Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Homework,"

"George is sitting on the kitchen table while Mummy Pig is making spaghetti. If I'm going to be completely honest I don't even know why he tries if he's just going to copy the work off of Edmond in the morning!" The voice echoed in George's head.

George couldn't do anything about his words other than respond or ignore. He's been here for quite some time, he doesn't know when exactly but he knows that it had something to do with her sister, Peppa. He doesn't really do much other than narrating about his life 24/7 like it was some tv show, talking to the so called 'audience' in his annoying demure way.

He taps the rubber part of his pencil on the table as his eyes scroll upon the math worksheet trying his best to ignore him but of course the guy always found some way to ruin it.

"Imagine being unable to do such a simple division problem! I mean he's even behind his whole class!!" The voice said, taunting him. George held his feelings and tried to focus on the paper. He had a bad habit of being too 'emotional', always bursting into tears when he felt an emotion too strong.

"Oh dear! Is Georgie boy going to cry?"

"No I'm not!" George harshly whispered back at him, trying his best to not grit his teeth, he never knew why but the narrator always preferred Peppa over him, it's not like he cared about that, in fact he wished that he could stay tormenting Peppa but since she's in high school now, her life is 'too boring'.

"George, dear? Are you talking to yourself again?" George turned around to see Mummy Pig behind him, I mean she was already there but it had still caught him a bit off guard. He gripped the chair handle.

"Oh, I-..uhm.."

"George do not play with me I cannot have another child with schizophrenia, do you know how much schizo meds cost!?" Mummy Pig blurted out, her hand wrapping around the spoon tightly and yet easily noticeable.

"Schizophrenic medications cost around $1,090 to $5,792, but I doubt that you can count that high because you're STUPID."

"Uh, around $1,090 to $5,792?..." George stammered letting go of the chair handle so he could lean his face on his hand, elbow laying on the yellow wooden table.

"Oh you little brat." The narrator groans back at George for using the information that HE gave to him.

"Now answer the first question, George," Mummy Pig demanded, her grip loosening only her head facing George now, the rest of her body facing the stove.

"No, I'm not talking to myself," George said immediately, facing back to his worksheet, still stuck on the same problem he has been stuck on the whole time, which was the first question.

"Okay, that's what I want to hear. Now, remember, if you ever need help on your homework don't ask me, ask your father, he probably won't get up from the couch so you're going to have to walk to the living room to see him," Mummy Pig explained, focusing back onto dinner.

"Wow. Even Peppa wouldn't just not give credit like that! You need to stop this habit, Georgie."

An idea pops up in George's head, his eyes lighting up a bit. He stands up from the chair, slamming his hands on the table. This obviously caught the attention of his mother to which she turns around again to see what he's up to now.

"George, can you not stay quiet or still for more than 2 minutes?" Mummy Pig said in quite an annoyed tone. George looks back at his mom with an awkward face now.

"Oh- I'm just going to ask Peppa for help with my homework!" George said quickly coming up with a lie, well he was going to ask Peppa for help, just not for the homework.

"As long as it isn't me, I hate math," Mummy Pig replied. "While you're up there tell Peppa that I will be finishing up with dinner soon."

"Uh, yeah! Definitely will!" George exclaimed, snatching the paper and pencil from his table and marching upstairs quickly before his mother managed to suspect something. As George walks up the stairs he notices that it has gotten quiet. He pauses for a second questioning it but continues to walk upstairs. Looks like he already figured out what he was planning.

As George passed through the upstairs hallways when he got to the top he shifted through the old family photos till he got to the last door, this was Peppa and George's room. George slammed the door open which caused his sister, Peppa, to swing her chair all the way to see what the disturbance was.

"Have you EVER heard of knocking?" Peppa sneered, crossing her arms.

"Not from you that's for sure!" George answered which his sister only responded with rolling her eyes

. "Anyways, I need your help.." George explained, putting his math paper on Peppa's desk just so he could slam his face in his bed the next second.

"Math? Why are you asking for help? Haven't you been like copying off of Emily's brother or whatever.." She asked.

George sits up now holding 'Mr. Dinosaur' in his arms. "NO, well yes, but I don't need help with math.." Peppa's face grows a bit of a concerned look. "It's about that weird Narrator voice guy.."

Peppa's face immediately changed back after managing to finally understand the situation. "Really dude?" Peppa says almost chuckling in her statement.

"Yeah! I'm being serious!" George explains, almost whining about it. "He's been bugging me all day, 24/7, for the whole week! I just want him to go!" He could go on and on about how much he hated this guy but of course no one would want to sit down and listen to him throw a tantrum over this.

"He isn't that bad.." Peppa whispered.

"Maybe because he likes you more than me!" George shouted back at her. He wasn't lying on that though.

"Look George I don't know what to tell you, I don't know what you expect me to do and I do not know why he doesn't like you!" Peppa loudly explained, leaning back on her chair. "So, scram, I have work to do here, unlike you, I do not have a child prodigy friend to copy off of."

"Why'd he leave you?" George asked to which Peppa's eyes widened at the question. "Maybe if I do what you did he'd disappear forever."

"George," Peppa turned her chair back again. "I grew up."

"He left because I'm too busy to go jumping around in muddy puddles and learning new things everyday, no Narrator wants to talk to an audience about some highschooler trying to figure out what they want in life."

"So uh..." George muttered, trying to form a sentence. "I just need to wait a few more years or something?"

"If you do that, who's he going to move on to? Hate to break it to you but you're the youngest." Peppa explains going back to her work, half focused on what George is saying. "Tell me now, what's he saying right now?"

George comes to the sudden realization that his head has been awfully silent. His eyes widened, gaining some more consciousness on what was going around him. He puts down Mr. Dinosaur and stands up from his bed.

"He hasn't said anything the entire time I've been here.." He answers with a slight sense of uneasiness coming from around him, not like someone was watching him or anything but the thought of someone planning his death.

"Huh, it's like he's tryna find a way to distance himself from me or whatever.." Peppa jokes, being able to leave out a little giggle after finishing his sentence.

"Huh." With all the things George could've said at the moment 'huh' was the only thing that could come out of his mouth.

George walks back up to Peppa's desk to grab his math paper when he remembers something. "Oh by the way Mummy said dinner will be ready soon!" George reminds Peppa.

"I'm gonna skip." She answers back.

"It's spaghetti though?" George explains.

"I'm not gonna skip." Peppa says, changing her mind faster than George had expected.

George walks out of the bedroom, down the stairs. He takes a pause concerned about the silence. Did he really just leave all of a sudden? Maybe he'll be back in the morning. Not that George was hoping for it, he's just prepared for reality.

George opens his backpack which was placed on the kitchen table and puts the math worksheet inside. It's fine. He'll just copy Edmond's work in the morning.

Chapter Text

Zaza’s POV-

I got my math book and my homework folder and shut my locker. I felt a sudden bulge from the side of my leg. I picked a granola bar out of my pocket, Zoë, my older sister had probably put it in there when I wasn’t looking. I specifically told her I wasn’t hungry.

I stuffed the granola bar into my pocket again and walked to my first class, which was math. The worst class you could start off with in the morning. Walking through the corridors I noticed it was quite empty, I looked at the clock that was hanging up above one of the classroom doors. 7:23am… The first bell doesn’t ring till around 8am.

Better to be early than late. I open the door wide open the second I see it. The class was empty from the looks of it, boring at most, nothing like the playgroup me and my twin sister used to visit. Even if we didn't visit it that much when we were younger it still hangs around in my mind.

Walking in I noticed that the classroom wasn't fully empty as there were three annoying kids sitting on the floor huddling at a table in the corner, Edmond the least annoying, then George and Richard..

The math teacher wasn’t here yet which was as expected due to how early it is. I walk up to them and place my stuff on my desk which so happens to be the one George was sitting at. Me and Edmond share the same classes together, which is good because he’s the easiest to tolerate.

Also probably because I do not know anyone else besides my ‘friend group’ and my sister in this school, so you’ll always see me sitting next to Edmond in literally every class. I know it’s weird still being friends with the same kids you met at pre-k but cut me some slack here everyone in middle school  is either just as weird as them or weirder.

“Hey Zaza!” George, the pig, greeted me, smiling wide which was strange because these past few days he has been, uh, very.. Strange. But despite that I ignore that and just smile back at him.

I pull a chair from a desk nearby and place it across from George making me sit right next to Richard. Edmond waved to me as he went back to talking to George, likely about the math homework.

“Hey bro!” Richard exclaims catching me off guard, before I could respond he speaks again. “Do you have any food. I have not eaten breakfast yet.” Richard replies, completely changing his tone like he’s being starved.

“I have a granola bar, but I’m not going to be giving it to you.” I tell him, crossing my arms.

“WHAT! WHY?” He whine lifting his arms up shoulder length with his jaw dropped down like I dissed his entire family, the thing those popular boys do acting like they're tough basically.

“It’s the one with chocolate bits in it. Rabbits can’t eat chocolate.” I explained. “I do not want to be held in prison for YOUR death.”

“Bruh.” He whined continuously. “I just have nausea problems when I consume chocolate! I’m not some kind of dog y'know!” He acts like one that's for sure, no offense to that one boy Zoë’s friends with of course.

“Quit squabbling you two and Richard please get back to finishing your work.” Edmond interrupts Richard from saying anything else. “I doubt you can’t finish copying before George.”

