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Hi this is 3.6k words and I summarized a lot. So. Uhm. Deal with that. If this is incoherent then just... bully me gently? I'm okay with light bullying. TW for very light descriptions of gore and adult situations.
Summary:
The gang experiences the new trial for the first time. The girls bond. Gunner demonstrates healthy coping mechanisms for when you are tasked with killing someone in an unnecessarily direct and cruel way. Sydney does the same. Christine has big feelings. The end. I need to do more with Grace she has a lot of interesting lore I do nothing with and I feel bad. Also peep me desperately trying to stay off my soap box at one point.
The moment the trial gates open, Christine grimaces. βEw. Immediately ew.β
βGrow up, you've drilled a guy's dick off his body before, a grunt humping a mannequin is the least concerning shit we've seen all week,β Sydney shoots back. Christine supposes she has a point. She still didn't like seeing the man grind himself against the plastic doll.Β
βLet's just get moving, I don't particularly want to stare at the man either,β Grace speaks up, looking to Gunner to lead. He hums in agreement and begins trudging forward, giving the frisky grunt a wide berth.
βStay where I can see you all or stay hidden, we don't know what to expect while we're here and I can't risk someone going down while Grace or I are too far away to help,β Gunner says, flipping his x-ray on as he rounded the corner and entered the prison gates.
βLots of idle grunts nearby andβ¦ One of those new things, a, uh, biter? Is that what we're calling them?β Gunner asks as he drops to a crouch and peeks around the edge of the fence to see the armless human before them. This one is male, at least he's pretty sure.
βA what?β Christine asks, peeking past Gunner to see just in time for the biter to jerk its masked head up and lock eyes with her.Β
The biter growls furiously as it spots Christine, and charges. She yelps, springing back slightly before the chain attached to the biter goes taught, and yanks the poor thing back. It lands flat on its ass with a painful thud, and begins to try to scramble back to its feet again. Sydney giggles a bit at the sight.
βInto that shed. It's dark and the dumb dogs donβt have much of an attention span, itβll move on pretty quick if it canβt see us.β Sydney points at a doorway leading into a storage area, the interior pitch black. The group all slink over, and as they disappear into the darkness, the biter grunts and thrashes a few more times before going silent.
They find the key they need quickly, Gunner sneaking back to the locked room they'd passed to get the detonator. Everything seems to be going well until Sydney peeks around the corner one more time to look at the biter while Gunner sets the detonator timer.
βI can't believe they're letting us use bombs,β Christine says idly.
βDon't stand too close,β Grace chastises Christine briefly before the snarls of the biter picked up again. It had spotted Sydney staring at it, and was beginning to charge once more.Β
Sydney smiles at the creature, giggling as it yanks at its chain once more, then twice, and thenβ¦Β
SNAP!Β
The sound seems to echo through the trial environment, and the biter falls flat on its face, momentarily prone but free. It begins to scramble to its feet quickly.
βShit! Hurry it up with the bomb!β Christine yelps just as the wall explodes.
Sydney hucks her stun at the biter frantically as it screams and lunges, giving them just enough time to bolt for the now open sewers.
βI didnβt know those chains broke so easy! Damn!β Sydney says with a slight panicked pant as they pass through the sewer.
βI guess we didn't alert the one in the courthouse enough to let it break free. We'll have to be more careful,β Gunner hums, ducking into the next room.
There is a strange energy in the stairwell, and an even stranger set of noises echoing through the area. Coyle is nearby, talking rather quietly to⦠someone else. Another man? The other voice is deep and masculine, but nasally, like his nose was broken or plugged up. Both of them sounded out of breath, and Christine and Sydney exchanged a look.
Christine and Sydney hadnβt had time to tell the others about the documents Sydney had found or the things sheβd learned about the trial from other reagents before a guard had called Christine by name to participate in the therapy this time. Then theyβd kinda jumped right in, Gunner was still tired from the last therapy session and wouldnβt be much help for much longer, so they were in a bit of a hurry. As they round the corner and look out at the showers though, everyone in the group quickly learns exactly what kind of trial this was going to be.Β
Gunner enters first, to make sure the room is clear of threats, and freezes where he stands, silently looking out at the showers as his face turned crimson and his shoulders tightened.Β
βWhat, whatβs happen-β Grace begins, but as she and the other two girls push into the room, they all freeze.
βYou didnβt tell me they were gonna be doinβ that where we could see themβ¦β Christine whispers to Sydney, trying not to stare.
βNo one said theyβd be all out in the open like that, I assumed thereβd be some sort of obstruction!β Sydney hisses back, very much staring.
The trial victim, the Warden, is down below, on his knees for the Sergeant. He gags and whimpers and praises the vile man above him, while Coyle talks dirty to him and urges him to continue. Christine feels a strange pang of anger pull at her gut, watching them like that. Sheβs heard the Sergeant talk during trials, she knows his beliefs.
βJust another fuckinβ hypocrite,β She growls, slamming her fist down on the button to start the trial.
For a moment, the group isnβt sure the button worked, but then thereβs a rumble in the nearby pipes, and the hiss of water spraying out everywhere. The mist it creates is cool to the touch, and the Warden jerks his head in surprise, letting out a whine at the sudden cold shower. In doing so, his jaw must have clenched, because Coyle howls in pain and backhands the man to the ground, throwing himself back and away from the pain and winding back to strike again until he seems to notice the water dripping off of his wide brimmed hat and onto his gloved hand. He turns, furious, towards the group in the office, and immediately clocks what had happened.
βYou wanna cut in on this dance?β Coyle screams, turning to hold a hand out to the Warden, who flinches away for a moment before he recognizes the gesture and nods. Heβs still clearly nervous, but he seems less immediately afraid. βYouβre gonna die on your knees, and I donβt mean prayinβ! Back to your pin, Fuckpig!β
βSome victim,β Christine growls as the pair leave.
βHe seems like heβs exactly where he wants to be, based on the shit he was saying,β Sydney huffs with a bitter laugh.
βI canβt fathom finding a single thing worthy of worship about that man,β Gunner grumbles, trudging out of the room and down the stairs with a huff.
The trial wasβ¦ frustrating. The steam valves were simple enough, Christine and Gunner had knocked those out quickly, it barely took them 5 minutes. The pig heads howeverβ¦
βI swear Iβve been in every fucking room in this stupid fucking farm and thereβs nothing! Where the fuck is it?β Sydney growls, pacing a bit in the dark of the cafeteria where theyβd regrouped. Coyleβs shock prod was buzzing distantly, but he wasnβt within earshot of the reagents quite yet.
βIβll do one more sweep, weβre sure no one dropped one while running from a grunt?β Gunner asked.
βPositive. I know the one I dropped got picked back up and shredded,β Grace sighed, also visibly frustrated.
βHow is your stun charge, Sydney?β Gunner asked, shifting his ESOP a bit to get more comfortable before he began sneaking about again.
βAbout a minute left before its battery is charged again. Need me to cover for you incase the dog gets loose?β She replies.
βYou really shouldnβt call them dogs, Sydney. Theyβre people. We need to remember all of the enemies we face here are people. Humans,β Grace chastises lightly. Christine nods in agreement.
βBarely! Look, I get wanting to remember that the victims are people, theyβre pretty lucid most of the time, but the ex-pops barely even know whatβs going on around them, some of them canβt even talk!β Sydney shoots back in defense.
βEnough. We donβt need to sit here arguing about who is and isnβt human while a very real and dangerous man is hunting us like prey. Letβs find this last pig head and get a move on,β Gunner interrupts, moving to the door that led to the farmyard. Sydney follows, her footsteps quiet, but noticeably heavier as she pouts.
The pig head is located on a bench in a perfectly well lit barn that Gunner and Sydney both agree they had already looked in. Sydney grumbles and complains about the whole ordeal but Gunner seems like heβs in a hurry, and keeps walking rather quickly back into the safety of the dark cafeteria. Just as the pair enter, they hear a delighted cackle and the sound of retching.
