threshold. The darkness feels heavy against her skin but she pushes herself further into it.
I'm not scared. I'm not scared. I'm not-
Her thought breaks off as the screen's brightness starts to grow within the cell block. Bridget can see the familiar table, the benches that surround it, the screens pressed against the walls. It looks just as it always has. She swallows and forces slow steps to approach the center of the room. She places her hands on the table and looks up at the screen. Bridget will prove to everyone that she is not afraid.
Even to herself.
She feels the room shift as Dom takes her place on the opposite side of the table. Both girls remain standing, their eyes fixated on anything but each other. It's been days since they last saw one another. Bridget could easily go the rest of her life without changing that fact.
Except this is what she needs. They will all go through a trial before this contest ends, and against Dom hers will be easy. Bridget has no reason to doubt that.
"Before we begin, one order of business must be addressed. Attendance at every court date is mandatory, as such there have been no lawful excuses put out for today's hearing."
Bridget doesn't understand what the words mean. She doesn't remember hearing them at the last set of trials, nor anytime before that. They don't mean anything to her.
"Shane Kilroy has been found guilty of failing to appear in court."
Her throat goes dry. Bridget's heart picks up speed in her chest, every beat seeming to bring it closer to breaking through her ribs. She hadn't forgotten about him, not by a long shot. She just also can't remember if she saw him in the Common Room. She didn't think about going to get him. She didn't think about what would happen if no one did.
Guilty. The word thrashes in her skull until Bridget can't think of anything else. The cell block is silent and she wonders if that's on purpose. They're bringing him down to the Common Room, that's all. The announcement was made to remind Shane that he has to come. They're just waiting, that's all.
Except Bridget knows that he's not going to be able to get there by himself. She remembers what state she left him in, how he hadn't opened his eyes in hours and how there was a mess of vomit stagnant in his lap. Shane had barely spoken to her that entire time, much less stood up. She's not even certain he'd have heard the announcement, just like she wasn't certain he heard her leave.
They're just getting him. Whatever state he's in, they're just transporting him downstairs. That's all. That's why it's silent. They're just waiting for him to get there-
Every hope rising in her throat drops back into her stomach a second later. "Shane Kilroy has been eliminated. Thirteen contestants remain."
Bridget's eyes widen and her entire body feels like it's balancing on top of a thousand meter building. She can't feel her legs through the trembling that overtakes them. Her hands feel numb at her sides. The room starts to blur as if she's already falling. Bridget can't do anything to stop it. Her breaths come in tiny gasps, not nearly enough to fill her lungs. Her heart pounds in her chest like it's the only thing keeping her upright.
He's gone.
Just like that he's gone.
And Bridget can't even promise herself that he's who she's grieving. Shane, the one that stayed by her, didn't question her or ask if she knew what she was doing. He trusted her when not an ounce of her wanted to do the same in return. All these tears her cheeks can still remember, she doesn't even think they're for him. They're for the person he reminded Bridget of. They should've been for him.
He deserved so much better.
I didn't even stay.
And the worst part of it is, she doesn't have more than a second to think about him. Bridget's eyes are still blurry with guilty tears and the voice has already returned. The robotic announcement is little more than an echo that's almost too quiet to be heard.
"You have all been brought here for a second chance."
Dom watches her carefully. Bridget doesn't even look at her, but her eyes have gone glossy with unshed tears. She doesn't remember this name but it's clear that the other girl must. Part of Dom's chest leaps forward as if wanting to offer some kind of comfort. Dom's feet thankfully keep her firmly planted on the opposite edge of the table.
"In honour of the tenth season of The Cut, each of you has been chosen in the likeness of a Winner. You, like each of them, must overcome what binds you to this darkness you sit within."
Dom can look nowhere but the screen in front of her. The words feel like they're too loud yet at the same time she stands perfectly still as she strains to hear them. It's as if they're coming from inside her skull yet at the same time are being blasted in every particle of air. They're the same ones as last time. Yet, they feel like they could easily be just for her.
"Season 8, Matthew Belmont. He came into The Cut trapped by his own dark secrets, unable to own up to his wrongdoings to anyone including himself. In his season, he learned the importance of penance and healing through genuine artistic expression.
Bridget Francis, Dominique Briones - you have been chosen in his image. You possess the same inability to own up to your long standing string of misdeeds. Thus far, you have let these traits stop you from finding direction in your lives, much as your predecessor did before The Cut."
She folds her arms across her chest, but that doesn't stop the voice from reaching her. It's wrong. Dom did own up to it. She knows what she did and she hates herself more for it every time she remembers. Except the more the words ring around the room, the more she can almost believe them. No one knew what she'd been doing until she was arrested, but at that point the tagging hardly even mattered.
Her secrets trapped her until they couldn't anymore. She's not even sure if she's just talking about her earlier crimes either. There's so much more to Dom that no one ever knew. How many times had her and her sisters called for help? Her younger self never wanted these things to be secrets.
But no one ever cared, so in their own way that's exactly what they became.
"Season 1, Calvin Delinger. He came into The Cut a closed-off individual that refused to accept the help needed to forge a new path through life. In his season, he learned to depend on and care for others, becoming a well-respected activist for animal welfare.
Myra Ranet and Ramsey Thorn - you have been chosen in his image. You each possess the same repulsion for assistance that keeps you stagnant in your troubled ways. Thus far, you have allowed this trait to guide you away from productive lives, much as your predecessor did before The Cut."
Myra doesn't know what to think. She doesn't hear any of the words beyond their names spoken side by side. Her entire body is trembling so violently she has to hold the edge of the table to remain standing. She knows what happens here. Myra's body remembers what already happened here. If she turned her head, she wonders if she'd still be able to see Lyanna's bloodstain.
She wonders if her own will soon join it.
"Season 2, Elise Morton. She came into The Cut with a need for acceptance that led her to individuals that did not have her best interest at heart. Once given the proper tools, she became a highly-sought after mind in the scientific community and changed countless lives. She is dearly missed by all who had the privilege to know her.
Amadis Navarro and Casimir Kaminski - you have been chosen not only for your resemblance to the late Winner, but also as a result of your own choices. You have aligned yourselves with the very people who caused the horrific tragedy that took the life of Miss Morton. Yet, little did you understand that you are following the same path that led her here. You have allowed yourselves to be influenced by radicals that wish to see this nation pulled apart."
Amadis' muscles feel like they've turned to ice. What do they mean? She doesn't understand, yet the pieces fall together too quickly. It's what her legal team had been working on since she was arrested in the first place. The materials in the lab were the same as in North Bay. It was a coincidence. That hadn't stopped the charges from being put on her name. Amadis' lawyers had promised they were working on getting a retrial due to lack of context evidence. Amadis had no reason to be tied to a group of people that she had no confirmation of ever meeting.
