In The Clear: Games X
Level 5 - Morgue - 11:07 PM
On screen, Lawrence watches the pair stagger down the stairs in a cloud of dark smoke for what must be the dozenth time. By now, they have it memorized. Halfway down, Casi starts to collapse and Lawrence catches him on their shoulder. They both stumble out of view and the footage ends.
The panel has changed from the first days. Of course death scenes have been added, just as bodies have been added to the surrounding cabinets. However, that's not the only thing Lawrence has found now that their mind requires more occupation to keep turning.
Lawrence takes a deep breath before turning around. None of the cabinets have gone clear. They don't know why they keep checking. There have been no further announcements. Casi isn't dead like Meg. Yet, they still have a box; all of them do. They learned that fact days ago, back when most of the boxes would only produce a still image of the contestant's face and number. Now, most of them produce similar short scenes.
However, they still haven't quite figured out why, or why the order of the boxes continues to change. On the first days, they had mainly been in numerical order though the dead contestants - first Lyanna and then the rest - took over the first few digits. Beyond that, Lawrence had found two discrepancies - Dominique and Shane - who were out of order. They were closer to the dead contestants, not in their rightful space numerically. They had scenes, but just like Casi there was no matching corpse when they turned around. Though, they suppose that fact has changed for one of them in the past days.
Lawrence remembers finding it strange, but the curiosity had been put to sleep upon Casi's arrival. At first simply because it didn't make sense to show him, and then for various other reasons. They suppose that those other reasons no longer matter, though their mind continues to return to them.
Just as they turn away from the cabinets and back towards the panel, they catch a glimpse of text. It's gone before they can make sense of it, so they select the same box again. Lawrence no longer has to pay attention to the scene, they can play it in their mind on command. Finally, the text appears again.
36.8°C - RR 20 - HR 126 - BP 109/54
They blink as the numbers settle in their mind. It doesn't take long to recognize them as measurements of basic vital signs. They have to wonder, however, if these are from the scene they just watched or something else. Lawrence replays the video again. This time, they pay attention to the set of numbers and compare them with the earlier values.
36.8°C - RR 20 - HR 121 - BP 111/57
A few of them are different. If they were from the scene, they would be identical. The only remaining theory, then, is that the vital signs are current. The show is measuring them somehow and displaying them here.
But why?
That's the question that continues to plague them. Why does this panel exist? Why is the order changing apart from confirmed deaths? It's clearly counting backwards, denoting the placement that each contestant eventually receives. But then, what about the contestants that are still alive? Why do they continue to switch places?
It dawns on Lawrence quickly, the answer obvious but they lean to the panel for evidence. They touch the first box that should correlate to someone that is still alive - 10. Their jaw stiffens as they watch the scene for the first time. Lawrence remembers the girl from before the competition started. Her upturned gaze is the only piece that remains the same.
They watch her step clumsily around a burning room. She cowers in place as the flames grow higher before racing to the opposite end of the same room. She closes the door. She upends a plastic tote over a large portion of the fire, but it engulfs it easily. The scene goes on; it's the longest one Lawrence has seen and it seems to corroborate their theory.
They tap the next one - a girl they do not recognize with her shirt pulled up over her mouth and nose. She lunges across a smoke filled room and grabs hold of something that Lawrence can't see.
And the next - another girl screaming just before she's struck across the face by the blunt end of a large weapon. She recoils and holds the area, grimacing as blood falls below her palm. There is another wound visible above her collarbone, this one jagged and scabbed over.
After her is Casi, then Lawrence themself. Their scene is nearly identical to Casi's.
In every single scene, the contestant is injured in some way. Marcy was burned. Casi, Lawrence, and one of the other girls inhaled smoke. The final girl was struck by a weapon. The first scene past the dead contestants - Marcy - was easily the most involved injury. When Lawrence taps the eighteenth box, a still image is the only response.
Lawrence removes their hands from the panel and stares at it. Despite however long they've spent doing exactly that, they no longer want to even touch it. Their stomach protests in an uncomfortable manner, making their torso feel heavier than it should. Their throat also seems to have taken on an inappropriate dryness.
The panel is indeed showing placements, but not just for the contestants who have already lost. It seems to be attempting to predict the placements of the rest of them as well. Or perhaps even denoting which of the contestants is closest to death.
Lawrence glances at the box they know is theirs, but it's unable to hold their attention for long. They don't remember tapping the panel again, but soon the same scene they've watched a dozen times is playing again. They count the boxes ahead of it again, then one more time despite knowing how many there are. As of this moment, the panel is predicting that Casi will finish in seventh place. Lawrence's stomach again turns in discomfort. It's predicting that, before this game ends, Casi will be dead.
Casi. All thoughts, no matter how many times Lawrence has tried to sway them, lead back to that name. It no longer feels strange in their mind. In fact it's as easy to consider as their own. The strange part is that the name no longer has a face. They're gone and the walls around them are as empty as Lawrence has always preferred, yet they feel strange.
They keep looking up and expecting to see him - on the floor, on a stool, pacing in step with their heart beat - but they don't.
And Lawrence's mind keeps coming back to the fact that they no longer wish to be alone.
