always watching

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“Ugh…”

A lone groan sounds through a silent room.

The sound is muffled from where the figure, a boy, lays in an unceremonious, twisted pile of limbs on the floor. Face pressed into the thick and scratchy fabric of the carpet.

He struggles for a moment before sitting up, hands unable to find a solid position on the ground. Then, his red eyes search the room blearily and confused. A single pink pressure mark stretching across the skin between them, reaching from his chin to his eyebrow.

A bedroom. Large but not excessively so.

It’s well decorated, furnishings far fancier than anything he’d choose for himself. There’s a large wardrobe in the corner of the room, sat beside a vanity and dresser. All uncomfortably decorated with objects he recognises; a small handmade bag set beside an old hairbrush he’s had for years. Flowers reminiscent of the ones he used to pick from his family's garden when he was younger decorating the table next to a four-poster bed with silky satin sheets. Ones that were probably laid pristine before he had clumsily rolled off of the bed.

He stands up slowly, wringing his hands in an attempt to soothe his building concern. Normally this alone wouldn’t be enough to shake him. It’s not the first time he’s woken up somewhere unrecognisable and he doubts it will be that last, not with a life like his.

However this… this isn’t normal. It’s frightening. There are two things that immediately strike him as alarming.

Firstly, there are no windows. Framed paintings of an island landscape that don’t quite match the rest of the room now reside over where he suspects they once were. A brief inspection only proves him correct when he knocks gently against the water and hears a dull metal sound.

Secondly, the room seems to be artificially tailored to fit him. His own belongings stolen from his home and planted here although he was more than just a mere guest. It’s… unnatural…

He turns and walks apprehensively towards his collection of instruments that have been placed in the room's other corner. Thankfully it’s not all of them, but that seems to be more to do with the rooms limited space more than anything else. An unsettling shudder ripples up his spine. He hasn’t touched his instruments in months, why in the world would he bring them here... wherever here is...

Thin hands grapple automatically for a large round case, pulling at the cutesy seagull charm wrapped around the zipper and pulls. The case opens easily and he exhales a breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding at the sight of the cello inside, covered in familiar nicks and the squiggled collection of doodles at the bottom that contrast against the expensive and dark wood.

Then his face twists into a frown. This is definitely his cello but… there’s a looping signature staining the instrument, unrecognisable and not his own.

He grips his hair frustratedly, one hand tangling in the blond locks and the other pulling at the large patching of pink streaking through the left side of his head. Desperately, he tries to pick at his brain for any hint as to where he is or how he got here but the longer he tries the more his head aches and the answers deafeningly silent.

A small glint of red catches his attention and he looks up, directly into the light of the camera staring down at him from above the door frame. His heart all but stops.

‘Oh fuck! Oh Goddess, no!’ The blond thinks, horrified. He’s been kidnapped hasn’t he. He’d heard the stories of people like him going missing lately and doesn’t even want to begin to think of the implications.

Luckily or unluckily, before he can a dull ringing sound pierces through the air and his thoughts alike. He startles, whipping around to stare at the sofa near the foot of the bed, a small box rests against the deep red fabric. Hesitantly he picks it up and shakes it cautiously, pausing for a moment before opening it and ripping the contents into his palm.

It’s a pda of some kind, small and blinking innocently up at him. When he presses a finger to the screen, he watches as it lights up with a small string of messages.

[Meet in the Grand Hall.] Reads the first.

[No dawdling, I am not a very patient person.] Follows the second only a few beats later.

He forces down the rising terror in his heart with a strained gulp, willing his nerves away. Whoever this person is, wherever they are, they can see him.

Shakily, he walks over to where his jacket is hanging on the wall and slips the device into one of its pockets before pulling it on over his shirt. He’s a stubborn man but he doesn’t want to find out what happens if he refuses to comply.

A pair of boots are propped up by the door, he grabs them, sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. Then he stands, smoothing out his skirt and walks back across the room. His hands find the brim of his hat as he passes the dresser, he pulls it deftly onto his head as he walks, not bothering to check the state of his hair in the mirror.

Glancing down at the instruments shoved half-hazardly in the corner he feels a strange tug at his heart. It’s been a very long time since he’s even touched the blasted things, the thought of ever playing again makes his skin feel like it’s burning. But… even still he doesn't trust them to be safe on their own here, strange signature or not. He sighs frustratedly, pulling the strap of the cello over his head until it sits comfortably on his back.

