In The Clear: Games IX
Level 2 - Common Room - 1:20 PM
The floor beneath Omar is rotting away.
The walls have dimmed to even wood tones. He looks around and they're slick with moss that weighs them downward. There are gnawed holes from maggots he can still see. Carpet that starts to rip across the level becomes wet and discoloured the longer he looks. Baby pink paint peels where it should've been replaced years ago. Everything his eyes touch - plastic dolls, tiny dresses, a picture frame still shedding glitter - crumbles into putrid dust. Omar glances up and the ceiling itself is caving in on top of him.
When he looks back down, it's all gone. The floor has been overtaken by inches of plush snow that are untouched by footprints. It only takes a breath, one even breath, before all of it starts to melt.
Except when it does, it's not white like the marble cross around his neck.
It's red; blood red.
Omar gasps and scrambles backwards, pain radiating from a spot on his back that he can't reach. Scarlet snow drips towards his shoes, but when it touches the ground it steams away. He searches but there's no one else. Yet, the echo continues to resonate from the edge of the mountaintop.
Omar tries to get to it, but every ledge he reaches starts to fall away towards the waiting ground. He finds a cry waiting in his throat but it refuses to do anything but block the air from flowing. He can't see her.
And the next time he looks down, his hands are drenched with melting red snow.
He wipes it frantically on his chest, but it doesn't leave. He can see it. Everyone can see it. Omar looks up and they're there. The first aider that kept scribbling things on their notepad. The social worker that wouldn't stop asking questions. The police officer that looked at him longer than any of the others. They all stare back, watching the stain that won't leave his hands as if that itself is proof.
It burns.
Omar presses his hands so hard into his shirt that the fabric itself starts to melt. He searches for snow, for the wet carpet that she was so excited to pick out for her new bedroom, but it's all turned red. He tries to shove them in his pockets; they rip straight through. Omar puts them behind his back, pressing them together until no one should possibly be able to see.
The pain is unimaginable. Omar's hands shake and his stomach empties on the ground in front of them. It's red; it's all red. He desperately looks up, but there are even more of them now. His cellmate that flinched every time he spoke to him. The girl with dark braids that ripped herself away as if he were burning. Meg with eyes that never left him, even when the light left them. There are more. He reaches for them but they move away. He tries to speak but his tongue has been cut from his mouth.
They don't listen.
They won't listen.
They don't know.
Omar falls to his knees and buries his hands deep in the putrid ground. The melted snow bubbles and pain sears his skin, but he doesn't move. They can't see. They can't see because they won't understand. They don't want to understand.
I'm the only one who does.
I'm the only one who does.
I'm the only one who does.
Omar stares up at the group of people who fall further and further away. Their voices echo down the mountainside, all of it burned with scarlet snow. He reaches for them, but more of it pours from his skin. The drips become streams become gushes. It doesn't stop. He's fixing it. He's saving them but still their eyes bore into him. And still they fall.
Until finally, he manages to grab hold of one. The slickness of his skin doesn't matter. He holds on tight. Omar looks down and he sees her, but instead of a short blonde bob he sees dark curls. Her skin deepens until it matches him, but the smile is Bridget. He tries to help her regain balance, but she continues to slip. Eyes continue to stare. It's not enough, they say, it's not nearly enough.
They stare at her so differently.
Like she's perfect. Like she's an angel, and how couldn't she be? She's the one wearing white while Omar's clothes are soaked with red snow.
He still tries. Omar pulls harder and harder, trying to heave her up the mountain. Eventually her feet touch the ground next to his, making the blood snow pure again though only where she touches.
Even the knife that slides into his back is ice cold.
Omar stares intently as the concrete room fades into focus. He takes one step, then another, the floor seeming to mold to his shoes. The cold is gone. The snow is gone. Yet, the pain in his back hasn't let up and it drips like ice down his leg. Omar reaches back and touches just below it. His hand shakes even before he brings it around to face him.
Red.
Red like the melted snow.
Red like the burning eyes that he can no longer see, the pejorative stares that follow him. The ones that don't understand, that want to hurt him when Omar would never wish the same. He would never hurt anyone. He would never do what they so badly want to believe. Omar is good. He might not wear white, but he can still be an angel.
He lets out a slow breath and glances once more around the room.
Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed.
Level 3 - Dining Room - 2:48 PM
Riley's mind has never felt more clear.
He sits at the furthest corner table, allowing himself the best possible view of the level. On one side he can still see the edge of the kitchen; on the other, the bathroom's entrance. If he sits forward ever slightly, Riley can make out the dark interior of the stairwell. His eyes travel lazily between each one. He knows exactly what he's waiting for.
He refuses to let any of the broken thoughts inside his skull come even close to getting in the way.
They don't matter. Just like the pain in his shoulder blade that still roars with every breath. Just like the painful clenching of his stomach that's only getting worse. Just like the stains that are making his skin itch even though he's just about scratched them raw.
The names don't matter.
The injuries don't matter.
Nothing fucking matters except the one thing that Riley's promised he would do from day one. He's going to make it out of this place. He's going to get home. He's going to leave every part of this prison behind for the one thing in his life that he doesn't regret. It has to happen. There are no other options. He can't let there be.
He almost took that away on day one.
He tried to do it again.
He got what was coming and Riley would do it again. He will do it again. They all have to die. There's no more time for picking and choosing. Every single breath that doesn't come from Riley's lips is a threat. He can't let himself think because he can't even trust himself to make the judgement. Riley has to act.
He was so close to letting him go. Riley can't even let himself say the name in the safety of his mind. He can't regret it. He doesn't regret it. He honestly looked like he was trying, like he wasn't a spoiled shit that was willing to manipulate anyone for one more measly day of life. He almost fooled Riley.
It won't happen again.
It can't.
No one will get in his way.
No one.
Riley straightens as he hears slow footsteps start to make their way to his level. He can't be sure if they're coming from upstairs or down, but it hardly matters. He shifts the brick in his pocket to be sure it's not going to fall out. In his opposite hand he grips the knife that he found fallen on the kitchen floor as he left. He doesn't need both. He's proven that. It's just one more advantage that he has; one more thing that is going to ensure he goes home in a few days time.
He doesn't care who is headed this way. They'll be dead before they ever leave this level.
He stands and starts to move slowly towards the rounded wall. They won't be able to see him if they come inside. Riley doesn't bother to press himself into the concrete. He stands tall. He only needs a few seconds of surprise, a minute to make sure they can't run back where they came from. That's all he needs.
I can't think. I can't think. I just need to do it.
Riley takes a step away from the wall as the contestant walks inside. They're tall, but the first thing he sees is the weapon in their hand. It's long with one end that tapers into a sharp point towards the ground. Riley steps quickly, using his body weight in an attempt to knock the contestant to the ground. He'll grab the spear next. He won't stand a chance.