βServes you right you bigoted pig,β Christine says with a manic laugh as she and Grace round the corner of a dining table, just barely out of reach of a now staggering Coyle, who was angrily growling and screaming between bouts of nausea and vomiting.
No one in the party was particularly fond of Coyle. Grace, strangely, seemed the least phased by him. She still hated him, same as the others, but his bigoted remarks rarely got to her as often as they did the others, in particular Gunner. Grace had explained once that it was because she was used to the comments. Many people felt brave enough to speak to a black woman the way Coyle spoke, even in a big city like New York.Β
That had surprised Sydney the most. Sheβd assumed things were better up north, farther from the deep south where sheβd grown up. People from up there always acted like racism didnβt exist and that the south was making a bad name for Americans as a whole. Grace had explained that it was alive and well in the North, just a little more subtle to those who werenβt directly affected.Β
None of the crew had really known what to do with that information, so the conversation had died shortly after that. It was uncomfortable to realize that not a single one of them had been raised without the pressure of bigotry weighing on their shoulders in one way or another. Gunner had it the easiest, but even he had been hurt by others assumptions about his lifestyle before heβd joined the military.
Gunner cracks a smile as he watches Coyle hunch over and vomit one more time, and then takes the opportunity the distraction has bought him to lug the pig head out into the courtyard to shred the rotting flesh.
The final puzzle had been simple. Everyone took a number, and shared what they found over their radio. Grace had been the closest to the keypad when the final number was found, and types it in quickly. Excitement buzzed around the crew as the final gate swung open. Every one of them was tired and just wanted to go back to their sleep room cell and relax. The sooner they got this execution over with, the better.
Sydney ran up ahead first, checking everything out to see if there was anything they needed to worry about, any insertion gates nearby whatever device theyβd be operating to kill the poor warden. She froze as she opened the door to revealβ¦ nothing.Β
βWhat? How are we meant to kill him?β Grace mused, looking around the empty room and rather pointedly not at the naked man tied down to the desk.
Gunner and Sydney exchange a glance. They were the only members of the group who had ever been incarcerated, and they both recognized the objects tied to his desk.
βThe name of this trial makes more sense nowβ¦β Sydney says grimly, stepping forward gently and picking up one of the socks.
βYou donβt meanβ¦β Christine looks at the poor man in horror, picking up one of the socks as well.
βWe kill plenty of people in these trials, this is no different,β Gunner says, picking up a sock on the other side of the table as Grace joins him.
The weight of the locks feels heavier than it is in the girlsβ hands. Gunnerβs eyes are noticeably duller, and he seems unaffected by the prospect of what they need to do.
βThis is different. This is direct. No devices, no levers or pulleys, just a weapon and a man and our own hands,β Christine murmurs, saying aloud what the other two girls were thinking.
βHe isnβt a man. Heβs a pig. Said so himself, heβs Daddyβs little fuck-pig. And what happens when pigs get all nice and fat and outstay their welcome?β Gunnerβs tone is flat and aggressive in a way the others have only seen reserved for knocking a prime asset away from one of them. Heβs pushing something down, steeling himself for something. For murder, the girls all suppose. The Warden does his best to cower away, whimpering sadly, but he canβt move far.
βFat pigs get butchered,β Sydney whispers, her eyes getting a little duller as she says it. She was thinking about something else now as well, far away from that room.
Gunner raises the sock as high as he can, the tether keeping it attached to the desk limiting his range a bit, and swings it down with a disgusting thud. The Warden screams in pain, but it doesnβt even look like theyβve done anything to him yet. Sydney swings next, and the two trade blows on the Warden for a while before Christine closes her eyes, turns her head away, and joins them. Grace feels bile rise in her throat, but she follows suit. None of them wanted to be there longer than they needed to, and this was going to be a slow process.
Coyle never showed his face during the execution. The reagents were left alone in the room with the Warden the entire time, listening to him beg and cry for mercy and help that would never come until he let out one final gurgle of breath and went limp. None of them could tell if theyβd just finally hit an important organ or if heβd just finally bled out, but the pile of gore that was his body was an ugly sight regardless. A trial gate opened and Coyle busted down the doors only after the Warden was long dead, and the group scrambled quickly away, Sydney hucking her stun at him as they left to buy them a little extra time. Sheβd found a rig recharger while looking for the last pig head, so she wasnβt worried about getting to the shuttle.
They were all pleasantly surprised to find the shuttle already there when they arrived back at their starting point, but the vile nature of the execution still hung in the air and stifled any comments they would have normally made. The ride back was quiet. No one wanted to talk about what theyβd done. It had been similar when theyβd killed Lot 7 for the first time, or the Idol. The brutal methods used on the Lot and the personable nature of the Idol had left a sour taste in their mouths when theyβd been forced to participate. This was similar.
When they stepped out and into the decontamination area, Eastermanβs praises rang through the chamber. All A+βs, they had all avoided detection for most of the trial and outran anything that spotted them. Trials with Gunner tended toΒ end in A+βs though. He was a valuable teammate.
When they all got back to the sleep room, Gunner wandered off to the cafeteria to eat and play chess. He always enjoyed playing chess after a trial, it seemed to pull him back to reality after a particularly rough execution. Grace went back to her room to sew, sheβd been itching to finish a project for a long while and had been very close when they were summoned for their trial. Sydney and Christine just stood near the nurseβs station for a while, not really doing or saying much. Both seemed a little dazed before Christineβs endorphins finally wore off and she began to cry. Sydney turned to her, startled and still a little dazed, and Christine bolted for her room. Sydney followed at a trot.
When they were in the safety of Christineβs cell, the girl finally let out a scream that sounded equal parts angry and devastated, throwing her hollowed out book on her desk at a wall and watching as various contraband scattered around the room as it fell open. She kicked her bedpost, threw her chair, and screamed again, tears streaming down her face as Sydney watched quietly.
βFuck!β Christine howled, slumping down to the floor knees first, her legs splayed beneath her as she grabbed at her hair and pulled gently on the root. She never pulled hard enough to yank it out, but the slight pressure tended to comfort her in a weird way.
Sydney padded over to her and plopped down on the ground nearby, placing a gentle hand on her back and leaving it there, knowing that moving the hand was likely too much for Christine to handle.
βWe didnβt have a choice, Chris. We never have a choice. It was him or us,β Sydney said, trying to comfort her friend as best she could.
βIβve never had to do that beforeβ¦β Christine whimpered softly, sobs still shaking her body as they escaped.
βWhat are you talking about, youβve been here longer than me, you've killed plenty of people.β
βIβve never killed someone with my bare hands. Itβs always been with those stupidβ¦ Machines. The mechanisms. That separation. Iβve never killed someone like that. We fucking killed him. All because he liked Coyle too much,β Christine said, slumping over and leaning on Sydney for comfort. She was exhausted.
βYou get used to the feeling the more you do it,β Sydney replied quietly, wrapping her arms around Christine gently and rubbing at her arms in a way she hoped was soothing. It had always been soothing when her mother did it to her as a small child, before everything had gone wrong.
βI donβt want to get used to it. I want to never have to do it again. Ever.β
βThat isnβt how a place like this works and we both know that,β Sydney hums.
Thereβs a pause for a brief moment, then Christine speaks up again, her sobs beginning to calm but her throat still spasming on a hiccup every few moments. Sheβd moved a bit so her head was resting in Sydneyβs lap while Sydney combed her fingers through the other girlβs hair.Β
βDid we kill him for being queer?β She asks. Sydney doesnβt respond for a moment.
βI meanβ¦ We didnβt. But it may be part of why they wanted us to kill him. I think it was more about the corruption of power he represented though.β
βThey wanted me dead back home for being a dyke. Sβwhy I left. I had a good life there, but I got sloppy. Comfortable. They found out andβ¦β She paused. βShe didnβt even have to leave. She still lived there last I heard. Went to some sorta meetings, repented, all that. Pretended she never knew me, that Iβd taken advantage, said she never wanted nothing to do with me. Not a word a what she told them βbout me was true and I couldnβt even start to defend myself because everything she said was something they already believed. I was the bad seed from the moment I was born and she was beautiful and perfect and good. Of course I tried to tempt her, to defile her. Itβs all monsters like me do.β
It was a bad time, but Sydney always found it cute that Christine's accent would get thicker when she was tired or upset. She smiled softly. βI donβt think youβre a monster, Chris.β
βYou must be forgetful, last I checked Iβve killed dozens of people in this hellhole. Of course Iβm a monster,β Christine huffed, curling in on herself a bit.
