In The Clear: Games XII
Level 3 - Dining Room - 8:19 AM
When the door to the cell block finally opens, Dom doesn't care where her feet are taking her. She no longer sees the maze, nor the line of concrete cells that she doesn't remember re-appearing. The dimness is all around her, but it holds no ground against the putrid dark that bites at her heels. She's not there and that's all she cares about. It doesn't seem like she's taken a single breath since leaving. Dom can't feel her legs underneath her. When she looks up what feels like hours later, she realizes that she's only made it two floors' distance .
Not nearly far enough, but Dom's palms hit the floor regardless.
The tears start immediately, or maybe they've been there this entire time. She gasps between every quick breath, not one of them enough to quell the burning in her chest. Dom writhes on the floor as her nails try fruitlessly to dig into the surrounding concrete. She's too afraid to scream. She doesn't care that this is likely being shown on every screen across the country. She doesn't care that this might be the last thing her sisters see. Yet, she has to be quiet. Not once does the desperate agony let up enough to allow her to forget that simple fact.
Dom buries her face in her hands as she fights to catch her breath. No matter if her eyes are open or closed, she sees them. She sees the gentle pull of the smile they tried to flash her right before it happened. Right before they were murdered. It never made it to Bowie's lips. Not really. They knew, They knew but then why go through with it. Maybe they didn't know it would kill them, but they had to know there was a chance. They'd all seen it with Madigan. We all fucking saw it and I still see it when I close my eyes. Except that's not true, now when Dom closes her eyes she sees them.
Thank you, for everything.
She breaks down into another fit of choking tears. The salt burns her cracked lips and makes her shrunken stomach turn in hopes of something. For the first time in days, she doesn't care that she's starving. Dom can't bring herself to care about - to think about - anything else. She didn't even know them. She can't even properly grieve them because what is she supposed to say? She doesn't know why they did it.
Why for me?
And a softer voice that tells Dom that they shouldn't have.
She wouldn't have done the same for Bowie. She barely knew them. She trusted them, but did she really? Dom assumed they were going to push her to the side when the trial came to an end. She assumed Bowie would do whatever it took to make sure their shoes hit the other side first. Dom knows she would have. If the situation were reversed, she can't honestly say she would have even considered doing what they did. Not even now.
She can't feel guilty for wanting to live. Yet, as she lays here struggling to take a single calm breath, she can't help it. They shouldn't be gone. They did everything the voice said they had to to do to apologize. Maybe they did something horrible; Bowie all but admitted that they did. But isn't this enough proof that they're sorry?
Dom stares through bleary eyes at the wall ahead, her teeth chattering as another screen comes into focus. They've become so commonplace that she barely looks twice anymore, but now she can't force herself to look away. They saw it. She struggles through another shivered breath. They saw that they wanted to change.
Maybe that's not enough to make up for whatever brought Bowie here.
But isn't it enough to let them keep trying?
Dom forces her eyes shut. All she wants to do is get up and smash the screen into as many pieces as possible. It won't change anything. It won't undo what happened downstairs. It won't even start to make people understand that this isn't justice. But it would feel a hell of a lot better than laying here and wondering how much of the axe Bowie actually felt.
She becomes suddenly aware that someone's watching her. Dom sits up so quickly her head spins, but she finds them immediately. Barely peering out of the stairwell's door, less than five meters away, is 017 with a distant look in her eyes. She would have watched that whole trial from the common room. Dom had all but forgotten about the girl.
Quite frankly, now, she wants nothing to do with her.
"Go away," Dom says stiffly. She means the words to be strong, to be a warning that she shouldn't try to get close. They're still competitors after all. The game isn't going to stop no matter what. It's not going to end until all but one of them is dead. Yet, she sees the slight fall in 017's brow and Dom can't help herself. "Please."
Myra bites her tongue so hard that the bitter taste of iron fills her mouth. She stares at Dominique, stupidly expecting her to change her mind but she doesn't. Myra squints and turns just in time that the girl won't be able to see the fresh tears running down her cheeks. She doesn't know why she came up here. Their relationship was made clear this morning. Myra just hoped-
You always just hope, don't you?
Myra claps a hand over her mouth and runs two at a time up the stairs. She trips only once, skinning the bottom of her elbow, but she barely notices. What's one more thing that hurts? Myra can't see through her tears by the time she reaches the next level. Her lungs feel like the oxygen's being forcibly squeezed from either side. It shouldn't hurt anymore. It's my fault. That fact doesn't make it any easier to swallow.
She squeezes herself under a tiny desk and holds the legs so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Myra shakes from head to toe, but she can't do a thing to stop it.
How many times, she demands, how many times before I realize?
Myra doesn't have an answer. It isn't one, because if it was she never would have gone back to Serena after getting caught stealing the first time. It isn't two, because then she wouldn't have sat in prison for months expecting someone who never showed up. It isn't three, because she would've left when Ram told her to, or four, because then she wouldn't have felt so guilty when they died. Maybe it's not even five, because as Myra crouches under the desk she still can't help but hope that Dominique will change her mind.
She doesn't owe me anything. Myra knows this, it's nothing new. None of the people she's met in the past few years have ever owed her friendship or anything else. She just wanted it so bad. She just wanted someone to look at her and decide she was what they wanted when all Myra has ever wanted was someone to stay.
And no one ever did.
Level 4 - Gym - 8:22 AM
"Contestants have three minutes to disperse."
Eris watches 006 - Marceline - flinch in her periphery. They haven't said much since she came back to the cell block. Eris suspects that there's nothing she would be able to say that would comfort the girl. She saw the trial. She knows what happened, they both do. Eris is even more certain that neither of them understands why.
She knows how close Marceline came to slipping. Even once the verdict was read, she was still struggling to hold on for almost a minute afterwards. Eris has caught glimpses of the girl's palms. She knows those scrapes weren't there after the fire and she can't think of another way they would've gotten there afterward.
Contrastingly, Lawrence hadn't appeared to be having nearly as much difficulty. He was scrawny, but he didn't shake for the first while at least. He hadn't started to look unsteady until mere moments before his hand slipped, if Eris can even call it that. She knows she can't simply based off the muted smile on his face when he looked down.
She won't pretend to understand why he did what he did.
Whatever the reason, it saved her. Eris looks back instinctively towards the younger girl. Marceline hugs her arms around herself and stares at the back of Eris' heels. She hasn't done anything else in the walk up here. Except this time, without her full bangs to hide behind, Eris can see her entire expression. She looks like she's seen a ghost; her face is pale even behind the superficial burns on both cheeks.
Eris doesn't know what she's supposed to say to her. She remembers her own trial, who would be able to forget. She remembers walking out of the cell block feeling like nothing was real even before she knew what had happened in one of the others. She can't imagine how it feels to be third. She can imagine even less how it feels to be the only one that walked out.