Don't think. Don't think.
Instead of falling, the contestant turns slowly to look at Riley. His eyes are bloodshot, like he'd been crying but there are no tear stains on his cheeks. His lips are set in a narrow line and every vein of his neck is standing stark against his skin. The way he looks at Riley, it's as if he can't even see him. Rather, his gaze stares straight through him.
Riley's throat goes dry, but the strange appearance only stops him for a moment. He slashes out with his knife, while at the same time grabbing for the spear in the boy's hand. He doesn't manage to catch more than the sleeve of his sweater, but gets a solid grip on the weapon. The boy barely reacts. He just stares down at the weapon that's being held now by each of their hands.
Riley can't help the uneasiness as he watches 007. He pulls once, but the other boy doesn't let go. Instead, 007's eyes slowly rise to meet his. "You don't mean to do this."
"What?" He doesn't want to answer, doesn't even think about it. The word makes its way out almost automatically.
007's lips turn up ever slightly into a grin. "You don't mean this, I know you don't."
Before Riley can even start to understand what he's talking about, 007 uses the spear to shove him backward. He's surprisingly strong and Riley's back hits the concrete wall behind him. His eyes widen, but the surprise only lasts a second. He pushes back and, this time, 007 is caught off guard and stumbles back.
When he turns to face Riley again, his face is twisted with what he can only describe as betrayal. He starts to step closer and Riley pushes the spear down between them before letting go. 007 staggers but that doesn't last long. The smile returns, but he doesn't stop coming.
"No one has to get hurt." Riley walks backwards as the pursuit continues. 007 seems to perfectly match his pace so the distance between them doesn't dwindle. The spear is no longer pointing at the ground, but out in front of him. "I would never hurt anyone."
"Put the fucking spear down then." Riley's words come between fast breaths, despite the fact that he's not moving very quickly. He snakes between the tables, never taking his eyes off 007. The knife is still held tightly in Riley's hand, but it suddenly feels like not nearly enough.
Don't think. Don't think.
The knife twitches but Riley keeps it down beside him. The words don't match his actions. The smile doesn't match the weapon. He can't stop the thoughts from coming, from swirling around them and becoming one more thing Riley has to watch. He has to do this. If not now then when? He can't be scared. He can't be anything. Not if he wants to be home.
They're nothing more than obstacles.
The skin on his neck starts to itch again, but Riley tells himself to ignore it. He's not scared. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter if he does. It never will again until he makes it out. Nothing matters. He was just an obstacle. The boy in front of him is no different. Don't think. Don't think. Riley brings the knife up as he makes a move to close the distance between them.
Just as quickly Riley folds himself to the floor as the boy's spear flies overhead. He hears it hit the wall behind him before clattering to the ground. This is my chance. Don't think. Don't think. Riley presses himself up off the floor and starts towards the boy, who grabs the blade of Riley's knife in midair.
Riley's hand starts to tremble around the handle as blood drips to the concrete below. His eyes widen as tears start to drip gently down the boy's cheeks. Still, 007 doesn't let go.
"I forgive you," he whispers, though Riley can feel him starting to pull the handle from his grip. Riley holds it tightly, but his entire body is shaking. What's he doing? What's going on? "I would never hurt anyone."
Not an ounce of Riley believes that.
He rips the blade from 007's hand in one fast movement and staggers back several steps. He can't stop himself. The moment he's free from eye contact, Riley makes a break for the stairwell. He overshoots by several meters, but it still doesn't take long. He doesn't bother to look back. He can't hear any footsteps beyond his own. They're all he hears until he gets back down to the basement.
And past that, it's silent again.
Cell Block B - 3:00 PM
Is it possible to cry without tears in your eyes?
Bridget shakes beneath the table, her arms tucked in as close as they can get. Her eyes burn as she continues to force them open. He's coming. After all this time, she knows that's unlikely. That hasn't made her chest untighten or her hands stop gripping each other like twin lifelines. She doesn't have anything else. As far as she knows, her knife is still lodged in his back.
He didn't even flinch. The shivering overtakes her once again, just like it's done every minute that she's sat here. It doesn't feel real. Not even for him. He's frustrating, irritating, and more than a bit delusional. He isn't inhuman. Yet, he didn't even react. He didn't even care.
What chance do I have now?
Bridget shakes her head forcefully. Every chance. I have every chance. She replaces the thought a dozen times, a hundred times until it starts to feel like slightly less of a lie. I did it. I fought back. The rest doesn't matter. Except it has to. He isn't dead. It's been hours and the announcement hasn't come. She can't remember exactly where she stabbed him. She wasn't supposed to take biology until the semester after she was arrested. She doesn't even know what's there.
It doesn't matter. I fought back. This, at least, is true. Bridget didn't stand there and allow herself to be manipulated again. She didn't bite her tongue just because she was afraid to say no to him. Omar could have hurt her. She still did it. That has to count for something. It has to.
She doesn't feel like a winner, but that doesn't matter. She has what it takes. She has to believe that or she's going to fall apart, and that's not something she can afford right now. It might not have worked this time, but next time it will. Next time she'll kill him, them, whoever is standing in her way. Bridget will keep telling herself this until she believes, until she'll be able to look in the mirror and see the winner that she knows she can be.
Except if that were true, her body wouldn't be breaking out in a cold sweat at the mere sound of footsteps. Bridget tenses even further, her nails digging into both palms until she has to forcefully peel them away. She doesn't know who it is. It won't be him.
It can't be him. She holds her breath anyways. It refuses to move just like every other part of her. They won't be able to see her. Whoever it is, they won't know she's here.
She hears deep breaths as the footsteps pause somewhere in the room. It sounds like they've been running, but that still doesn't tell her who it is. Bridget considers poking her head out to look, but immediately flushes the thought from her mind. She doesn't have a weapon anymore. She doesn't have anything to defend herself.
The footsteps start again, and this time they're coming closer.
Bridget tells herself it's a coincidence, that they can't possibly see her. It's still dark. The only light comes from the strips on the floor, but there are none close to her. She's wearing dark clothing, her hood pulled up to cover her blonde hair. They can't see her. They can't.
The steps pause. She can see them, or their feet at least. They're only a meter from her, the table the only thing that keeps her from being exposed. Bridget fights every urge to make herself smaller. If I move they'll hear me.
Their knees start to bend and Bridget realizes that being quiet no longer matters. She scrambles out the opposite side and stands with her back to the wall. In an instant she recognizes him, but that's not even close to the most horrifying part. There's red stains all over his face and neck, along with what look to be dozens of deep scratch marks.