“Bet.” Richard yells before immediately going back to his work, it’s obvious that someone here had far too much screen time growing up.

It genuinely fascinates me on how these guys struggle doing division, most of all how Edmond manages to put up with them. If I was in his shoes I would’ve accepted the offer of skipping a few grades.

“I wish Zuzu was here…” I hear George whine a bit. “Then all five of us could hang out!”

“Sorry to burst your bubble but,” I tell George. “She's busy talking to Joey outside of the school building right now.”

“Who’s Joey?” Richards sits up.

“Joey, the kangaroo! He’s the kid who moved from Australia to here two years ago! And a former best friend of mine!” George answered Richard.

“Oh, I remember you talking about him before.. Since when were Zuzu and him friends?” Edmond asked.

“Since like a few weeks ago.” I answer.

“Joey better consider himself an OPP.” Richards says.

“I thought you didn’t like Zuzu..?” George questions.

“She’s also an OPP.”

“What does OPP even mean???” I interrupt.

“Put the fires in the bag.”
Before I could say anything Richard immediately went back to copying off of Edmond. There wasn’t any point in replying if he wasn’t paying attention. As the three boys were busy a singular thought had come to my mind.

“Hey Edmond-”

“Copying?” Edmond asked, I couldn’t tell if he was trying to insult me or was genuinely curious about what I wanted.

“No uh, I did the work already.” For some reason Edmond smiled once I explained that. “Could you double check the answers for me? Zoë wasn’t home because she has Piano lessons so-”

“Yeah of course! Could I borrow your paper?” Edmond asked cheerfully, not caring for what I had to say as an excuse.

I nodded and grabbed my homework folder from the table to open it. But, when I opened it all that was there was my homework for History, English and practically every subject except Math. I shuffled through the papers again when a sudden drift of realization.

I had been in such a rush last night that I just shoved my math paper inside my backpack without actually putting it inside of my homework folder, hopefully not my sisters.

“Uh I’ll be right back, I think I left my paper inside my locker.” I said quickly standing up in a slight worry.

Before Edmond or anyone else could've said anything I rushed outside and ran through the halls till I found my locker. Before I opened it I hesitated. A drift so uneasy passed through me, behind me to exact. I look behind to see Zuzu walking through the hallway.

My twin sister.

She seemed normal to me but her figure was more dense and less carefree than usual. Something in me wanted to go up to her and ask her what was wrong but my body was unable to move..

She obviously seemed upset, determined to something perhaps? Maybe someone said something mean to her and she was going to tell a teacher about them? She was walking pretty slowly, but her stance was strong. I’m likely just overthinking it.

It wouldn't hurt to ask? She is my sister after all. She’s my responsibility..

“Zuzu?” I ask, just loud enough for her to hear, she doesn’t turn around and still manages to walk at a perfect pace. She probably didn’t hear me.

“Zuzu!?” I yell a bit trying to grab her attention, only to fail miserably. Before I know it she turns around the corner making me lose my vision of her completely. Of course now I get worried.

I rush to the same direction she's walking in, pass the corner, where I can see her again. She's heading for the second exit of the building from what it seems like? Walking perfectly in a straight line, pretty creepy now that I’m facing directly behind her back.

I walk up toward her getting closer, every step closer to her my head gets heavier with despair, Of course maybe I’m just overreacting, maybe I should eat something? Once I get to her I hold her shoulder.

“Hey Zu you doing okay?” I say slightly sighing. She finally stopped in her tracks.

She turns around to look at me, I can’t see her properly, her bangs casting a bit of a shadow over her eyes. We have matching hairstyles, and outfits… so it was always easy to tell if it was her or not in a big crowd. But for some reason even in an empty hallway I can’t tell if it’s her.

“I’m fine..” She answered back. “Why does it bother you?” Her voice sounds a bit serious, which she never is.

“Cause you’re acting weird.” I explain the slight annoyance growing in my voice due to how persistent she's being.

“No I’m not! ” She says, no emotion whatsoever. She flicks my hand off her shoulder which causes me to stumble back a little, why was it so strong? She looks at me, slightly smiling, like she always did, but it felt off.

Before I could start thinking straight again she rushed towards the doors and disappeared.

I of course did what any real sister would and chased towards the doors. Like I said to Richard, I do not want to be the first suspect in a murder. Even if that isn’t my sister, which is practically impossible, she will probably know where she is.

After I got out through the doors I looked around to see nothing but a coiled fence. It's always been here so I’m not really shocked. I look around at the fence a bit, there's no way she could just escape like that.. Is there?

There on the ground I notice a hold in the fence, just enough for a middle schooler my size to fit down if they crouched. It should’ve been fixed by now if it has been here for a while.. Or maybe it was just made now. I crouch down to get a good look where I then see light footsteps, obviously new, right outside the fence.

I sigh and lay on my chest, arms bent, can't believe I’m doing this but here we are. I crouch through but around halfway a piece of my sleeve gets torn and stuck on the sharp fence coil.

Despite this I fully get through, my feet now making a print on the mud below. My skirt was not a little dusty, same goes for my socks and shoes. I pick myself up properly and try my best to dust off as much as I can. When I look straight I see Zuzu peeking down at me behind a tree then disappearing.

At this point she’s just taunting me.

I quickly matched up to the place where I saw her, the more I saw her, the closer she brought me through the middle of the forest. After a while I finally saw the sun again, it was some seaside area with boats and a dock. Then I saw Zuzu rushing past all of them.

Ignoring the people who may be questioning why this little girl is running to nowhere in the middle of a Tuesday morning I place a granola bar right at the end of all the sea work and go back to chase after her.

After a while, well to me, forever, she stops in some dumpster area. The stench was horrible but for some reason I didn’t care. The place was gloomy, the clouds were also now all of a sudden gray and covering the sun, it looked like it was going to rain. It was cold, but it wasn’t windy or anything, everything in my body felt dry actually.

Well, I’m sure I just got myself wrapped in something stupid. Why did I even chase after her? She’s probably not even my Zuzu. I don't know. I guess when worry takes over you, you start focusing on the person you're worrying about and never the danger you are putting yourself at risk to.

Huh, that's deep.

I snap back to reality when I see Zuzu standing far from me, she's finally turned around fully and facing me. The more I look at her the more I realize that she’s nothing like Zuzu. Sure, she looks like her, but her stance is not as confident as her, and her hair clip is placed on the other side of her hair, like mine.

She isn’t supposed to be Zurielle Zebra.

“You are far too gullible..” A voice spoke out in my head, it had the same vibe as this… Zuzu copy. But his voice was calmer, more masculine, more taunting. “I really thought you were smarter than this!”

“Or you just thought it was your sister being her stupid self again?.. Always having to save her, you probably think you're a great sister for that!”

“But you just now realize it isn’t her? What kind of sister doesn't recognize their own blood!?”

Before I could say anything, something hard hits my head, a rock? I fall to the ground. Everything's black.. I must’ve been knocked out.

“A bad sister does.”

-

ZuZu’s POV-

“Seriously Joey! I don’t get how you like P.E.” I groan leaning on my backpack.

Me and Joey were sitting at one of the lunch tables. I have P.E. as my first period with Richard. And for SOME reason Joey really likes Physical education.

“Ey, It’s actually really fun!” Joey exclaimed.

“Yeah maybe, if you exclude the sweaty gym shorts, the unfunny counselor, the warm-ups, and being in the same class as Richard.” I paused for a second. “Yeah, no, it fucking sucks.”

“Zuzu!” Joey looked at me worryingly.

“What? It's not like Zaza and Edmond are here to worry about my language right now?” I whine to him.

“Zaza and who?” Joey questions me, still hugging his ears.

“Oh, Edmond, uh he’s the child prodigy guy! Not to brag but I’ve known him since diapers!” I saw waving my hand down a bit, obviously bragging about it like I was some genius like him.

“The elephant?” Joey asked. “Yeah I think I’ve heard of him before, I think George mentioned him a couple times to me!”

“Mhm, Yuppers!” I reply “Despite him seeming pretty cool he really isn’t! He’s bossy and acts like he’s some adult, I mean he hasn’t even gone through puberty yet! Like calm your horses down!”

“Mhm-”

“But, he does let me copy his homework which I do like! And he always invites me to his birthday parties, which is also pretty nice.. Oh! and he al-”

“Hey Zuzu?”

“Huh?”

“I have to go.. Didier just texted me and said he wanted me to go to the principal's office with him!” Joey explains, now holding his phone instead of his ears.

“Didier? The french kid with a fancy voice?” I ask him.

“Uh yeah! The transfer student. He joined a month ago.. The consoulers told me I have to hang out with him since I also WAS a transfer here! I told you this already.” Joey explained to me.

“Oh uh yeah I remember.. Uhm, I thought he could still speak some English?”

“Yeah, he’s getting better but he’s still too scared to talk to other people except me and George, besides I have also been learning some French from him!” Joey answers me, stating the last part a bit shyly and not that confidently. Wow, perfect duo, both a nervous wreck in social situations.

“Really? Say something in French then!” I demand, not really expecting him to say something.

“Que dois-je dire?..” Joey asks me.

“Woah, I wasn't really expecting that.” I respond with Joey only shyly smiles back.

“W-Well! I gotta go now mate!” Joey exclaimed, grabbing his bag and waving me goodbye.