They'd still been working on it.
Then she woke up here.
The charge hasn't been thrown out yet.
They think she was involved with what happened to the Season 2 Winner.
And now, the whole country will too.
Amadis tries to take a deep breath but is instead met with a wave of nausea. Her heart is beating too fast. Her lungs are pushing out too much air and taking in not nearly enough. This can't be happening. Her and Casi's trial was announced differently; the others followed the same general format but not theirs. Amadis doesn't want to think about what that means but suddenly it's all that races through her mind.
I'm not a terrorist.
My mom is not a terrorist.
Amadis has a sudden rush of memories of her sobbing out the same words. She always tried to maintain her composure, but every meeting with her legal team ended the same way. Amadis would beg them to do something. They would promise that they were doing their best, that the case was looking good, that they believed she would be exonerated of that charge within the year.
Now, Amadis can't help but think it's too late.
"The Cut gave each of them the chance to prove that they were more than the vices of their past. Now it's your turn to prove whether you are capable of following in their footsteps."
"Will you be genuine?"
"Will you be gracious?"
"Will you be remorseful?"
"Or has your time already run out?"
Level 2 - Common Room
The Common Room is just as silent this time around.
Marcy clenches her hands tightly in her lap, her eyes pointed forward but she's not actually sure that she's seeing anything. The screens are laid out in the exact same way. She can see the pairs standing in each cell block, though almost none of them look at each other. It's impossible to think about any of that.
She tries to force her hands to relax but that only results in a violent tremble running up both limbs. Marcy feels numb against the bench as if none of the room's heat can reach her. She remembers noticing that almost no one was still wearing their hoodies. There was sweat dripping down more than one barely-familiar face the last time she looked.
She wills herself to look around again. If nothing else, it might distract her but Marcy's eyes refuse to move. It's as if her body has become a statue while her mind races through every inch of stone. Not even the fiery heat is enough to free her. All she can do is stare down at her clenched hands. Marcy doesn't even know if she can feel herself breathing anymore.
Each of you has been chosen in the likeness of a Winner…
… you each possess…
…more than the vices of their past.
She heard the same words last time, but none of them stuck. She didn't think; she didn't realize. Now, Marcy can't peel the realization from her mind no matter how hard she pulls. It's so obvious. The pairs all shared cell blocks. They all had matching weapons. They, presumably, all went to the same session. She'd realized she would likely be paired with him, but she hadn't realized why.
They think I'm like him.
Tears almost instantaneously appear in her eyes alongside the thought. Marcy can't see the screens, the floor, her own clenched hands, any of it. Her pulse is like crackling flames in her ears - it's too loud to hear anything else. There's nothing else to hear. The room is silent. They're all just watching while Marcy's skin feels like it's peeling away.
The numbness is gone, replaced by every ounce of heat that's settled around her these past hours. Her breath catches in her throat loudly enough for Eris to turn to look at her. Marcy knows because the blurry shape beside her now has eyes, eyes that only add more kindling to the fire. Marcy pulls her collar away from her throat but the fresh air only seems to burn her further.
The blurriness starts to spin, dancing in random patterns that she's only seen in lit trash bins. Marcy rises suddenly from the table and it takes every ounce of control not to run for the door. "Are you okay?"
Eris' words are likely a whisper but to her they're scalding. Marcy squeezes her eyes tightly shut as twin tears escape, but those boil away too fast to bother wiping. She tries to shake her head but she doesn't know how successful she is. She steps back to free her legs from beneath the table. She can't see more than steaming blurs of the people around her, but she knows where she's going.
Marcy sprints towards the stairwell. She reaches it fists first, clamouring for a handle that she doesn't find. There shouldn't be a door here at all. There wasn't one when they came in. Of course they've locked it. Of course they want them to stay. Marcy spreads one palm against the door, her fingers outstretched in a desperate wish for it to open.
"Where are you going?" The words are closer now. Marcy only realizes that she's on the floor when she has to crane her neck up to find the misty face. Eris doesn't crouch down close, but she also isn't standing directly over her. She stands ever so slightly back.
As if she's afraid.
Afraid of me.
Because I'm just like him.
"I-" Marcy doesn't know how she intended to finish the sentence, but none of it comes out. I need to leave. I'm sorry. It's not true. I'm not someone to be afraid of. I have to get out. I can't breathe.
Eris can feel the entire room staring at them. She doesn't know why she got up, in fact she has no idea why either of them are by the door right now. It's locked and won't open until the trials are over. They've barely started. What is she doing? Eris tries to search her expression - red and teary-eyed - but it doesn't make sense. Does she know one of the contestants downstairs? She hasn't mentioned anyone and Eris doesn't remember seeing her interacting with anyone else.
The smartest thing would be to walk away and let her calm down. Eris isn't good at dealing with emotions, not her own and certainly not anyone else's. Whatever's upsetting her, it's none of Eris' business.
Yet the smartest thing to do is suddenly also the hardest. Eris crouches down quickly to her level and tries to get her attention. Her words are as gentle as she can make them, but it'd be hard to tell. "You need to calm down."
She nods but her breathing doesn't slow even a little bit. Tears fall freely and she presses herself even further against the door as if still believing it will open. Eris can feel the eyes on her back. She hates that feeling just as much as she always has. It's none of their business. Eris shoots a look behind her at no one in particular. She doesn't pause long enough to see if it makes a difference.
Eris reaches out and does the last thing she was expecting. She grabs the girl's hand almost forcefully, squeezing it a little too hard before she commands herself to relax. She looks up at Eris, but her glassy-eyed stare doesn't seem to understand who she's looking at. Eris gives her hand another tight squeeze.
The girl snags her hand away as if she'd been burned. Her face is red and damp with a mixture of sweat and tears, but it's the eyes that look different. It's like she's looking at everything and nothing at the same time. Her hand is still held out in front of her like it's too hot to bring close.
It reminds her too much of Kaya the last time they saw each other. And not at all of Kaya anytime before that.
When they were little, all Kaya wanted was to be close to her. No matter how much their mother wanted a mini-me, Eris was the one she followed around. She was always the one that could get Kaya to stop crying. Too many memories resurface. Too many instances of her toddler, then school aged sister reaching her hand out to Eris with a face as red as the one in front of her.
She remembers the look on Kaya's face as they fought over the briefcase; the pain in her eyes as though every touch was leaving blisters behind.
After a minute or so, Eris has to tear herself away.
Cell Block B
Neither contestant so much as flinches as the room transforms around them.