Bridget gasps and staggers back even further. At the same time, Riley - she remembers one of the others calling him that - scrambles across the table. She screams and runs from the table. There's nothing here. She scans the room as her steps get faster. I don't have a weapon. She knows that he does. It was already in his hand when he started towards her.
Not knowing what else to do, Bridget makes a break for the stairs. He isn't fast, at least not fast enough to immediately catch up. That doesn't mean he won't eventually. Bridget takes as deep of breaths as she can muster as she starts up the stairs. She doesn't know where she's going. She just knows that she has to go.
She makes it all the way up to third level before realizing that she can't hear anyone behind her. Bridget pauses and looks back long enough to make sure, but she's right. He didn't follow. She doesn't know why, but she isn't going to dwell on it. He's not coming up behind her and that's all that matters right now.
Bridget allows herself almost a minute to catch her breath. She doesn't sit down, it isn't safe right now. She has no way of knowing who's on this level; she hadn't even been sure who was in the other cell blocks. Bridget knows she left Omar on the second level. She hopes that his injury was at least enough to keep him there.
She turns inside and her blood goes positively ice cold.
He's there, almost exactly as she left him on the level below. It's so close to the same position that Bridget has to wonder if all of that had actually taken place up here. She can't think enough to decide. She stares at his back, perfectly straight as it faces towards her. He's sitting and looks to be staring at something but there's nothing on the wall in front of him.
He looks like a statue. If she didn't know any better, Bridget would bet that he's not even breathing. For a moment, she can't tear her eyes away. They fall over every inch of him, but the only bit out of place is the knife still planted firmly in his lower back.
She barely manages to slip back inside the stairwell before gagging violently. There's nothing in her stomach to bring up but bitter bile that she quickly swallows down. She has no idea what he would do to her if he knew she was right here.
Bridget is thankful that, for now at least, she doesn't have to find out.
Level 4 - Library - 7:09 PM
Dom raises her gaze over her curled knees again, just enough to make sure that they haven't moved. Just like every other time she's checked, they're still exactly where she left them. They're perched in the corner by the entrance, slim limbs tangled together in a way that can't possibly be comfortable.
She doesn't know why she said yes. Truthfully, Dom can't even remember if she did. They ran in here hours ago with panic in their eyes and begged her to stay. She doesn't remember them very well. She didn't have a reason to say no besides every smart reason in the world.
Dom shouldn't even have still been here. She left once, but something pulled her back. This is where they promised to meet after the trials. Dom was here. Amadis never showed up. The fire happened pretty quickly after the trial, but that doesn't explain why she didn't come straight here first. Dom never saw her leave the cell block. What if she got hurt.
Except Dom checked down there too, and Amadis was nowhere to be found.
She lets another slow breath out into the fabric of her pants. It's the closest thing to crying she's willing to do, even if that's the only thing she wants to do right now. She doesn't know whether to be worried or hurt; truthfully, she's both. Dom didn't see her trial. She doesn't know what happened. All she knows is that she's here with someone that isn't Amadis and she doesn't know what she's supposed to do from here.
So much has happened. She doesn't know how to make sense of any of it. Honestly, maybe that's why she's so set on Amadis not being here. She was the one to talk things through, even if it was often for her own benefit. Dom could use that right now.
The trial. The fire. The bloodiest murder she wishes she'd never seen.
The last time Dom felt this small was in the Hamilton Police Station, as a constant rotation of officers came in to question her. The dizziness now feels the same, as if her head is moving at high speeds no matter that she's sat in the same position for hours. If she thinks hard enough, Dom's sure she would be able to feel the handcuffs wrapped around her wrists.
Dom's eyes shift once more to 001, whose eyes are pressed tightly closed. She should've told them to get lost. They're not an ally. She has no idea who they are. All she knows is that they showed up, Dom was in no mindset to refuse, and now she's stuck. They don't seem to be any threat, but how can she make that assumption? They're still here when so many others aren't.
That has to mean something. They could say the same about me.
That's another thing that doesn't sit right with Dom. 001 hasn't said a word to her since begging to hide with her. In fact, they've spent most of this time with their eyes closed. How can they be sure she wouldn't attack them? She's made no promises that they would be safe here.
Dom glances back at 001, whose face she can't even see anymore. It almost looks like they're asleep, but their breathing pattern is too irregular. Truthfully, they were right. Dom hasn't had a single thought of harming them, only of leaving entirely. Except that would mean giving up on Amadis coming back. It would mean deciding that she's going to do the rest of this alone. Dom had already been prepared to do that, but now she's so uncertain.
She had honestly started to believe that the two of them could get somewhere. Maybe not out, because both of them couldn't. Dom can't even verbalize what she thought research and notes would accomplish here. She just knows that she's not ready to give it up yet.
Maybe in a few hours, maybe not until tomorrow. Eventually she'll have to, or she doesn't want to think about what could happen to her. Probably the exact same thing that would have happened if the two of them would've stayed together.
What else could she possibly hope for?
Rooftop - 8:54 PM
Marcy has to measure every breath as it slips down her throat. She sits against the outer barrier, as upright as she can because that seems to help. It's getting easier, very slowly but that's better than it getting worse. She can still breathe. There were several points over the last few hours where she firmly believed that would stop.
She bows her head ever slightly, but even that just makes it more difficult to swallow. She doesn't remember much of how she got up here, but she knows that it wasn't her doing. Eris is seated at almost the opposite side of the roof, barely in Marcy's view anymore. Every time she's looked over to check on her, it seems like Eris has moved even further away.
Marcy can't blame her. Quite honestly, the only person she can give full blame to is herself.
She's the one who caused this. The scent of smoke still trails around her in constant reminder. More likely than not, there will never come a time when she won't be able to smell it.
It's what she deserves.
Marcy blinks back the tears that never seem to run out. She's embarrassed, horrified, every possible emotion that she can't seem to put strong enough words to. She didn't mean this to happen. Except that's not true, she meant to start the fire. Marcy doesn't have the entire scene in her mind, but she remembers the match. If she didn't want to start it, it wouldn't have happened. She did this. She chose this, but she has to believe that she didn't mean it to go this far.
She can only hope that no one got hurt. No one but her.
Yet, even then it doesn't seem like they're going to let her die. Marcy remembers the back of the ambulance she was placed in with an officer on one side and a paramedic on the other. They gave her air that left a watery film on her tongue. They said it would help in case she inhaled some of the smoke. The air feels the same up here. She firmly believes that's what's making her breathlessness ease.
Marcy's breaths start to quicken and her teeth start to chatter. All she wants is to bury her face in her trembling knees, but she can't. If she does, she won't be able to breathe and for some reason that still matters. She could have died in the fire. Maybe she should have. At least then she wouldn't be sitting here wondering what she's supposed to do now.