It all made so much sense as the smoke rose around them. Lawrence didn't want to win, they still don't. There is nothing outside of these walls for them. The world will never let them near Marcel again. To win would be to commit to eternal supervision, like prison but worse because Lawrence doesn't expect they'd be alone at all. Yet, none of the people that matter would be with them.
Who matters? It's a genuine question that, long ago, Lawrence wouldn't have had an answer to. In fact, their mind still refuses to readily provide one. Yet, one image keeps coming back again and again, just like the scene they keep forcing onto the panel. It's Casi, reaching forward once they'd escaped the bulk of the smoke. It's Lawrence, pushing him away.
They wish so badly to go back to that moment.
Lawrence understands that can't happen. A person cannot go back in time, no matter how much they wish they could. Lawrence can't walk back down the stairs and promise Casi that they won't push him away this time. Just like Marcel, the opportunity is gone.
So why not let it end? Why not restart the fire that could have killed them? Why not walk til they find another contestant? Why not give up when Lawrence has themself admitted that they don't want to win?
This is the best that life is ever going to get for them. They have freedom. They have questions to explore without limit. They have a face in their mind that they still hope will come back.
The end will always be waiting.
So, maybe, it's okay to tell themself that they're not ready to meet it just yet.
Level 4 - Library - 12:15 AM
Myra feels their eyes on her every time she moves. She hasn't been able to bring herself to return the gaze even once.
She doesn't know who they are. She doesn't remember their names if they were ever even told to her. Myra should be afraid; they could hurt her even if they've shown no indication of doing so. They're in this game too. They've lasted this long. Somehow, so has she.
She should be scared of them, of the way they look at her through quick glances that never last. Myra has always been able to find a reason to be afraid. She was scared of the trial, of the other contestants, of the house that she and Serena approached so many months ago. She was scared of prison and the inmates that lived inside. She has, more than once, been scared of just how far she's been willing to go.
Yet, now she feels nothing at all. There's no shivering or chattering teeth. There are no shaky looks over her shoulder when the silence starts to feel too sinister. Myra hasn't moved, not even to look at the faces she knows she won't recognize. She doesn't care. If they're here to kill her, most of her just wishes that they would hurry up.
I don't want to die.
Myra hushes that thought as soon as it surfaces. I don't care. Then, again even louder as if trying to convince herself. I don't care.
They're gone. He's gone.
No, not gone - dead. They're both dead and it's her fault. Myra grabbed that knife and took that chance before anything rational in her brain could stop her. He could have killed her. She was terrified of him. Yet, his face now seared in his mind doesn't even bring forward a cursory shiver. There's simply nothing.
I don't care.
But a whisper wonders if instead she cares too much.
Bowie watches as the girl curls back in on herself, the shake of more tears rocking her body once again. Their throat goes dry as the desire to comfort her starts to bubble back to the surface. The tears are better, they reason, better than the screaming. She kept asking over and over if he was dead. Bowie assured her each time that he was. It didn't seem to comfort her. By the time they got back to the library, Bowie had been all but carrying the girl.
Dom, they finally asked her name, is staring at them when they turn back around. Bowie shrugs sheepishly. Dom doesn't look at the girl, in fact they realize that she hasn't for most of the time they've spent here. It's like she's trying to pretend that she doesn't exist. Bowie can't blame her. They know that, strategically, none of this makes sense. They don't know Dom, neither of them know 017. In every sense of the word, this is stupid.
Yet, Bowie hasn't felt safer in almost a year. It's strange how these things work out sometimes.
"She's quiet now." Their few conversations have mostly been about the girl; it doesn't feel right saying anything else. Bowie had tried to comfort 017 when she first started screaming. Dom was the one that pulled them away, saying that it was only making her screams more frantic. Bowie still feels bad about it.
"For now." Dom's tone is sharper than they believe she means it to be. It's not hard to know that she isn't thrilled to have 017 with them. She told them more than once to drop her before they got here. It's too dangerous, she said, it'll lead the others straight to us.
Bowie had ignored her. They hadn't needed her help to get 017 to the library, she was light enough. Maybe they should have argued, told Dom why they couldn't leave her. However, Bowie suspects she already knows the reason because she stopped fighting it when they finally got here.
"Do you think she's cold?" Bowie asks, gesturing to the girl who has yet to stop shaking. They think they know the answer, but the words feel good. They don't like the silence. They don't like remembering what happened mere hours earlier. They don't want to think about him but the silence seems to pull him too close.
"It's got to be thirty degrees in here," Dom says with a shrug. Her eyes land on 017 for a moment, but they shift away quickly until she's staring back at the floor. "If she's cold she's got other problems."
Bowie nods. The temperature hasn't dropped even slightly since the last trial. They finally gave in a few hours ago and tied their sweater around their waist. Dom's expression turns slightly away, telling them that she's done with the conversation. Bowie sighs, but nothing else comes to their tongue to stop the descending silence.