βI know monsters Chris. Iβve been one since I was 13, probably before that. Mother Gooseberry made sure of it. You arenβt a monster,β Sydney said with a gentle hum.
βYou were a baby. Babies canβt be monsters,β Christine replied, her eyes getting heavy as the feeling of Sydneyβs fingers on her scalp slowly pushed her anger and fear away.
Hi this is 3.6k words and I summarized a lot. So. Uhm. Deal with that. If this is incoherent then just... bully me gently? I'm okay with light bullying. TW for very light descriptions of gore and adult situations.
Summary:
The gang experiences the new trial for the first time. The girls bond. Gunner demonstrates healthy coping mechanisms for when you are tasked with killing someone in an unnecessarily direct and cruel way. Sydney does the same. Christine has big feelings. The end. I need to do more with Grace she has a lot of interesting lore I do nothing with and I feel bad. Also peep me desperately trying to stay off my soap box at one point.
The moment the trial gates open, Christine grimaces. βEw. Immediately ew.β
βGrow up, you've drilled a guy's dick off his body before, a grunt humping a mannequin is the least concerning shit we've seen all week,β Sydney shoots back. Christine supposes she has a point. She still didn't like seeing the man grind himself against the plastic doll.Β
βLet's just get moving, I don't particularly want to stare at the man either,β Grace speaks up, looking to Gunner to lead. He hums in agreement and begins trudging forward, giving the frisky grunt a wide berth.
βStay where I can see you all or stay hidden, we don't know what to expect while we're here and I can't risk someone going down while Grace or I are too far away to help,β Gunner says, flipping his x-ray on as he rounded the corner and entered the prison gates.
βLots of idle grunts nearby andβ¦ One of those new things, a, uh, biter? Is that what we're calling them?β Gunner asks as he drops to a crouch and peeks around the edge of the fence to see the armless human before them. This one is male, at least he's pretty sure.
βA what?β Christine asks, peeking past Gunner to see just in time for the biter to jerk its masked head up and lock eyes with her.Β
The biter growls furiously as it spots Christine, and charges. She yelps, springing back slightly before the chain attached to the biter goes taught, and yanks the poor thing back. It lands flat on its ass with a painful thud, and begins to try to scramble back to its feet again. Sydney giggles a bit at the sight.
βInto that shed. It's dark and the dumb dogs donβt have much of an attention span, itβll move on pretty quick if it canβt see us.β Sydney points at a doorway leading into a storage area, the interior pitch black. The group all slink over, and as they disappear into the darkness, the biter grunts and thrashes a few more times before going silent.
They find the key they need quickly, Gunner sneaking back to the locked room they'd passed to get the detonator. Everything seems to be going well until Sydney peeks around the corner one more time to look at the biter while Gunner sets the detonator timer.
βI can't believe they're letting us use bombs,β Christine says idly.
βDon't stand too close,β Grace chastises Christine briefly before the snarls of the biter picked up again. It had spotted Sydney staring at it, and was beginning to charge once more.Β
Sydney smiles at the creature, giggling as it yanks at its chain once more, then twice, and thenβ¦Β
SNAP!Β
The sound seems to echo through the trial environment, and the biter falls flat on its face, momentarily prone but free. It begins to scramble to its feet quickly.
βShit! Hurry it up with the bomb!β Christine yelps just as the wall explodes.
Sydney hucks her stun at the biter frantically as it screams and lunges, giving them just enough time to bolt for the now open sewers.
βI didnβt know those chains broke so easy! Damn!β Sydney says with a slight panicked pant as they pass through the sewer.
βI guess we didn't alert the one in the courthouse enough to let it break free. We'll have to be more careful,β Gunner hums, ducking into the next room.
There is a strange energy in the stairwell, and an even stranger set of noises echoing through the area. Coyle is nearby, talking rather quietly to⦠someone else. Another man? The other voice is deep and masculine, but nasally, like his nose was broken or plugged up. Both of them sounded out of breath, and Christine and Sydney exchanged a look.
Christine and Sydney hadnβt had time to tell the others about the documents Sydney had found or the things sheβd learned about the trial from other reagents before a guard had called Christine by name to participate in the therapy this time. Then theyβd kinda jumped right in, Gunner was still tired from the last therapy session and wouldnβt be much help for much longer, so they were in a bit of a hurry. As they round the corner and look out at the showers though, everyone in the group quickly learns exactly what kind of trial this was going to be.Β
Gunner enters first, to make sure the room is clear of threats, and freezes where he stands, silently looking out at the showers as his face turned crimson and his shoulders tightened.Β
βWhat, whatβs happen-β Grace begins, but as she and the other two girls push into the room, they all freeze.
βYou didnβt tell me they were gonna be doinβ that where we could see themβ¦β Christine whispers to Sydney, trying not to stare.
βNo one said theyβd be all out in the open like that, I assumed thereβd be some sort of obstruction!β Sydney hisses back, very much staring.
The trial victim, the Warden, is down below, on his knees for the Sergeant. He gags and whimpers and praises the vile man above him, while Coyle talks dirty to him and urges him to continue. Christine feels a strange pang of anger pull at her gut, watching them like that. Sheβs heard the Sergeant talk during trials, she knows his beliefs.
βJust another fuckinβ hypocrite,β She growls, slamming her fist down on the button to start the trial.
For a moment, the group isnβt sure the button worked, but then thereβs a rumble in the nearby pipes, and the hiss of water spraying out everywhere. The mist it creates is cool to the touch, and the Warden jerks his head in surprise, letting out a whine at the sudden cold shower. In doing so, his jaw must have clenched, because Coyle howls in pain and backhands the man to the ground, throwing himself back and away from the pain and winding back to strike again until he seems to notice the water dripping off of his wide brimmed hat and onto his gloved hand. He turns, furious, towards the group in the office, and immediately clocks what had happened.
βYou wanna cut in on this dance?β Coyle screams, turning to hold a hand out to the Warden, who flinches away for a moment before he recognizes the gesture and nods. Heβs still clearly nervous, but he seems less immediately afraid. βYouβre gonna die on your knees, and I donβt mean prayinβ! Back to your pin, Fuckpig!β
βSome victim,β Christine growls as the pair leave.
βHe seems like heβs exactly where he wants to be, based on the shit he was saying,β Sydney huffs with a bitter laugh.
βI canβt fathom finding a single thing worthy of worship about that man,β Gunner grumbles, trudging out of the room and down the stairs with a huff.
The trial wasβ¦ frustrating. The steam valves were simple enough, Christine and Gunner had knocked those out quickly, it barely took them 5 minutes. The pig heads howeverβ¦
βI swear Iβve been in every fucking room in this stupid fucking farm and thereβs nothing! Where the fuck is it?β Sydney growls, pacing a bit in the dark of the cafeteria where theyβd regrouped. Coyleβs shock prod was buzzing distantly, but he wasnβt within earshot of the reagents quite yet.
βIβll do one more sweep, weβre sure no one dropped one while running from a grunt?β Gunner asked.
βPositive. I know the one I dropped got picked back up and shredded,β Grace sighed, also visibly frustrated.
βHow is your stun charge, Sydney?β Gunner asked, shifting his ESOP a bit to get more comfortable before he began sneaking about again.
βAbout a minute left before its battery is charged again. Need me to cover for you incase the dog gets loose?β She replies.
βYou really shouldnβt call them dogs, Sydney. Theyβre people. We need to remember all of the enemies we face here are people. Humans,β Grace chastises lightly. Christine nods in agreement.
βBarely! Look, I get wanting to remember that the victims are people, theyβre pretty lucid most of the time, but the ex-pops barely even know whatβs going on around them, some of them canβt even talk!β Sydney shoots back in defense.