She wonders when her mind decided it was her responsibility to comfort anyone else.
"I just don't-"
This time it's Eris that flinches, and she turns around quickly enough to cut off Marcy's sentence entirely. Marcy stares back at her with wide eyes, not understanding if something happened and unable to force herself to turn around. She just stares until Eris finally shakes her head.
"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I didn't… I don't… forget it."
Marcy nods, though she doesn't understand. They're both on edge, and that seems like a good enough explanation. If Eris doesn't want to talk about things, that makes sense. The two of them haven't exactly built a relationship based on communication. That hasn't bothered Marcy before. She swallows and juts her chin out slightly, indicating that they can keep moving. It should be what they're focused on anyways.
Eris doesn't need to be prodded further and the girls continue through to the next room. They haven't discussed where they're going. Marcy doesn't particularly care. It makes no difference where they are, as long as it's not the roof. She doesn't think she'll ever be able to go back up there now.
She shudders but keeps walking. The last thing that Marcy wants to do is think. Putting one foot in front of the other, that is the only thing she allows into her mind. She doesn't allow herself to return to the cell block, to the roof crumbling beneath her feet. She doesn't let her mind wander to the moment that he let go nor the one where she looked down and he was simply gone. If she permits her thoughts to go back to wondering why why why why why, Marcy suspects she'll never escape.
"Attention contestants, the competition will re-commence in three, two, one."
Eris stands on the side of the bench closest to the door as the familiar long tone cuts between them. She watches patiently as the other girl lets her own steps continue. She doesn't want to think about the voice, what it's saying, what it means. In fact, she can't. Marceline seems eager to distract herself with anything her hands can touch and Eris can hardly blame her. In fact, she's heavily considering following suit. Except something stops her before she can even start exploring the unfamiliar surroundings.
That same uneasy feeling makes her turn right as he enters the room.
Eris' eyes widen as she takes an instinctive step back, but the workbench stops her from going further. She doesn't have time to scream. Her hands come up defensively in front of her but the knife is already plunging between them. Pain explodes in the side of her chest as she scrambles up onto the workbench. Eris kicks out, but he grabs her ankle and pushes it forcefully away.
It all happens so fast that this is what finally reminds her to scream.
Eris kicks him again, only now able to see 014's face as he continues the attack. Her chest burns but it doesn't matter. She couldn't take a breath even if she wanted to. There's no time. His knife comes down again and again. Eris doesn't know how many times the blade actually reaches her. She doesn't have a second to even consider grabbing her own.
He's not even looking at her. His eyes fall above her head as Eris tries everything to get him away. Blood sprays his face, runs into her eye until she has no choice but to close it. Her palms feel like they've been shredded, but they've saved her from a few of the slashes. Eris doesn't know how many. She doesn't know if it's enough. She doesn't know-
"Eris!" The shriek comes from behind her as Eris feels someone grab the top of her shoulder. For a moment she thinks she's being attacked from behind now too, but then she remembers. Eris shrugs the hand off her shoulder. That's when she sees the blood soaking through the front of her shirt.
It's too much.
It's everywhere.
It's too late, it's too late, it's too late.
Panic grips her as Eris lands a hard kick to the center of the boy's chest. Eris turns onto her stomach atop the workbench, wide eyes finding Marceline still on the other side. Blood drenches the wood beneath her. Even pressing herself up on her hand sends forth a wave of agony. Eris can feel something wet coating the space between her teeth. She knows immediately that it's blood.
Marceline grabs her arm and tries to pull her again. Why is she still here? Eris glances quickly behind her. She can see him still there, but her head is spinning too fast to even care who it is now. It doesn't matter. There's so much blood. The breath she tries to take is too wet to make it all the way up her throat. I can't breathe.
"Eris."
She locks eyes with Marceline, who still holds tight to her wrist. She's still trying. Eris can feel her grip trembling through every cut on her body. She looks at the other girl, really looks at her, as time seems to stand still for just a moment.
Her hair is still burnt off along one side of her bangs. Her cheeks are even redder now with effort. The front of her clothes is covered in soot and stray sprays of blood. None of it's hers. She still has a chance. And in the same breath, Eris accepts that she doesn't.
She doesn't have to look down to see all the gashes. From wrists to neck to the front of her pants, Eris' clothes are wet with blood. They say people can survive so much. How many times did the nurses tell me that when I asked about Kaya? People survive some horrific injuries. But those people have doctors and surgeons and paramedics in ambulances coming to save them. Eris doesn't have any of that. She has Marceline, desperately trying to pull her to the other side of the workbench.
Marceline, who still has a chance if she gets out of here right now.
Eris pushes her away as hard as she can. The only thing that accomplishes is forcing the other girl's arm from Eris' wrist. She immediately tries to replace it, but Eris pushes her away again. This time, there's even less strength behind it.
It feels so familiar. Eris thinks back to Memorial Provincial Park, to her hands on a briefcase, and the other pair of hands she shoved away. Except, in every other aspect, this time couldn't be more different. That day, Eris hadn't thought once about Kaya. She hadn't cared what happened. She was so angry and lonely and desperate for the very thing that her sister had always seemed to have. Maybe, if Eris would have really thought about it, really cared about her sister in the way that Kaya had been trying to do for her, then things would have ended differently.
Yet, in this moment, Eris knows that she will have no regret in pushing Marceline away.
Because, this time, she has thought about the younger girl.
And she still has a chance.
Marcy doesn't think she's taken a breath this entire time. Eris pushes her hand away again and she wants to scream. There's blood everywhere. It's all over her hands. Marcy can taste it on her lips. It splatters the wall by the door, on the counter just beside it. Red runs all the way down both sides of the workbench until-
"Eris!" Marcy shrieks but the name is barely audible as she tries again to grab hold of the girl. Tears blur part of her vision, but at the same time she can see him. He isn't even looking at her. He brings the knife down but Marcy can't let herself follow it. She just has to pull harder. She just has to get Eris away from him.
"Go." The single word sounds like a gurgle in the older girl's throat. It barely sounds like her but it is. Marcy shakes her head, though Eris has already turned back to face her attacker. Her arms are up around her head again, preparing for yet another strike.
"No," she sobs, but Marcy has already taken several steps back. She is no longer touching that workbench, but her blood-covered hands have now marred the one behind her. I can't leave her. The possibility hadn't even struck her until now. I won't. Marcy doesn't think she can make herself. Why didn't I hear him-
More blood sprays up and coats 014's face, adding to the rust-colored stains that sit like dark freckles. Marcy searches for a path around the benches to get to her, but the sound, the sound. It's the most horrible one she's ever heard. It sounds like taking a breath through murky sea water. Yet, it's the same single syllable as before, this time surrounded by blood that's running from both edges of Eris' mouth.