"Eris." Even the whisper is hoarse, making the name sound like it's been chopped to pieces. Marcy blinks again, but the tears spill over anyway. She can't force her voice to be louder, so she starts to crawl.
It's not as hard as she expects it to be. Her skin feels tight, tender, but it still moves. Marcy has yet to examine herself for burns, but none of her limbs feel too painful. She would liken the feeling to a large scale sunburn.
Eris turns towards her and her expression falls ever slightly. Marcy hates it, the pity in her eyes, because she doesn't deserve it. This is her fault. No one else's. All this time she's been so set on the fact that she isn't like the monster from her session. She never considered that the prison was right all along.
Before Marcy can get even halfway across the rooftop, she breaks down again in violent tears. The salt running down her face makes it burn even more, taking the slight discomfort straight to agony. Her fast breaths tear at the inside of her throat, making it even harder to slow them down. She can't let herself fall. She can't lower herself to the ground because it's only going to make it worse. She needs to stop crying, but why? Why does it matter? She's never once had sympathy for the fact that he is here, why should she feel any regret in joining him now?
Eris eases the girl down into her shoulder, being careful only to touch her very gently. She doesn't say anything, doesn't know what she would say if she wanted to. She doesn't want to talk about what happened.
What she said.
Saying that name was a mistake. Eris can't even explain it to herself. She knows that this girl isn't Kaya, she's known that since they met. Yet, she can't help but think of her half-sister every time she looks at 006. Even now, with half of her bangs burned away and angry redness coating her exposed skin, she's still thinking about her. Eris hasn't been able to stop since they came up here.
It's silent for a while as the girl cries, but she doesn't pull away. Eris wants to, she wants to so badly that she almost does more than once. She doesn't know why she's still here. This girl is dangerous. Maybe it would make more sense if she didn't suspect what had really happened. The fire could have been an accident, but she doesn't believe that after what she heard.
I didn't mean to. It was me. I'm sorry.
Eris doesn't even know if 006 meant to say any of it aloud. She hadn't seemed fully awake, to the point where she pretty much dragged her up here. She just kept whispering. She just kept saying that she had to stop it from spreading. Eris couldn't stand to be so close to her. She didn't know what to say.
The easiest thing would have been to leave. The smoke didn't take long to fade away, as if the prison itself were pulling it into the vents. The staircase was soaking wet the last time Eris walked by it. More than likely, the immediate danger is gone. She has every opportunity to walk away, and no good reasons not to.
"Did I hurt anyone?"
Eris turns away quickly, but she can feel the girl's eyes on her. She had to have heard the announcement. Yet, it makes sense that she wouldn't have. She had her hands over her ears for the first almost hour on the roof. She'd been crying so violently that Eris had wondered how hurt she really was.
She considers lying. 006 might never find out, and it won't help her right now. Eris can already see the despair in her eyes and she has no idea.
It's only going to make it worse.
Suddenly, Eris is back in a white-walled room with a door that locks. She lays on a cot without blankets, without anything to hide the tubes that are coming from her limbs. Her hands are tied down, as are both feet. They refuse to tell her anything. She lost count of how many times she begged them to.
"Did I hurt anyone?" It's the same words, though Eris can't be sure if they're what actually left her lips. It was so long ago she can't remember. The nurses look at her with pity, the security guards with something like contempt. Not one of them gives her an answer, and that in itself becomes one.
Eris wondered for weeks how many people she'd killed. Her mind had made it worse than any one answer could have been. It's continued to do that for the many months she hasn't been permitted to know who that minor was that she had murdered.
She closes her eyes so that she doesn't have to watch the girl's expression. "Yes."
006 takes a quivering breath. Eris knows what she's going to ask next. It's the same question she would have. "Are they dead?"
It's possible they didn't die because of the fire. It's possible that something else happened at the same time, that that is what killed the contestant and not the flames. Eris almost says as much, but she knows that 006 won't believe her.
She knows she wouldn't have.
"Yes."
Eris still has her eyes tightly shut, but she can feel the tearful hiccups against her shoulder. She wants to move away, but her legs refuse. This girl destroyed part of the prison, killed someone, almost killed herself and who knows how many others in the process. She's dangerous. Eris shouldn't want anything to do with her, it isn't safe. She needs to focus on herself. If she's not going to kill the girl, she can at least walk away. It's what Eris would have done days ago without a second thought.
She doesn't pull the girl closer, doesn't wipe her tears, or tell her that everything's going to be okay. Eris doesn't know how to comfort her; she understands that trying probably wouldn't mean much anyways. She knows too well how it feels to find out that you're not the person you thought you were.
Maybe that's why she stays. 006 isn't Eris, isn't Kaya, but she can see both in her. The fierce desire to help that made 006 almost close a burning door is so much like her sister. Kaya knew the briefcase was dangerous. She grabbed it anyway. She tried to stop her no matter how many times Eris pushed her away.
The regret is something that Eris has always felt, but never allowed herself to believe. Of course she was sorry. She would be in prison for the rest of her life, who wouldn't have regrets? Of course she hadn't wanted Kaya to be hurt. Anyone would have the same feelings after what she'd done.
Yet something about the tears running down the girl's face is so honest. Eris isn't afraid that she's going to hurt her or anyone. She should be. Look where they are; consider the game they're both playing. They're both dangerous. They're both at the mercy of death because of what they've done. 006 almost got herself killed in the fire. Eris narrowly avoided the same thing back at the park.
But that's not all they are.
And maybe, just maybe, they don't deserve to die believing otherwise.
Level 4 - School Room - 9:37 PM
Myra sits in the same spot, in the same room, with her arms wrapped around the same toppled chair. Time has passed, that much is promised, but she doesn't know how much. Her legs have fallen asleep, but she hasn't been so lucky. Or maybe she's been asleep this whole time, and just needs to wake up. That's all Myra can hope for right now. She just wants to wake up.
She can't even cry anymore. Her face has gone dry, tightening around the tear stains that seemed like they would never stop. She hadn't wanted to leave them. She had to. They wanted her to. They never wanted her. Myra's only choice was to leave; she wanted Ram to be free to play this game that she had no interest in.
And now they're dead.
It doesn't feel real. It isn't real. She's going to wake up and none of this will have happened. Maybe she'll still be in prison, maybe she'll even still be on The Cut, but Ram won't be gone. They can't be.
In every single nightmare Myra had about what would happen to her, she was comforted in believing that they would make it. She wasn't going to sit around and convince herself that she would get out. She knew that wasn't going to happen. She couldn't hurt someone, not again. She didn't want to even try. If she was going to live on, it would be through them; that was her only chance. If Ram won and they remembered her, maybe death wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
Now, it's the only thing. She's going to die. Not only that, but she's going to die alone with the memory that she was the one that'd walked away.