βEnough. We donβt need to sit here arguing about who is and isnβt human while a very real and dangerous man is hunting us like prey. Letβs find this last pig head and get a move on,β Gunner interrupts, moving to the door that led to the farmyard. Sydney follows, her footsteps quiet, but noticeably heavier as she pouts.
The pig head is located on a bench in a perfectly well lit barn that Gunner and Sydney both agree they had already looked in. Sydney grumbles and complains about the whole ordeal but Gunner seems like heβs in a hurry, and keeps walking rather quickly back into the safety of the dark cafeteria. Just as the pair enter, they hear a delighted cackle and the sound of retching.
βServes you right you bigoted pig,β Christine says with a manic laugh as she and Grace round the corner of a dining table, just barely out of reach of a now staggering Coyle, who was angrily growling and screaming between bouts of nausea and vomiting.
No one in the party was particularly fond of Coyle. Grace, strangely, seemed the least phased by him. She still hated him, same as the others, but his bigoted remarks rarely got to her as often as they did the others, in particular Gunner. Grace had explained once that it was because she was used to the comments. Many people felt brave enough to speak to a black woman the way Coyle spoke, even in a big city like New York.Β
That had surprised Sydney the most. Sheβd assumed things were better up north, farther from the deep south where sheβd grown up. People from up there always acted like racism didnβt exist and that the south was making a bad name for Americans as a whole. Grace had explained that it was alive and well in the North, just a little more subtle to those who werenβt directly affected.Β
None of the crew had really known what to do with that information, so the conversation had died shortly after that. It was uncomfortable to realize that not a single one of them had been raised without the pressure of bigotry weighing on their shoulders in one way or another. Gunner had it the easiest, but even he had been hurt by others assumptions about his lifestyle before heβd joined the military.
Gunner cracks a smile as he watches Coyle hunch over and vomit one more time, and then takes the opportunity the distraction has bought him to lug the pig head out into the courtyard to shred the rotting flesh.
The final puzzle had been simple. Everyone took a number, and shared what they found over their radio. Grace had been the closest to the keypad when the final number was found, and types it in quickly. Excitement buzzed around the crew as the final gate swung open. Every one of them was tired and just wanted to go back to their sleep room cell and relax. The sooner they got this execution over with, the better.
Sydney ran up ahead first, checking everything out to see if there was anything they needed to worry about, any insertion gates nearby whatever device theyβd be operating to kill the poor warden. She froze as she opened the door to revealβ¦ nothing.Β
βWhat? How are we meant to kill him?β Grace mused, looking around the empty room and rather pointedly not at the naked man tied down to the desk.
Gunner and Sydney exchange a glance. They were the only members of the group who had ever been incarcerated, and they both recognized the objects tied to his desk.
βThe name of this trial makes more sense nowβ¦β Sydney says grimly, stepping forward gently and picking up one of the socks.
βYou donβt meanβ¦β Christine looks at the poor man in horror, picking up one of the socks as well.
βWe kill plenty of people in these trials, this is no different,β Gunner says, picking up a sock on the other side of the table as Grace joins him.
The weight of the locks feels heavier than it is in the girlsβ hands. Gunnerβs eyes are noticeably duller, and he seems unaffected by the prospect of what they need to do.
βThis is different. This is direct. No devices, no levers or pulleys, just a weapon and a man and our own hands,β Christine murmurs, saying aloud what the other two girls were thinking.
βHe isnβt a man. Heβs a pig. Said so himself, heβs Daddyβs little fuck-pig. And what happens when pigs get all nice and fat and outstay their welcome?β Gunnerβs tone is flat and aggressive in a way the others have only seen reserved for knocking a prime asset away from one of them. Heβs pushing something down, steeling himself for something. For murder, the girls all suppose. The Warden does his best to cower away, whimpering sadly, but he canβt move far.
βFat pigs get butchered,β Sydney whispers, her eyes getting a little duller as she says it. She was thinking about something else now as well, far away from that room.
Gunner raises the sock as high as he can, the tether keeping it attached to the desk limiting his range a bit, and swings it down with a disgusting thud. The Warden screams in pain, but it doesnβt even look like theyβve done anything to him yet. Sydney swings next, and the two trade blows on the Warden for a while before Christine closes her eyes, turns her head away, and joins them. Grace feels bile rise in her throat, but she follows suit. None of them wanted to be there longer than they needed to, and this was going to be a slow process.
Coyle never showed his face during the execution. The reagents were left alone in the room with the Warden the entire time, listening to him beg and cry for mercy and help that would never come until he let out one final gurgle of breath and went limp. None of them could tell if theyβd just finally hit an important organ or if heβd just finally bled out, but the pile of gore that was his body was an ugly sight regardless. A trial gate opened and Coyle busted down the doors only after the Warden was long dead, and the group scrambled quickly away, Sydney hucking her stun at him as they left to buy them a little extra time. Sheβd found a rig recharger while looking for the last pig head, so she wasnβt worried about getting to the shuttle.
They were all pleasantly surprised to find the shuttle already there when they arrived back at their starting point, but the vile nature of the execution still hung in the air and stifled any comments they would have normally made. The ride back was quiet. No one wanted to talk about what theyβd done. It had been similar when theyβd killed Lot 7 for the first time, or the Idol. The brutal methods used on the Lot and the personable nature of the Idol had left a sour taste in their mouths when theyβd been forced to participate. This was similar.
When they stepped out and into the decontamination area, Eastermanβs praises rang through the chamber. All A+βs, they had all avoided detection for most of the trial and outran anything that spotted them. Trials with Gunner tended toΒ end in A+βs though. He was a valuable teammate.
When they all got back to the sleep room, Gunner wandered off to the cafeteria to eat and play chess. He always enjoyed playing chess after a trial, it seemed to pull him back to reality after a particularly rough execution. Grace went back to her room to sew, sheβd been itching to finish a project for a long while and had been very close when they were summoned for their trial. Sydney and Christine just stood near the nurseβs station for a while, not really doing or saying much. Both seemed a little dazed before Christineβs endorphins finally wore off and she began to cry. Sydney turned to her, startled and still a little dazed, and Christine bolted for her room. Sydney followed at a trot.
When they were in the safety of Christineβs cell, the girl finally let out a scream that sounded equal parts angry and devastated, throwing her hollowed out book on her desk at a wall and watching as various contraband scattered around the room as it fell open. She kicked her bedpost, threw her chair, and screamed again, tears streaming down her face as Sydney watched quietly.
βFuck!β Christine howled, slumping down to the floor knees first, her legs splayed beneath her as she grabbed at her hair and pulled gently on the root. She never pulled hard enough to yank it out, but the slight pressure tended to comfort her in a weird way.
Sydney padded over to her and plopped down on the ground nearby, placing a gentle hand on her back and leaving it there, knowing that moving the hand was likely too much for Christine to handle.
βWe didnβt have a choice, Chris. We never have a choice. It was him or us,β Sydney said, trying to comfort her friend as best she could.
βIβve never had to do that beforeβ¦β Christine whimpered softly, sobs still shaking her body as they escaped.
βWhat are you talking about, youβve been here longer than me, you've killed plenty of people.β
βIβve never killed someone with my bare hands. Itβs always been with those stupidβ¦ Machines. The mechanisms. That separation. Iβve never killed someone like that. We fucking killed him. All because he liked Coyle too much,β Christine said, slumping over and leaning on Sydney for comfort. She was exhausted.
βYou get used to the feeling the more you do it,β Sydney replied quietly, wrapping her arms around Christine gently and rubbing at her arms in a way she hoped was soothing. It had always been soothing when her mother did it to her as a small child, before everything had gone wrong.
βI donβt want to get used to it. I want to never have to do it again. Ever.β
βThat isnβt how a place like this works and we both know that,β Sydney hums.
Thereβs a pause for a brief moment, then Christine speaks up again, her sobs beginning to calm but her throat still spasming on a hiccup every few moments. Sheβd moved a bit so her head was resting in Sydneyβs lap while Sydney combed her fingers through the other girlβs hair.Β
βDid we kill him for being queer?β She asks. Sydney doesnβt respond for a moment.