Marcy screams again and that's when 014 finally looks up at her. His eyes are dark and bloodshot, his eyebrows falling ever slightly in a way that makes him appear so calm. He plunges the knife downward once more and Marcy can't force her eyes to follow it.
He's waiting for the announcement, she realizes. He must have followed us here and I didn't hear him and-
When 014 takes a step towards her, it cuts the thought off at its source. Marcy stares, trembling as he carries the knife towards her. She expects him to charge at her, but he doesn't. The same eerie calm is still plastered where an expression should be. Marcy starts to back up, but the nearest bench stops her.
She shakes her head as her entire body seems to shiver against it. "Please." Even Marcy can't understand her own plea. "Please, don't."
He advances and Marcy grabs the first thing her hand touches. Thankfully it isn't too heavy, and she launches it in his direction. She's nowhere close, but she hardly notices. She grabs something else and does the same. At least one of them hits, she hears it. There's a door behind her, she just needs to get to it. All the rooms on this floor have two doors.
And leave Eris?
Marcy's throat tightens at the name. There hasn't been an announcement, at least not one that she's heard. Maybe she's not dead. Maybe the injuries aren't as bad as they looked. Maybe she's trying to get up right now and Marcy simply can't look over long enough to see it.
But what if she's not?
"Eris!" She shouts once more, pausing the frenzied throws just long enough to listen for a response. There isn't one. No, that's not true, she hears another gurgled breath that weighs in her chest. Marcy's tears fall more quickly down her cheeks.
She pushes one of the machines as hard as she can into his path. It won't buy her much time, but when it falls she can't help but sob with relief. Marcy darts towards the wall as quickly as she can. There are still a few benches for him to snake around. When 014 sees her make a break for it, he quickens his pace to match.
She sprints through the first door, without really seeing what room she's passed through. Marcy considers the door on the other side, but in a split second decision she dives between a pair of bookshelves. She knows he'll follow if he sees her. She throws a hardcover book towards the opposite end of the room and it bounces against the wall before clattering to the ground. She hopes that it will sound enough like footsteps to fool him. Marcy doesn't have enough time to hide herself further.
She holds her breath as heavy steps stomp through the room. They don't even pause on their way to the next. Marcy doesn't let herself breathe until it feels like she's going to faint. She needs to get back to Eris. If there's even a chance she needs to get to her.
Marcy makes it back to the door of the workshop, not a step past it before the announcement finally comes.
"Eris Perrault has been eliminated. Seven contestants remain."
Level 5 - Morgue - 8:40 AM
Immediately upon entering, Amadis doesn't like the look of the place.
The metal cupboards and sterile wall colour feel like a different world. The fire from days ago touched this place too, but the black marks on the walls and dusting on the floor look almost intentional. She shudders as Casi takes a lap around. She isn't sure why they're here, but it's the first place Casi said they had to go.
They've barely said a word besides that since the trials ended. She knows it had something to do with the trial, specifically the one on the crumbled rooftop. Casi had gone silent after the boy dropped. Amadis can almost admit that she missed the chatter. It felt normal, in a way that nothing in this place has a right to. It was nice to have something remind her of what life was like before all of this.
And sobering to watch it all be stripped away in an instant.
Amadis studies their expression from a distance but it's hard to pick apart. She knows what she should find. She'd seen the two contestants interact, which means that losing them would be devastating. Even the inmates that Amadis hadn't really known have had an impact on her. She hates hearing the names with every announcement. It just reminds her that, even if this is a game, there's nothing make believe about any of it.
There used to be heartbeats behind those names.
Amadis looks away when she catches his eye, but they don't react. She doesn't know what to say to them. She does at least know that she's obligated to say something. Besides, even if they've had their issues, she knows that he's the best person to have beside her right now.
(Even if it won't matter).
Amadis swallows and walks hesitantly towards them. It feels like she's intruding, despite the fact that Casi said she should come with him. He said there was something he needed to do here. That doesn't change the chill that runs up her spine as she approaches what looks like a large computer screen spread over a drawing table.
"Is this what you came here for?" She asks softly but Casi shakes their head. She's unable to see his expression until they turn around. Amadis can't help but flinch when she sees the tears running down his cheeks. She hadn't realized-
Casi points to a sticky note that covers one of the boxes on the panel. They can't bring himself to touch it. It feels like doing so would be a slap in the face. He knows who put it there. There's no signature, but they know. He's never seen Lawrence's handwriting, but it looks exactly like they expected it to.
Not this one.
Their expression scrunches as Casi reads it for what must be the tenth time. He isn't sure what the note means, only that it's for him. They slowly sink down onto the stool in front of the panel. It feels strange, like Casi shouldn't be there at all but they make themself anyway. This was always where Lawrence sat. In all the days Casi spent in the morgue, he doesn't remember sitting here even once.
They find the rest of the notes stuck to the edge of the panel. Casi swallows and closes their eyes for a moment before leaning down to read them. Again, he can't bring themself to move them. It feels wrong. It feels wrong to touch anything that was his. Casi had wanted to come here, for closure if nothing else. They don't understand why Lawrence did it. He didn't think they'd actually get any answers here.
By the time Casi's read through all the notes, they still don't have any. There isn't anything personal, not that Casi really thought there would be. Nothing in Lawrence's handwriting even says their name or confirms that these were put there for them. Casi just knows that they were.
Every note is a step by step walkthrough of the panel. It even states which panel corresponds to which contestant, at least up to this morning. It has details about the scenes and the vitals and the injuries that each has. They explain how the order of the competing inmates changes based on severity of injury and how it's only cemented when each of them dies.
Casi had no idea how much time Lawrence spent looking at this thing. There's enough information that they know he had to have explored the panel before the game started and probably for the first day or so after it did. Casi doesn't even remember him touching it while they were together; only that he sat here often.
They think back to when he was watching over Lawrence's shoulder before this all started. The panel had been blank back then. The boxes reacted to touch, but never showed anything. Casi sort of assumed that was the end of the strange screen, but obviously they were mistaken.
"There's eighteen." They can almost hear Lawrence's words again, before they even knew the boy's name.
Casi's neck snaps so quickly to look at her that it actually hurts. Amadis flinches, but he hardly notices. That's what he was referring to. He told them that there were eighteen boxes back then, but they hadn't really talked about it afterward. What else had he said?
"...there were eighteen boxes, but not eighteen cupboards."
Casi gets up from the stool and looks around. It doesn't take long for them to find what he's looking for. The cupboards are all lined up along one edge of the room. When Casi finally counts them out, sure enough there are only seventeen.