The room stretches into a much larger square as the surrounding cells disappear entirely. It grows too dark to see anything beyond the extended shadows, but neither girl's gaze strays from the other. The table dissolves into the air and sheets of glass shoot up in a seemingly random pattern along the floor. Eventually, the only light from the room brightens the palms of each contestants' hands to a blazing scarlet.
Dom's eyes flash to the screen that appears in front of her as dots of contrast catch her gaze. The lettering is the same as the note that was on their table during the session. She can't remember at this moment whether the words were the same as well. She reads them once, twice, and is halfway through the third take when they disappear entirely and the room is plunged again into darkness. The only thing Dom can see is the red glow that moves with each of her hands.
The rules are simple. She still repeats each one to herself for fear that she might forget.
"Game start."
Dom tries to even her breaths as she stands in the center of a small enclosed square of glass. If she brings her hands up close enough, she can see through one wall at a time into the next. They're all identically empty except for one. Dom can't see the square that Bridget is in, but she knows that she's in one of them.
Her heart beats too quickly in her ears, but any attempts to calm it is futile. The words are loud enough. She'll be able to hear them. She has to trust that.
Until it's her turn.
Dom will go first, for no other reason than that 3 comes before 4. She can choose one of the surrounding walls to open and move through it. Then, Bridget will have her turn to do the same. Once a box has been stepped in, it can't be opened again.
The first one to run out of moves, loses.
She swallows. Focus. There has to be some kind of strategy to this, but right now she can't think of any. She needs to stay away from Bridget or she could get cornered. She needs to stay away from corners in general. At least there are no weapons. Dom's disappeared along with the table and she can only assume she'll get it back at the end. Either way it's safer. She's safe.
Dom tells herself that fact over and over, but almost none of her believes it.
The colour change is impossible to miss. Her palms go from crimson to stoplight green before she can even blink. Dom isn't exactly sure how this is supposed to work, the rules weren't clear about that much, but she instinctively steps towards the wall opposite from where Bridget should be. She places her hand on it and, sure enough, the glass disappears just long enough for Dom to step inside the adjacent box.
She lets out a slow breath. This is okay. It doesn't feel as violent as some of the trials last time. The scariest part is that, so far, she hasn't been able to see Bridget at all. The glass slips back into place behind Dom and she turns around without thinking.
If she'd only been able to hear it, Dom's not sure that she would have understood what was happening. However, staring straight at it, there's no question. Her lips part as she watches a cement block crash into the floor where she had just stood. It's large enough to take up the entire glass square and as black as the walls below her feet.
Dom swallows. Less than a second after her own palms deepen back to red, she is able to make out the faintest glow of green step into her view. Bridget. She wouldn't have been able to see Bridget behind the cement, so she must have stepped to the side of it. Dom doesn't even wait for the colours to swap before placing her hand on the wall that will bring her another row away.
She flinches as another block crashes behind her. It's not nearly as loud as it should be. That must mean there is at least some insulation between the glass layers. If she had any desire to talk to Bridget, she's not sure she would even be able to. Their colours swap again and Dom has to squint to see the green light this time.
And this time it moves a row closer to her.
Dom's heart starts beating even faster and she quickly places her hand on the wall furthest away from where the light had just been. This time, it doesn't move away. She touches it again, stretching out all of her fingers but it still doesn't budge. Dom's brow furrows. What's going on? It's not possible that Bridget has already used this one.
"Turn end in 3, 2-"
She turns to touch the wall to her right just before the countdown reaches one and the wall slides away. Dom launches herself through it as quickly as she can. The cement takes almost another five seconds to fall, but that feels like so little time. Why didn't it move? Her mind is racing too quickly to come up with an answer.
It takes almost another entire round for her to realize that she must've hit one of the cell block's walls. It was only two walls away from her starting position. Dom tries to consider what that means in the grand scheme of the room, but she doesn't have nearly enough information. It's smaller than she thinks, that's just about all she can prove.
And, at this point, nothing scares her more than that simple fact.
Cell Block C
One contestant flinches as the room transforms around them. The other's gaze doesn't move from atop the supervising screen.
All visible furniture in the room dissolves until the space between the dark walls is empty. The cement lightens to a smooth grey stained with dark liquid and smudges that would be impossible to scrub away. It's familiar, so much so that neither contestant really stops to examine the room. The first's eyes latch onto the screen still settled at the front of the room. The second's lock to the floor by her feet where a large ring of white paint has started to appear. The shape takes up almost the entirety of the small room.
Myra instinctively steps away from the growing shape. There is only about a meter between where the paint circle ends and the walls start, but she stays within this space. No part of her wants to enter it, almost as if she knows what the trial will be without reading the screen. She doesn't want to believe this is happening. Reading the rules will make it far too real.
Tears slip down her cheeks when she finally raises her gaze from the floor. She can't read the words through the blur in her vision. Myra can't bring herself to care.
I can't fight them. She doesn't know what this trial will include, but she already knows that she wants no part in it. She doesn't want Ram to get hurt. She doesn't want to get hurt. Another pair of tears follow the first. She isn't hopeful enough to believe that both of them will be safe here. Myra doesn't know what she's supposed to do if they're not.
"One on one combat tournament. No time limit. Round ends either when one contestant leaves the white boundary or when blood is drawn. Trial ends at viewer discretion."
She looks up and sees Ram's back as they read the rules aloud. Myra still can't force herself to even face the screen. In fact, hearing what's written on it only makes the tears fall faster. She doesn't want to fight them. The last thing she wants to do is hurt them. Myra watches them turn towards her, but all she can do is shake her head.
I can't do it.
Her hand feels heavy and, when she looks down, it's because there is a hammer weighing down her fingers. It looks identical to the one she gave Ram on the first day. She doesn't want it back. She knows they have one. She knows they've tried to give it back to her countless times but Myra doesn't want it.
She lets it drop to the ground just outside the paint circle. "Myra."
"No," she says as forcefully as she can.
"Pick it up."
"No."
"All players step within the boundary."
Myra does as the voice tells her, but she leaves the hammer well outside of it. Her vision is still blurry and her legs still tremble, but they have no problem doing this. Ram is already on the opposite side, the hammer still clutched tight in their grip. Good. She knows they won't hurt her, but she's just as glad to see that they aren't giving up.
Not like her.
"Round one."
Myra immediately takes a step outside of the circle. A buzzer sounds a second later. "End round."
"Myra." She can hear the frustration in their voice but she doesn't care. Myra doesn't care if she wins or loses, she cares that neither of them get hurt. The rules were clear. If she steps outside of the boundary, Ram wins. That's all there is to it.