βI meanβ¦ We didnβt. But it may be part of why they wanted us to kill him. I think it was more about the corruption of power he represented though.β
βThey wanted me dead back home for being a dyke. Sβwhy I left. I had a good life there, but I got sloppy. Comfortable. They found out andβ¦β She paused. βShe didnβt even have to leave. She still lived there last I heard. Went to some sorta meetings, repented, all that. Pretended she never knew me, that Iβd taken advantage, said she never wanted nothing to do with me. Not a word a what she told them βbout me was true and I couldnβt even start to defend myself because everything she said was something they already believed. I was the bad seed from the moment I was born and she was beautiful and perfect and good. Of course I tried to tempt her, to defile her. Itβs all monsters like me do.β
It was a bad time, but Sydney always found it cute that Christine's accent would get thicker when she was tired or upset. She smiled softly. βI donβt think youβre a monster, Chris.β
βYou must be forgetful, last I checked Iβve killed dozens of people in this hellhole. Of course Iβm a monster,β Christine huffed, curling in on herself a bit.
βI know monsters Chris. Iβve been one since I was 13, probably before that. Mother Gooseberry made sure of it. You arenβt a monster,β Sydney said with a gentle hum.
βYou were a baby. Babies canβt be monsters,β Christine replied, her eyes getting heavy as the feeling of Sydneyβs fingers on her scalp slowly pushed her anger and fear away.
Christine sits alone in her room, flipping through radio channels, listening carefully for even a crackle out of place. Easterman's voice rings through the room, poisoning the air with false promises and lame praise. There is a tension growing in her shoulders, but she persists. She's been at this for hours, since she woke up, and she intends to continue until she is forced into a trial by the guards.
Gunner gently knocks on her door. Christine doesn't respond. He knocks again.
"What?" Christine growls, not moving from her place at her desk.
"You missed the therapy today. The others are worried. I'm worried. Behavior like this is how... I... Nevermind. Have you eaten yet?" Gunner asks gently. He's been a little off the last few days, seeming a bit dazed and out of it, but he is regaining his gentle concern for the well-being of his girls.
"I don't need food right now. I can't miss her again, I can't let this go. I was so close! I could have left here with only a scar on my hand and rage at the cruelty of this place but I was too late. They'd already found her. Stopped us from leaving. And I've been stuck here, feeling their claws rip my brain apart piece by piece as I sit here, rotting, waiting. I knew she was alive. I knew she would be back. I can't miss her this time. I have to be here," Christine rambled, a sob pulling at her chest as she thinks of every piece of herself she's lost while in Sinyala. She stubbornly swallows it down.
She'd been horrified when she'd seen her first trial victim, the union boss if she remembers right. A rough first core trial. Her actual first trial had been a brief MK in the orphanage, no real humans hurt by her own hands. Only the corpses of those who had failed before her. When she saw the Union boss for the first time, she'd been confused. A real human. How... bizarre. And Franco, god he was insufferable but at least she'd had Gunner. He'd been with her from the moment she got to Sinyala, forced her to stop staring at Amelia while she hung there, suffering. He comforted her, telling her that he'd keep her safe and help her survive this. She believed him. She still does.
When they got to that meat packing plant her stomach finally gave up as she realized what she was going to have to do. She vomited everywhere, finding a safe area in the dark to hide and recover while Gunner threw projectiles at the targets and... well... Liquidated the Union. Christine still heard his pleas in her dreams occasionally. It made her sick. Trials with real human victims became more common, and every time she felt her empathy drain. She tried to remind herself that these were people, she should feel disgusted! But it was so difficult when she saw so many of them die over and over. The carnage was constant and unavoidable. It was kill or be killed. She felt ashamed by how numb she was becoming.
"She offers you false hope, Christine. Something to cling to and worship when your place is here, with Murkoff. We're safe here. If we perform well, they let us stay. They feed us, clean us, give us our own spaces to decorate and sleep in! What more could you want?" Gunner offered, placing a hand on Christine's shoulder that she promptly shrugged off, turning to look at Gunner in horror.
"Safe? We fight for our lives every day! Everyone and everything wants us dead in this facility, and you act like this is actually a place of charity!" She spat, disgust dripping from her words.
"You're young, and sheltered. You don't understand how bad the world out there can be. Men are cruel, and dangerous. No where is safe out there. The only safety is this, the sleep room. Nothing can touch us here, nothing can hurt us. We're safe. The trials are just a way to prove we should be here to begin with! We kill those who would dare to try to take this sanctuary from us, and Murkoff rewards our loyalty with safety," Gunner explains, his tone growing more stern and serious. He means every word.
"You're insane Gunner. You've been here too long, and you're fucking insa-"
"DON'T!" Gunner takes a deep breath. "Call me that. I'm not insane. I'm lucid. I am trying to protect you. The world outside these walls is just another trial. It's just as dangerous, just as violent. The only difference is that the people put there will lie to you. They'll tell you youre safe, they'll tell you you're loved, and they'll ship you off to fucking Europe to fend for yourself. They'll watch as you flounder, a scared little child with wide eyes growing duller and duller as your friends are slaughtered in front of you, and then they'll kick you to the streets when you come back changed. We are safe here. If we perform well, we get to stay."
There is a long pause, Christine gets the impression Gunner wasn't making up random details for shock. He'd just told her something about himself she hadn't known. She feels bile prick at the back of her throat at the disgusting ideas he spat at her, but she doesn't even know where to begin arguing with him. Her life outside of the facility was better than inside, but it wasn't peaches and cream. No one took that flier because their life was going well.
"I'll eat. But I'm never going to stop looking, Gunner. You can't make me. I'm getting out of here one day, and it won't be because Murkoff lets me," She says, standing from her desk and pushing past him to make her way to the mess hall.
Sydney was standing in the hallway, clearly listening. Christine eyes her skeptically, but says nothing as the girl begins following her, a file folder of documents clutched to her chest.
"I found these while we were in there. You're gonna wanna see this. Gunner was more wrong about all that than you think, I just haven't had the heart to tell him," She whispers, not wanting Gunner to overhear as he wanders back to his own room, likely a bit too frustrated to eat with Christine at the moment.
"More wrong than insisting that fighting for your life every day is safer than living a normal life?" Christine asks dryly, looking around for a place to sit as she approaches the mess hall counter for food.
"There was a new trial today. A prison farm, Coyle's running it with the help of the victim," Sydney explains in a hushed tone.
"Help? The victims can't help, they're always restrained," Christine says, looking at Sydney with concern etched on her face.
"He's barely a victim until we make him one. I got the impression that before we killed him, he was exactly where he wanted to be. That's what I'm saying. Murkoff is noticing more and more when the people here don't want to leave. When they're obsessed with the primes or crave the pain. That's two trial victims that are obsessed with their respective primes now, and this one isn't even tied up until we have to kill him. Before that, he's happy to just follow Coyle around. They're tracking down those freaks who have the hots for him, and shoving them in there as Wardens. Submissive little freaks gunning to get a taste of Coyle's... ahem... baton," Sydney finishes her explanation with an awkward pause. Christine's eyes widen.
"Wait they... the victim... gross..."
"Mhm. The point is, Murkoff isn't taking kindly to folks that like it here anymore. The second you overstay your welcome, they're gonna make you the next trial victim, and it doesn't even have to be because you did poorly anymore. Gunner's advice is dangerous," Sydney says, eyeing her own tray of food with eyes that didn't look particularly hungry.
"I never cared much about escape before this. I wanted out, sure, but I don't have anything waiting out there for me. I didn't care if I got out or not. If I saw my chance during another escape I'd take it, but Inwas never as devoted as you. I need out now. I can't let these bastards turn Gunner into a trial victim, and they're gonna if we let them. He'll follow us if we all go, he'd never let us fend for ourselves out there without his help. I wanna help you with this, Chris.