She hadn't left when the smoke came. She hadn't left when her clothes had been soaked through with water that left her shivering. Yet, she had left them and she's never going to forgive herself.
There's someone here. Myra looks up slowly as the thought reaches her. The room around her is barely familiar, strewn with desks that she doesn't remember being knocked over when she arrived. Chairs have been thrown into a maze of upturned legs and there are ripped shreds of notebook paper everywhere. Yet, the first thing that catches her eye is him.
He doesn't look back. In fact, his eyes seem to travel in every direction except to where she's sitting. He looks calm, almost like he's sleep walking and not truly present. The only thing that discredits that is the bloodshot eyes, which Myra can only see when he looks down. The rest of him looks almost too put together. Myra remembers him, but it's hard to settle her mind on any one event. Even his clothes don't look wrinkled enough. Especially when her own are crusty with blood and sweat.
Part of her considers saying something. A much stronger piece tells her to remain absolutely silent.
"You don't have to be scared."
She feels all the blood drain from her face. He still isn't looking at her, in fact his gaze travels slowly around the room as if looking for something else. Myra can't be certain that he's talking to her, but there's no one else here. Her body starts to tremble, and that's when his gaze finally reaches her.
He offers a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Nothing does, they're as blank as when he walked in the room. Except now they're staring directly at her.
"I would never hurt anyone."
Myra pats the ground beside her, searching instinctively for the hammer but she can't find it. She can't bring herself to look away. He's stepping softly in her direction, but the sound of his shoes hitting the ground are positively silent. His words are kind. He doesn't want to hurt me. No part of Myra believes him.
"Get away from me." The whisper gets half-caught in her throat. She's trembling even harder now, to the point where her numb hands can't even feel the floor beneath them. She swallows and tries again, louder this time. "Get away from me!"
007 puts a hand out in front of him, curling it slightly as if wrapping it around someone's shoulder but there's no one there. He's still only halfway across the room. What is he doing? She swallows again. Her legs feel too numb to move but she still begs them to try.
"I would never-"
"Get away from me!" She shrieks and just as suddenly her eyes are filled with frightened tears. Myra pushes herself up from the ground but her legs can't get more than a few inches up before buckling completely. Myra catches herself on the same chair she'd been holding. Her eyes beg to blink but she won't let them. He's still coming, yet still seemingly in no rush to get there.
That's when she remembers him. He was in the first set of trials, at the same time as Ram but not in the same one. She barely watched any of the others, but she recalls the upstairs scream that pulled her eyes to his screen. It was him, standing there as blankly as now as he stared straight at the body of another contestant.
He's looking at her in almost the exact same way.
Level 4 - Library - 9:40 PM
"Don't," Bowie croaks as they watch the girl rise into a crouch. They can barely see more than her silhouette through a fresh layer of tears. They have to warn her. She has to know.
They can't go. They can't help her. They can't. Bowie knows the voice next door too well.
She stares at them, but they can't see her expression. They're trembling from head to toe, with tears quivering in their eyes to the same beat. The shrieks just keep coming. Each one shudders in their chest but they can't. It's him. He followed them up here. It's him. He's coming. If anything, they have to get out of here. Bowie is unable to get any of that out. All they can say are the same words over and over again. "Please. Don't. Please."
Bowie wipes the tears away, but the clarity only lasts a moment. She's staring at them, of course she is. This probably doesn't make any sense but they're right. It's him. They know his voice and they know that this is it. He's here. He found them. Bowie can't let him find them.
"It's him," they breathe, but the admission only makes the next one harder. It feels like the air is getting caught in their throat. They can't get it out, they can't bring any more in. They're choking yet there's nothing around their neck. She has to understand. She can't help. He's going to kill the one next door, he's going to kill them, and he'll kill her too. They have to run. It's their only chance. "It's him."
"Who?"
The name feels like a curse. They're so terrified just remembering. He's going to kill them. He didn't even react. He's going to hurt them for what she did, what they let her do. He's going to kill them.
"Omar." Another scream, but they can't make out what she's saying. She sounds terrified. If Bowie didn't know better, it sounds like he's already hurting her.
They never believed he would. They never considered it. Bowie knew he was wrong, that he'd caused what happened to Madigan, but not this. Bridget was right. She was right and now he's here and he's going to find them next-
003's eyes narrow at the name as if she recognizes it. They hope she does, because maybe then she'll understand. They can't go help her. They can't do anything but run. They have to get away or they have to hide. She has to understand even if Bowie's having a hard time understanding it themself.
The room feels like it's spinning, but the shouts from the adjacent room don't stop. They feel like they're on top of Bowie, but they're not. They're at least a wall away. They're still safe. For now, they're still safe from him.
003 still sits up on her heels, but she doesn't make any more attempts to rise. That's the smartest thing to do. Bowie wants to help. They do but they can't. They can't stop him, they can't do anything. She shouldn't even stay near Bowie right now. She should get far, far away or she's going to get caught in the crossfire.
They sob into their hands as another shriek tears through the room. They've never felt so helpless and it pulls at their chest as much as the continuing screams. They don't want to leave her to him. They want to help her but how can they? She might already be dead. Every scream could be another spear in her chest. It could be another cut across her stomach.
Bowie looks straight at where 003 should be, but they can't see her. Tears coat their entire vision as they press their hands over their ears. They can't even get the words out, but it doesn't matter. There's nothing their voice can do here.
Make it stop.
Level 4 - Gym - 9:41 PM
Amadis can't make herself stop.
She's heard her share of screams. There's been too many in the past days, far more than she ever thought she'd have to hear. They have their own patterns, but not this one. Just when Amadis thinks it's done, it starts again. It's impossible to know exactly how much time has passed, but it feels like far too much of it.
She can't stop herself from thinking it sounds like Dom.
And I left her.
She takes a deep breath and runs as quietly as she can between the gym equipment. Amadis isn't even sure where she is. At first it sounded like the screams were coming from even further up, but she was mistaken. She's here. Amadis knows that she isn't prepared for what she's going to find. Even that isn't enough to stop her. Neither is the trembling that seems to have stolen her tongue from her mouth.
Her eyes widen as she creeps around the corner. She can't think, all she can do is stare. Amadis recognizes the girl, but not enough to conjure up a name. It isn't Dom. It isn't Dom yet that doesn't provide as much relief as Amadis had hoped it would.