"What?" She shouts back through tears. She's terrified, of course she is, but that can't matter now. This is the solution. This is how they're both going to get out of here, or they won't. Myra remembers the contestant from the last trial. She can still see how quickly the spear skewered them, how quickly they stopped breathing. Maybe that isn't the worst way to go if it comes down to it.
She can't hurt them. She refuses.
"98% in favour - game continues. All players step within the boundary."
"They're just going to keep it going," Ram tells her.
"No they won't."
"Round two."
Myra steps back outside the circle. Once again the buzzer signals the end to the round. Ram still hasn't moved. They're still holding the hammer but it doesn't matter. They're not going to do this. Myra will lose. They'll both be okay.
"End round. 99% in favour - game continues. All players step within the boundary."
"See?" The frustration in their words grows but she ignores it. They'll get bored eventually. They'll end it eventually. She's playing by the rules. They can't stop her even if they wanted to.
"Round three."
This time, when Myra steps back the sole of her shoe doesn't hit the floor. Instead, something sharp slips straight past it, piercing the heel of her foot before she understands what's happening. Myra drops to the ground with a scream, but her hand hits another sharp nail. She doesn't remember seeing them run over, but suddenly Ram is pulling her back inside the circle.
Every breath comes in a gasp as blood wets the sole of her shoe. She can see it through the blurriness, and can feel it running down her wrist. When Myra is finally able to look back, the sharp stakes have disappeared back into the floor.
"End round. 98% in favour - game continues. All players step within the boundary."
Cell Block A
Both contestants flinch as the room transforms around them.
The area splits perfectly down the center with a thick wall separating the pair. The table turns into a long set of counters scattered with machinery. On the opposite end, there's a separate room with computers and strewn papers. It looks like a laboratory, but one that's been well lived in. Every inch is covered with cabinets, drawers, and messes of stacked supplies. On the wall above where the screen had just been, a familiar address is written in neat handwriting.
It's her. Amadis doesn't have to guess whether her instincts are correct, she knows they are. The address has been noted in every court document and newspaper article she's read. It's the North Bay lab that was blown up using the same substance found in Amadis' high school chem lab. Her body feels numb as she stares up at the lettering. She can't even bring herself to search the rest of the room.
It's so quiet it's almost suffocating. While earlier Amadis could hear the slight buzz of the screen or the long inhales that Casi insisted on taking, now there's absolute silence. It should be better. It should make it easier to think but it seems to have the opposite effect. Her earlier panicked thoughts have once again taken hold.
They're going to kill us. This one speaks louder than all the others, over and over again until it drowns them out completely. They're going to kill us.
And Amadis doesn't know if there's anything she's going to be able to do to stop them.
A flash of white catches her eye as it drops from the ceiling to the floor by her feet. Amadis stoops to pick it up and it reminds her immediately of the one from their session. Her hands are shaking as she holds it in front of her. It takes two reads before she can even begin to understand what it's telling her to do.
Ten minutes.
One box.
Red must be two.
Blue must be one.
She takes a deep breath as a shallow sound starts to melt its way into her thoughts. It's low enough that Amadis can almost convince herself that she's imagining it, but it's so persistent she can't be. It reminds her of the ticking of a clock, but much slower. Still, every time it comes she has to swallow down a wave of nausea.
She stares at the note for a while longer. She's looking for a box, that much is clear to her, and she has ten minutes to do so. Amadis looks up and finds a digital clock sitting on one of the countertops. The time reads 10:46. She has until about 10:56 then to find it.
She still doesn't know what the rest of the instructions mean. Amadis tries to rack her brain but red and blue mean nothing to her. Maybe it's referring to something inside the box, or something that she'll have to find to put inside of it. There are too many options and no other notes nearby to give her more clarity.
Amadis looks up and sees that the clock already reads 10:47. She has to start moving or she's going to run out of time.
She focuses on taking slow breaths as she moves methodically around the room. There are a dozen boxes if not more, but most of them look the same and are made out of cardboard. Amadis doesn't know for sure that they aren't what she's looking for but logic would say no. Whatever she's trying to find, there's likely only one of them in the room. Red and blue… Amadis pauses in front of the counters before shaking her head. She doesn't have time to stop and think right now.
"Any idea what the fuck this means?" Amadis jumps as the shout reaches her and she whirls around expecting to see them. Of course, Casi isn't anywhere in view. The wall that separated them at the beginning of the trial still stands strong. She can't help but be thankful for that. He was no help in the session and they'll likely be no help here either.
"Find a box," she shouts back despite her better judgement. Amadis isn't sure if they're competing against each other right now. There's no indication in the note to say that they are. If Casi's instructions are the same as hers, they both just have to do it within the time limit. "Ten minutes, right?"
"There's boxes everywhere."
This almost makes Amadis crack a smile. "Better start looking then."
She swallows down the dryness in her throat and chances another look at the clock. Only another minute has passed, but she's barely made any progress in the room. She stoops down and throws open each of the cupboard doors, but nothing inside looks out of place. Will whatever I'm searching for look out of place? She doesn't know. Eight minutes left and she doesn't know any more than when she started.
The ticking is putting her more and more on edge. It sounds wrong somehow but Amadis can't quite put her finger on why. It doesn't get louder or softer no matter where she stands in the room. As she searches through the final cupboard on this edge of the room, she counts the seconds between the ticks. Four. Too many. It's not a clock, and besides the only clock she has seen here is digital.
She stands up straight as a thought crosses her mind and immediately regrets it. The room swims around her as darkness bites at the edge of her vision. It feels like she's going to pass out, but Amadis can't think enough to sit back down. She tells herself half a dozen times that she's wrong, but it makes too much sense.
Elise. North Bay. The explosion.
They're looking for bombs.
And, if her guess is correct, they're set to go off in just seven minutes.
Level 2 - Common Room
Noam might be sitting in the same room as the others, but it feels like he's six miles away. Sweat runs down the back of his neck, but he hasn't bothered to do more than roll up his sleeves. There doesn't feel like a point. It's not going to make him more comfortable. Truthfully, no part of him has even really thought about it.
The trials remind him of them. It's stupid, this was their worst moment together and yet Noam misses it more than he can put into words. Vasi would've gladly killed him here just a few days ago and honestly he should've let them. It'd be better than this. Anything would be better than this.
He thought he'd changed. Noam really, stupidly thought he'd changed.
He's done feeling sorry for himself. That's all he's done since Vasi was killed and even he's getting fucking sick of it. None of this would've happened if it weren't for him. Vasi shouldn't have been the target. It should've been him. Hell, Noam had even voted for his damn self. Just like everything else, it'd felt like some joke to him. At this point, the funniest thing is that voting for himself was the only smart thing he's ever done.