"Keep me in the loop, please. Gunner is the only family any of us got left, I can't let them make him the next victim. The execution was brutal, Christine. More personal this time. There weren't any fancy machines, it was just us and a weapon. We had to kill that man with our own hands, no separation. I can't let them do that to Gunner," Sydney finally concludes, her eyes desperate as she looks at Christine.
Sydney liked to pretend she was an emotionless little chaos junky when she was in trials, but Christine was seeing more and more of this genuine side of her these days. The crow must be a good influence, she'd overheard Sydney venting to the creature a few more times since she discovered that the girl had been letting it stay with her.
Good.
"I'll keep you posted, Syd. Thanks for the documents. We're gonna figure this out. We just have to be vigilant, and wait."
Have you guys heard? Amelia's back oh boy I haven't felt this happy unless I'm on whatever drugs murkoff gives me!
(OOC: I genuinely didn't see this until just now hi hi sorryyyy lol)
Christine grabs the little prompt machine, shoving the others out of the way as she rereads the words.
"She's... She's awake? She's free???"
Sydney grimaces momentarily. "Woof. That's good news and all, but you KNOW this is gonna make Easterman insufferable until they catch her again." Then her lips pull into a grin. "This is gonna be crazy!"
"They aren't GOING to catch her again, Sydney. She'd never make the same mistake twice! I bet she's hiding somewhere crazy safe and hidden, OH! I need to start combing my radio! I heard that last time she'd communicated through the radio! I gotta go!" Christine sprints out of Gunner's room, where the gang had been hanging out when the ask went through. She likely will only be leaving her room for meals and trials for the foreseeable future, the rest of her time will be spent in her room answering asks, fixing her gear, and flipping through various radio frequencies with the hopes of hearing Amelia's voice.
Gunner seems... Nervous. The idea of leaving always left him that way. Sydney and Grace both seem curious, rereading the note more calmly to make sure they understand it, but otherwise they are much more calm. Well. As calm as Sydney gets, she's still grinning wildly.
"This is going to be chaos..." Grace murmurs grimly.
"Yeah. It's gonna be so much fun!" Sydney replies.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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in light of today's trailer, uhhhhhhh I'm definitely gonna have to write something once the dust settles after the new update and I've had time to find all the secrets and read all the documents and such.
Gunner and Christine will have the biggest reactions to all of this.
The bird caws at Sydney promising to keep quiet true to its sound it doesn't alert any scientist or guards to Sydney's room, instead it focuses on building its nest under her bed and killing rats in the sleeproom.The crew suspicious as to why Sydney stays in her room for so long instead of doing trials or talking to them decide to listen in on her while her door is closed.
OOC: Another long post as an apology for taking so long to respond! Hooray! This is rather long, and I have a prior commitment I'm late for, so I'm not going to highlight the names right now.
The Intervention
βIβm worried about her. Sheβs doing fine inside, but when we get back out here she justβ¦ sits in her room. She doesnβt arm wrestle, she doesnβt pester us, she just sits in there. I assume she mostly draws? Her overalls have had a few new doodles on them the last few trials sheβs joined us onβ¦β Christine rambles to Grace, flopped rather dramatically on the floor while Grace sits at her own desk.Β
βMaybe sheβs just depressed. Lots of that going on around here. Not too weird. The nursesβll adjust her meds and itβll be fine,β Grace hums, not looking up from the embroidery loop sheβd found in the orphanage a few days ago. Sheβd been nearly giddy when she found the little trinket, removing the flayed human skin it had originally stretched and stuffing it under her dress so she could sneak it back into the sleeproom. Sheβd washed it in the sterilization chamber, but it is still slightly stained that coppery brown color of dried blood.
βThey donβt do much to keep us fromβ¦ yβknowβ¦ We need to say something. Do something! What if she starts throwing herself at grunts!β
βShe already does that,β Grace interrupted.
βWhat if she starts throwing herself at grunts without a weapon in her hand? What if she stops fighting back? Gunner would be devastated and weβd be down a stun rig!β Christine continued, gesturing up at the ceiling with her arms as she spoke.
βThatβs the only reason you donβt want her to die? Because Gunner would be upset and youβd be mildly inconvenienced?β Grace eyed her friend skeptically.
βIβ¦ She can be a lot sometimes, but I do care about her. Sheβs so youngβ¦β
βYouβre only 2 years older, my dear. Youβre a child compared to me, an infant compared to Gunner.β
βI just worry. She reminds me of me when I got kickedβ¦ when I left home. I was so young. I thought I was so grown up, I didnβt need their disapproving gazes or their hateful words, I could survive out there on my own. Look where that landed me,β Christine sighed, letting her arms fall to the side.
βWorrying about you kids is my and Gunnerβs jobs,β Grace said with a smile, turning to face the girl on her floor.
βGunner would argue itβs only his job,β Christine replied with a playful grin.
βHe would. But he canβt stop me from worrying. Itβs burned into me like a brand. Carved into me like a tattoo. I was a mother from the moment my own passed until the day my father died and they took my babies from me. You girls fill that hole my siblings left in me, and you can pry that comfort from my cold dead fingers, darling.β
βIβm going to check on her. Would you please come with me?β Christine asked gently, sitting up on her palms.
βIf itβll make you feel better, Iβll help you snoop.β Grace hummed, putting her embroidery down and standing to go.
The door to Sydneyβs room is closed, as usual, but the facility doesnβt allow the reagentsβ doors to lock. Christine and Grace approach normally at first, but as they get closer they begin to hear incoherent speaking. The pair crouch quickly, unfamiliar with anyone outside of their group that Sydney would be talking to, and they sit in front of the door with their ears pressed to the cool material. For a long moment, thereβs silence, then they hear Sydney begin to talk to someone again.
β-so young I watched Mother Gooseberry! They never got to do that. Well, Grace may have, she had younger siblings I think. But the others would have been way too old to enjoy her show.β There was a pause as Sydney adjusted how she was sitting, from the sound of it she was on her bed.
A fwipping noise carries out of the room, and a few bits of scratching.
βCan I tell you a secret?β Sydney asks. She waits for some kind of response. Outside of the view of her teammates, the crow tilts its head as if to encourage her to keep going.
βI was excited when I saw Dr. Futterman for the first time. Scared, obviously, I didnβt want to be hurt. He looks different now too, but I knew it was him. Then I saw Mother Gooseberry. She looks soβ¦ different. Like a doll someone played too rough with. I donβt think they let her straighten her hair here, and they did something to her face. I know itβs her though, knew from her voice alone. I would recognize Mother anywhere.β
Another pause, the crow stares like it is asking a question no one can hear. Sydney decides what the question is and responds.
βI watched her show every day until they forced me to stop. I was probably too old to watch by the time they made me stop, but her show was likeβ¦ like drugs. I couldnβt stop watching, she made me feel so seen. My folks didnβt like how seen I felt, I guess. They sent me to this place, it was so loud and boring. They didnβt like what Mother had taught me. They tried to teach me other things, probably better things if Iβm honest. At the time though, it just made me angry. I was nearly 14 by that point, I wasnβt some little kid!Β
βHaβ¦ God I sound pathetic, telling you all this. Can you believe that that isnβt even how I wound up here? They sent me back to that place later, and that place transferred me to Colorado, and that place in Colorado transferred me here. Bet my folks think Iβm just in some nice little padded room, rotting away. Maybe they assume Iβve been lobotomized by now, made all passive and sweet and dumb. Wonder if they ever asked to visit me, got told no, got suspicious. Probably not. They hated me after everything, after the dust settled and theyβd had time to process what Iβd done.β
Sydneyβs venting trailed off. There was silence for a while, and then a sniffle. Then a quiet little sob, almost inaudible. There was a rustling of feathers again, and her crying got a little heavier before it evened out.
βI think I regret it. Stupid as that is. Iβve killed so many people here, but I think I regret that one. Maybe I only feel bad because it got me stuck here. Maybe I genuinely miss my family and hate what I did to them. How badly I hurt them. They lost two children that day, and I didnβt care until I had the blood of countless men and women I donβt even know stuck under my nailbeds along with his. God, Iβm a selfish bitch. I canβt even be kind to the people who trust me here. I lied to them about you.β
Thereβs a soft little caw.