The boy's back is to her, but she can see it - the knife stuck in the swollen bump of skin beneath his shirt. Yet, it's clear that he isn't the prey here. The way he paces along the room's imaginary divide proves otherwise. The girl has blood coming from both her nose and a cut over her eyebrow. Besides the hammer held out in front of her, the girl's entire body is shaking violently.
She's mumbling so quietly that Amadis can't catch a single word. Then, when the boy starts towards her, she lets out a shriek that makes her stomach clench so hard it hurts. "Get away!"
By the last word, the girl's eyes have locked with hers and she can't tear herself from them. Amadis shouldn't be here. She knew that coming up and she knows it even more having seen the scene inside. This is the game. This is not the first person who's going to die because of it. Stopping this won't fix anything. It's only going to happen again, later, maybe even to her.
Yet her eyes are begging me to help her.
Amadis doesn't even realize that she's running until she slams hard into the boy's side. He turns at the last second, no doubt hearing the footsteps she didn't bother to muffle. She doesn't try to strike out at him, or even really think to. Yet, the surprise is still enough to knock him off balance.
007 grabs hold of Amadis before she can pull away. He gives her a quizzical look as he holds tightly to her shoulders. She can feel the skin slowly break beneath each of his nails as she stares up at him. He looks… almost gentle. Yet, nothing about the way he holds her is gentle.
Amadis pushes him away with both hands, but that doesn't even seem to faze him. She expects him to grab for his fallen weapon, maybe even pull the knife from her belt loop. It's visible and she stupidly hadn't thought to get it out first. He doesn't do either of these things. Instead, he simply stares.
"Get away from her." There's none of the earlier courage in Amadis' voice. It shakes just like the other girl's, yet has none of the volume. She expects that 007 is the only one that even heard her.
Amadis looks back to where the girl had been crouched, but she can't see her anymore. It shouldn't be surprising if she took the opportunity to run. Amadis can't even blame her. She shouldn't have gotten involved. She doesn't know what she's doing. She just couldn't stand to do nothing.
She tilts her chin up to stare back at 007 and clenches her teeth together to keep them from chattering. She will not let him see that she's afraid. She isn't dead yet, and neither of them have a weapon.
This time, her voice is even with the gaze she sets on him. "Let me go."
He cocks his head to one side as if wondering what she's talking about. The way his eyes seem to look past her is unsettling, but Amadis refuses to look away. He won't scare her if that's what he's trying to do. Amadis isn't going to allow it.
"Let. Me. Go." This time she speaks each word like a complete sentence. She tenses her body against the pain that hasn't let up. Her shoulders feel damp with what she can only expect is blood, but it's not unbearable. She can feel her hands start to tremble but she clenches them into fists instead. Slowly, the pressure starts to ease.
"I would never hurt her."
"Amadis!" She flinches as the shout encompasses the room, barely leaving enough space for the boy's strange words. Amadis turns to the door, but her eyes don't make it there. Instead, they snap back to 007 as a loud crack comes from behind him. In an instant, he releases her shoulders and Amadis scrambles back from where he drops to the ground.
She stares in horror as the same girl from earlier stands behind him, holding the same hammer that she saw earlier. 017's eyes are wide and she drops the weapon immediately. The sound of it clattering to the ground between them is the loudest one in the room.
Amadis is turned around by a strong shove, but before she can react she recognizes the earlier shout. It wasn't one of 017 or 007 who called her name. It was Dom. They stare at one another for what feels like several minutes. Amadis knows that she should be the first to speak. She knows the questions in Dom's eyes so well that there's no point in her saying them. The other girl seems to agree.
"I-" Amadis starts, but another long pause follows. Her explanation makes sense, it does, but she can't bring herself to say it. Dom looks at her with uncertainty and that's almost worse. She doesn't look angry like she did when Amadis ran out of the library to search for some door. Amadis doesn't have a word for what she sees in the girl's eyes.
Suddenly Dom leaps forward and Amadis can't help the startled gasp that follows them both to the ground. Another scream fills the air, identical to the ones that frightened Amadis up here in the first place. She stares at Dom even as the room explodes into frenzied movement. I thought it was you.
007 hasn't bothered to search for his fallen spear. He's already holding 017's hammer by the time he stands clumsily to his feet. 017 has retreated to the same scattered fortress of school desks. 007 doesn't seem to be looking at any of them in particular. He wields the hammer in one hand, squinting with the matching eye. There's a spot of blood that's dripping down his cheekbone and all of the blood vessels in that eye have painted his cornea red.
Amadis slowly starts to push Dom behind her. They're both on the floor, but the door isn't far. If Amadis can distract him, she can run. They both can. It'll take longer to get 017 out because of where she's positioned but now there's three of them.
"It's okay," 007's voice is trembling, but when he turns towards the pair there's a frigid smile on his face. "It's okay. You're not like this. You're not like this."
Amadis swallows. She has no idea what he's talking about, and it's hard to tell if anyone else does. Dom never mentioned him, at least she doesn't remember if she did. 017 looks positively terrified of him. It could make sense that he's talking to her, but his eyes reach every single one of them.
Amadis starts to move slowly to her feet as he's talking and she can vaguely see Dom doing the same. He's taller than either of them, but at least standing will bring them somewhat to the same level. Halfway up, Amadis finally thinks to free the knife from her belt loop. It feels heavy in her hand but she forces herself to keep it there.
007 starts to walk towards them and Amadis pauses in a crouch. She looks up at him, trying once again to keep the fear from her expression but that feels impossible. He's only a meter away, staring directly at the knife in her hand. She considers putting it down but she's too terrified to let go. Amadis leans back and tries to slowly keep standing up. She needs to stand up.
"You seek forgiveness," he says softly as he moves closer. All Amadis can stare at is the hammer in his grip. "Yet, you don't stop."
He smiles as a spot of blood drops to the ground between them. "But it's okay. I will always forgive you."
Dom pulls her back as 007 swings the weapon towards her. Instead, it lands against the top of a desk which splinters on contact. Amadis shrieks and abandons the knife somewhere on the ground, now using both hands to scramble back further. She doesn't know which movements are hers, which gasps are hers, and which come from Dom or the furniture being destroyed around them. He doesn't stop coming. He mumbles more but she can't understand it. Over and over again she hears him use the word 'forgiveness'. Never once does she understand what he means.
"Omar!"
Everything in the room seems to stop as the single word echoes. Amadis clamours for shelter behind one of the few intact desks and Dom is already there. Yet, this time, 007 doesn't follow. When she is finally able to chance a look back, he's staring at the door. No, not the door, he's staring at someone.
"Omar." Amadis stares at the contestant as they walk slowly inside, but she doesn't remember anything about them. They have dark hair that barely touches their shoulders and red streaks taking up every inch of skin on their face. They look positively terrified and Dom stiffens beside her.