Omar is waiting just behind their eyelids. They close them and he's even closer. He looks at them just as he did in the school room, with warmth in his eyes that almost convinced them. Except the spear was still in his hand and there was blood on 017's face and fear in her eyes that they knew was meant for him. He welcomed Bowie despite the knife they allowed to slip into his back. He seemed relieved to see them, like he was glad that someone had arrived that would finally understand. Bowie remembers the feeling from when their mom would pick them up after a particularly rough day at school. It broke their heart to see it in him. It made them want to rethink everything, but they couldn't.
He might have wanted to be good, but he wasn't. He tried so hard to rectify it all in everyone's mind, but none of it was true. The illusion of good isn't the same. Bowie wanted to believe it could be, but it isn't. Omar wasn't good. He hugged them and comforted them and maybe some of that was real but none of it was true.
They're not sure that any of this makes sense.
"Can I ask you something?" The words are in the air between them before Bowie even realizes.
Dom turns to them and looks them up and down for a moment before nodding. Their heart starts to pick up speed as they consider what they want to ask. They don't know what words to use. They don't know if it even makes sense to ask because it doesn't feel like a question at all. The words come pouring out regardless.
"People can be good, right? And people can be bad." They pause. "Do you think it's possible that someone can be both?"
Dom's expression doesn't change, making it impossible for them to know how she's reacting. They shouldn't have asked, or at least they should have thought about it more first. How could someone be both? It doesn't make sense. Good and bad are opposites, like day and night. It can't be both day and night; people can't be both good and bad. It's one or the other. Omar was one or the other; so are they.
"Sorry," they say quickly. Their cheeks feel like they've caught fire and they turn away in embarrassment. "I don't know what I'm asking. Forget it."
Bowie closes their eyes and the silence returns, but this time it feels so much worse. Dom made their circumstances clear. They're only together for now, no timeline included. When one of them wants to leave, that's it. It's not her job to comfort them or whatever it is they're asking of her. More than likely their unanswered thoughts don't matter. They're unlikely to last till the end of the week.
"I think some good people do bad things and some bad people do good things." Bowie turns back to her in confusion. It takes until the end of the first part to realize what she's talking about. Dom just shrugs when they finally meet her eye. "I don't think it's as linear as you're making it out to be."
Bowie swallows. "How do you know which someone is?"
"I don't think you can know for sure."
Dom watches as they bow their head and she has the urge to turn away again. This isn't a conversation that she wants to have, not because she hasn't thought about it but because she's already come to the conclusion that there are no straight answers. Her life up until the car crash was a world of black and white. Her sisters were good, they were trying their best to get by with what they'd been given. Her parents were bad, they didn't care about the children they apparently wanted. Dom was good, she was only trying to get someone's attention. The police were bad, they didn't do anything to help her family.
But then, how could she call herself good after she killed people - not just a police officer whose life she was apathetic towards, but a child who'd done nothing but go for a walk with their mom? How could she call the police bad when they solved the crime, put her away so that she couldn't hurt anyone else? How could life go back to being black and white when everything had been turned on its head? There has to be grey. The only problem is that Dom doesn't know which shade she belongs to.
"He wanted to be good." Bowie starts and it doesn't take long for her to understand who they're talking about. "He told me everything I wanted to hear, everything that would comfort us, and I think he believed it too. He cared about me, at least I think he did. But he killed Madigan, and I think he was going to kill her too." They gesture to 017 and Dom's suspicions are confirmed. "I don't know where he falls."
"I don't think it's possible to know." She has her own opinions, but this doesn't feel like the time. Dom only knew Omar through a couple of interactions. He introduced himself. She saw his trial. She watched him try to kill everyone in the room just the evening prior. She doesn't know any of the inbetween. "We're not privy to what's in his head."
"And if we were?" Bowie swallows. "How could we tell?"
She doesn't think they're talking about Omar anymore, but that doesn't mean she has an answer either. Dom tries to offer a laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a gasp. "I wish I knew."
Bowie nods as if they were expecting that answer. They bow their head and close their eyes for enough time that Dom believes the conversation to be over. She's not unhappy about that thought.
"I just want to know if I've been lying to myself."
Their words are so quiet that it would be easy to ignore the statement. Dom isn't even certain she was meant to hear it. She could pretend to not be listening and they probably wouldn't care. The two of them aren't friends, Dom has made it clear that she's not looking for that. Yet, her tongue doesn't seem to care about any of that. "Can I offer my two cents?"
"Of course," they whisper.
She forces her eyes to lift to meet theirs. Dom remembers hearing the same words from her very first social worker in prison. She never saw her again after that meeting, but the statement stuck. That doesn't mean that Dom has ever allowed herself to believe it. "I don't think a bad person would care this much."
"What?"
She swallows. "I don't know, someone told me that once. Bad people don't care if they're bad. They don't want to change. I can't speak for whatever's in your past or his, but if you don't like looking at it, if you would do anything to change it, I don't think you can call yourself a bad person. At least not right now."
"Can it change?" Bowie asks quickly. "Can you be bad and then good?"
Dom nods with more confidence than she feels. "Why not? People are always changing."
She realizes that she actually believes that.
"And if I wanted to be a good person?" They ask. "Now, I mean."
Dom offers a half-smile. "This might not be the right place for that."