Before I knew it Joey had disappeared. Well that’s fine! I had to go get a copy off of Edmonds math worksheet right now so I really should hop off to it. I get up and head towards the school building's doors.

Now where would Edmond be… he shares every class with Zaza right? So he must be in the math room right now! I quickly skip through the hallway, my backpack still on my shoulders, I pass through the hallway, pass the history classroom, physics, and Zaza’s locker even! Finally I reached the math room. I open the doors and walk in to see Edmond, George, and uh Richard. My face grows with irritation now.

“Hey dude” Richard yells from across the room. To which I groan.

“Hey loser.” I reply back

“Hi Zuzu!” George waves at me.

“Hiya George!” I wave back at him, obviously changing my tone to something more positive.

I walk to the three and notice Zaza’s folder and math book on the table, looks like she was here already. It already looks like George and Richard are copying off of Edmonds worksheet also, I don’t struggle with division unlike them, I just didn’t have any time left!

I did actually, I just didn’t want to work.

“Hey Zuzu,” I look around to see Edmond looking at me. “Have you seen Zaza around? She said she went to her locker but she hasn’t been here for a while.”

“Well, she isn’t at her locker, I just passed it on my way here.” I add on. Edmond gains a worryful expression on his face by my response. “I can go look for her right now if you want.”

“WAIT!” Richard yells. “Do you have a granola bar?..”

“Wh- NO!? Why would I have a granola bar on me right now!?”

“Check your pockets!” Richards snaps back.

I sigh and check my left pocket to see a… granola bar? Huh? Oh. Zoë probably put it there when I wasn’t aware. I pull the bar out of my pocket with an obvious look of confusion splashed on my face.

“H-How did you know that I had a granola bar on me…?” I ask Richard.

“Zaza had one also.” Richard explains, I should’ve honestly expected that. “Anyways, can I have it?”

“Sure whatever, I wasn’t hungry anyways.” I throw the bar to Richard to which he catches perfectly to my surprise.

“Woah! This one has even more chocolate bits!” Richard exclaimed, he wasn’t wrong. Zoë always saved the bars with more chocolate for me due to Zaza not having that big of a sweet tooth compared to me.
“You are no longer an OPP”

“What?”

“It's best to just ignore him at this point.” Edmond whispers

“Okay I’m going to look for Za now!” I exclaim, dropping my backpack and rushing out the door.

Shockingly the second I closed the door behind me I immediately saw a familiar hair swept through the corner of the hall. Curiosity peaked over me and I followed it. It's fine! It was probably Zaza anyway. I crossed the corner and saw the exit door slam loudly.

I rushed over and opened the doors wide open. No one was there. I noticed a hole immediately, it was the only one that had a hint of color to it, the source being a piece of light purple fabric. It obviously belonged to my sister so I am not gonna risk getting my clothes torn.

I looked up. The fence shouldn’t be too hard to climb right? My hand grabbed as far as I could, then I pulled my leg up, then I did the same with the other side, and continued. Once I got to the top I leapt down, almost falling on my face, luckily I didn't. Who needs P.E. when you have daily life.

I saw a figure in the forest. I think I chased it for around 15 minutes. It was pretty dark, the trees had covered up everything. Then I got to the seaside. It wasn't the first time I’ve been here. I couldn’t see anything and the sound of waves crashing boats was far too loud. I then noticed Grandad Dog. I asked him if he saw my sister. He said she went ‘that way’ and so I listened to him.

He wasn’t wrong, I found a granola bar on the ground, the exact one I had, just with less chocolate bits to it. I kept going for what seemed like another 5 minutes till I reached an area where everything was cloudy. I couldn’t see the sun again.

I didn’t care about that though. There was something far more important than that. The person who I was following was definitely not my sister, she was not Zarielle Zebra.

My REAL  sister was laying on the ground, dead? No, something inside me told me she was still alive. The ‘copy’ was standing above looking down at her. Was she supposed to be me? Was she trying to mimic me? Taunt me?

I wanted to fall to the ground to see if she was okay but then I heard a voice.

“Watch out.”

I saw the zebra copy hold a stone in her hand. It obviously wasn’t her who said that. The voice did not suit her at all. But before I could understand what she was doing I heard the voice again.

“Watch. Out.”

The girl was now looking at me.

“WATCH O-”

Before I could think or move she threw the stone straight at my head.

Chapter Text

Joey’s POV-

“The elephant? Yeah I think I’ve heard about him before, I think George mentioned him a couple times to me!”

I mean when George mentioned him he seemed like a pretty cool kid, I’m surprised I ain’t heard any of the other kids talking about him yet..

“Mhm Yuppers!-” Zuzu, the girl I was talking to, continued to go on a full talk sesh about this kid. 

I seem rude admitting it but sometimes when she starts doing these it gets a bit annoying. I’ve tried telling her about it but whenever I do my throat starts hurting and I have the feeling that I’m acting like a bully or something. 

I ain’t trying to hurt one of my only friends right now, I don't think Zaza likes me, in fact i'm actually kind of scared of her and George spends too much time with his other friends. So right now I’m stuck with her.

As Zuzu keeps on talking my phone beeps. I picked it out of my pocket to see what the notification was, a message from Didier. Since we are on the topic of friends I guess he’s also technically my friend.The problem with him is that I didn’t really choose to be friends with him, the school counselors did because of him being a transfer student. but he ain’t a bad person.

I look at the message he sent me.

Didier : Can you come to the Principal's office 

Didier : I need help

Didier : translate i am scared

Dider : please

I stare at the message for a while, thinking of an answer. I don’t want to seem too basic, but I also want to make it easy for him to understand.

Joey : kay I’ll be there

Joey : Just talking to Zuzu :)

Didier : Zurielle or Zarielle 

Joey : Zurielle, no one calls them that by the way..

That’s really dry. Well I should probably get going, don’t want to keep him waiting now. I look at who was still talking about Edmond, weird he was just talking about him being annoying and now he’s ‘nice’ now?

“Hey Zuzu?” 

Zuzu pauses from what she was doing and looks up at me slightly startled. “Huh?”

“I have to go.. Didier just texted me and said he wanted me to go to the principal's office with him!” I explain to her, pointing at my phone. 

“Didier? The french kid with a fancy voice?” She asks.

“Uh yeah! The transfer student. He joined a month ago.. The consoulers told me I have to hang out with him since I also WAS a transfer here!” I informed her, slightly upset in my tone. “I told you this already.”

“Oh uh yeah I remember.. Uhm, I thought he could still speak some English?”

“Yeah, he’s getting better but he’s still too scared to talk to other people except me and George, besides I have also been learning some French from him!” I say.

I ain't that good at French, actually I don't know why I mentioned it in the first place, It’s kinda unnecessary anyway. I mean it doesn’t really matter, I just hope she doesn’t ask me to speak something, I don’t wanna embarrass myself.

“Really? Say something in French then!” She blurts out. Great.

I couldn’t really think of something.. “Que dois-je dire?..” If you’re wondering what that means, it's just ‘What should I say’. I don't know what else I could’ve said, It’s fine, it's not like she knows any French.

“Woah, I wasn't really expecting that.” She responds back to my surprise, was she trying to test me? Did she think I was lying? My face becomes hot. No Joey, calm down. Just focus on something else..

 Oh! right, Didier!

“W-Well! I gotta go now mate!” I shout, only loud enough for her to hear. I grab the book bag next to me and rush out, passing the corners. I couldn’t hear any response from Zuzu but that makes sense since I just ran away from her.

I sigh now, slowing my pace, I look at my watch below.. 7:38 in the morning. Why would Didier want to talk to the principal in the morning? Ugh, maybe he’s just a morning person, I mean I’m also one, am I? I’m not sure… Well I’m definitely not a night person! Maybe I’m just not a time person.

I rummage through my book bag and grab my camera and pull the band behind my neck to get a better look at it. It has photos ever since I was 9.

I look through the photo gallery, specifically the photos where it was set 3 years ago, when I was in Australia. I was homeschooled most of my life by my Aunt, so I’m not the best with the school system, even if I have already been here for a while. 

What do I miss most from back then? I guess surfing, the weather, and the animals. I remember how me and my sister made this one photo album just for bugs, we’d fill out the empty spots with information we knew about them. She made another photo album just for me when we moved to the UK.

She was too busy to ever actually fill out anything with me. Apparently highschoolers are piled with work 24/7 and never get any breaks to hang out with family, lucky for her nothing interesting was here anyway. Roaches, Flys, and Ants were all I could find.

Huh, I guess that’s what I miss the most. Hanging out with Kylie. 
Think about it, me and her going surfing again, researching creatures, being home again. Now I’m just sounding selfish, I’m ain’t the only one here who misses the way life used to be.

I grasp my camera tightly, locking in on a photo of me and Kylie in the water, playing. I wipe the tears off of my eyes.. Stop it Joey.

I take a breath and put a smile on my face. You should never look at the world in a view filled with water, the tears in my eyes dry up. I mean there's some positives here. There’s rain! It’s really cold. Uhm.. Oh and-

I pause in my tracks and look in front of me to see a flying little bug, its head neon yellow, the wings shining in the sun, the rest of the body being a pixelated gradient of shades of green, 12 legs and eyes pure black.       
 I turn my camera back to photo mode and take the disk covering the lense.