Noam's the one that fucked up. He's the one that ruined every bit of trust anyone had in him and yet Vasi's the one that paid the price. He lied to everyone. Vasi did nothing but believe him. Sure, that in itself was pretty stupid but it just proves how much they trusted him.
And he ruined it. He ruined everything.
What am I supposed to do now?
Noam knows the right answer but he's not brave enough to do it. He shouldn't be here. There's no world in which he should win or even last long enough to see the hazy fucking sun go down tonight. He tried to fix things with Vasi; part of him even believed that maybe he was getting close.
Then, they fucking died. It should've been me.
This is the most honest Noam has ever been in his life.
He stands up from his spot at the corner of the room. His limbs aren't shaking anymore, but they feel like stiff cement around his torso. He isn't scared of what he's about to do. Truthfully, Noam doesn't think he's scared of anything anymore. You have to care about yourself to be afraid.
"I'm sorry." He didn't plan some fucking speech. Maybe he should have. A few people turn towards him, but more than that ignore him entirely. The one eye Noam catches, however, he manages to keep hold of. "Riley, I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything anymore. But I know I fucked up. I-"
He doesn't know what else he's supposed to say. Riley knows that he lied by now, and the only two others still alive to apologize to are downstairs in some messed up maze. This was stupid too.
"It's not your fault they're gone. It's mine."
Riley doesn't react, but he can't bring himself to look away either. Noam is, once again, making an absolute fool of himself but Riley doesn't have it in him to call him out on it. He already spoke his piece in the cell block. Riley doesn't have any need to say more and he wishes that Noam would come to the same conclusion. Maybe he does, because when Riley finally looks back to the screens Noam slinks back down to the bench.
Besides, once again he's wrong. Vasi's death might just be the only thing he can't blame Noam for. It was his fault, and in a different way theirs as well. Riley swung and Vasi didn't move despite having more than enough time to do so. No matter how many times he's forced himself not to think about it, he's not stupid. He knows the choice they made.
There's only one person that Riley is willing to make the same one for. Thankfully they're not here.
No, he's waiting for Riley back home.
He has to be.
Cell Block B
Bridget hasn't been able to see the green light for three turns now.
She doesn't know where Dom is. The beating in her chest and the ringing in her ears are just about all she can hear besides the voice. It feels like this game has been going on forever. There's no way of knowing if she's in the lead or one step away from failure.
It's so dark. Bridget swallows down the thought as far as it will go. She keeps both palms at her chest level, trying to trick herself into believing she can see further than she can. It's easier with the green; the red is too deep of a colour. Each time her turn starts, Bridget allows herself two breaths of light before she gives it away again.
Dom keeps hesitating; the time between keeps lengthening. Why is she taking so long?
When the green light finally returns, Bridget keeps going in the same direction. She thinks Dom must have doubled back before - she watched her light get far and then closer again - but she doesn't know why. Did she find the edge? There must be a boundary, but the darkness makes it impossible to tell where it is. All Bridget knows is that she doesn't want to find it.
She moves into the next cell. Her legs haven't stopped shaking, and she has to force herself into every step. The only benefit is that she hasn't thought about him. There's no time. Bridget can't help but feel guilty about that too.
Is this what he saw before he died? Bridget swallows down a dry breath as she stares out into the surrounding darkness. Nothing?
Her fingers shake with relief as the light returns to her. Bridget's hated the dark ever since she can remember. It's so bleak, so nothing, that anything could be hiding within it. She's slept with a night light in her room since she was a toddler. The thing that other inmates always complained about, the guards with flashlights on rounds every hour, was the very thing that kept her sane. And that was even when she knew that nothing logically could be hiding within it.
Here, Bridget has no idea. The cell block was familiar, but whatever it transformed into moments ago was not.
She moves into the adjacent cell and squeezes her eyes tight as the darkness returns. As she begins to open them, she sees it - the green light - mere seconds before it reaches her own hands.
She's close. Bridget swallows and does everything she can to force her fears away. This isn't about Shane. This isn't about what scares her. This is about winning. Nothing in her life has ever been more important. She needs to focus.
Bridget places her hand on the wall closest to where she saw the light. I can do this.
She doesn't know what's going to happen when she wins. All she knows is that she has to get there. One person died during the last trial and that's not going to be Bridget. She's going to win and never have to be afraid of coming back here again. All that's left will be the true game.
And no matter what's already happened, Bridget is still determined to win.
There's almost exactly the same distance still between them. Bridget tries to squint through the glass but she can't see her. All she can see is the green light when it's Dom's turn. She's sure that Dom can see the same when it's hers.
It's the next turn when Bridget realizes she can see the red light now too.
The time between Dom's decisions grows even longer. For the second time in the entire game, she hears the countdown warning. "Turn end in 3-"
Bridget is confused when the light comes closer this time. Her heart pounds in her ears but she doesn't let it deter her. She's not going to lose. She's been the one chasing Dom this entire time, not the other way around. Bridget was right about her all those days ago. She is a coward and no one's going to win this game by being afraid.
Bridget's told herself that fact too many times to count. She can't be afraid; she can't let it control her. Shane is dead. She's not. That's all that matters. It can't be about anyone but Bridget. Not Shane, not Dom, no one. No one matters more than she does. She is her sister's memory. She is the one that suffered while everyone else went on in blissful apathy.
The world isn't going to forget either of them so easily. She'll make sure of it.
She places her hand on the nearest wall. For the first time, she is able to see a shadowed figure through the glass. Her eyes are wide as the pair stares at each other. Bridget forces herself to smile. Dom takes a hurried step back, just far enough away from the glass that the darkness swallows her.
A moment later, both lights disappear entirely.
Bridget places both hands flat on the glass to steady herself. She wants nothing more than to close her eyes but sheer terror keeps them wide open. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. I'm not- the longer the statement repeats in her mind, the more laughable it becomes. Her legs tremble so hard they feel on the verge of collapse. Her heart is beating so loudly in her ears that she can't even hear her own breaths. If this isn't fear then Bridget doesn't know what is.
I can't have lost. There are spaces behind her still. She has somewhere to go, she knows so. Bridget hasn't hit a wall as far as she can tell. Would I have known if I had? She's not so certain anymore.
"Checkmate."
Bridget doesn't have time to process what the word means before the entire room brightens around her. She squints against the burning in her eyes as relief washes over her. It's too bright but she doesn't care. It feels like her skin is being set on fire, but that's better than the alternative.
It's better than getting lost in the dark.