Bowie bows their head again and returns the empty smile. They don't know if they understand all of what she's saying, but that doesn't feel like it matters. They get the bulk of it - people can change. They want to change, and maybe that means they're not as lost as they've been feeling.
They can't speak for Omar. They don't know what he did to get to this place, nor what he went through. Bowie knows that, at one point, they considered him a friend. They also know that he scared them more than anyone they've ever known. Both of those things can be true. Omar wanted to be good, but he didn't want to change. He just wanted to believe that he was good.
Bowie knows that they're not good. They want to be good, just like Omar, but they're not sure enough to call themself good. In fact, they're much more certain in the opposite direction. They attacked their father in his home. They killed someone on the first day. Bowie didn't mean either of those things. They didn't want to hurt either one, but it felt like the only option at the time. They couldn't take that their chance at a father was being pulled away. They didn't want to see Shane get hurt.
That doesn't mean that either of those things was good. They weren't. Neither one of them should've happened and yet they did. Bowie has to live with that fact for however long they have left.
But maybe there's still time.
The relief they feel with that statement feels a lot like a yawn. Bowie blinks back the watery eyes that come next, but when they look back at Dom she's gone blurry. They wonder how long it's been since they've actually slept. Truthfully, Bowie can't remember.
"I'm sorry," they start before another yawn interrupts them. "I think I'm going to fall asleep."
Dom nods with a smile that feels far more at peace on her lips. She can see the exhaustion in their eyes with every blink. She feels it herself, but not nearly as deeply. Despite there being so much time in this place, none of it feels restful. All of the sleep she's gotten here has been fractured at best.
Yet, when Bowie slips down to the floor their expression tells an entirely different story. Dom watches their closed eyes for a moment as their breaths start to even. It can't be more than a few minutes before soft whistles tell her that they're already asleep. She's almost jealous, but that doesn't dispel the warm feeling in her chest. Despite the scalding temperatures, she realizes that part of her has been cold for the past couple of days.
"I'll keep watch." Her voice is low enough not to disturb them, but when she looks up there's someone else watching her. 017 hasn't moved from the corner by the door, but this is the first time she's really looked at them. She looks a lot more lucid than she did in the school room. The blood over her eyes finally seems to have scabbed over.
"You can sleep if you want," Dom whispers. The girl turns away, not laying down by any means but at least leaning against the wall. She almost looks comfortable. 017 is no longer facing her, but at least the shaking has stopped. The room falls into silence once again, but this time it feels far more soothing.
Level 1A - Platform - 2:47 AM
Amadis has stopped twice to rest, but neither time lasted more than a few minutes. She's exhausted, now more than ever, but lying down feels exactly how she imagines drowning would. Her head hits the floor and for a second her eyes slip closed before the tight feeling twists in her chest. She wakes up gasping, her feet already underneath her and ready to move. She can't even pinpoint exactly what she's afraid of. There are too many possibilities.
She keeps wondering if she should go back to the library. Dom might not even be there. It would make sense if she weren't, but Amadis isn't sure about that. Dom didn't seem upset to see her, only when Amadis refused to answer her. She can't pretend not to understand that.
Maybe she should have told her. Amadis shakes that thought away. She can't. She doesn't even have concrete proof that she's right about The Cut's intentions with her. The trials were all horrific. Dom might say she's overreacting, or that they can figure this out, or something else that Amadis doesn't have a response for.
It's too dangerous to involve anyone else. She repeats this in her head a dozen times as she starts down the stairs towards a cell block. It's too dangerous.
If something happened to Dom because of her, she would never be able to forgive herself. That goes for everyone, not just Dom. Her trial could have ended with so many more people hurt or dead. Who's to say the bombs wouldn't have collapsed the entire prison? It wouldn't make sense for The Cut to want that, but she's not so sure anymore. The voice seems to have no love for any of them. She's memorized every trial introduction. The voice has likened each of them to the very worst qualities of their assigned Winner.
What if they don't want a Winner at all? Amadis pushes that thought away. If that's the case then none of what she's doing matters. She might as well go back downstairs and hope the bomb is still there. She might as well return to Dom and explain everything. Either one of those actions would have no bearing on the final result.
She can't believe that. She can't let herself even think about it for another second. What she's doing has to matter. Amadis has to give herself every reason to keep going or every step's going to be that much harder.
She ignores the first sound entirely, occupied by the tornado of thoughts that she's barely capable of beating back. The second catches her attention as it echoes through the stairwell, but she can't place it. The third is what makes Amadis realize that something is wrong.
She turns in a slow circle but there's no indication of where the sharp beep is coming from. It's high pitched and short enough that Amadis can almost convince herself she's imagining it. She counts six seconds between each one and the next comes precisely on cue. She's definitely not imagining it.
Amadis takes another step down and waits. The sound doesn't change, but it doesn't stop either. She takes two more and she's almost at the entrance to the cell block. She pauses again, noting that each beep is now only five seconds apart. She hears the faintest rustling between the beeps, so quiet that it probably wouldn't have reached her if she hadn't been paying so much attention. It's coming from the cell block.