If I want to change my life for the better I need to take action myself.

I bring the camera close to my face to get a better view, zooming it in while trying my best to change the quality. 

CLICK

I looked at the camera to not see anything on it, before I could process what was going on, the bug started flying in the opposite direction of me. I paused, dropping my book bag and quickly got back up to chase after it.

Despite being a literal flying bug, it had the same speed as a normal animal like me, so I turned around a few blocks around the school still following it. Huh, I can’t see any kids near this area.. It’s fine, I’m already embarrassing myself by chasing a bug, it’d be worse if people were watching me do it.

Then an obstacle came, a wired fence. Of course the bug was small enough to go through one of the holes. I shouldn’t really jump over there, I’d be in so much trouble if anyone found out I was escaping school grounds. I already don’t have a good record due to some rookie mistakes I made last year.

The bug was floating just on the other side of the fence, it was like it was waiting for me to come chase after it. Or if it was trying to take me somewhere. It’s fine, right? It’ll be quick! Besides, no one is around here…

I grab up the fence and climb as fast as I can, once I got to the top I plunked down. They really need to make a better safety system. I held onto my camera getting ready to take a photo but before I could it flew into the forest. Remember, just take a photo and get back.. You still have time.

I run after it. The sun wasn’t that bright here, the leaves were covering most of it. I continued following it, during the middle of the forest I thought I heard the sound of the sea but I must’ve been imagining it, probably another attempt of deja vu..

I finally got to an area in the forest where I couldn’t see anything at all. It was too dark. What time was it? It’s too dark to look at my watch… I felt shivers down my body… Then I saw glowing in the distance. It was the bug.. It could glow?

Well now I can’t really go back.. Dam, what have I gotten myself into…

I continue to chase after it. After a while I stop by an entrance of a dumpster of some sort. I look to see some giant metal boxes, seemingly red, a bit gray due to the dust on it. In one of them I saw the glowing again. I walk closer to it, grabbing my camera. 

Something grabbed my neck, It was an hand. I quickly grabbed the camera band and swung it behind me, making the camera hit the larger figure. Which made them let go from my neck and use their other hand to grab my hand before I fell from the impact.

They tore the camera off, making me fall to the ground. Both my hands grasped my neck in pain, my breaths were heavy and going fast. My throat hurts. It’s never hurt like this before.

I look around to see the figure. It was Kylie. No… That can’t be here…

“Aw look at this poor little kangaroo…” ‘Kylie’ taunted, spinning the camera by its band.I wanted to say something, scream ‘stop’ even but all I could do was stare, not even cry.

She took the camera and slammed it on the ground. 

Over
 
And

Over

Again.

The lense shattered, cutting through her legs, but not leaving any blood. 

What the hell.

I wanted to do something, anything, but I couldn’t, I could never. I never was able to.

“Sorry dear. But sometimes you need to accept the fact that you can’t always change your view on things…” A voice taunted. It wasn’t Kylie who was saying it but the voice in my head.

Before I could try to gain some context on what that meant, ‘Kylie’ Took the broken camera from the ground and aimed it in a way that it could hit my head.

CRASH

-

Didier’s POV-

Didier : Where are you

It was already 7:49… did he lie to me?

I sigh, still staring at my phone in disappointment, if we were going to not come he could’ve just said no. I walk back into the office. This time there wasn’t a line, it made sense, people have probably already started heading to their lockers and classes. It’s best to be early anyway, which is not what Joey is doing.

I walked up to the counter and looked to see if there was a teacher there, luckily there was, but they were too busy messing up with some papers to see me. I right now was lacking some patience

“Hé!” I exclaim trying to gain attention from the teacher.

“Agh!” She exclaims in shock dropping some of the papers, she turns around in anger but changes her expression when she realizes it was me. Probably trying to make the ‘Transfer kid’ welcomed. I didn’t care about that.

“Ah! Yes dear, do you need anything?” She asks, leaning her head on her hand.

“Yes.” I told her. “Could je come ici- uhm.. here! at Lunch.”

“Pardon me dear but could you please repeat that? I couldn’t um yknow..” Understand that? Yeah I’m aware you do not need to dodge those words like it is the plague.

“Could je-”

“You mean I?”

“Ah oui… I” I say in quite annoyance. I know she is just trying to help but if she already understands what I’m trying to say then she doesn’t need to correct me unless she is trying to teach me a lesson in an actual English classroom.

“Could I come.. here at Lunch?” 

“Of course? Is there any reason specifically you can inform to me right now?” The women asked.

I paused, as embarrassing as it is, I can't understand some English yet, I mean I can but not long words or when said really fast…

“Uhm…” I say, trying to hint that I can’t really explain much right now. I rub my elbow softly out of habit.

“You’re with Joey, right? Bring him here with you at Lunch and I’ll talk with both of you! Now you get to class Mr!” The teacher explained quickly running back to what she was doing before, picking up paperwork off the floor.

I guess she just wants me to come back at lunch, fair enough, easier for me. 

I walk through the hallways, I pull at my phone and look at the time 8:04.. I'm late to my first period… That reminds me, the reason I wanted to talk to the counselors in the first place is because I wanted to change my classes… I'm stuck with this kid I know named George. I've known him for quite a while but everytime I try talking to him something inside me tells me not to.

It's fine though, once lunch is over I shouldn’t have to worry about him, especially since my sister stopped hanging out with his sister, apparently she went insane… I wouldn’t even be surprised if George got the same crazy genes as her.

As I walk through the halls I see a wolf kid wearing a black bandana holding something shining in they’re hands, shouldn’t he be in class? I can’t tell if they're a girl or a boy, by the looks of it probably male but I shouldn’t guess just by getting a glance.

Curiosity piqued me and I walked closer to him. He seemed to be holding a golden heart shaped necklace, the rims being lined with a flowery design, chains a matching gold, wrapping around his neck. I immediately 

“Est-ce le médaillon en forme de cœur cramoisi en édition limitée de 1942?!?” I shouted, grabbing his shoulders to get a better look. 

“WHAT THE FUCK-” The boy yelled, his voice sounded very masculine and angry, sure hes a boy. “Wh- Who the HELL are you!?” I tried my best to listen but I couldn't understand some of the words.

I did understand the ‘Who ___ ____ are you’ part. It was one of the questions Joey taught me how to answer. I went back to remember the conversion starters I was taught when in need to introduce myself to someone. I wasn’t able to use it yet due to everyone already knowing me somehow..

“I am Didier!” I exclaim. “What est your name!?” 

“Wyatt…” He says. “Uh… You French??”

“Oui! Ah! Sorry, I mean Yes!” I answered him. “Are you from France, aussi?”

“Uh no…” He says, my mood becomes less energetic from the realization.

“B-But le médaillon! Est from Paris!?” I explain, energy draining from my voice making me sound like some weird maniac I’ve seen on the street.

“Uhm.. Sorry dude. My parents gave it to me before they uhm-” Wyatt then scoffs. “You wouldn’t get it, Frenchie.” He then paused for a bit.

“I SAID TOO MUCH TO YOU!” Before I could try understanding what he was saying he started running away from me.

“Hé! What are you doing out de class!?” I shout, trying to gain his attention.

“Skipping!” He yells back, not even turning

Huh, I didn’t know you could do that here?... Well I’m pretty sure I just made a big fool out of myself. Why can’t I find anyone like me? There has to be one person in this trou de l'enfer…

I walked the opposite direction of where the kid, his Wyatt from what I remember, was walking. Maybe I should try doing this skipping thing, I don’t wanna be here anyways. I walk outside the building where I see the school gates still open. Huh? 

Maybe they just opened it for kids who are coming late. Nothing to worry about! Wait, shouldn’t there be some guard watching over the exit in case some kids try to escape the school. There is a road outside there, someone could die-

…

That smell… I recognize it, it’s so far away from my grasp but it’s so familiar… What is it? The aura is getting into my eyes… Maybe I should go take a look. I am skipping after all so it shouldn’t matter. 

My hand touches one of the school gate’s bars. I look outside, after a while I gain the bravery to step outside. The second I do something pulls me closer. I have to follow it. It takes me back. It can take me back home.

I kept walking, noticing how the sidewalk cracks had greenery spurting out. The more I walked the more the area around me started looking familiar, my body felt more tense yet at the same time it felt calmed, I felt like I was doing the wrong thing but everything felt so right.

I finally stopped at a bakery. It was a simple design, Brown and green, a classic colour combo I was quite the fan of. As I walk in, a bell rings. Hinting that a customer had just entered the building.

The place wasn’t as crowded, which is good, but not really at the same time. 

“Bonjour ! Que souhaitez-vous commander ?” I heard a voice call from the counter. His voice was eerie and concerning but I ignored it.

“Oh, Hé...?” I answered the man, he had a very stereotypical mustache on him.

I walked up to the counter and looked at the place, noticing a giant menu board up above the man's head, leaning on the wall. I look closer to see that kids got to eat a mini croissant for free. My eyes sparkled. I haven’t eaten something I enjoyed back in France for a long time. It hurts knowing how long it has been. Also because I don't have money on me.

“Puis-je-” I ask before getting cut off.

“le croissant?” He asked me.

I don't answer him back, only nodding, a slight smile appearing on my face. He also doesn’t speak and points to a table in the far corner with one chair. Likely suggesting that I sit there. I of course listen to him and walk up to the corner and sit down.