He reaches quickly towards the panel and selects one of the first few boxes at random. They're careful to avoid the sticky note on the third one in. A scene appears, exactly as Lawrence's notes describe, and the two of them watch as a boy with long hair leans against a wall. He looks like he's asleep, but Casi can still barely see his chest rising.
His throat goes dry when they finally recognize him as the boy from outside this very room. Casi feels sick as they trace the bruise along the inmate's temple. The skin around it is so taunt that it looks ready to burst.
Thankfully the scene doesn't last long. It's only a few seconds before the boy flinches back violently. His head lands hard against the wall as if he'd been struck, but there's no one else in frame. It takes until Amadis lets out a scream beside them to remember the inmate that was killed for being late to the second trial.
Casi turns around quickly and sees his still body staring back at them from inside one of the cupboards. His eyes are grey and glossy but just as still. He doesn't move, but his head is turned just enough to make it look like he's looking in their direction. The bruise on his temple is even darker. His lips have gone cherry red and his face is a similar colour. What did they do to him? Casi can only stare in horror until the cupboard finally turns opaque again.
Amadis is shaking like a leaf beside them. He had almost forgotten that she was here. "W-what was that?"
"This is the morgue," Casi says, their voice far more calm than he feels. "He's dead."
She nods shakily and turns back towards the panel. "This is all of us?"
Casi wonders if she'd also been reading the notes. From what he knows about the girl, it would make sense that she had. It still feels like a violation of privacy. Casi swallows their immediate reaction down. "Yes, all eighteen."
They slowly count the boxes until they reach the warning note again. He immediately understands who the note is warning them about. Casi has every urge to press it anyways. It's her. How long has it been since they thought about Meg? It feels like they've been gone for a lifetime even if it's only been a few days. She's in here. Casi only has to press their box and he'll be able to see her again.
He thinks of the dead eyes of the long-haired boy. They don't know if he wants to see Meg like that, but she's… so close. Casi isn't able to stop themself. They haven't touched any of Lawrence's other notes, but he does move this one.
Amadis remains silent as the minutes creep by. She can feel another chill run up her spine every time the cupboard becomes transparent again but she refuses to look. One was enough. She's seen death, admittedly not a lot of it but more than enough. She doesn't want to see it again.
Every time the scene ends, every time the corpse disappears, Casi just presses it again.
It's on the fifth time that Amadis finally puts her hand out to stop them. Casi glares up at her through stale tears and pushes forward anyways. He pushes through her hand easily and their gaze returns to the screen.
"Enough." She keeps her tone calm. She doesn't know what he's doing, but she recognizes the inmate on screen. They're the one Casi spent so much time with before the game began. She was the one who was murdered in front of everyone at the first trial.
"It's fine." Amadis isn't sure how that's even a response to what she said. She carefully tries to guide their hand away. This isn't productive. This can't be what he came up here to do, so why spend so much time on it. They were friends, she understands this. However, watching her die over and over isn't going to help anyone.
She shakes her head and hopes that they're looking at her. "What did you come here to do?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Casi-"
"You haven't fucking lost anyone!" They shout, despite her being less than a meter away. Amadis still takes a step back and stands stiffly to the side. Casi brings their hands up to his forehead and the silence makes her more than a little bit uneasy. He still has a knife; so does she. This is still The Cut.
Thankfully, Casi deflates a minute later and the tension is sucked from the room alongside it. He looks up at her and she can plainly see the exhaustion in their eyes. What she doesn't tell him is that they're wrong. Amadis lost someone she went to school with, a reminder of home even if her and Lyanna were never close. Still, she can see the grief in his eyes and even she can admit that it's not the same.
"I'm sorry," they mumble. "I just need a bit more time."
Amadis looks around before answering. She doesn't like this place, not just because of the panels and the cupboards but because it feels more sinister than the rest. She's had the same bad feeling since they walked in the door.
"Please."
Amadis feels herself nodding and steps away from the panel, but the uneasiness doesn't rest. She slips down to the ground only a couple of meters away. It's not a bad idea to rest. There won't be any more trials, and maybe people will be keeping to themselves for a little bit after this one.
It still doesn't feel right, but Amadis figures that she can afford to give them a little bit longer.
Level 2 - Main Entrance - 1:47 PM
Riley throws the crumbling brick as hard as he can at the large window.
Instead of shattering the glass, the weapon makes a loud thud before hitting the ground beneath it. Riley huffs, but instead of moving to collect it he plants a fist right where it'd first hit. The pain is enough to make him howl, but that doesn't stop him from sending another in the same direction.
This is stupid. He knows that. Riley knew that before the first punch and he knows that well after the second. His knuckles are already bruised and torn from several days in this place. Not only that but they're covered in dried blood. Riley doesn't even know which day that's from anymore.
He sinks down to the floor breathing harder than he realized. His hands are shaking and Riley tells himself it's from the glass. Truthfully, he doesn't know what anything is from anymore. At the end of the day it doesn't matter. There's one more dead. He doesn't remember her name from the announcement; he doesn't think he was listening. Riley only ever listens to the last part now - seven contestants remain. It's the only part that matters.
Six more to die and he fucking lost her. It should've been easy. All of this should be so easy now. He's already done it. He's killed people he knew and people he didn't, people who fought back and people who gave up. Nothing's new. It's all just again and again and again and again-
He wanted to find 004. He hadn't come up with the plan until well after he'd left the cell block and tried to put his foot through the walls of the stairwell. Riley hadn't been able to find 004 after that, but he found them. It should've been so easy. They didn't even know he was there; they weren't even trying to get away.
Where the fuck did she go? Riley looks angrily back up to the window behind him. He thought he heard her go downstairs, but from there he had no idea. She shouldn't have been able to get away. It should've been so easy. He should've been five people away right now, not six. He should've been five people away from Alec.
Riley stands up and shoves the brick back into his pocket. Its outer layer flakes away on the floor and in his hand. He doesn't know if it's dried blood. It probably is. He doesn't care, he doesn't care. It doesn't matter.
When he looks back up at the surrounding room, it isn't so empty anymore.
"Fuck off." He shakes his head as he turns away from it. The flakes of rust-red lead away from the window to the corner of the room. His hands are up in front of him, just like they were days ago. Riley can still so clearly see his eyes, wide and full of absolute terror. It's just like the kitchen. He looks just like Riley left him in between the island and the sink.
Except when Riley turns around, they're there. Their neck is craned at an angle where Riley can clearly see the gash torn through their throat. They stare at him even though that should be impossible. They didn't last time. They didn't. Riley remembers. There wasn't this much blood, was there? "That's not what happened."
In the next corner she's sitting there, one hand up as if begging Riley to stop. There's a single stain of blood flowing down her shirt. Riley can see the cell bars' shadows on her face but the bars aren't here. She didn't tell me not to. She knew I had to. Yet the eyes staring back at him tell a different story.