Unable to do anything other than hope the other instruments are still there the next time he comes back to this room, he stomps across the room and tugs at the door handle with a little more force than necessary, almost tripping over himself when the door comes to a sudden stop halfway through its swing. A surprised shriek rings out, followed by a heavy thunk that has the blond twisting to peer around the door with blinking eyes, shifting his view downwards towards the vaguely person shaped purple heap on the ground.

The swathe of fabric springs up in a flurry of flailing motions and rushed, tumbling apologies. It’s another boy, just shy of an inch taller than the blond. His features all carry a sense of skittishness, deep purple hair poofed out like a scared cat and wide green eyes already misting with tears. The oversized coat he is wearing does nothing to assist with his quite frankly pathetic appearance, instead making him look shapeless and small especially when weighed down by the ridiculously sized backpack on his shoulders.

The musician oogles the boy, unimpressed and half expecting him to crumple under the bags weight at a moment's notice. Seriously, the thing is almost as big as he is. Bulging out at its seams so much that he can eye the contents slipping out of the gaps in the fabric. Most of it seems like useless rubbish but... the little plush rabbit hanging out of the packs fastening is admittedly pretty cute.

“Calm the hell down kid.” The blond starts bluntly, staring the other down and causing him to jump.

“Ah! Sorry!” He starts, voice frantic as he waves his own pda in front of his face. “You see I was just following what this told me too but then you were outside and I didn’t mean to be in the way and now-“

The blond slaps his hand over the purple haired boy's mouth. “Ok, you shut up for a second.”

Green eyes blink at him mutely, eyebrows raised in a sheepish expression as he fiddled with the edges of his floor length scarf. When it’s clear he won’t try to talk again the blond boy removes his hand. “Let me guess, you were kidnapped too?”

“Yep!” He replies, eyes closed in a forced but oddly happy smile.

Pulling his hat down his head to cover his face, the other boy groans into it, mumbling more to himself than the boy in front of him. “Ok...ok... I can work with this...”

“Uh... are you ok Mr.... um what do I call you?” The green eyed boy questions, voice trailing off as he waits for a name.

Looking over the rim of his hat with a single eye he blinks slowly and then moves to place the hat back on his head as he huffs.

“Right... well I’m.... I’m uh...” He starts before freezing suddenly, confusion and discomfort crawling up his body in waves as he finds himself numb in a nauseating way. His head spiking with pain again and he closes his eyes tight against the feeling.

“I... I don’t know...” He says dumbly, because that’s the honest truth. He reaches his hands into the recesses of his mind and finds nothing but swirling shadows.

“I don’t know either.” The reply comes slowly by a voice equally pained and quiet.

“Oh for fucks sake, amnesia?” He says, voice pitching high with incredulity.

“Hey!” The scarfed boy pouts. “Language.”

“Fuck off.” He retorts sharply, grabbing the boy by the arm and dragging him down the hallway. “C’mon, hurry up or I’m leaving you.”

“Ack!” He yelps, face pulling into a pout and he stumbles after the blond. “Jeez, there’s no need to be so rough!”

Embarrassingly, it takes the two of them far too long to read the Grand Hall that was mentioned in the message. Between the nervous babbling of the boy in purple and a whole lot of getting lost, the red eyed boy practically sage in relief as the intricate doors finally come into view.

He rolls them in exasperation as he feels the other boy grab at his shoulders using him as a human-shield as he pushes him towards the door. Moving his hands to grab at the doors handles with as much false confidence as he can muster for the deadweight companion clinging to him fearfully. He can hear voices coming from inside, too muffled for him to hear clearly but loud enough for him to grip the metal beneath his fingers a little more tersely.

‘Goddess, give him strength.’ He thinks bitterly, cursing his curious nature. Even if the other boy wasn’t subtly attempting to push him towards their potential death he knows he would have opened the door anyway. ‘Well here goes nothing.’

The door clicks and scrapes across the ground noisily when he pushes it open. The crowd of people inside silence their conversation, their lashing doubts and concerns fading as they turn to look at the pair with cautious eyes. He can count 10 bodies total. Feeling sick to his stomach when he notices three children standing as part of the group. The youngest doesn't look any older than ten.

He bites his tongue, swallowing the feeling down. ‘Keep it together.’