βYeah, I suppose it was worth it to keep you safe. Who knows what Chris would do to you if she found out you were here.β
Christine jolts at her name, knocking into Grace before wobbling and toppling over, slamming into Sydney's door with a thud before the unlocked barrier swung open, revealing the eavesdroppers.
βFor an Amelia loyalist, you deeply lack in the stealth department sometimes, Chrissy,β Grace huffed, standing up and dusting off her dress.
βWhat the fuck?!β Sydney yelled, shooting up from her position laying on her bed, startling the crow off of her bed, where sheβd been petting it for comfort, and onto the floor.
βYou lied about the bird?β Christine asked, not sounding mad as much as she just sounded confused. βWhy?β
βIt was nice to me. I couldnβt rat him out to you, you were talking like you wanted to kill it!β
βI just didnβt think it was wise to trust it! I wanted us to keep our doors shut and keep it out of our spaces! To watch what we say around it! I canβt believe you lied to me!β Christine shouted back, her frustration growing.Β
βWell now you know! Itβs been here with me the whole time, eating pests and building its nest!β Sydney spat in reply.
βI canβt believe I was worried about you, of course you were doing some weird underhandedβ¦ bullshit! Ugh!β Christine stormed back off to her room, leaving Grace and Sydney alone with the bird.
βSheβll be fine. She just needs time, like always. We can talk about your pet another time, dear. In the meantime, please stop isolating yourself, you had her worried,β Grace said pleasantly, her eyes soft and her tone genuine.
βHow much did you guys hear before you broke down my door?β Sydney asked.
βWe heard you talk about your childhood. I think you were complaining about being so much younger than us, and then you told your friend about how you came here. Iβm sorry your past is so troubled. I wish there was some way I could have helped you back then. Iβm sure the guilt eats at you,β Grace hummed, shooting Sydney a sympathetic glance Sydney chose not to take offense to.
βIf Iβm not able to tell her myself before her next trial, can you let her know Iβm sorry I lied? I just didnβt want her to hurt the birdβ¦β
The crow is busy building away a nest made out of scarp fabric and whatever it can find under Sydney's bed.it stops once it hears footsteps approaching it appears the crew has gather for a meeting, probably to talk about the paper or bird.
The Meeting
"Sydney, we need to talk.β Christine pushes open Sydneyβs room door,Β not bothering to knock.Β
Sydney scrambles to sit up from her bed, shoving her bedsheet a little farther down to hide her crow friend. βJesus, Chris, knock! What if I'd been jerking it in here?β
βThey have us on enough hormone blockers that I doubt you could get much of anything done if you tried. Why do you think they're willing to let us stay in the same cell block as Gunner?β Christine points out, looking over her shoulder and gesturing for the others to follow her in.
βWhatever! Let me appreciate what little privacy I have!β Sydney shoots back.
βThereβs a camera in your TV and an audio recorder in your radio, Syd. You don't get privacy anywhere here, that'd be too risky after the escape,β Christine grumbles tiredly as she takes a seat at Sydney's desk before anyone else could claim it.Β
Grace walks in with the chair from her desk, and Gunner just takes a seat on the floor, his prosthetic leg creaking a bit as he settles. Neither seems all that surprised that Christine took the chair.
βWhatever. Just knock next time. Let me pretend.β
βYour fake privacy aside, I wanted to talk to you all about that bird. It paid me a visit a few hours after it gave us that weird message. Gave me the creeps. I wanted to know if you all saw anything suspicious. Maybe noticed things going missing? Anything. I think it may be some sort of spy, like it may be trained to snoop through our things or squawk if it sees something off,β Christine explains once everyone is settled.
βThe little fella paid me a visit not long after it first got here too, came in begging for fabric scraps. Didnβt really notice it do much else. Didnβt even really look around once I gave it the scraps it wanted,β Grace hums, pulling out another small sewing project to work on idly while the group spoke.
βI havenβt seen anything weird going on recently. Not even that weird giggling guard,β Sydney provides, moving her hands behind her back to prop herself up, but also to hide their twitching. Her hands always twitched when she lied or kept secrets.
βGiggling guard? Whatever, not the point right now. What about you, Gunner? What do you make of the bird?β Christine asks the older man.
βThereβs a bird in the sleep room? How did it get in here?β Gunner asks genuinely. The girls all stop what theyβre doing and look at him. βWhat?β
βWe got a message from a crow like, 4 hours ago, Gunner. You were there. It gave us a weird paper with a bug, an eye, and a sheep on it and the radio played some cryptic message. Then it flew off for a few hours. It came back to harass Grace and I,β Christine explains.
Lapses in Gunnerβs memory weren't uncommon, but they were typically regarding things that happened before Sinyala or things their traumatized brains interpreted as rather mundane. The bird was strange. Gunner should remember the bird.
βI donβt know what youβre talking about. I only remember getting the ice breaker and the question about our rigs,β Gunner hums, his posture oddly relaxed for someone who should be realizing they have a severe and recent loss of memory.
βThat isβ¦ We need to keep an eye on that. If you start losing track of time more than usual or forgetting more stuff, let us know, Gunner,β Grace says, her eyebrows pinched with concern.
βIβm fine, Grace. Always have been, always will be. Iβm here to take care of you girls, not the other way around,β Gunner replies, trying to offer some comfort to the worried girl.
βYouβre here because you were a mentally ill homeless veteran no one would think to report missing,β Sydney supplies, earning a glare from both Christine and Grace. Gunner lets out a startled laugh.
βHa! Yeah, I guess youβre right. After what I put my family through, there isnβt a single soul looking for me out there.β
βDonβt talk like that, Gunner. Iβm sure your family is worried sick. Just because they couldnβt take care of you, it doesnβt mean they didnβt love you,β Christine offers gently.
βI was a failure and a disappointment. Weakness personified. Theyβre glad Iβm gone. Iβm nothing and nobody out there. Iβm barely anything here. Not all of us are meant for greatness, Christine. Some of us can only hope to help others achieve it,β Gunner says, his voice monotone and leaving no room for argument. It was a rare tone for him to take.
βWeβre getting side tracked. What are we going to do about the crow?β Christine asks, steering the conversation away from the sensitive topic.
βWhat do you expect us to do? Catch it? Itβs a bird. Iβm not gonna kill literally the only living animal in the sleep room. Iβm so sick of rats and flies, a crow is an ACTUALLY cool animal!β Sydney pipes up.
βWhat if itβs spying on us! I heard whispers from one of the scientists that they were considering putting a microphone INSIDE a cat! (A/N: Thatβs a real cold war era experiment.) Whoβs to say they wouldnβt try it on a bird?β Christine growls, her voice rising a bit.
βWouldnβt they pick a more appealing bird? A companion animal rather than a wild one? Put a microphone in a parrot or a rat or an actual cat. Crows are wild animals, why bother with mass producing and training a spy out of a wild animal when tame ones are easier to teach?β Grace points out.
βThey also donβt tend to like live animals in the sleep rooms. Theyβre dirty, attract other pests, and wind up dead in an inconveniently gory display within weeks when someone gets too aggressive with them,β Gunner explains. He had been in the facility much longer than the others, they tended to take his word regarding the sleep room rules and traditions rather seriously.
βIβm clearly outnumbered here, but I really need us to be cautious around that damn bird. We donβt know why itβs here or what itβs capable of. Justβ¦ promise me youβll all tell me if you see it doing something strange?β Christine begs.
βOf course,β Gunner says first. Grace and Sydney nod as Sydney tightens her fists into her sheets to hold them still.
The group disperses, and Sydney is finally left alone with her bird again.
βYou owe me for covering for you, donβt screw me over on this, little buddy.β
The crow flies out of Grace's room and heads to Christine's room next the paper being long gone after it first went to gunners room.it seems to keep it's distance this time as she didn't react well to the paper.