"No!" Riley shouts, his pulse racing in his ears. He knows they aren't real. They aren't here anymore. They're dead. None of it's real and even if it is it's wrong. She knew that Riley was only stopping her suffering. They didn't move, but Riley didn't do more than he had to. He deserved it. He was just going to keep lying. He was never that small, that frail, as he laid there on the kitchen floor. "No!"
It doesn't matter, right?
This time Riley stops cold when he recognizes the voice. It isn't his, nor any of the corpses littering the floor. It isn't even the prison itself speaking to him again. It's Alec.
Yet no matter how long Riley searches the room, he can't find him. He swallows down the lump in his throat. Riley silently begs him to speak again, but is too afraid to ask. He's too scared that his own words will cloud what he desperately hopes to hear.
He can't convince himself that he was imagining how disappointed Alec sounded.
"Alec?" Riley barely breathes the name aloud. The room is still, empty, the bodies are gone and the bloodstains are too. He doesn't notice any of that. He steps carefully, as if the floor were going to shatter even though the window refused to. Riley knows he isn't here, but part of him is still terrified that what he's hearing isn't a hallucination.
Alec will understand. Riley swallows and searches the room again. That's what he's been telling himself this entire time. If Alec is awake and watching him, he'll still see Riley. He'll know that he didn't want to do this. He'll understand that Riley is only doing whatever it takes to get back to him. Nothing is going to change between them. They can go back to the farm. Riley will go back to being the idiot that forgets to check his phone and Alec will never stop complaining about it.
Right?
Riley turns around and sees a distinct outline in the window. He traces it carefully, knowing immediately that it's just his own reflection all the while wishing it would turn into someone else. Riley finds the indented scar on the corner of his jaw from when he was eight. He locates the small crook in his nose that he's never been able to remember the cause of.
He sees so much blood that it's impossible to notice anything else. The pit at the base of his stomach starts to open up again, but this time it's not as easy to claim hunger.
"You're doing this," he spits at the unmoving reflection. Riley's breaths start to come in broken gasps as he stares. There's too many layers of dried and smeared blood on his face to be able to tell them apart. Several small cuts and even more bruises try their best to stand out, but all seem to meld together. The more Riley looks, the less the reflection looks like a person let alone like him.
He lunges forward until both hands are shaking against the window. Riley can feel his body trembling with effort. He bares his teeth as the eyes stare back at him. He needs to be angry. He needs to be ready. There are only six more standing in his way. Alec isn't disappointed. Riley will make him understand. He has to. "You're doing this for him! You're doing this for the only person that fucking matters!"
His words echo between the walls along with his untamed breaths. Everyone in this prison can probably hear him, but Riley doesn't care. Let them. Let them know they should be scared. Let them know that I'm coming. They should be terrified because nothing is going to stand in Riley's way. Nothing is going to stop him.
Not even the fearful eyes staring back at him.
Level 3A - Platform - 5:34 PM
Bridget has finally fallen into a pattern of steps. She moves quickly enough that she's not wasting any time out in the open, but carefully enough that she's unlikely to be heard. At this point, she no longer even has to think about it.
She has nearly gotten used to the timelessness of the prison. She no longer wonders how long she spends in each place, or at least doesn't dwell on it. Bridget has been downstairs since the trial ended, however long that's been. She didn't dare move on until the level above her went silent. Even then, Bridget still waited as long as she could before moving on.
She knows who was up there. Riley wasn't trying to be quiet, or maybe he simply didn't care if anyone heard. The yelling started and stopped randomly, though Bridget was too far away to hear what he was saying. She didn't hear anyone else. She wondered for most of that time if he'd trapped someone there with him and was performing some kind of torture. Bridget finally stopped shivering over the thought when she realized that she hadn't heard anyone scream.
There also haven't been any announcements since right after the trials ended. Bridget isn't sure whether she should be relieved or bothered by that. She eventually came to the decision to simply not think about any of it.
Bridget pauses as she walks through the gym into the next room. The prison is still dark enough that the sight isn't what reaches her first, it's the smell. She remembers it from the cell block, but it's so much worse here in the workshop. Bridget tells herself to turn around, but she isn't quick enough. The myriad of dried stains is directly in her line of sight.
She ducks her head away from it. Bridget can't remember the last time she was up here, but she's certain the spots aren't that old. A few of them still even look wet, like they've yet to stop dripping from the underside of the workbench. She remembers a moment later the announcement that came just after the last set of trials.
She's never been so thankful not to remember someone's name.
Bridget holds her breath as she heads back the way she came. She hasn't decided what she's looking for. Her mind promises that she's searching for the remaining contestants, but at this point it's hard to keep up the lie. Bridget hasn't killed anyone. Every time she closes her eyes, she still has nightmares about the two people she's managed to simply injure.
That doesn't mean I can't.
Bridget steps past the stairwell to enter the room on the opposite side of the gym. This level is quiet, and maybe that's why she feels comfortable enough remaining on it. Truthfully, all of the levels are quiet. There aren't that many of them left, and after this morning it's hard to imagine that anyone isn't afraid. Two of the trials ended in deaths.
It should've been three. Bridget shakes her head. She promised herself that she would stop thinking about it.
She walks into the classroom after a quick glance inside. The majority of the furniture has been upturned and Bridget can see another outline of blood near the room's center. This one is certainly dried, in fact it looks almost black. However, Bridget can still distinctly see where someone had once laid inside it. She doesn't imagine that anyone who lost that much blood could still be alive.
Bridget becomes suddenly aware of deep, shivered breaths coming from nearby. Her body goes cold as she slowly turns, trying to find the source as her pulse grows in her ears. This room is as dim as the others. The shadows from the disturbed furniture make it feel even darker. She starts to slowly step towards the door when she finds a pair of black eyes staring back from behind a desk.
The girl is hidden enough that the only other visible parts of her are the long strands of hair framing her face. Bridget stifles a gasp and takes a larger step backwards, nearly tripping on a stray chair leg. The other girl doesn't stop staring.
Bridget doesn't catch what she says. Her words sound like a cross between a mumble and growl. Bridget's stomach feels so twisted that she fears it's going to come up in her next breath. She racks her mind for some memory of the girl, but there's nothing. She looks afraid, but that doesn't make Bridget any less uneasy.
She realizes she hasn't moved in several seconds. Her feet feel as though they've been locked in the concrete beneath her. Bridget is still staring at the girl; she can't force her eyes away. She doesn't even see the girl's lips move, but this time she hears the words as they coat her throat. "Get away from me."
Bridget has every intention to do exactly that. She takes a breath but in place of air it feels like splinters are flowing into her lungs. There's a split second hesitation before the girl rises up behind the desk. There are tears cutting dark valleys down her cheeks and her eyes are wild above them. Bridget doesn't even have time to blink before a flash of silver is careening towards her.