She doesn't have to think twice before heading straight back up the stairs. Amadis keeps her breaths as even as she can, as quiet as she can. There's someone inside, that's the best conclusion she can come to. She notes that the beeps are getting further apart again. By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, they've disappeared entirely.
She doesn't know what it means but she has some guesses, none of them comforting. There was someone in the cell block, she heard them. The beeps got closer together, and perhaps louder, the nearer she stepped. Earlier in the competition, Amadis would've been inclined to believe someone was trying to warn her. Now, the exact opposite comes to mind first.
They're making sure whoever was inside knew she was coming.
Except Amadis doesn't think it was meant as a warning. There would've been nowhere for that person to run to, all the cell blocks are dead ends. Maybe they were being alerted, but not to run.
Suddenly, it's a lot harder to quiet her steps.
Cell Block B - 2:49 AM
Riley turns over again on the cot, but it's hard to tell if he's opened his eyes yet. The cells are a lot darker than the other rooms, each containing only one edge of light strips. Riley was smart enough to move the cot to cover it before laying down. Or maybe stupid enough is the more accurate description. He can't see fucking anything.
He rubs his eyes, but the gritty feeling doesn't disappear. He swings his legs over the edge of the cot but flinches when they hit the floor. Despite not yet having made an attempt at standing, he already feels off balance. He shouldn't have ever let himself fall asleep; Riley feels so much worse. It's not like that matters.
He is inclined to agree. Riley lets his head rest in his hands for a few seconds before he forces himself to stand. The grogginess feels no better, but his thoughts are right. It doesn't matter what he feels. He has to get up.
The only problem is Riley isn't sure why he woke up in the first place. He shakes his head and glances around the dim cell. Nothing moves. He listens but nothing catches his attention. It feels like something must have roused him from sleep, but Riley's just as inclined to believe his mind is just playing a cruel trick on him.
He kicks the nearest of the cot's legs and the metallic ring fills the space around him. He waits until the echo disappears before kicking it again, harder. He has to admit it feels good even if his toes protest. It's something to think about; something that his mind won't object to. It distracts him from the dull ache that pulls at his entire body. It silences the thoughts that keep swirling like background wind.
Riley stops suddenly and straightens, pulling himself away from the wall that the cot waits against. This is stupid. I'm being stupid. What good is beating on a fucking cot? It's not going to get him out of here.
He ducks his head as the cot shouts at him to stop. It's not a voice, or it doesn't really sound like one. An echo would be a better description, and Riley knows it's not real. There's no one here. He already checked. His mind is pulling another stupid trick. It doesn't understand that I'm trying to save it.
Riley examines the cot again, from floor to sheets, but it looks no different. There's no lips it could use to shout. There's no blood. There are no dents in its surface from the rust-coloured brick in his pocket. He runs his palms down his face. Of course not, it's not alive.
None of them are.
"Fuck off," he says under his breath. Riley isn't going to think about them. It's not going to bring them back. It's not going to undo what happened to them. Do his thoughts really want him to break down into a puddle of remorse? What fucking good would that do? Might as well figure out how to tie a noose now if that's going to be the case. "It's not."
Talking to yourself, a great sign. He groans at himself, walking straight out of the cell as if to leave that part of him behind. Maybe it was overkill. Maybe it shouldn't have happened that way but it did and he can't change that. He had it fucking coming. He was trying to pretend that he gave a shit about the people trapped in the smoke upstairs when clearly he only gave a shit about himself. It was another lie meant to manipulate Riley. He wasn't going to fall for it.
He would have died eventually. Does it matter how? Yes.
No.
Riley makes the mistake of looking up as he enters the cell block's common space. His fists run tight at his sides and tears swell up almost instinctively. He can't see anything from here, but he remembers. He knows that on the other side of the wall he's staring at will be a dried puddle of her blood.
It was my fault. His mind returns to that day, to the knife he pulled out of her chest because what else was I supposed to do? She was going to die one way or another. People can't survive these things, not without a hospital. No one was coming to get her. She was going to die and he saved her from the pain. She didn't deserve to suffer like 004 was going to allow.
Yet you can't even say her name.
Riley catches himself one step from the cell's door. He doesn't want to go inside but some cruel part of his mind directs him there. He doesn't need to see it. He doesn't need to memorize the shape of her bloodstain like the one from them or him. Riley doesn't need another thing to push down and ignore. There are already far too many.
He's not going to let this beat him. He can't. Nothing can matter if he wants to get out of here, and at this point that's the only thing Riley wants. He'll become anyone they want him to be if it gets him a centimeter closer. He'll play by every sick rule. He'll return to Alec as barely a person if it means he gets to see him one more time.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.
He doesn't. Riley clenches his jaw until it hurts, tightening every muscle in his face until the steel mask returns. She doesn't matter. They don't matter. He doesn't matter. In fact, not even Riley himself does. It's get out or nothing. And if Riley doesn't get out, he will be remembered as nothing but the person that killed everyone who dared step too close.
He refuses to let himself turn back as he walks away from the cell. Not even the quiet voice in his mind manages to whisper an apology. In fact, Riley doesn't hear it at all as he climbs the steps two at a time towards the platform.