I waited for around 2 minutes when my plate showed up on my table. I looked at it for a good few moments before actually deciding to hold it. It felt so wrong though. Something inside is telling me that I cannot take a bite into this. The other side is telling me I deserve it, I don't know whether it's in a negative tone or positive.

I hesitated and took a bite out of it only to spit it out.

“C'EST QUOI CE BORDEL ?” I shouted. My throat was burning even after I spat it out. I heard a few laughs from the distance

Before I could contemplate what was going on, a figure was standing above me. It was the bakery man at the counter.

“How disrespectful.” He said, disgust filling my mouth. His voice sounded different…

Everyone was now staring at me now, a pain grew in my heart realizing who all the people were. They were all people I’ve seen before, My old local area. I felt humiliated, I don’t know why, I didn’t even do anything wrong.

My hands covered my eyes like I was gonna cry but I never did. My eyes were too dry and painful to do so. A hand grabs the top of my head and pulls my hair up. I gasp in pain. It was the counter man. My hands grab his trying to make him let go but while doing so the people around started grabbing my limbs holding me down. 

The bakery man took the croissant and tried shoving it down my throat, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t do anything. Once he took his hand out of my mouth I threw the shit out on the table. It wasn’t throw up but it was definitely something.

“Sometimes things don’t always happen the way we want mon garçon..”

Before I could speak he hardened his grip on my hair and-

BANG

Chapter Text

Wyatt's POV-

"Est-ce le médaillon en forme de cœur cramoisi en édition limitée de 1942?!?" A kid shouted, grasping onto my shoulders by surprise

I panicked and turned around to see a donkey kid around my age, just a bit shorter. What the hell goes on in this school??...

"WHAT THE FUCK- Wh- Who the HELL are you!?" I yelled back in response.

Can't I get a single break in life!? And what the hell is he saying? WHAT LANGUAGE IS THAT??

"I am Didier!" The donkey answers, which I really wasn't expecting him to. "What est your name!?"

"Wyatt..." I say, slightly hesitating for my own good reasons. "Uh... You French??" I ask, guessing the language he was speaking.

"Oui! Ah! Sorry, I mean Yes! Are you from France, aussi?" He asked me fro some reason.

"Uh no..." I answer

"B-But le médaillon! Est from Paris!?" The weird kid explains as I notice his voice becoming less energetic by the second.

"Uhm.. Sorry dude. My parents gave it to me before they uhm-" I scoff before realizing that I was going on full ass trauma dumping mode. "You wouldn't get it, Frenchie."

"I SAID TOO MUCH TO YOU!" I yell before rushing away as far as I could, preferably to the nearest bathroom, not because I actually need to go to the bathroom but because I am not in the mood to deal with this so early.

"Hé! What are you doing out de class!?" The kid shouts from far away.

"Skipping!" I yell back.

Why did I even answer him? What if he gets along with the school district and tells on me? Oh well who gives a shit. It wouldn't change my behaviour.

As I continued running away as fast as I could I turned around into a corner and into the boys bathroom. Wait no nevermind it smells like someone puked in here, get me out. I ran out of the bathroom covering my mouth with one hand while my other hand was still holding onto the locket.

What the fuck was that kid blabbering about!? Well, then again I was also acting like some weirdo freak with my random runny away contrage. But that's normal for me! I'm weird! I'm a loser! Not some kid who can speak French! Frenchies are supposed to be romantic or whatever.

What was he even trying to GAIN out of that!? A friend? I don't have any friends.. Never have, never will.

I grasp the locket in my hand, feeling the rims and edges bump on my thumb as I sway it across the object slowly but in a way of comfort. I open it slightly yet not that quickly.

It's a photo of me and my parents. My old parents, before they well...uhm... They didn't die to be exact but I can never see them again. My new family is... strange. My sister, Wendy is kinda an asshole and my parents are just plain weird.

Tch. It's not like that it matters anyways. Everyone dies, whether we like it or not. It's either gruesome, or it's painless. It can either be our choice or not to leave the world but at least you're escaping it's horrors.

I sigh loudly before attempting to tuck the locket back in my shirt. But to my surprise a kid from behind me grabs the chain from the locket behind, almost choking me. I let go of the pedant to use my hands to stop the guy but before I could he unlocked it and snatched it away making me stumble onto my back leaning roughly on the wall.

Fuck.

"Wowie, what do we have here!" The kid giggled in a taunting voice. The voice angered me but all I could do was turn my knuckles into a fist as tightly as I could.

"This looks fancy, wonder how much it sells for!" She sneered looking closer at the necklace.

"H-HEY! GIVE THAT BACK!" I yelled at her.

"Or what." She asked back, countering my statement.

I felt pressure go through my forehead as I made an attempt to jump on them and attack but they managed to move too quickly for me to notice it. How was that even possible? No one can be THAT fast.

I growl in frustration and stress as the animal-like kid giggled, they looked to be the height and age of one of the sixth graders, definitely not mature enough to have gone through puberty yet which was pathetic to me.

"Heh, we playing tag now!?" She questioned, laughing again a bit.

"No.. That isn't at all what I was trying to hint." I explain standing back up and gritting my teeth. To which they only responded back with laughter again.

"Very well then! A game we shall play!" The kid announced moving quickly to one of the school exits. Of course now I actually do have to chase after him.

As I run toward her I yell a few times to give it back, to which she only replies with laughter. Why does she keep laughing? It's freaking me the hell out.

The more we kept running the more she managed to slow down, which was good for me. We soon entered the outside of the school building, ran a few circles in the yard and then went back to go run outside of the school.

I know I just talked about death not being important to me, but that necklace really is so if this little shit doesn't give it back I'll lose my mind then make her lose her mind. Even though I doubt she has one.

Before I knew it we ended up in the school's designated carpool. I don't go around here often so I don't really care for this place. Besides I prefer walking to school, but that's just my general and better opinion.

The kid now finally stopped to my relief. I take a good look at her to only realize she has a dead stare scarred on. No longer smiling, no longer giggling. I look at her with anger and slight confusion. Mostly anger.

Before I was about to pounce on her and turn her into minced meat she threw me the locket. I jump up to catch it and click it back onto my neck. I stare at the girl again.

"Looks like you just saved your life bud." I taunt her. "Should've done this sooner though, would've been less painful for BOTH of our legs."

"Oh naive little Wyatt."

I stumble in shock listening to the voice in my head. Was it the girl? No to deep and masculine. I look back at the girl who was now smiling at me. Creepy as hell.

"Goodnight Wyatt!" The girl waved at me to my confusion. Now she sounded exactly like the voice... How did she know my name.

Before I could think I heard the sound of a car engine rushing. I looked behind me.

BASH!

-

Richard's POV-

I wipe the excess off my face. Why didn't I freaking listen.

Before I could look anywhere else I grip the toilet tasting the bitterness of stomach acid already forming in my mouth. I shove my face near the toilet puking. I pull my face back up again, I can't hear or think properly now.

"Don't worry Richard, I'll take you to the nurse's office when you're done!" A familiar voice called behind my bathroom stall. "Just.. uh.. Keep at it? Wait no-"

I like his voice, it's nostalgic. Heh, my head is super freaking dizzy now... I forgot how I got here. This place looks really funny for a bathroom stall... Whoever designed this place is delulu for real.

Huh, that's a silly word, delulu... where did I learn that... I'm so smart. Woah my stomach hurts. Like.... Uh, someone stabbed it or whatever.

Ugh, what am I talking about!? I just want this day to fucking end... Everything hurts, well not everything, just my stomach. And my throat. And my head. Yeah that's it.

The bathroom door slammed open.

"GEORGE! SOMEONE JUST STOLE MY FUCKING BAG!" Another familiar voice shouted out.

"WHA- HUH!?" I heard the voice from earlier shout back at him... Huh so that guy is named George, oh yeah I know Georgie!

Wait there's a robber in school... What kind of kid is that broke to steal something from another kid? Me probably. I would steal some food if I could, can't blame the guy but a bag?? I'm sure there's better options.. Maybe it had food in it! A lunch bag! Wait no- it's supposed to be a lunch box right?

"W-Well why did you come here!?" George asked.

"I need Richard to chase after him, he's the only one fast enough!"

"What the skibid- HIC-"

Before I could respond to the kid my throat started burning again, as I slowly started losing breath I puked again in the toilet a bit dripping on the seat of the toilet. My stomach started twirling again as I tried my best to not fall to the ground.

"Oh. Uh.. Never mind that, you come with me George!"

"What about Richard! I need to take him to the nurse's office-" George asked

"He'll be fine! He can take care of himself! Isn't that right Richard?" The voice responded back to him.

"Yup! No cap!" I responded to the voice. I forgot where it was.

"See now! C'mon!" I heard the voice yell, seeming more serious and pressured.

I could hear the grasp of hands and loud footsteps and a voice telling something before it turned to pin drop silence. The only thing I could hear was water dripping, I don't exactly know where it was coming from but as long as it doesn't drop on me.

I think I feel better now... I try, yet struggle, getting up but I do manage to do it. Trying not to look at the digested stomach stuff in the toilet I try flushing the toilet. I grasp the handle and push it down but nothing happens. I think I clogged the toilet.