"Get away from me!" Bridget doesn't know what frightens her more, the guttural screech within the words or the force with which the hammer strikes the wall behind her. She faces the girl with wide eyes and reaches instinctively for her waist. Except there's nothing to grab; her knife's been gone for several days.
She doesn't know what else this girl has. She doesn't know who she is or what she's capable of. Every instinct in Bridget is telling her to run. The girl's warnings might have alerted other people. They might be headed here right now. They'll kill her and Bridget won't have to be responsible. She could be far, far away by the time anything even happens.
You're not going to win like that.
It isn't even her own voice in her head this time. Bridget isn't sure who it is. Even she has to admit, however, that it's right. She's run every chance she's gotten. She has what it takes to win. She has what it takes to get everything that the voice promised her. No one will be able to forget her, and in the same breath they'll remember her sister. That's what Bridget wants, after all. That's what she's always despised in everyone that knew Anne - they were so willing to forget. Bridget will never be one of them. She will always do everything she can to ensure that her sister's memory lives for as long as Anne should have. The words don't sound near as certain, but Bridget holds onto them regardless. That's what all of this has been for.
Then do it.
The next time Bridget looks down, she's already holding the discarded hammer. The voice sounds so much like her sister in some ways, yet nothing like her in so many others. Still, she knows that it's right.
She isn't going to win by running away.
Myra can still feel her staring at her. Tears have blurred her vision enough that she can barely see more than the girl's outline, but she's still here. Myra grabs the first thing her hands touch. It makes another crashing sound as it hits the wall by the door. Leave me alone. She wants to shout at her again, maybe she does. Maybe that horrible, painful screaming is hers.
Get away from me.
She doesn't want to try. She doesn't want anyone else to try either. She just wants them to leave her alone. Myra, for the first time that she can remember, just wants to be alone. Why won't she leave me alone? Myra throws something else, but it's heavier. It doesn't make it nearly as far.
Her eyes burn the longer she keeps them open. All she wants is for them to shut, for them to shut when she's alone. She wants everyone who could ever come close to just stop. None of it's real. None of it has ever been real. Myra was meant to be alone. All she wants is to be alone.
She doesn't want Serena. She doesn't want Ram. She doesn't want Dominique. She doesn't want this person either.
She just wants to be alone. It's better that way, easier for her to stop fucking hoping that someone is going to save her. Nobody ever wanted to save her and Myra sure never tried to save herself. All she did was help them. All she did was wish that, if someone cared enough, things would get better. If her parents cared enough maybe they wouldn't have split up. Maybe, every single week, they wouldn't keep dropping her off at the other's house just when she got comfortable. Maybe they would stop leaving her to wonder why they didn't think this would hurt so much.
Everyone always leaves. She just wants them to stop.
Stop promising.
Stop pretending.
Just stop.
No one owes Myra anything. She gets it; she's told herself this a hundred times so why does it still hurt? Why does it still make her want to rip the skin off her face when the time comes for them to choose and they don't choose her? Why does it destroy her more and more every time? Why am I never good enough for them? Why am I still not good enough for myself? Why is she still asking questions as if anyone will ever stick around long enough to answer them?
She looks back towards the door. She's still here. Why is she still here? Myra kicks the desk she had been hiding behind and it slides loudly across the concrete floor. Tears splatter in a twisted line across the floor as she paces closer. Myra picks up the first thing her hands find inside the next desk. It doesn't even manage to leave her grip before pain cracks across her knuckles.
The scream that rings through the room is one of the loudest sounds Bridget has ever heard. She scrambles backward with the hammer still clutched between her fingers and the strike still ringing up her arm. She doesn't remember swinging. The girl had just gotten so close. Her eyes feel like they're going to bulge out of her skull and all Bridget's managed to do is stand here in shock.
The girl's second two fingers hang unnaturally down as she holds the base of her palm. She doesn't look at Bridget. Her breaths come faster and for a moment she just stares. Bridget expects her to strike back. She expects her to do something but she stands just as still. Her hand is shaking. Of course it is. Bridget feels like she's been frozen in place.
How much does it hurt? She can feel a phantom ache start to crawl its way down her arm. Why isn't she doing anything?
Why aren't I?
Bridget swallows, only then tasting the bitterness housed at the back of her throat. Moving forward again feels like the most unnatural thing in the world. The hammer feels more like a snake in her grip, like something she should let go of but she forces herself to hold on tight. Keep going. She doesn't want to. So after all this you're giving up?
No, Bridget thinks weakly. She closes her eyes as she steps towards the girl. She brings the hammer back like a baseball bat, unsure how else to wield it. I've already started. She would have every reason to come after me if I leave. Except up until the moment Bridget closes her eyes, the girl still hasn't moved.
Another scream. Bridget's entire body tenses as the strike once again seems to ricochet back at her. Her heart beats wildly and her breaths make it nowhere near the base of her lungs. Keep going. She doesn't want to. She so badly doesn't want to. Bridget opens her eyes and the girl is on the ground. She's still screaming and one hand presses against the side of her jaw.
Bridget stands over her but every inch of her skin is trembling. The girl curls in on herself, this time trying to crawl herself away but there's an upturned desk blocking the path. I have to. No. She can't tell which voice is hers, if in fact either of them are. I can't. She doesn't know what she's doing. She doesn't know how to kill anyone. It was so much easier to walk away. Why can't I just walk away?
For me?
Bridget's eyes blur over almost immediately. The voice doesn't sound like her, but it's been so long. Still, it has to be. Anne, she thinks but there's no response. Her sister wouldn't want this, would she? She wouldn't want me to die. That's true. Bridget knows it is.
This time, the voice is even softer, kinder, more like the sister she remembers. For me?
Myra cries as her hand grapples with something solid. She can't open her eyes. Everything is spinning even when they're shut. Her fingers bend unnaturally as she tries to move whatever's blocking her way. She barely notices. Her mouth tastes like blood. Myra can feel a flap of tongue bending to avoid her teeth. She must have bitten it.
She looks up in time to avoid the next swing. Myra's hand reaches out and catches the girl's wrist, but she pulls it away too quickly. Now that her eyes are open, it feels like she can see even less. Everything's moving. Her foot kicks out and hits something solid. The girl's face is closer now; Myra can't see her expression.
The hammer comes down again, this time cracking against the side of her cheek. Myra screams but the sound breaks off. It hurts to even try to move her mouth. It hurts so badly that she can't help but scream and that hurts even more. Screams fade off into torn sobs. Myra's chest is rising and falling so quickly that it doesn't feel like she's getting any air in.
"Please." She doesn't know if the girl will understand the word. Myra can't even be sure that she felt it leave her tongue. The agony is so intense that another scream erupts in her throat. She can't even get out the rest of what she wants to say.