Their voice betrays every bit of fear. "What are you doing?"
"Bowie?" 007, Omar, looks them up and down as if he's not quite certain who he's looking at. The contestant nods and Omar starts walking towards them.
"The hammer," Amadis' voice quivers as she whispers just loud enough for Dom to hear. The girl nods, but neither of them move. He seems to have been calmed by Bowie's presence, but that doesn't mean anything. He's still just as dangerous.
"I'm proving," Omar says, swallowing breaths between words that look almost painful. "That I'm good, no matter what. I love them. I will be forgiven because, look, I've forgiven everyone."
"Omar, you need to stop." Bowie's tears follow the same pattern as the streaks on their face. Yet, despite the trembling that's overtaken their entire body they don't budge. Their blurry eyes are still set on Omar. "Look at you, you're hurt."
"No!" Omar shouts, bringing the hammer up and holding it close to him. It almost looks like the way a child would hold a stuffed animal, but there's blood coating the handle. "I have to. I have to forgive them."
Bowie swallows. "Why do they need forgiveness?"
"They're here," Omar seethes. "They're here and that means everyone thinks they did it. They can't leave it alone. They can't understand that it was years ago and that she's already gone but they would never hurt her."
"You would never hurt her." It's hard to tell if Bowie knows what they're saying, or if they're simply going off his words.
Omar's posture deflates as he stares at them. He raises the hammer ever slightly before it drops down to his side. His next words are so soft Amadis isn't sure that she heard them correctly. "She would have forgiven me."
"You don't get to make that choice, Omar," Bowie says with more certainty in their words. "Maybe she would, but you don't get to choose." They shake their head. "Not for this."
The two of them hold eye contact for what feels like hours. No one in the room moves, no one can tell if it's safe to. None of this conversation makes any sense to her. Who are they talking about? Amadis is just as afraid to break the spell as she is for what this conversation actually means.
Omar looks up sharply, his entire body seeming to tense at once. Dom pulls her further behind the desk, but it's hardly any shelter at all. Besides, 007 isn't looking at them. He's looking squarely at Bowie now.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
Bowie stares back. "Maybe not, but I know that you don't want to hurt any of them. You said you wanted to help everyone get out. What happened to that?"
There's a pause, but Amadis sees the twitch of the hammer a moment before it happens. He swings it upwards, narrowly missing Bowie's chin as they jump back. The second swing comes just as quickly, and this one lands hard at the top of their arm. "I would never hurt anyone!"
Amadis stands up quickly, but they're too far away. She doesn't know what to do. Her instinct is immediately to help but her eyes find her discarded knife on the opposite side of the room. That's when she remembers. Amadis locks eyes with 017 who is staring from behind another table. She's less than a meter away from him.
The knife. Amadis tries to mouth it at her, but the girl isn't even looking. She's no doubt terrified, trying to rack her brain just like they are for a way out. Amadis needs her to pay attention. She swallows down the fear before it can stop her. "The knife!"
017's eyes snap towards her and Amadis points straight at Omar. The girl blinks, not knowing what she's talking about and she can't blame her. Before she can figure out how to explain, a deafening roar brings Amadis' hands over her ears. She's never heard anything like it.
The first thing Amadis sees when she looks back at them is blood. It pours onto the floor and coats Omar's hand as he brings his hand away from his lower back. He howls again as he takes a step towards Bowie. It's only at that point that Amadis sees the knife in their hand. It too is covered in slippery red.
Dom jumps up and runs towards Bowie before she can stop her. She pulls them away from his reach as Omar stumbles to the ground. He rolls into a crawl before starting after them again. "You don't know!"
Dom drags them even further back and Amadis too leaps to her feet. She needs to get a weapon, any weapon. He's injured but that didn't stop him before. This is worse, so much worse. She doesn't know how long the knife was there, what it might've been holding back. There's so much blood but it's not enough to convince her that any of them are safe.
Am I going to kill him? Amadis pushes the thought away. If she lets it, it'll be more than enough to stop her. The echo of the word 'murderer' in her mind is almost enough by itself.
Amadis looks where she'd spotted her knife earlier, but it's not there. She glances quickly around the room, but there's no need. She doesn't see it, but she hears the scream as it happens. She watches Dom help a sobbing Bowie to the floor. At the same time she finds her discarded knife sticking out of Omar's throat.
The entire room seems to pause. Amadis stands staring as more blood joins the puddle on the ground. His body convulses for what seems like an eternity, but his eyes are barely open. He reaches for something, but there's nothing in front of him. Everyone else in the room can do nothing but watch. No part of it feels real.
017 is crouched on the floor less than a meter from him, her hands trembling as she stares at the body in front of her. She's the only one who was close enough. Tears start again down her face and she starts to curl inwards. Amadis has the urge to go to her, but she can't make her numb legs do anything.
Then, the girl looks directly at her as if feeling Amadis' eyes on her. Her lower lip is quivering and her eyes are so filled with tears that it's hard to even tell what colour they are. Her voice is so small, it's hard to believe it comes from the same tongue as the screams that lead her here.
"Is he dead?"
There's been no announcement, but the blood gives a better answer. Amadis realizes when she looks back at him that he's stopped moving completely. She nods a single time, it's all she can manage.
017 collapses into sobs as her head falls heavily into her hands. She's shaking even harder, her breaths coming so quickly it seems like she might pass out. Amadis starts to step towards her, and notices that she's actually saying something - the same thing over and over. Is he dead? Is he dead? Is he dead?
Amadis leans down and puts as gentle a hand on the girl as she can. 017 flinches away and stares back at Amadis with wild eyes. She doesn't even seem to see her. It reminds Amadis too much of the boy laying in front of them. She takes an instinctive step back, but she can still hear the girl speaking between sobs. Is he dead?
"Angel Jardinez has been eliminated. Ten contestants remain."
She swallows. "He's dead."
If possible, the sobs only start to come more forcefully. Amadis looks back to Dom, who is still awkwardly holding Bowie as their breaths start to finally slow down. They're not injured. She's not injured. As far as she can tell, 017 isn't either. Somehow, they all made it.
When she turns again, she finds Dom staring straight at her. She swallows, dropping her gaze for a moment because she doesn't know what to say. This is her chance to explain, but her tongue feels too twisted to even try.
The girls stare at each other for what could only be a few seconds but she can't wait any longer. There's no fight to distract them this time. It's only them. Still, it nearly shatters Dom's heart entirely that she has to be the first to speak. "What happened?"
Amadis only stares in response, then shakes her head. Finally she opens her mouth, but it's not anything that Dom had hoped for. "Don't follow me."