-π¦ββ¬
Christine is tinkering with some sort of technology she DEFINITELY shouldn't have. A strange collection of batteries, trip wire fuses, and the lights from an electrical grid trap sit on her desk. She spins quickly as she hears the beating of wings, much more vigilant than her friends.
"Out." She growls. "I don't need you running your little crow mouth to any guards. I got a good thing going here with my crew, I don't need you meddling about and getting one of us killed. I'm on thin ice as is with that new trial, could be my turn in that furnace any day now."
Christine is guarded, but one could get the impression that she just isn't quick to trust. She may be willing to come around eventually, but the crow is something foreign and new. Healthy, live animals have never been kept in the sleep room before, not even for holidays. She is understandably cautious and assumes the bird is some sort of spy tool of some kind.
Bonus Photos and Info Below
Mun Comment: Christine isn't subtle about where her loyalties lie. She's no stranger to being wronged by the world, and she's too tired of having hide who she is to care if someone finds her room covered in graffiti and hand-drawn Amelia posters. She wants out. She wants to bring her friends with her, even if Gunner always seems so hesitant to even discuss the topic. She knows it's foolish, childish even, but she can't help but hold out hope that Amelia will be back one day. She'd been too late for the first escape, being brought to sinyala only a week after the event. The devastation she'd felt playing through Escape the Lies for the first time was immeasurable. The disgust that followed was nearly crippling. Despite it all, though, she refuses to hide her rebellion. Murkoff will have to break her before she lets go of her dreams for freedom. It'll be a monumental test of will on both sides.
The crow caws snapping gunner out of his state before flying out of his room and searching through graces room in search of fabric for a nest or anything it can get its little claws on.
-π¦ββ¬
Gunner's body relaxes, and he returns to journaling like nothing happened. He doesn't seem to realize that anything out of the ordinary happened.
Grace is working on mending her purple dress. Despite the opulence she tries to mimic in her room, there is only so much one can do within Sinyala. That manchild had shot a hole straight through her dress the last time they'd encountered him, and she'd finally given up on trying to find another piece of purple cloth, settling for a bit of deep red instead. If she made it stick out enough, perhaps the mend would look purposeful and stylish.
She looks up as the crow flies into the room, and her shoulders stiffen.
"What do you want?" She eyes the bird suspiciously, not making any aggressive movements towards it, but clearly uncomfortable with its presence. She doesn't trust it after the last message it brought.
She notices eventually though that it seems to be eyeing the pile of mismatched scrap fabric she'd been sorting through. She frowns deeper.
"You know I only have so much scrap. Getting clean pieces of fabric in a place like this is beyond difficult, let alone getting ahold of thread. I owe the dame upstairs quite a few favors for my sewing supplies."
There's a pause, and she watches the little bird. She recalls a memory, sitting in the park as she watched her siblings play. She'd been worried about something, but it was so long ago, she struggled to remember what exactly she'd been pondering before a pigeon, much dumber than the crow before her now, hobbled out in front of her from the grass. Long strands of hair and other detritus were wrapped around his poor little foot. She remembers putting all her worry and concern into this little bird, scooping up the dumb creature and untangling every bit of nasty debris constricting its leg. She felt her anxiety melt away as she cared for the animal, feeling like nothing could hurt her so long as she could help keep others safe. She remembers how soft its feathers were, and wonders briefly if the crow's feathers are any softer.
Gently, her face now reflecting a much less guarded expression, she reaches out with two fingers to attempt to pet the bird. Its feathers are a bit more dense and smooth, silky rather than soft. She smiles.
"I suppose you can have a few scraps. There are some materials in here I could never use to repair my clothing. They just wouldn't look right." She offers the crow some scrap fabric. A few satin-y pieces that take a terribly uneven and jagged shape that's too awkward to do much with, and a couple pieces of what seem to have previously belonged to some of the plush toys around the factory and the orphanage. They are surprisingly clean, and very pleasant to the touch.
"If you stay out of trouble, I'll have more for you," She hums, returning to her work feeling a little less antsy.
Bonus Info and Room Pictures Below
Mun Comment: Grace seems to have an eye for the finer things, but doesn't seem to be very good at deciding what the "finer things" are. She has a novelty clock displayed directly next to a victorian mirror, a tin pinup of a mermaid next to a beautifully painted fan! it's almost like she's trying to imitate what she thinks people with nice things would collect, without actually knowing herself.
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The crow appears by the tv device in gunners room next it holds the same paper with the spider,eye and lamb checking for a slight change in his movement. it seems to look for a reaction of sorts?
-π¦ββ¬
Gunner was writing at his desk when the crow flew in. He quite enjoyed writing letters in his journal, even if no one but the room-check guards and perhaps a scientist or two ever got to see them.
He puts his pen down gently and looks at the bird for a moment. His eyes are kind and curious for a moment before he spots the paper. His eyes scan across the images and the energy in the room shifts. Gunner's eyes dull, his muscles seem to relax and stiffen in strange, almost unnoticeable spasms, and he sits up in his chair again. He otherwise doesn't move, seemingly waiting for something. Some sort of stimulus or input. He doesn't lash out, he isn't violent, but his face is pulled back into that same uncanny smile as he waits for his orders. He seems to be more than ready to rebirth, the therapy has clearly worked. So why is he still here?
Bonus Info and More Room Pics Below
Mun Comment: Gunner's room is full of theater equipment and props, despite his rather stoic appearance and his tendency to wear army uniforms during trials. Perhaps his gentle personality outside of trials is more than just a symptom of his fractured psyche? He's been here much longer than any other reagent in his cell block so, who's to say what his life on the outside was like? Even he may struggle to remember at times.
The crow returns to the sleeproom and waits for everyone's backs to be turned before approaching Sydney. it appears it's trying to befriend her with a messy drawing of her maybe it's trying to convince her to let it stay despite the weird interaction a few hours ago.
Sydney is sitting in her cell, staring boredly at the ceiling as she fidgets with the fraying edge of a spare ribbon from her trial outfit. She's barely paying any attention to her surroundings, it gets pretty noisy in the sleep room and being able to tune out Avilanos's droning voice and the cries of her fellow reagents has served her well. She doesn't notice the crow until it perches on the footboard of her bunk and rustles its little paper a bit. She looks up and smiles a bit, eyeing the little drawing.
"Whatcha got there?" She looks closer at the drawing and her small smile pulls into a wide grin.
"Woah, that's awesome! Did you make this?" She gently reaches out to scratch the top of the bird's head with a single finger.
"I don't know how you got in here, but I won't tell anyone if you don't! Here, for the present. Maybe you can weave it into your nest or something." She offers the crow her scrap of tinsel ribbon in exchange for the little gift.
"And if you ever need a place to crash, no one ever checks the fishing traps under my bed. Bet you could set up a nice little spot in there. Could even snag some scrap fabric from Grace's room, getcha a little privacy."
Sydney seems almost excited by the prospect of having an animal in her cell. An outsider looking in may come to the conclusion that she feels a little isolated, being the youngest and most hyper member of her group and all.
Bonus Info and More Room Pics Below
Mun Comment: Sydney likes the hunting lodge feel of the Carion Creek room set, it brings back memories from before Sinyala, both good and bad.
(pretend your reagents don't know the trigger words yet)
-π¦ββ¬
The girls frown and look at the prompt, confused by the bird flying into their room and the symbols printed on their prompt paper, an uneasy feeling settles over the room.
Gunner smiles an artificial, closed mouth smile, but otherwise doesn't say or do anything. He's sitting pin straight in his chair at the desk, but he doesn't seem all there...
Sydney had smiled at the bird at first, but now she feels a shiver run up her spine. "The eye looks familiar, like the stamps on the corpses or frequency boxes, but I've never seen the sheep or the bug symbol before.... I feel so... Watched. And not by that bird..."
Grace scoffs. "We're always being watched, that isn't new. I wonder if these are for a new trial? It can't be sanitary having a bird in the sleep room though..."
Christine looks anxious, eyeing the general direction she saw the bird fly off in. "Those symbols... the bird... it all makes my skin crawl just thinking about it... Go throw that paper away. Whatever this is, I don't want any part of it..."
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