Next to him the purple-hair boy flinches, attempting to hide behind him. He steps out the way uncaringly, ignoring the squeak of protest from the other as the others turn their sharp gaze to him.

“So like… you guys agree this sucks too right?” A young and juvenile voice breaks through the long and awkward silence.

“I can think of better places to be.” He sneers back his reply. To his credit the boy doesn’t falter at his tone, the small smile staying impassively on his tanned skin and he shrugs.

“You’re taking this rather well.” Comes the clipped retort of a tall blond in a camo print hoodie as he places a hand on the younger boy's shoulder.

“Yeah well-“

“Is that a fucking gun.” The musician blurts out dumbly, staring at the taller man’s back. Growing only more tense when the other doesn’t respond. Instead the blond just eyes him critically with steel blue eyes, nods slightly and walks off.

“Ignore him.” The girl who had previously stood next to the man shifts uncomfortably and offers the two a strained smile. “I… I think he’s just a little paranoid.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” He deadpans, already fed up with the entire situation.

She frowns, pinching at her own arm worriedly. Her breath hitching as she goes to respond. “What d-“

A loud crackling sound startles them all out of speaking, snapping to attention with rigid spines as they look back and forth for the sound. Then a tinny voice permeates across a set of speakers. The sound is surprisingly poor in quality given their rather elegant surroundings, but he can’t help but think that it is perhaps intentional; the static staining the voice makes it all the more hard to recognise.

“As much as I hate to interrupt, I gathered you guys here for a reason.”

“And that is?” Comes the bold and steady voice of the tallest man in the room. His confidence seems warranted given his appearance. A muscular build, with icy platinum hair and the scar running down the side of his face.

“To play a game.” The voice says monotonously, as if bored. “I guess you could call it an escape game.”

“Yeah, well I never signed up to be part of some stupid escape game!” Replies the aggressive voice of the young boy from before. “I didn’t sign up to be kidnapped either!”

“I don’t care.” They reply. “You’re here now and it’d just be a waste to go home now after all the effort we put into this.”

“We?” The girl speaks, nervously.

“There’s more of you?” A darker haired boy wearing a cape around his shoulders questions from the other side of the room.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The voice hums playfully.

“You mentioned a game.” The tall man says, arms crossed over his chest as he stares into the camera mounted above the speaker.

“Sure did! A lot of time and effort was put into this so I’d really appreciate it if you guys would cooperate.”

“Why should we.” The man with the gun asks bitterly. “For all we know you are holding us hostage here.”

“Hostage?” The voice barks a loud laugh. “You’re the one with the gun buddy.”

The man frowns, biting his lip in thought before grabbing the gun from his back and pointing it towards the camera. Staring with an unreadable expression as the gun's rubber bullet bounces off of the lens and lands at his feet.

“You know what, I’ll be nice and let that slide this time.” They say amusedly. “Try that again and you’ll not be so lucky.”

“Just tell us what we’re supposed to do.” Another voice calls out, this one belonging to a tall brunet in flannel.

“I’m so glad you asked!” The voice chimes as the curtain for the stage pulls back to reveal a table. “First things first are these cute little friendship bracelets. Go on, put them on!”

“Friendship… bracelets..?” The purple-haired boy mumbles.

“Yeah, no thanks.” The musician says flatly. “They’re probably tracking devices.”

“Sure are!” The voice says, sounding all too pleased with themselves. “They’ll let you access different parts of the castle.”

“Wait, we're in a castle?” The loud kid shouts, starry eyed. “Cool!”

The long haired boy next to him eyes him strangely. “Did the decor not give that away?”

“Well how was I supposed to know!”

“Enough.” The pale-haired man with the stern expression says. “If these bracelets are to monitor us then why bother with the cameras.”

“Yes…” Agrees the brunet. “It’s a little… creepy… that I found one in the room I woke up in.”

“What, do you expect me to just sit and stare at a brick wall all day?”

“Well we’d expect you to let us go, given none of us asked to be here.” The girl says with a frown.

“Nice try.” They cackle. “But don’t worry the cameras in the bedrooms turn off if the doors are locked with only one person inside.”

“Yeah ok, even if that wasn’t the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard, do you really expect us to find clues for this ‘escape game’ in other people's bedrooms?” The blond musician spits.

“Well I mean in certain circumstances, sure.”

“Great.” He relies, annoyed and snapping his jaw shut. Turning to look at the gunman when he speaks.