It's just as well. He far prefers silence.
Level 3A - Platform - 2:54 AM
Casi doesn't even see her before she grabs tight to his wrist. They consider screaming, but only for a moment. His voice can't even manage a gasp before she reaches to clamp a hand over their mouth.
He pushes her away, but the motion is limp at best. It's barely forceful enough to yank her hand from around their wrist. "Did you hear it?"
"What?" Casi asks. It's not until this point that he considers the knife, but Amadis isn't holding hers. Truthfully, he's not afraid of her. However, they're still not sure he likes having her so close. Their mind is intrigued enough by her question, though, that it stops any snide remark from making it to Casi's tongue.
"You didn't," she says after a moment. Amadis looks quickly towards the descending stairs, but there's nothing there. He's immediately put on edge, and frankly Casi prefers it. They can't remember much about where they've been in the past few hours. It all felt like a dream, but far less sweet. This, by contrast, feels like a rude awakening.
"What happened?"
Amadis swallows. "It's going to sound crazy."
"Perfect," he murmurs.
She gives them a strange look but chooses to ignore the statement. She turns her palms over so that they're facing him. Casi sees one almost-healed mark at the base of each one. They have the same ones, and have since leaving his cell on the first day. All of them do. "They beeped downstairs."
"Huh?"
"I know," Amadis says quickly before pulling her hands back down to her sides. Barely a second later, she turns them over again to look at. From what Casi knows about the stoic girl, they can only assume that this is her version of panic. "But I heard it."
"Okay." Casi isn't sure why this matters, but their thoughts are starting to return. He definitely doesn't remember anything like this happening to them. The problem is that they're not sure he would have noticed. Most of the time after leaving the morgue is simply a blur. It's been hard to think about anything without his mind returning there.
Still, Casi would have heard a beeping. He has to believe that much.
"There was someone inside," Amadis says quickly, pausing before the second half as if unsure of what she's saying. "I think it was trying to alert them."
"What?" This doesn't make sense. Casi has been near plenty of the other contestants, but he's never heard any beeping. It's possible she's hearing things; stress can probably do that to a person. However, without enough evidence, Casi is inclined to believe her. Especially if-
"The trial." He says the words before any of the thoughts are complete. Amadis' expression twists as if the statement had come out of nowhere, and maybe it had, but maybe not.
Just as quickly, her expression dims. "You don't think-"
"Do you?" Casi counters.
Amadis shakes her head, but she doesn't seem to believe her own gesture. "I don't know. It hasn't happened before, I was upstairs yesterday and saw some others but there was no beeping. Why tonight?"
"Who was there?"
She shrugs. "I didn't look, but I heard them move."
"It's getting down to it," Casi says after a moment. Ten left if they're remembering correctly, and he can't be sure that they are. After what happened in their trial, Casi hadn't had much time to think about repercussions. The fire happened so quickly after, and then Lawrence…
And for the last few hours they've been so lost in his thoughts that Casi didn't think anything would be able to bring them out. Meg is gone. Omar is dead. He didn't know where else they were supposed to go from here. The game is still happening, but Casi feels so separate from it.
Not even this rattles them as much as it should. Amadis could be right, they could be in danger because of what happened in the trial. The now-loud voice inside his head, however, reminds them that they always have been. Does this really make that much of a difference?
Casi feels the air deflate from their lungs when the answer is a resounding no.
"You think they're trying to kill us?"
They shrug indifferently. "They've always been trying to kill us."
"You know what I mean," she says sharply. "Us specifically."
"It didn't happen to me." They're surprised by how irate his voice sounds even to him. It doesn't even sound like them. Amadis barely seems to notice, or if she does Casi doesn't pick up on it. Come to think of it, they're not looking at her. In fact, he's already started to walk away.
It doesn't make a difference, does it?
They flinch as she grabs his shoulder to turn them around. She looks annoyed, and is about to say something when her expression drops suddenly. Casi wipes a layer of moisture from their cheek. He doesn't remember how it got there. They don't know why, of all times, this is when the tears decided to show.
"Just be careful, okay?" She says finally, taking her hand away slowly. Casi doesn't feel the difference against their skin. He suspects she's going to say something else, fuck knows she usually does. They're not interested in hearing it and, fortunately, they don't have to. She doesn't say a word as Casi turns to head down the stairs.
Maybe, if they're lucky, he'll run into whatever she was supposed to.
Rooftop - 5:39 AM
Marcy can feel the difference as if it were suspended in the air around her. The area still smells deeply of plastic smoke, but she can no longer see the remaining clouds. The blue haze has returned, paler than she remembers but she never spent much time up here anyways. It feels almost peaceful.
She can almost pretend they're anywhere except where she knows they are. Her and Eris haven't spoken much, or at all really, in the past few hours. Marcy doesn't mind the silence. Eris hasn't moved back to the far railing and that feels like comfort enough. It's not happiness, Marcy won't hope for that. The regret is still far too deeply rooted in her chest to allow it. She doesn't mind that either.