That's a problem I'll leave for someone else, I've had myself enough already, sheesh kabob. I unlock and open the stall door. I walk up to the sink and wash my face, specifically the lower region where my mouth is. I'm genuinely surprised none of it got on my hoodie.

I take a good look at myself in the mirror. Damn I'm low key fine as hell. Okay no but I look horrible right now. Crazy how a granola bar got me here... How could something so painful be so delicious!? I take back what I said to dogs, I don't want to even KNOW how they live.

Dude I can't even think straight right now without me changing the topic randomly.. I sigh and turn around drying my face with my sleeve. As I looked up I jumped in shock.

Right in front of me was a flying carrot. It was glowing radiantly, not even a bit dirty... All I could do was pause and stare for a bit.

"Jesus..?" I ask. Maybe I am dead... I REALLY AM A DOG! Wait no I'm still a rabbit.

"Ye- Wait what no." The 'carrot' answered back.

"Ms. Carrot from Mr. Potato's Christmas Special theater show that was dated back to 2019?"

"Wha- NO!" Eh. It was worth a shot. "Kid, how are you not doubting anything right now?" The 'carrot' responded, sounding a bit concerned.

"I dunno." I answer back. "I mean you're probably not real, just made up in my head! Also, you're a carrot. Carrots are pretty fucking awesome." I explain to the dude, seeming pretty confident in my answer.

"Uhm well this was easier than I thought..." I heard a voice whisper, pretty sure it was the carrot and they didn't want me to hear what they had just said. "Well then, my child, come with me! For I shall take you to a place filled with your wonders!"

"Are there more carrots, specifically ones I can eat?" I ask them. "Wait sorry, that was offensive."

The carrot paused, still floating in mid air. "Is that what you wish?" They asked me to which I only nod quickly in response. "Then yes, my child!"

"Awesome! Lead the way, twin!" I yell at the 'carrot' with obvious excitement in my expression.

"I beg your pardon."

"N-No it's a positive term! It's like best friend or something." I explain.

"I am not a twin, I am a carrot."

"Yeah I'm aware of that, can you lead the way now, it stinks in here." I say trying to get a move on. Actually I'm pretty sure the reason it stinks right now is because of all of my puking, sheesh I am causing a lot of problems today.

Before I could process anything the carrot somehow managed to open the door and it floated out of the room, I hurryingly rushed out to see them. The carrot closes the bathroom door behind me and before we know it we are walking through the hallways together. For some reason the hall monitors weren't here right now... strange because I do remember seeing them this morning.

As we walked the more I started feeling a bit uncomfortable, I'm pretty sure it's just my stomach bugging me still, worst case scenario I start throwing up in the middle of a school hallway. I'm pretty sure I already threw up yesterday's dinner. Maybe even lunch.

Was it even worth it to eat that granola bar? I wont say because my answer will make people think I'm stupid. Just a hint, it starts with 'Y'. I look back up at the carrot after realizing I have been staring at the floor this entire time.

"So do you have a name?"

"I am a carrot."

"Oh okay... uhm" I paused trying to think of something to ask, only to pass the time of course. "Have you met any other vegetables in your life?"

"I have seen everything, even your future."

"Oh, cool." I pause again, this time in concern.

We continued to walk for a bit till we reached a coiled fence, of course we only reached there by going through the second building exit that literally no one uses. We stood there for a couple of minutes till this carrot dude finally decided to do something. They took one of the small holes from the fence and enlarged it making it the size and I could perfectly fit through if I bent my ears.

We walked through the fence and went through the entrance of the forest. Of course now I was likely concerned about what the fuck was going on. But then again, I'm starving.

The more we walked the more I got intrigued about the carrots genuine goal that they are gaining from this. It really didn't make sense but then again this isn't really something that happens everyday, there wouldn't be any possible way someone could make an illusion like this.

Sooner or later we ended up in an abandoned dumpster looking place. Don't really understand why we had to leave the bathroom if we were just going to go to a place that smelled worse, genuinely I don't really understand the point in that. The place was dark, not that much but that's because of the 'carrot' glowing.

"What's your name?" The 'carrot' says as I look up at it. "You asked for mine before and I never managed to get your back.." The 'carrot explains. Hey, wait! I thought this guy knew everything!

"Oh uh it's Richard!" I answer.

Before I knew it a carrot fell out of nowhere. I managed to catch it and get a good look at it. It was just a normal clean carrot, nothing special.

"Here. You're hungry aren't you."

"Yeah, thanks!" I exclaim not questioning how the hell the carrot guy did that.

I felt the carrot for a bit, questioning whether I should eat it or not. The more I held it the more I realized that It had felt awfully fake for a carrot. I mean I would know how a carrot would feel like, my family has their own carrot farm!

"Well then what are you waiting for?" The glowing object asked, likely staring at me with a confused look basing it off of its tone in voice.

"Oh sorry! Just savoring the moment y'know." I answer, slightly losing enthusiasm in my voice for a reason even I didn't know of.

But still food is food, as long as it doesn't make me vomit again! Even if it does, I'm still gonna eat it. I bring the carrot slowly to my face and take a bite, a pretty small one. It tasted like a carrot, a bit like dirt but I've had that experience before when trying carrots. Though this carrot doesn't have any dirt on it which is strange.

I quickly took a second bite, now realizing that it was likely just a carrot that just tasted weird. As I gnawed on the carrot piece in between my teeth I heard a scream behind me.

I turned around to see two familiar faces, a pig's and an elephant's.

"George I'm so confused about what you are trying to do!? There's no one there!" Edmond yelled at George in a fearful tone, looking like he'd seen a lot. Though the last part of what he said rang in my head.

"Dude, what are you talking about? There's this cool carrot guy!" I yelled back at him, correcting his statement. (for once)

I look to notice that Edmond was slightly hiding behind George, now I think about it. George is looking pretty creepy right now, never seen him this determined, oh wait nevermind he looks like he's going to break out in tears, my mistake! Wait, why's he holding a bat?

"Richard step away from him!" I heard George yell out.

"But-"

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF THE LORD, RICHARD I SAID STEP AWAY FROM THE GUY!"

"Okay wow, damn you're being salty for someone who's already having tears drip down their cheeks." I answer back running toward George and hiding slightly behind him parallelling Edmond.

I looked back at the 'carrot' while still holding the carrot that the 'carrot' had given to me, only grasping onto that carrot tighter. Woah, that's a lot of carrots in one sentence.

"Tch. Georgie you've come quite late now haven't you..." The 'carrot' taunts. Hey what the freak only I've called him Georgie!

Before I could speak the 'carrot' transformed into a black goopy like figure, standing really tall. Like three times my height! EARS INCLUDED!

"I still can't see OR hear anything!" I hear Edmond yell at the two of us noticing our overgrown silence and deep throat fear sinked on our faces.

"GEORGE WHAT IS GOING ON!?" I turn back to look at George, Edmond nodding likely to agree to my statement.

"I-..." George fumbles with his words. " I'LL EXPLAIN LATER! RETREAT!" George drops his bat on the ground.

"Uh-uh-uh!" The voice taunts, like it was shaking a finger despite it not having one. "Not with the carrot in hand."

Before I knew it, the carrot in my hand quickly turned to ash. The dust particles floated through the air despite not that much of a breeze being here, it flew right into my face which made my eyes burn. I quickly let go of the rest of the particles to cover my eyes, rubbing it from the pain.

"..." When I opened my eyes again all I could see was Georgie staring at me. "You didn't take a bite out of that.. Did you?"

Before I could answer my head started spinning again, not like when I was throwing up in the bathroom but it did feel slightly similar.

"Sheesh.. yeah I think I did-"

BASH!

The back of my head then it flat on the floor, all I remember was Georgie and Edmond leaning above me filled with worry and panic.

Then it all went black

Chapter Text

Edmond’s POV-

I stare at the empty seat next to mine. The seat that belonged to my friend Zaza.

Where could she have gone?.. People don’t disappear just like that!

I sigh trying to focus back on the school and other stuff that’s important to me but no matter how much I try it’s no use. It’s first period, math, well it's not exactly starting yet. Since, well, the teacher just so happens to be late.

I know it’s probably not anything serious or whatever, considering that it’s only been an hour and not much can really happen in an hour but considering she might’ve taken some influence on ‘those’ two, quite literally anything is possible.

I’m not the type of person to make such assumptions without any hardware evidence but of course I am in the right to worry about someone I care about. I wish I could explain better on what I’m feeling but the words are just… jumbled up.

Maybe it’s a sign or something. Maybe I should go look for her. No, that’s stupid, like I said before, she's fine, her sister's fine, everything is fine and I am just overreacting. No one got kidnapped, no one is dead, and no one is getting hit by a car! Wait how’d the car part get in here.

Oh just forget it! I need to take some action before I lose my sanity here overthinking. I stand up from my seat and grab my book bag. I put Zaza’s folder and math book in my bag as well. I look at Zuzu’s backpack that's sitting on top of her sister’s desk. I’m pretty sure she’s fine, she probably just went to her class before coming here, just not wanting to be late. She doesn’t need her backpack for P.E. too.

I get a move on and get out of the class door. I’m surprised that nobody was questioning my random actions. I look outside, still no one is outside.

Everybody should still be in their classes. Except a Zebra of course.

Now. Where exactly should I look first.. Yeah I didn’t really prepare. I’m supposed to be the smart one right now! Calm down Edmond. Just think where exactly would she be….