“You have no right to keep us here against our will.”

“Yeah and?” The voice says flatly. “Look I’ve been trying to tell you how to get out of here for like fifteen minutes now it’s not my fault you don’t want to listen.”

“Then continue.” The tall blond requests, holding up a hand as if to tell the group to stay quiet.

“Nope, I’m not saying anymore till you put on these bracelets.”

“…I don’t trust this.” The caped boy says worriedly.

“Me neither…” Mumbles thr short curly-haired boy half hiding behind him.

“Look either you put them on or I don’t let you out of this room.”

“Are you… threatening us..?” The long haired boy asks.

“If that's what it takes to finally get this show on the road then sure, sounds great.”

There is a single beat of silence and then the stern blond speaks up again. “A question first. If I may.”

“You’re killing me here.” The voice cries, exasperated. “What?”

“Are you going to explain why we don’t remember our names?”

“Aw, don’t worry your new names will be given out shortly!”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Well that’s what I’m answering.” They retort simply. “Now, are you all gonna behave or what?”

The group look at each other for a while, nervous, each daring someone to make the first move. Surprisingly, out of everyone it is the little platinum haired boy who walks forward towards the table. He reaches towards the table and plunges his hand into the jar of metal bracelets, snapping it onto his wrist with a blank expression before grabbing a second and hands it his older carbon copy. Their self appointed leader so far.

The man in question takes it from the child’s hand and puts it on gingerly. Then slowly, one by one, the rest of the group follow, snapping the cold metal around their wrists until only the man in the camo print remains. The group stares at him expectantly as he holds the band in his hand with a frown on his face. He caves eventually, and with a bitter look slides it over his hand.

“Good.” The voice says, sickly sweet with malice dripping into their voice. “Let’s begin.”

With that the bands around the groups wrists tighten unbearably, a sinister crunch as the metal presses hard into their skin. The musician finds himself biting back a hiss as a sharp stabbing pain strikes at the centre and he watches in morbid fascination as the shallow indent in the metal steadily turns red as it fills with blood. A light flickers on the back of the band in a similar shade as if powered by the beating of his own heart.

“Well now.” Before he has the chance to question what is going on the voice speaks, the sound crackling menacingly through the old speakers. “If you want to get out of here then you only need to do one thing.”

Everyone is silent as they wait for the voice to continue, staring at the beady red light of the camera with nerves fried and cold sweat skin.

“Kill someone.”

“What?!” Everyone screams simultaneously, in a crude mix of outrage, and horror.

“Provided you don’t get caught, I’ll let you go.”

“Y-you can’t-“

“Now let’s go over the rules.”

“R-rules..?” Comes the woozy voice of the curly hair brunet. A glance over in his direction reveals the boy's wide glassy eyes and quickly paling skin.

“Well of course. The game has to be fair after all.” They say mockingly. “Lucky you that this game’s so simple.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think we’d agree to something like this!” The tallest shouts.

“Rule One.” They start, ignoring him easily. “If a person dies, it will be up to you to investigate their death. After which a trial will be held where you will vote for who you think the killer is.”

“This is absurd!”

“Rule Two. If the killer is unsuccessful and gets voted against during the trial they will be executed and the game will continue.” The voice drawls as if reading the information from a script. ”However, if they are successful they will be free to leave the castle and the rest of you will be executed instead.”

Staring at the speaker blankly, the group's minds are racing. Shocked into silence as the reality of their situation begins to sink in. The blond musician finds his hands tangling into his hair once again, tugging at his bangs in an attempt to keep himself focused.

“Rule Three.” The voice continues without mercy. “You may only kill a maximum of two people at a time, yourself not included.”

‘This can’t be real.’ The blond can’t help but think, hands shaking. The others around him silent, unable to respond with voices trapped by their own shock and terror.

“Rule Four. When a body is found by three or more people a bell with sound and the investigation will begin.”

He feels faint, only vaguely aware of the vice grip the purple-haired boy has on his arm. ‘This is a nightmare.’

“Rule Five. Failure to cooperate or follow the rules will result in a… severe punishment. New rules may be added later if I think it’s needed.”

‘Kill or be killed.’ He thinks dumbly, feeling the metal around his arm burn. Despite this he feels cold, like all the blood in his body had turned to ice as a feeling of hopelessness fills him. If he were any less painfully aware he might’ve thought he had already died. ‘There’s no way to win here.’