Bridget is finally able to open her eyes several seconds later and that's when she sees it. Dom's current cell is surrounded on one side by the room's wall. There are three empty cells to her left, but the next is filled with cement. All the ones behind and in front of Dom are the same. Bridget smiles again, but this is one she doesn't need to force.
Checkmate.
I win.
Dom presses herself even further against the back wall. She knew it was happening before it did, but that doesn't make the announcement any less terrifying. She remembers Madigan. No one who saw that will be able to forget. The tightness in her chest is almost enough to believe it's already happened to her.
"Please." The words part Dom's lips without warning. There are other options. What was it that they said about Madigan's trial? Guilty. There are other choices though. Not all of them died. Two of them didn't. She can still make it out of this. There are other options.
And at least one of those options would leave her fate in Bridget's hands. "Please, Bridget."
The other girl cocks her head to one side but the smile doesn't leave her lips. The last thing Dom wants to do is beg, especially when she doesn't know what the outcome will be, but she doesn't know what else to do. When the verdict is read, Bridget might not give her any time to change her mind. She flinches as the familiar sound of sliding concrete starts above her, but she can't even bring herself to look.
"Now for the verdict."
Dom swallows as fearful tears threaten to take her voice. "You don't have to do anything."
"You're right," Bridget says with a shrug. "I don't."
It's too late. Dom squeezes her eyes shut as she waits for the voice. She can't bring herself to look for the screen, to watch the options and wonder how many of them end with her elimination. Begging will get her nowhere. Bridget isn't going to choose to let her live. Even if Dom doesn't think she could choose anything else if the roles were switched.
I'm going to die.
As the silence deepens, that's all she can think. I'm going to die. She can almost hear the words already. Guilty. Winner's choice. For Dom, they'd mean the same thing.
"Mistrial."
Cell Block C
"You're being stupid!" Ram shouts.
"What choice do I have?"
Myra's face is red with tears but Ram can't even bring themself to look at her. Six rounds. That's how many it's been and they're no closer to getting out. She doesn't want to play. Every single time she's still getting hurt. It's only getting worse.
There's bloodstains dotting almost half of the circle. It's stained the white paint pink in more than one place. It hasn't stopped. Two rounds of nothing, two rounds of nails stuck out from the ground, and now two more where Ram can't even tell what's happening. She screams and they don't understand. She won't tell them. She won't fucking tell me.
And Ram just has to stand here and watch. There's nothing else they can do. They're not willing to do the same; they're not willing to hurt themself for her especially because it isn't going to work. The percent in favour of keeping the trial going hasn't budged past ninety percent. She's doing all of this for nothing. It's never going to end. She's going to get herself killed.
Ram grabs her the next time she steps inside the circle and she sinks down to the floor. She's shaking more than they've ever seen. There's blood on one hand from where she put it down on a nail in the third round. There's more on the floor under her feet; it follows her every step. What is wrong with you? That's what Ram wants to ask but it's not what comes out.
"It's not working."
Myra's shaking hands come up to cover her face. It reminds them so much of the first day, when her tears wouldn't stop coming and they truly thought she might drown in them. She's just as determined. She cares just as much but why? She can't beat the trial, not like this. "It has to."
"It won't," they say more forcefully.
They could do it now. She might not be willing to play by the rules but Ram always has been. They want out and to do that they have to win. There isn't another option, it's black and white. Either they're going to win the way the producers intend or they're not going to make it out at all. Ram knows what option they choose. They'll choose it over and over until they physically can't anymore.
The hammer's still in their hand. Ram hasn't let go since the moment it appeared in their hand.
It's not even selfish. Playing as the show intended is the only thing that's going to get them both out of here. They don't want to hurt her, but shouldn't they? This trial isn't likely to end like their last. Ram doesn't want their fate to be determined by a spinning wheel again. They might not get so lucky this time.
She might not either.
"I don't want to fight you," she whispers, staring up at them but the earlier determination is gone. She's scared, of course she is. Look at where we are. Look at what happened here last time. Ram swallows as they remember the betrayal that led to the last trial death.
I can't do that to her. A second thought immediately follows. Why not?
Ram doesn't know the answer.
"I know," they reply. "But you're just getting hurt."
"I'm fine."
Her shaking hands tell a different story. Ram looks down at their hammer again and at the same time she moves away from them again. She's turned around, staring at the edge of the paint circle and Ram knows what's going to happen next. She's so determined not to hurt them. She's so determined that they can get out of this without hurting each other that she doesn't even seem to care what else happens.
Myra gingerly touches her forearm and they can tell almost intuitively that that's where she was hurt last. Her palm looks redder than it had but her sleeve is too far down to see anything else. Ram starts to move towards her but why? What does it matter? They can't heal her. They shouldn't even be trying to.
Ram thinks back to the infirmary. They're laid on a table, the edge of a once-white sheet stuck to the wound on their temple. The whole room is a blur of brightness and chalk coloured surfaces. They see her sitting on a stool, her eyes unable to leave them for even a moment. Every time Ram opened their eyes, she was there.
"How are you feeling?"
Ram remembers how stupid this question sounded. They almost hadn't answered it. "Like I've been hit by a plane."
"You kind of were." She tried to hide it, but Ram didn't miss the slight smile. She probably thought she was being insensitive or something. In fact, it made them like her a little more even if she kept trying to mother them.
She was willing to help them no matter how hard Ram tried to push her away. On the first day they did just that yet Myra still watched them through a concussion. After The Cut was announced, they tried to push again yet here she is, still not wanting to hurt them. She should. Everyone should. That's how this works.
They should want to hurt her. Yet, when Ram looks at her turned back, that's the last thing they want to do.
They swing anyway. Not hard, not nearly hard enough to actually hurt her. The hammers are blunt. They don't draw blood nearly as easily.
Blood is the way it ends. It's the only way.
Ram can't force themself to meet her eye when she whirls around in surprise. They're not trying to hurt her, but that's not what it feels like. The end of the hammer felt so empty against her upper arm. The impact rang through them harder than any of the hits they landed on 014. Ram wants to explain. They want to tell her not to worry, that they're not doing what she no doubt thinks they are.
But aren't I?
Ram flips the hammer around so that the claw is now facing her. They should've thought of that. They should be thinking logically instead of whatever is currently surging through their mind. Ram doesn't allow themself to hesitate again. They catch the clawed end on the same spot on her arm and pull until they see it. Blood.
"End round. 77% in favour - game continues."
It wasn't enough. It's the lowest percentage they've gotten so far but it wasn't enough. They want more. Of course they want more.
"Ram?" Their name is so quiet on her lips as she stares down at the fresh marks. A trail of blood leaks from each one but not enough to be worrisome. The look on Myra's face is so much worse.