Marcy's limbs are as heavy as they've ever been, but maybe that's okay. The pale blue is light enough for both of them. It reminds her a bit of flying, when the airplane got far enough above the clouds that she couldn't see the world below her. She knew it was there, just like now she knows that reality is waiting just underfoot, but it's nice not to see it for a little bit longer.
She turns towards the railing and stares across it. The tears start again, but they're silent this time. She knows that Eris is awake, but she still hopes they won't disturb her. She's had her eyes closed for a while now.
"What are you looking at?" Marcy turns quickly to find her still lying on the ground, but now Eris' looking right at her. She might be wrong, but it feels like the first time the other girl has actually started a conversation.
Except as Marcy looks at her for a few more seconds, the tears start to quicken. She wipes them away but they replenish even before her hand reaches her pant leg. It comes away covered in ash and she feels sick all over again.
"I'm sorry," Marcy says softly.
Eris turns ever slightly away. "Don't be."
"It's pretty," she says, gesturing to the surrounding blue as her voice breaks. "I was just thinking that it looks like the sky above the clouds."
Eris squints. "I've never seen it."
"Oh," Marcy says quietly. "I flew between home and Vancouver. Or - I guess - home and Montreal. I think you'd like it, I mean maybe you would."
"Maybe," she echoes.
This time, Eris turns away completely and her heart falls. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't."
Her voice is so flat, so distant, that Marcy has a hard time believing it. She curls her arms around her knees after bringing them to her chest. She doesn't want to stare, but suddenly looking at the surrounding blue feels just as heavy. Just when things were starting to feel almost comfortable between them, Marcy feels like she ruined it and she can't even figure out how.
"If it was something I-"
"Stop," Eris interrupts, though her voice is as gentle as she's ever heard it. "You don't have to be sorry. I just- I can't."
"Can't what?" Marcy asks.
Eris rises and stares for a moment out at the haze. It is pretty, but she doesn't want to think about flying or home or any of this. She doesn't want to hear it from 006 either. It feels like too much too soon, except Eris doesn't think she'll ever actually be ready. They can't sit here and pretend that everything downstairs is normal. The truth is too deeply rooted in her chest.
"Know you," Eris says, but that explanation sounds even worse out loud. "We can't both get out of here. I don't want to know where home is or any of it. I don't want to think about it."
She half-expects the girl to get up and walk away. She sounds ridiculous; anyone with ears would think 006 was from the French province or at least had ties there. Eris didn't need to be told that. It would also make sense that the girl's flown before. A lot of people do. Yet, hearing both of those things confirmed feels as intimate as a name right now.
I don't even know her name. Eris shakes her head despite neither of them having said anything further. She doesn't want to know it. Calling her 006 is far easier, it's like the last invisible barrier between them and Eris has no desire to topple it. She's already gotten too close. She's already almost suffered the consequences of it too yet here she is. Eris doesn't have a single good reason not to get up and walk away herself.
She folds her face into her hands and sighs, hoping that will stifle the building tears. This is too much. She's made far too many mistakes already and yet Eris doesn't want to leave. She can't stop thinking about her sister. She can't stop thinking that, in leaving 006, she's somehow letting her down again.
She's good for you.
Eris' expression twists under her hands. Her sister never said that, in fact she said the opposite. Kaya told her on numerous occasions that Eris' new friends were bad for her. She never listened. Her sister was right but Eris couldn't see it. They seemed to care and that was enough. Eris never stopped to consider that they probably never did.
Not like she did. Hindsight might be 20/20 but Eris was still stupid not to see it. Kaya was right about them, she was right about going home that day in front of the park. If Eris would have listened, she never would have been in this situation. Kaya wouldn't be dead in her mind without a headstone.
"I won't tell you anything else." There's no bitterness, at least none that she can detect. She hears the girl settle in again, far enough that they don't touch and Eris can't hear her breaths. Exactly the way it should be.
Eris closes her eyes. She's good for you. Maybe her sister is right again, but she can't bring herself to listen. "Thank you."
Level 5A - Ascending Stairs - 5:52 AM
Bridget listens to the silence as the conversation dies on the level above. She strains to detect any sound, wondering if perhaps their voices have simply gotten too quiet to hear. The only thing she can find is her own uneven breaths.
She doesn't realize there are tears in her eyes until one of them drips onto her hand. Bridget shakes it away and squeezes her eyes shut, pushing several more in that direction. She grits her teeth together, telling herself that she has to be quiet. There are two of them up there at least, and she can't risk them hearing her. Bridget only came up here to try and catch someone off guard. There's no point in staying now.
Yet she still sat down. She still listened to every word as if any one of them were directed at her. She knows they weren't. Bridget didn't even recognize their voices. None of it was meant for her to hear.
This feeling isn't as unfamiliar as Bridget wishes it were. She remembers it from her high school's hallways, where she would stare into her locker for longer than it took to find her books. The conversations around her were always clamouring for her attention. Someone making plans for after class. Someone else talking about last weekend's epic party. Bridget wanted nothing to do with them, yet at the same time she couldn't tune them out.
They felt so normal when she felt anything but. These conversations were just about the only things that didn't make her think about Anne. Instead, they made Bridget think about what things were like before she went away.