Please stop.
Please don't hurt me.
Please don't let me die.
Myra's eyes are wide as she begs the girl to understand, but she refuses to even look at her. Panic continues to build in her chest. The room is spinning so fast that she can do nothing to stop the next blow that falls in her direction. She can't breathe. Everything hurts. All Myra wants to do is curl in on herself tight enough that no one will be able to reach her. Even when she tries, another strike cracks the side of her cheek.
Myra sobs as her arms shake above her, still trying fruitlessly to defend herself. I need help. Help me. Please. She can't say any of it, or maybe there's too much blood in her mouth for the words to make it to the other side. Please. Myra's mind seems to be filled with nothing but this singular word. Please. Please.
"Ram!"
It's too late for Bridget to pause as a final word leaves the small girl's lips. She doesn't recognize it, doesn't know what it means. She isn't even certain that she heard it right. Bridget's chest feels like it's caught fire. Her arms are shaking and the hammer feels like it's a hundred pounds in her grip. The ground beneath her is covered in speckles of blood from where the girl's skin split around the weapon. Her face is already so swollen that Bridget has to force herself to look away.
It feels like an eternity passes. Bridget can't make herself hit her again. Her body trembles at even the thought. It has to be over. She stares up at the ceiling as if begging someone to confirm it. She has to be dead. Tears blur her vision, but none of them fall until the announcement comes minutes later.
"Myra Ranet has been eliminated. Six contestants remain."
Bridget sobs as she curls against the floor mere meters from the girl's body. She covers her eyes with her blood-speckled hands, coating her eyelashes in thick red. It's over. It's over. Yet no matter how many times Bridget tells herself that, she doesn't once believe it.
Level 5 - Morgue - 10:21 PM
Casi feels her behind them before she gets the chance to say anything. He tenses with one fist on either side of the panel. They don't know how long it's been since they watched the scene. Casi believes he could probably reflect it frame by frame on their own closed eyelids by now.
Yet, they still don't want to leave. He knows she wants to. Casi's eyes burn like there's gravel deep inside them, a warning that no doubt they should step away. His legs don't even consider doing so.
"I don't think there's anything else to learn," Amadis says gently. This only makes his fists tighten even further. She's not stupid. They're not learning anything. Maybe the first couple of times, sure, but not now. Everything Casi needed to know about the panel he could've found out from Lawrence's notes. Maybe that's why he made them. Maybe he knew Casi would come back.
Did he plan what happened at the trial? Casi still doesn't have an answer. He tried, they watched him try when the trial began. Lawrence could've fallen when the roof first crumbled, it would've been so much easier. Instead the two of them were up there for several minutes. He didn't look like he was giving up. He looked no different than he had when Casi left him here.
They can't stop remembering what Lawrence said during the fire. I don't want to win. Casi wants to slam his fists against the screen every time the words come back to them. I don't want to win. Why? Why didn't he want to live? And if he wanted to die so badly, why go through the game at all? To Casi, it doesn't make sense. I don't want to win.
I do. Casi only just has the mind not to say the words aloud. As if Amadis needs any more reasons to think they've lost his everloving mind.
This is what they've been thinking about since clicking Meg's scene the first time. Casi's mind flip flops between the two of them - Meg and Lawrence, Lawrence and Meg. There are so many questions behind each of their names. What would Meg have done if they made it this far? Why did Lawrence let go? Would Meg have sat here the same way he has, watching Casi's death over and over? Why didn't Lawrence want him to see the panel earlier?
Casi slides the note between their fingers before turning it over to read again. Not this one. In fact, this is still the only one of Lawrence's notes that Casi has moved. The others sit exactly where he left them. Casi has even made sure to sit to the side of the stool so their legs don't brush them. Why not this one?
Casi thinks they know the answer. It's because Lawrence didn't want him doing exactly what he's been doing for the past several hours. He knew about Meg, well what little Casi told him at least. There unfortunately wasn't much to say. They didn't get enough of a chance to really know her.
And now, when he thinks about them, all Casi pictures is how she died.
Rather than answer Amadis' observation, they just bury his head in their hands. There are no more tears, or maybe his eyes are just too raw to produce any right now. They honestly don't care either way.
"We should go soon," Amadis says gently and her soft tone only makes them wish she would yell instead. They're not friends, they're barely allies. They're just two people stuck in a shitty situation with no way out. She's not Meg. She's not Lawrence. She's still alive and still somehow hopeful and at this point it just makes Casi hate her even more.
"Go ahead." His voice sounds just like they feel - empty. Casi knows she's right even if they're not about to say so. This isn't helping. The fact is that Casi's thought about it and, odds are, nothing will help. The voice was clear in their trial. In The Cut's eyes, they're the scum of the earth. If Amadis is right about the show trying to alert people to her presence, that's even more proof. Neither of them are getting out of here. They likely never had a shot in the first place.
But they did, Casi thinks as they blink back the tears that aren't coming. She could've won without that trial. He could've won if Casi could've just made him realize that he wanted to.
I want to.
His thoughts are going the opposite direction, but this one still rings so loud. I want to win. Casi doesn't want to die, but what choice are they going to have? Amadis has basically confirmed they're lost causes no matter that she still has the same annoying optimism. That's why she followed them up here. She thinks knowledge is going to save them but all it's done is show Casi how fucked they really are.
"I thought you said-"
Casi cuts her off. He knows what they said, but it doesn't matter anymore. "That we can help each other?" Still no tears, but their eyes have started to burn even more. "Well we can't."
He reaches forward to the panel to click her box again. They don't even want to see it, but he just wants her to stop talking. Instead, Amadis grabs his wrist tightly to stop them. "They're gone, Casi. We can't do anything for them, but we can still try. They're already dead but you're not."
"Maybe that's not fucking okay?" Casi shouts louder than he means to. They rip their wrist out of her grip and she doesn't try to hold on. He knows she doesn't want to fight them. If she had, they could've gotten this over with downstairs. Amadis actually believes they can work together and accomplish something.
Her eye contact is so intense they can feel it even after looking away. "I never said it was."
Casi clenches their fists but no words come out. She seems to take this as a win. "You're not giving up. You heard that number? Six. There's only six of us left. One in three, Casi, it's a one in three shot."
"And they want both of us dead."
Amadis pauses before shaking her head, almost as if she's trying to convince herself too. "We don't know that for sure."
"Don't we?" He says bitterly.
Casi hates this feeling. They hate not caring but he's exhausted. This game, for them, has been nothing but loss. Meg was gone so quickly, and for no reason. Now Lawrence, someone that Casi never meant to care about, is gone too. Casi doesn't want to give up. At the back of his mind, he can still admit that they want this. It just feels so far away and all of the plotting and scheming feels so pointless. And the worst part is that this sort of problem-solving used to be what they lived for.