Please, understand. They beg silently, hoping the words will reach her anyways. Ram can't tell her what's happening, not only because it might affect the percentage but because they don't think they have the nerve. Already the hammer in their grip feels so much heavier.
She bows her head, not bothering to get up. It'd be easier if she did, if she lunged for her weapon like anyone else in her position should. They know she won't. The dullness in her downturned eyes is enough to tell them as much.
She won't even look at them.
I have to. And they believe it. Nothing else is going to stop this trial. Ram could refuse to play just like she is, but that's not going to get them out of here. The Cut could keep them here forever if it wanted to. She's not willing to, so I have to be. I have to.
Ram throws themself at her, though their weight refuses to drop down on her. It needs to look good. That's what The Cut wants. That's why they're still here. They want blood, a show, something that they haven't gotten yet. It's the only thing Ram can think of.
The fighting manuals in their session were preparing them for this. The Cut wants a fight. Ram is the only one willing to give it to them. Even if I don't want to.
They make a show of bringing the hammer down towards her face. They expect Myra to move, but she doesn't. Ram is able to knock themself off balance at the last second, pretending that maybe she moved to throw them off. The hammer slams down on the ground just beside her head. She doesn't cry out. She doesn't do anything.
Ram begs her with their eyes to play along. She only squeezes hers shut. They pretend to hold her shoulder down, truthfully putting as little pressure as possible against her. They try to make it obvious where they're aiming before they start to swing again.
She turns away at the last moment without warning. Except Ram was already planning on moving that way. The claw end of the hammer sinks deep into the flesh just beside her shoulder joint. The points are sharper than they should be. She screams and Ram has never heard a sound so awful. Her thrashing easily throws them off balance and they find themself splayed on the floor beside her, unable to even move.
I didn't mean-
It shouldn't have-
They're out of breath and all they can do is stare. Myra curls in on herself, her hand covering the wound that's barely a few inches from the base of her neck. There's blood, more blood than last time, and it soaks the top of her sleeve. It's not fatal. They tell themself over and over again that they still missed anything vital.
Ram doesn't realize they're reaching for her until she pushes their hand away. They don't try again. They can't feel their numb limbs enough to even try.
"End round. 46% in favour - game ends."
The voice is like an echo, nothing more. They're still only looking at Myra. She hasn't moved away, there's still blood slipping through her fingers. I'm sorry.
"Now for the verdict." Ram hadn't even thought about this. They were so focused on ending the trial. What if they did so much worse than the blood on her shoulder?
"Winner's choice."
They don't even have to think about it. "Not guilty."
Cell Block A
It takes an almost comically short amount of time before Casi finds it.
The laboratory, if that's what this is supposed to be, reminds them a little too much of the organized chaos of his bedroom. The possible hiding spots seem logical. Under the desks, behind the paper shredder, between the various types of lab equipment scattered over the counters. They eventually find the small silver box nestled behind a toppled burette, hidden in plain sight. The longer Casi stares at it, the more out of place it looks.
This all feels far too normal. They don't remember walking down here and yet, this is the calmest he's been in what has to have been days. This room is too different. The world Casi left upstairs might as well not exist. It feels like nothing more than a game.
He remembers that, at first, the last set of trials looked like nothing more than games too.
Casi shakes their head and tells himself to focus. It takes him longer to find the crumpled up instruction note they shoved in his pocket. Casi rummages through it for way too long before they smooth it out again to read it. Okay, box, check one. Now.. red must be two, blue must be one. What in fuck's name is that supposed to mean?
"Hey 'madis?" He calls into the void of the wall that lays between them. Even their voice sounds calm, normal, well as normal as Casi has ever sounded. "Any idea what the rest of the instructions mean?"
There's a pause and Casi wonders if she's even going to answer. They wouldn't blame her. The two of them didn't exactly end on the best of notes during their session. Besides, aren't they supposed to be competing right now? This doesn't even feel like a competition. Most of it doesn't feel real in the first place.
Meg… The name stays in his mind as they flip it around. It should sting. It should hurt more but it doesn't. There's something wrong. Casi has never been able to ignore that inner voice. Not to mention that it's almost always been, to some degree, right.
They look down at his hands and that's when they notice it. Their vision is moving ever slightly as if Casi's been caught in some kind of wave pool. His movements feel too slow, nothing like what they felt this morning. Something's wrong.
"Hello?"
Casi shakes their head again. "Do you feel okay?"
"What?" Her words seem far away. Have they always sounded like that? "Did you find your box?"
"Yes."
"What does it look like?"
This time it's Casi who pauses. "Aren't we supposed to be competing?"
"I don't think so. Read your note again."
They look down but it's no longer in his hands. He searches the floor in front of them, but it's not there either. Casi has no idea if she's right, but at this point he doesn't know what to do anyways. "It's a grey cube, maybe six inches on all sides."
There's no response for a moment, then her voice comes again. "I can't find mine."
"How much time is there?" How long have I been here?
He hears something thud to the ground on the other side. "Four minutes."
"Something's wrong."
"What do you mean?"
Casi's blinks feel like they're lasting too long. They reach towards the box but it's as if he's trying to move underwater. "Everything feels too slow."
"Bring your box to the ground. I still need to find mine."
They finally manage to get his hands around the box but it feels like it takes ages to get their ass on the ground. Another thought dawns on him when they do. "Why are you helping me?"
"We both need to do this." She sounds like she's been running around; there aren't as many words between each breath. "Trust me."
"Why?" Why should I trust you when I'm not even sure if I like you?
"I think they're bombs." Even fewer words this time. "Like the girl from North Bay. I think the red and blue instructions are to disarm it."
"Bombs?" Thankfully the box is already on the ground because Casi isn't sure that he wouldn't have thrown it there anyway. She can't be right. Yet at the same time they can't find it in him to doubt her. The Winner's lab exploded last year; they remember hearing about it almost everywhere he went. They're inside a lab and he's holding a silver box that was hidden inside. "Oh my god it's a fucking bomb."
"Where did you find it?"
"Table, behind the burette."
A few seconds pass. "It's not there."
"Keep looking," Casi tells her. Their mind is racing at a hundred kilometers a second but his body doesn't react nearly as fast. If only hers explodes will it hit me? What about upstairs? They wouldn't ruin their whole prison for one trial, right? Casi has no idea. There's a fucking bomb sitting between his hands and another one on the other side of that wall. "Under the desk?"
"Checked already."
"Behind the shredder?" Where else? "On the bookshelf?"
"Do you know what to do from here?" Her question catches them off guard. He heard it, but they have no idea how to answer. "Casi? The red and blue?"