Normal. They did everything together, attached at the hip like sisters in movies except it was real. Anne talked about her friends at school, Bridget countered with her own stories. She looked forward to seeing her sister every night, but she wasn't everything. Anne was her favourite part of the world, but she didn't used to be all of it.
Bridget had never been able to have those conversations since news broke about her death. Nothing felt normal, and she wasn't even willing to try. How could she talk about homework and mall plans and after school snacks when her sister was gone?
It's only in this moment that she realizes how badly she misses all that. Tears burn in her eyes and Bridget wills the pair to keep talking, but the silence continues to stretch. She wants to hear about flying, about home, even if those things feel so foreign right now.
I'm sorry. She closes her eyes with the inward apology. It feels like a betrayal of her sister to think about this. She's the one that lost her life. She's the one that needs to be remembered, so how dare Bridget wish for 'normal'? She shouldn't be here. She should be looking for other contestants like she promised herself she would. She should be trying to end this thing, for Anne, for herself.
No one will ever forget us. Bridget knows that the only way to ensure that is to win. She also knows that she doesn't get up from the stairs for several more minutes, maybe even longer. She hates herself for every single second she sits there, yet when she finally stands she hates herself even more.
Level 4 - Library - 7:10 AM
"Attention contestants."
Dom squints awake and tries to rub the sleep from her eyes. The words reach her a couple seconds later and she shoots straight up to sitting. On the opposite edge of the room, she spots movement but it's just as groggy. She blinks several more times before she can recognize 017 in the exact same spot she last saw her.
However, there's absolutely no sign of Bowie.
"Effective immediately, the competition is paused and prior rules are back in place. All contestants are to report immediately to the Common Room, a trial is set to begin."
"Where are they?" Dom doesn't even realize it's her who said it, but 017 only blinks in response. She still looks half-asleep. Dom can't say she feels much better; she doesn't even remember falling asleep. She was supposed to be keeping watch. She looks around once more, but there are too many places to hide.
She climbs quickly to her feet and starts to pace between the bookshelves. Bowie hadn't gone out of eyesight since they returned here, and before that only because Dom left first. There's no reason for them to be hiding. They would've woken them up if something had happened. Dom and 017 are fine. She doubts that anything could have come in and grabbed them without her noticing.
That leaves only one explanation. Dom appears so quickly in front of 017 that the girl gasps and curls in on herself. "Did you see them leave?"
She doesn't respond. She just stares wide-eyed up at Dom and it's hard to tell if she even heard what she said. Dom sighs loudly and shakes her head. If they left, she can't do anything about it. The last trials are starting soon; they need to go. They've already found out what happens when someone doesn't get there in time.
Dom makes it several steps out of the library before she realizes that no one is following her. She walks quickly back inside and gestures out the door. 017 is looking vaguely in her direction, but she doesn't respond.
"Come on." She doesn't have time for this.
Finally, 017 shakes her head. Dom has half a mind to just start heading downstairs but she can't bring herself to. Instead, she steps until she's barely a meter in front of 017 and crouches down to meet her eye. "It's a trial, it's not optional."
"I don't care."
Something in the girl's raspy voice tells Dom to believe her. However, not even that is enough to get her feet moving. "You're just going to give up, then?"
This is a waste of time, she thinks but still Dom doesn't rise. Bowie was the one that was so insistent on bringing the girl with them. Truthfully, Dom didn't want to take either one of them. She didn't know anything about them, she still doesn't. The only thing she knows for sure is that they're standing in her way of winning and now wasting her time.
Yet, she can't force herself to just leave. Dom sighs and grabs hold of the girl quickly, bracing for a shock that doesn't come. She doesn't give herself time to think about why that is. She'll take the breaks as she gets them. "Come on."
"No!"
Dom doesn't give the girl even the chance to pull herself free. She yanks as hard as she can until 017 is standing beside her and then pulls one more time towards the door. It's only then that 017 pushes back. She shoves Dom with more strength than she expects and she lands hard against a nearby bookshelf.
"You want to get this fucking far and die?" Dom shouts. There's no point in being quiet now that the rules have been suspended again. Let whoever wants to come. She's not going to be here for much longer anyways. "You're that eager to give up? Be my fucking guest then."
Myra faces the girl with both fists clenched at her sides. She doesn't know why she pushed her. She almost doesn't care that she did. The last place she wants to go is back to the Common Room, back to the trials. Myra doesn't want to remember yet again that the last time she hugged Ram was there. She doesn't want to think about the fact that, hours later, she let them die.
She doesn't want any of it. She doesn't care. Let them kill her. Myra was more than willing to accept death at the trial. Why not now?
Because it'd be for nothing. The voice is quiet at first before growing louder. For nothing. Myra would die for nothing here. She would die as another announcement that no one else would witness because they'd all be at the trial. She would die and that would be it.
How did that go from sounding so appealing to so terrifying?
No Deaths.
A/N: Welcome back! A slight breather of a chapter before we head into the third trial set. As Dom once said, take the breaks as you get them.
Thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / rolling their eyes as I post yet another no death chapter. I appreciate each and every one of you.
~ Olive