She's already out the door by the time Dom can process the words. She stares at the room's threshold, half-expecting Amadis to return and then hating herself for believing she might. Tears start to gather but she furiously blinks them away. She refuses to cry right now.
It takes far longer than it should for Dom to realize that Bowie is no longer in front of her. Her hands are still in mid-air as if holding onto something, and she quickly drops them to her side. She stands and it doesn't take long for her to find Bowie a mere meter from the other girl. They stare down at her like they're not sure what to think.
Dom knows the feeling.
"What are we gonna do?" Bowie asks, gesturing half-heartedly towards the girl. They turn to Dom and she stiffens before shaking her head.
"Don't say 'we.'"
By the look on their face, one would think Dom had just slapped them. Once again, she thinks she knows the feeling. She turns slightly away, as if that's going to convince her she's right. When it doesn't, she reluctantly shakes her head again. "Fine, let's just get her out of here."
Level 5 - Morgue - 10:22 PM
It's been silent since his announcement.
Lawrence implores their steps to match as they move around the room. There isn't anything to do, but they try to appear busy anyway. That seems to be a comfort to those who don't wish to converse, and by the looks of it Casi needs the quiet. He's had their hands covering his face since it was finalized.
Omar is dead. Casi no longer has to worry about finding him or killing him or anything of the sort. It should be a relief, except Lawrence understands that is not likely to be the case.
Casi is different from many of the others they've been around. In fact, he's so dissimilar from the people Lawrence was usually surrounded with that it should be uncomfortable. In fact, they've found the opposite. Lawrence has thus far in life spent the most time around adult family members. None of them had their emotions so plainly written across their posture. Lawrence finds it to be somewhat of a relief to look and almost immediately understand.
Even their silence is easily understood. The fire hasn't been put out with water or an extinguisher. Instead, the gasoline has merely disappeared while the flames continue. To some, that might seem like a solution in itself. The flames will die if they're no longer fed. Yet, Lawrence knows that the pain won't fade that quickly.
The thought of Marcel laying dead by another hand while they sit in prison is one of nightmares.
Lawrence settles in front of the panel again. They have barely touched it since the first trial, since Casi joined them here. They don't dare now. No, especially not now. Instead, Lawrence stares at the perfect alignment of boxes until movement catches in their periphery.
"Thank you." Lawrence turns to see him now standing, their eyes bloodshot and puffy. They hadn't realized that he'd been crying. This, for some reason, sends a strange dryness to their throat. "For helping me. I'm gonna go now."
Lawrence stares, but can't tell if they should respond. Casi doesn't meet their eye after the first word, which feels strange. Why now? It makes sense even if part of Lawrence's brain wishes to insist that it doesn't. They were together to search for Omar. Now, Omar is dead. Logically, there is no further need to continue their partnership.
They don't know how to describe the incoherency that flows in their mind's background. They understand why this is happening. Casi was clear in their first meeting. Lawrence, truthfully, should have been expecting it and perhaps made the first move in the separation. Yet, at the same time, they can't even bring themself to agree aloud with what is being proposed.
Casi isn't sure what they expect, but his lack of answer almost makes it easier. He's been pacing around the room since they came back upstairs. It's still soaked and smells like plastic smoke. Sitting on the floor hasn't exactly helped those facts, but Casi didn't want to get up after he heard. It feels like everything that's gotten them through this is gone.
I couldn't do it for you Meg. Casi blinks back another round of tears. He doesn't want to cry again. It's pointless. It's not going to bring her back and now it isn't going to help him make any of this right. They're dead. Now he's dead. Casi has enough evidence to support the fact that, probably within the next day or so, he'll be dead too. Amadis might have told them to be careful, but she was wrong. There's no point in that. If the game wants him dead it will happen.
They hate the thoughts spiralling through their head but Casi can't prod them away. He's always listened to their gut; always. It's never steered them wrong. It told them that there was something sketchy going on with Aris' dad. It told him that there was more to Casi's prison sentence than met the eye and their trial just proved it. It's never been wrong, so what is he supposed to do now when the only thing it's telling them to do is give up?
Casi doesn't know. He stares at Lawrence for long enough to be sure, but his silence is all the answer they need. It's not like he expected anything else. They were only allies because Lawrence agreed to help, and now Casi is so far beyond it.
He can still feel the phantom coldness where Lawrence pushed them away. There's never been any else there anyways.
Casi nods sharply, releasing a few more stray tears down his cheeks. "Good luck. I mean that."
Lawrence watches them until he's completely out of sight, and then for several minutes longer. They remain standing for even a while after that, until the silence starts to seep its way into their mind. Their throat still feels just as dry as when he left. Their stomach feels just as tight. Those feelings haven't let up for even a moment.
They sit back down in front of the panel, staring down at it just as before. Lawrence finds themself blinking faster, though it's hard to say why. This was always going to happen. They enjoyed their time with Casi but they will not go against his wishes. This is a game after all, one that Lawrence has come to realize they don't understand very well.
Their hand finds the third box from the top left corner despite the new blurriness. Lawrence lets their finger hover atop it for several seconds before it grows large enough to outcrowd the other seventeen. They swallow, knowing what they're going to see despite not yet having watched it themself. Lawrence has seen both of the ones that came before hers, even a few of the ones after when they weren't yet set in stone.
They watch blankly as the scene plays in perfect clarity. The video only gives about a minute of context beforehand, but it's enough. Lawrence can see the confusion on the contestant's face as they realize her counterpart is outside of the glass box. That quickly fades to vacancy as the spear pierces through their chest. Just like that the scene ends and the eighteen boxes return to their usual places. If they'd thought to make a list of the order days ago, they wonder how many of them would be different now.
Lawrence swallows and stands from the stool, making their way towards the mortuary cabinets. Even from a distance, they can see that one of them has changed. They're all wrong in their own way, longer in width than depth, but this one especially so. This one is see through.
"He tried," Lawrence says softly towards the transparent window. "They cared about you a lot."
They watch until it fades to metal once again, the bruise-eyed corpse behind it gone from view. Lawrence isn't certain if the bodies are truly there or if they're merely images. They're not sure there is a way for them to tell. Either way, they're glad at least that Casi never realized they were there.
11th: Angel Jardinez, 18
A/N: Hello again, it is me. I'm doing pretty well for writing pace, so hopefully the next update won't be too far out.
I'd like to thank and apologize to Brooke, who created Omar for this story. He was a wonderful challenge for me to dive deep into a person that is so completely irredeemable. I enjoyed using him as a foil to other characters and for the wonderful extroversion he offered. I hope you appreciate the ending I decided to give him, and I will miss him even if no one else does.
And of course thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / waiting in fear as I go feral in sprint channels. I appreciate each and every one of you as we start to head towards the end of this story.
~ Olive