"Find your box," he interrupts. "It could be in plain sight."
"Tell me you know what to do."
"We'll figure it out in a minute."
"We only have two."
"There has to be somewhere you didn't check." Now his words sound breathless. "Stop wasting time."
"It could be objects but my guess is wires," she starts, ignoring them. "Two could be referring to cutting it in half, one to leaving it whole. Remember that blue stays whole."
Suddenly Casi remembers one of the first places he looked. "Under the desk chair."
"What?"
Is she really questioning me right now? "Check!"
The pause this time feels like it lasts forever. What if I'm wrong? Casi scans the room but it's getting harder and harder to actually see any of it. Their body feels heavy even though their mind is wide awake. They try to focus on opening the box, but their fingers are so slow to cooperate.
"It's here"
Casi lets out the biggest sigh of relief they can muster but it's short lived. They still can't get his box open. "What's inside?"
Another pause. "It's wrong."
"What?"
"The colours are wrong." Her voice sounds even more panicked than before.
Finally, Casi is able to get their own lid off and he understands why. There's no blue or red. The wires staring up at them are purple and green. What the fuck? "That's not what was on the note."
"You don't say." He can actually hear the sharp breath she takes. "Is there something we're missing? Are we sure this is the right one?"
"I don't know." Casi turns the box around, but there's no way to see how any of it's wired even if they knew what to look for. The only thing visible beyond the smooth interior of the box are the two coloured wires. The two wrong colours.
"What do we do?" She's panicking. The only benefit to whatever is happening to Casi is that their body can't react fast enough to do the same. He's still just as heavy, just as numb.
"Less than a minute."
We have to choose. This has to be the right box. What are the odds they both would have found the wrong one? Probably not as bad as one would think but it doesn't matter. They don't have time to keep looking. If he's going off the assumption that the instructions lied about the colours, they just have to hope they didn't lie about anything else.
"Green."
"What?"
"Cut the green one," he says quickly.
"How do you-"
"Amadis there's no time!"
They don't waste another second. Casi has no idea if she's actually going to listen to him and most of them expects her not to. Still, it's their only chance. He would be stupid to sit here and do nothing with a fucking bomb in their lap.
Casi snips the green wire and pushes the box as far away from himself as possible. He's not even sure that they have a fifty-fifty chance of being correct. The colours were wrong. The instructions were wrong. That should be enough to get his body up but it still doesn't listen. There has to be somewhere to take cover. The computer room under the desk would be the best bet, but Casi's limbs refuse to even lift him.
They wait.
Nothing happens.
"You still there?" They ask.
Something else answers before she can. The wall between Amadis and him dissolves before their eyes. She stares at Casi in about as much disbelief as they feel. There's no way. The words feel hurried, as if maybe the voice hadn't been prepared to say them at all. "Not guilty."
Level 2 - Common Room
Omar is just thankful that it's finally over.
He squeezes the top of Bowie's knee though they don't respond. He offers a soft smile anyways, just in case they're looking. Omar wants them to know that he's here, that he's not going anywhere. He wants Bowie to know that he forgives them and that nothing they said earlier is going to change that.
Sometimes it's hard not to let the darkness of the world get to you. Omar knows that feeling. How many times did he wonder what more he could've done to save his sister? Of course it wasn't his fault but he still thought about it. Sometimes the mind wants an answer for tragedy, that's what his dad told him once. That doesn't mean it's right to let yourself carry the blame.
Omar wasn't responsible for Sabina, or for Madigan, or for the fact that he's here at all. He's trying so desperately to remind himself of that. It doesn't matter what a vocal minority might think. His case worker was misinformed. Bridget didn't take the time to get to know him. She wasn't downstairs in the cell block when the trial happened. She has no right to make judgements.
But Omar can forgive her for that.
"I think the doors will open soon." Bowie looks up and nods gently. They seem more tired today, perhaps even a bit uneasy after what happened earlier. Omar has assured them that he understands. It's hard to really forgive yourself, and truthfully he blames Bridget more for what Bowie said. They were her words and must have really had an impact on them.
He's glad the two of them were able to get that out into the open. It's the only way they're going to heal and move forward. Omar will be sure to include an extra thank you for the strength of their friendship in tonight's prayers.
"Should we talk to Bridget?"
Omar tilts his head to the side. "Why?"
"About Shane."
He swallows. It's not like he'd forgotten, of course he wouldn't have. Shane was an integral part of their group no matter that he decided to part ways too. Omar nods. They should certainly wait to offer Bridget their condolences. He's glad that Bowie's on board with the plan.
"Doors will open momentarily. The competition will re-commence in ten minutes."
Omar stands from the bench along with a few others. It will probably be another minute after the doors open before the trial contestants come back up from the cell blocks. He hopes Bridget will stop by. Maybe she'll even ask to stay with them again. Omar would be more than happy to allow it. They're still a team.
A loud click signals the doors unlocking and a couple people start to head towards them. There's no real rush, just like last time. More than a few people loiter around the edges of the room, probably waiting for their friends downstairs. Omar and Bowie remain standing by the edge of their table.
One contestant, however, is up and dashing towards it before the door can even finish opening. Omar recognizes her and the frizzy bangs that fall heavily in front of her eyes. She's the one who tried the doors earlier when they were unfortunately still locked. Omar had even come over to ask if everything was alright after she didn't seem to be calming down. The girl that was with her at the time wasn't the kindest to him.
That same hostile girl gasps as she stands up quickly to follow. After the initial event, the pair had settled beside a table somewhat close to the door. Omar had assumed everything was fine, but that no longer looks to be the case.
The first girl is already well past him when Omar moves to interject, but he's able to stop the second. He gently grabs her shoulder, wondering if there's anything he'll be able to do to help. 012 throws his arm off of her and takes a step back. Omar puts his hands up defensively, trying to show her that he's not trying to hurt her. He just wants to make sure that everyone's okay.
"Don't fucking touch me," she hisses before skirting around him towards the door. The other girl is already long gone, but 012 calls after her anyways. "Wait!"
14th: Shane Kilroy, 18
A/N: Hello again. I hope you enjoyed our second set of trials and the surrounding happy fun times. It's only going to get more fun from here!
I would like to both thank and apologize to Ace who created Shane. He was an intriguing character to read and write, someone that challenged me in a way I particularly enjoyed. He's certainly made his stamp on the cast and helped me to explore a lot of interesting narrative styles. He'll be dearly missed.
And finally thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / voting in my vague ass polls despite the fear. This time, the discord poll decided how many rounds the Cell Block C trial would last (multiplied by a factor of two). I hope you're content with the choices you've made!
~ Olive