She went to her locker right? I should look for clues over there. Okay maybe this isn't as hard as I thought it would be! As I walk to the locker I take a look around the hallway in case I pass by some kids who might’ve seen Zaza, or Zuzu.

Richard and George share a class with Zuzu if I’m correct. If I pass by them I'll ask if they saw Zuzu. Despite me not meeting anyone in the hallway, even a hall monitor or teacher which was quite suspicious, I got to her locker.

I take a good look at the lock. The number was random, 24. Which is strange because this morning I saw it at 32 when I walked in the building, which obviously meant that she DID come here! But since it’s at the last number of her code, she never got the chance to actually open it! Don’t ask how I know this, you should already know the answer.

Well, one clue down. Now I should probably go ask Richard and George if they have seen Zuzu. I have a feeling that they both aren’t in class though. Considering that they would take advantage of there being no hall monitors today.

Now, where do boys go when they want to skip class… Oh, yeah that one bathroom that smells horrible.

I start walking towards the bathroom, it just so happens to be the bathroom near the math classroom across from the stairs which meant that I had to go ALL the way back from where I started. I mean it’s not that big of a deal, but I have a feeling it should be stated.

I finally get to the bathroom, as I go near the door I hear a recognizable voice. Now what’s a statement that will grab their attention and drop whatever they’re doing… As an idea popped in my head I dropped my bag off my shoulder and let it hit the ground.

I slam the door open. “GEORGE! SOMEONE JUST STOLE MY FUCKING BAG!” I yell as I see George turn around in absolute shock.

“WHA- HUH!?” George responds in pure confusion. “W-Well why did you come here!?”

“I need Richard to chase after him, he’s the only one fast enough!” I say. Well, obviously that’s not exactly true.

“What the skibid- HIC-” A voice said in the stall before the sounds of vomiting covered him from speaking.

“Oh. Uh.. Never mind that, you come with me George!”

“What about Richard! I need to take him to the nurse’s office-” George asked

“He’ll be fine! He can take care of himself! Isn’t that right Richard?” I asked, expecting a response.

“Yup! No cap!” I heard Richard shout back.

“See now! C’mon!” I explain to George, grabbing onto his hand and pulling him out of the bathroom. “By the way, I lied.”

As we run out I close the bathroom door. I grab my bag and pull it across my shoulder to carry it. George was now staring at me in so much confusion.

“What.”

“Huh?”

“No- Wait, why’d you lie?” George asks me.

“Oh, to grab your attention.” I will explain. “Besides, WE have even bigger problems than Richard’s stomach problems.”

When I said that all I gained back was an even more confused expression from George. I sigh as I look back at him. By now we started walking slowly in the hallway, I don’t know why, but I don't mind. I mean they do say that walking is better for the mind.

“So, did you see Zuzu in P.E.?” I ask George

“No, actually.” He answers back. “I just thought she was running late or something-”

“Okay so she’s missing also..” I mark down in my head.

“Wait! I didn’t say she was missing or anyth- I’m sorry, ALSO?”

“Yeah, Zaza is missing.” I explain.

George continues walking with me. Just now in silence, most likely thinking to himself about something. He was quite the worried expression now plastered on his face. After a few seconds I decided to ask him another question.

“Do you know who’s in charge of being hall monitor for the first period?” I ask, hoping for an answer.

“Yeah uh it’s Joey!” George answers in slight hesitation.

Joey? The kangaroo kid we were talking about in the morning? Well from the looks of it I guess so. So that means that Joey, Zuzu, and Zaza are missing. There must be some connection here. I try thinking harder, putting my hand up to my chin.

“Maybe we should check some places where they could be..” George says, breaking the silence.

“And where exactly should we start?” I ask him.

“Well, the twins get dropped off at the carpool lane. Maybe they got picked up early for an emergency or something!” George explains.

“If he Mr. Zebra did pick them up for an emergency. There would’ve been an announcement for the girls to go to the office to be picked up.” I explain, trying to put some logic into the situation.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try though, anything is possible. Plus, we don’t really have anywhere else to look.”

George’s random urge to investigate was cornering and random but despite this I can’t really blame him. I nod in agreement as we both go to the exit near us, which unlucky for us happens to be the exit farthest from the lot.

As we walked we did some small chat, I asked more questions and other stuff. It took a while but we did end up managing to get to the exit to school property which led right to the carpool.

As we walked up closer a car rushed faster than we ever saw right in front of us and.. HIT A KID? I turned to look at George to make sure I wasn’t the only person who saw that. Of course by the shock on his face it was obvious what the answer was.

All we could do was stand in silence. We couldn’t even open the gate, we just had to stare from across the fence. Before I could try contemplating on what I should do next George grabs my hand, noticing something from across.

“George, what are you doing-”

“Look, just trust me. I know what’s going on.” He says as I look at him. “I know what happened to them.

I continue to look at him with jumbled thoughts scarring the inside of my head. I nod back at him. Of course I trust him, I’ve known him for practically all of my life.

He grips my hand harder and brings me out to the carpool. There I noticed that the car hadn't moved nor was there a body underneath or around it. There was a really small bloodstain gushed on the ground. Where even more discomfort struck me.

George lets go of my hand so I can get a closer look. Perhaps someone moved the body when we couldn’t see.

“I saw someone moving over there, I think they moved the body.” George blurts out pointing at the exit which showed the road.

“Are you sure?” I ask to which George only nods.

The two of us walk out. Before I could take some look of the outside, George grabbed me, again.

“LOOK! OVER THERE!” George yells, pointing at a random area on the sidewalk.

“George w-what are you talking about there's nothing there.” I explained to him.

I hear George curse under his breath. But before I could gain some context on what the hell hes talking about, he lets go of my shoulder and grabs my wrist. He then starts randomly chasing the ‘invisible’ person with me hanging on his end.

We passed through streets, a forest, and a certain area where the sea rests. Of course during this I kept constantly questioning George’s strange behavior but anytime I said something he would just not respond, only silence was what I earned back from him. After, what seemed like forever we ended up in some kind of junkyard.

The place was awfully dark, almost like it was night. George finally lets go of my hand, swarming around in circles of confusion. I could only stand in disbelief. Everything was already getting far too confusing.

“Wh- NO! I JUST SAW HIM!” I hear George cry out.

Finally gaining the strength to move, I walk up to him and lay my hand on his shoulder softly.

“Hey, calm down.” I say. “He- I- I don't really know, but if you saw whoever came here they should still be here, we- to be exact, you have to just keep looking.”

George looks at me and smiles in relief. “Y-Yeah..” He replies. “I’m sorry- You probably don’t even know what’s going on right now!” He says, softly chuckling at the end.

“Heh, yeah you’re going to have to explain what’s going on after we get back you imbecile.”

I take my hand off his shoulder as he goes to some of the junk in the yard and starts digging in it. I don’t question it, it’s not the first time he’s done idiotic stuff like this. I’ve just learnt to live with it. He then pulls a bat out of it.

“What’s that for?”

“In case he attacks us.”

“Oh.” I responded back. I still do not know who the hell this ‘he’ is.

George walks back to me, holding the bat still. Then we both started walking straight, we both decided that it would be the best method of searching the place, even if I don’t know what we’re searching for.

Around 20 minutes, we both finally manage to come to a stop. There I saw Richard in the middle of the junkyard, talking to.. The air.

Before I could question why the hell he was there George yelled his name in panic. Richard then turns around to see the both of us. He was eating a carrot also, I don't really know where he got that from but it really didn’t seem that important to me.

But now, everything was really confusing me, so much so that it started to hurt my brain, I still couldn’t see anything.

“George I’m so confused about what you are trying to do!? There’s no one there!” I ask with obvious concern in my voice. Maybe, I am the one that's starting to go insane.

“Dude, what are you talking about? There’s this cool carrot guy!” I hear Richard yell back.

“Richard step away from him!” George then quickly responds back to him.

“But-” Richard stammers before George interrupts him.

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF THE LORD, RICHARD I SAID STEP AWAY FROM THE GUY!”

“Okay wow, damn you're being salty for someone who's already having tears drip down their cheeks.” Richard exclaims before rushing back to the two of us, hiding behind George right next to me.

Before the three of us could run and ditch the place a voice called out. I still couldn’t see anything but I could very easily hear it, and by George and Richards' expressions, they also heard it.

“Tch. Georgie you’ve come quite late now haven’t you…”

“I still can’t see OR hear anything!” I explain, looking at their frightened faces.

“GEORGE WHAT IS GOING ON!?” Richard says, turning to George.

“I-...” George fumbles with his words. “ I'LL EXPLAIN LATER! RETREAT!” George drops his bat on the ground.

“Uh-uh-uh!” The voice taunts. “Not with the carrot in hand.”

Next thing I notice, the carrot that Richard was holding turned into dust, floating into the air.

“...”

“You didn’t take a bite out of that.. Did you?” George asks him.

“Sheesh.. yeah I think I did-” Before Richard could finish he fell to the ground.

George kneels on the ground checking if he was okay, he was still breathing which was good. Panic fills our heads as we just stare at Richard's perfectly still body. I then turn to stare at George who gets up after noticing.

All of a sudden I see a graze of panic slide across George’s face as he stares above me. I then also feel a hint of darkness and pain surround me. Out of instinct I grab George’s hand and run in the direction that we have not seen yet.