They lower his head back down into their hands. I don't even recognize myself. He wants to see in themself what he sees in Amadis right now. He just doesn't. It's one more thing that this game has taken from them.
"There's a door downstairs," Amadis says slowly. She knows she's getting through to them, she can feel it. She needs the same Casi from downstairs that was eager to find answers even if there might not be any. She knows he's gone through a lot, more than she understands. She also knows that he isn't the type to give up.
Or maybe Amadis just hopes that he isn't. "I heard it a few days ago, but I never got a chance to find it. Maybe that's something. It could lead to a new part of the prison, maybe somewhere-"
Amadis isn't sure what stops her first, the loud creak that cuts through the room or the resurgence of her earlier uneasiness. She supposes it doesn't matter, both meld in the pit of her stomach until they become almost indistinguishable. She swallows and searches the room, trying to find the source. Amadis can't remember if she's heard anything similar in the past days.
"And why do you think we'd be able to find it now? Casi asks. It takes her several seconds to even remember what they'd been talking about. She can't tear her mind away from the sound. She gives Casi a look and starts back towards the morgue's door. She's not even certain which direction it came from.
Amadis just knows that she's not going to be able to ignore it. "I think we should go."
Any hope of hearing a response is lost completely in a loud rumbling that makes Amadis absolutely certain that she was right. Her eyes widen and she turns quickly, but at first there's no sign of what's causing the sound. She tries to stop herself from trembling before realizing that she isn't. It's the ground under her feet that's shaking.
"Casi!" She shouts but is almost immediately knocked to the ground. Amadis crawls across the floor as quickly as her limbs will take her. She remembers a door being this way. She doesn't know which door. It doesn't matter. She needs to get to it. In this moment nothing else matters. "Casi, the door!"
Dust speckles her vision as she finds a door and throws herself through. She's breathing hard, but it feels like she's inhaling nothing but flakes of concrete. Amadis tries to rub it away but it's quickly replaced. She can't see anything. She squints, trying to see just enough to tell her that she's safe but it's all a blur. Amadis can barely make out the outlines of what might be boxes before the ground starts to dip under her.
Amadis screams but she doesn't know where to go. She's trying to push herself up off the ground when she feels someone hook under her arm. She almost sobs with relief as she's pulled to steady ground. Amadis' legs give out almost immediately when they let go, but the loud rumbling seems to have paused and the floor doesn't move again.
"Are you okay?" It's not the voice she's expecting. Amadis' chest is still rising too quickly but she's able to lift a hand to wipe her eyes. They still burn with concrete, but even the outline is enough for Amadis to know who it was that saved her.
She nods even though she's not sure that she is. She needs to find Casi, to make sure that he gets out, but it's hard to focus on anyone but the girl in front of her. "Dom?"
Level 4 - Library - 10:35 PM
Marcy can't even bring herself to stand as chunks of concrete rain down between the bookshelves. She sits as tightly curled as she has since arriving here, like the mere act of showing her stomach will kill her instantly. She can't be sure that it won't. She isn't sure of anything anymore.
The tears that sit at the edges of her eyes feel like they've been there for hours. They make everything in the room feel incomplete, like it continues off somewhere that Marcy can't see. Even the loud collapse of the floor above her head feels somehow coated in stale tears. She stares up as another large piece falls through the open ceiling. It's closer, as close as when the rumbling first started. Still, Marcy doesn't move.
Instead, she traces the line of char that sits atop every visible piece of cement above her. The dust that falls around the library is equal parts grey and soot. It matches perfectly the layer of ash that Marcy hasn't been able to get off her clothes.
She watches and she already knows. She listens silently as if already expecting what she's going to hear. The parts of the ceiling closest to the edge where Marcy sits haven't fallen. Once again, her own mistakes never manage to hurt her in return.
"Casimir Kaminski has been eliminated. Five contestants remain."
Marcy cries soundlessly into her knees, the old tears staining her pants as new ones take their place. She left her friend. She caused the fire. Now, she has every reason to believe that she caused this too. The char and ash that coat the falling chunks of concrete can't just be a coincidence. Marcy knows that fire damage can go far deeper than it appears. It's why so many of the rooms at the University had to be completely rebuilt after she was arrested.
It's all my fault. The accusatory voice only makes her cry harder. Tears cause the stains on her knees to widen but it doesn't feel like a release. No, the tears feel like just as much of a prison as the walls that surround her. Marcy folds her arms around her knees and closes her eyes tightly. I didn't want to hurt anyone.
The last thing she's ever wanted is for someone to get hurt because of her. Yet, all she's done here is exactly that. The fire that she caused killed Ramsey. The ceiling collapsing because of her fire no doubt killed Casimir. And the fact that she left Eris behind made sure that her only friend was alone when she finally died.
I couldn't even do that much. I couldn't even stay.
Marcy doesn't know why anyone decided to bring her here. She doesn't deserve a second chance. No matter what her intent, all she does is destroy. She doesn't want to be this. She doesn't want to do this. She can't keep listening to the growing list of names that have suffered because of her. She's scared - everyone here is scared - but this is different.
Marcy's scared of herself. She's terrified that every headline she's ever seen about herself has been right. She doesn't feel like a bad person, but looking at the destruction she's caused, how can she believe herself to be anything else?
I couldn't even stay.
She looks up at the concrete dust as it settles around her. The room smells just as much like smoke as the level above used to. Marcy doesn't know what she's supposed to do. Nothing feels like enough. Nothing feels right. Everything has fallen but somehow she has the nerve to still stand.
She finally closes her eyes so that, for just a moment, she won't have to see it.
8th: Eris Perrault, 17
7th: Myra Ranet, 17
6th: Casimir Kaminski, 17
A/N: Action chapters are never my favourites, but I must say I had some good fun writing this one. A multi-death chapter should come as no surprise, seeing as how close we are to the end of the story. Only four more chapters to go.
I would like to thank and apologize to the submitters that lost their characters this chapter. Laney, Eris was one of the most relatable characters in this cast. She had a very clear voice that made her stand out and I really loved exploring her relationship with Marcy and with herself. Moose, you know how much I love Myra. She was one who I immediately clicked with and I saw a lot of potential in. She had wonderful emotionality to her that made her so easy to fit into plots and I'll miss her dearly. Finally, phobie we have Casi. What a freak (affectionate) but also such a joy to write. I feel the most guilty about his plots because of how deeply I had to break this poor creature. At this point, it was simply time to let them rest. Thank you all for trusting me with your creations and I hope you enjoyed the ride.
And, of course, thank you to everyone still reading / discussing / reviewing / sending horrified remarks in my channel. It all means the world to me and I appreciate every single one of you.
~ Olive