After a while I spot a damaged car and hide behind it with George. Both of us were breathing heavily, It was the only thing that was breaking the silence from the both of us. What the hell was going on… I can’t see or hear what’s ‘attacking’ but I know it’s after. I look back at George. I have a feeling it has something to do with him.

Of course, I don’t believe he wants his friends to get hurt. He would never want that. I try my best to think, if he’s the cause of this then why is it happening? It just makes no sense.

“EDMOND!”

I heard a voice try to yell before it went black.

BASH.

Chapter Text

Darkness… That’s what's filling the air right? 

The Pig thought to himself as he laid down looking at the pitch black void above him. He can’t remember how he got here to begin with. When in a chance to save everyone he fumbled because of his ‘stupid’ emotions getting in the way. 

What’s even going on right now? He should have at least some context on what's happening, right?

The silence of his environment was then broken with a voice and violent yet worrying shaking. Who’s shaking him? Maybe they want him to wake up from this dream… But he’s not ready to face the world again. 

Just wake up. 

George bolts up in a gasp, breathing heavily as if he had just been drowning a few minutes ago despite him not being drenched in water but instead dry. 

“Oh thank goodness!” A familiar voice called out. He couldn’t exactly see who was calling out because his vision was slightly blurry. “George, are you okay!?”

“Give the dork some space, dude.” Another voice explained, this one being one he has never heard before.

George got up properly causing the hands that were grabbing his shoulders to let go. He rubs his eyes trying to focus on getting his vision back, after a few seconds he starts seeing clearly.

He looks up and sees a timid kangaroo far shorter than him and a wolf with a fierce stare.The kangaroo was a kid he knew for a very long time, Joey, while the wolf kid probably went to his school. Just a guess.

“George, can you hear me!?” Joey panicked, grabbing onto George’s face and bringing it closer to his.

“Yeah I can!” George answers, making Joey let go in relief. “Wh- Where are we?..” He asked now getting a better look of the surroundings.

It seemed to be a bedroom of some sort, despite him just laying a few seconds ago he was never in the bed to begin with, he was just laying on the wooden floor. The room seemed to be something that came from an old 1980s movie, except it looked like the place was full of mold and was completely rotting. 

“That's what we’re TRYING to figure out.” The wolf said, adding himself to the conversation, seeming quite annoyed by George’s question.

“Yeah, uhm..me and Wyatt were hoping you would know something about what was going on..” Joey explained slightly pausing here and there in his sentence. “We just introduced ourselves to each other when we woke up and found eachother so it was a shock when we found another person.” 

So the boy's name was Wyatt.. George thought, marking it down in his brain. He tried thinking of wolves in his school named Wyatt, still nothing came to his head. When the thought wolves rushed back in he remembered something.

“Were you the kid that got hit by a car at the school carpool?”

“What!?” The wolf, who was sitting on the bed, exclaimed from shock. “Oh yeah actually I think I did, I remember being in a carpool before blacking out and ending up here.”

“You got hit by a car!?” Joey squeaked, getting back up.

“I SAID I THINK!” Wyatt shouted back, gosh can this guy control his emotions?

George, slightly startled by the overcrowding of voices in the room, stands up, holding his hand on the bed frame for a better balance before finally letting go of it. 

“Have you perhaps seen anyone else?” George asks the two.

“No.” Wyatt answers.

“Well… not yet.” Joey stammers, trying to bring some positivity into the situation. “I mean this is only the second room we searched uhm.. We haven't checked the main hall either.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, pipsqueak.” 

“Actually do! There are other missing people, I would know since I was the last one to get uh… kidnapped ? I guess you can use that term here.” George immediately says after Wyatt. 

“How are you so sure about that?” Wyatt asks, seeming quite suspicious. 

George then thinks for a few milliseconds thinking of an excuse. If anyone figured out the history with ‘The Narrator’ he's most likely going to be sacrificed, or worse, have everyone hate him for the rest of his life, actually prison seems more of the realistic option.

“Me and Edmond uh… calculated it?..” 

“Oh! Edmond! He’s the child prodigy that Zuzu told me about!” Joey exclaims, to which George wasn’t expecting Zuzu to ever tell Joey who Edmond was.

“Who names their child Zuzu?” The wolf asked with a hint of concern in their voice. Despite it being quite offensive, he had every right to be questioning that.

“That’s not her actual name.” George says. “Just a nickname she had, like preschool.”

“Sorry, but that’s like really fucking weird.”

“Wyatt!” Joey exclaimed.

“ WHAT!? ” Wyatt shouted back which caused the kangaroo to stumble back a bit.

We really need to get back on a move on, George thought to himself. They weren't going to make any progress if they kept stalling like this. He still needs to check up on his friends. Last time he saw them, they weren't doing so well… though Wyatt did get hit by a car and seems to be perfectly fine.

“Guys, let’s just.. Start exploring?” George says to the two. Joey nods while Wyatt just rolls his eyes in response.

The three boys go to the door. George grabs the golden circular door handle and struggles to open it but ends up opening it after putting a bit more strength to it. That might become a problem later. 

George now gets a look at the hallway. It was brown with the light sources coming from lamps hanging on the walls, some were flickering. The condition of this place was practically awful. There were probably bugs crawling in between the floorboards if you looked closer in, of course George did not have the full bravery to do that. 

He didn’t like bugs, except worms, slugs and spiders, mostly because of nostalgia but besides it didn't really matter since none of those were bugs to begin with.

The three started walking through the halls till they passed a door that wasn’t boarded up. This time Wyatt tried opening the door, somehow he didn’t struggle like George did and immediately opened it.

 The boys looked inside to get a better look, not fully stepping in just in case. The place seemed to be just another bedroom, the only difference was that the bed was a different color. They close the door realizing there's nothing needed to explore.

Instead of immediately walking they just stood outside of the room.

“Maybe we should try finding the main hall or room..” The kangaroo suggests feeling not that much confidence in his answer. “Uhm.. Maybe some people are already waiting for others there.”

“How are you sure there’s even a ‘Main Hall’ or whatever?..” Wyatt asks.

“Yeah Joey, how do you know if there is one, there’s still the chance of there not being one.” George adds on.

“Well, Didier, a kid I know really likes architecture.” Joey explains. “By the looks of the size of this place and design, it’s most likely a mansion.”

“Wait, the French kid?” 

“Uhm yeah.. Me and George know him.” Joey stammers realizing that Wyatt probably doesn't even know who he's talking about. “Do you know him?”

“Well… Yeah, we talked.” Wyatt says, having slight hesitation in his voice. “He’s nice.”

“I thought emo kids didn’t have friends.” George blurts out.

“I'M NOT EMO !” Wyatt yells at George not really getting a reaction out of him.

“Okay guys! Let's just get a move on..” Joey said, trying to calm down the situation.

Both George and Wyatt nod at Joey, like George said before, stalling is NOT going to get them anywhere. 

The three started walking towards the hallway, not bothering to check the other rooms. If you want a bit more clarification on what they were trying to search, they were specifically looking for the end of the hallway. It was either going to be a dead end, if that happens they’ll turn the other way and try to find the other end of the hall, If it’s not a dead end then they’ll go through the door. They thought it would be the quickest way to find the ‘main hall’.

Luckily once they reached the end it had a double sided door, out of all the doors they have seen it was the only one that wasn’t damaged in any where. George moves to the side so Wyatt could open the door, he’s not trying to embarrass himself right now.

Wyatt grabs the handle and opens the door. As Joey explained, it was the main room. Out of all the places they’ve seen here it was the only one where all the lights were properly working. 

As the door creaked a shuffle of footsteps were heard coming towards them. A rabbit then out of nowhere jumped and hugged George as tight as they could.

“GEORGE WHERE ARE WEeEeeEe!!” He whined, his white fur softly rubbed on the pig. George recognised him immediately.

It was Richard! I mean, last time he saw him was on the ground and passed out so it was a slight relief to see him again okay and well.

“AH- RICHARD!” George yelled trying to let go of Richards' grasp. “OKAY I'LL EXPLAIN! Just calm down!

Wyatt and Joey looked at the two with a bit of concern smeared on their faces. As Richard finally let go of George two other figures walked into the vision of the four boys. 

“Richard! Don’t go off running, we have to stick together in a situation like this!” Edmond, one of the two figures explained. The other being Zaza, worryingly standing near Edmond.

A sudden wave of happiness washed inside him when he saw the two, if all three of them were okay then that means that Zuzu will also be fine as well, but of course he can only hope.

“But I found George! And these NPCs or whatever…” 

“HEY! Watch it hare!” Wyatt warned Richard, only for him to roll his eyes smirking.

Edmond comes in between the two, most likely to stop them from making a bigger problem. “So..” Edmond starts. “That makes six of us so far.”

After Edmond stated that he gained a few nods from around him. And a sullen look from Zaza, worry filling up inside her. Joey puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Okay, uhm, who the hell are you guys?” Wyatt asked, genuinely seeming curious. Poor dude, he barely knows a single person here. “Can we like to do some introduction of some sort”

“Shouldn’t we wait for everyone first?..” Zaza asks him.

“Yeah, SOME of us already know each other well enough.” Richard explains. “Like have some 1v1 convo with someone who already knows everyone if you really need that much context.” 

“That’s a weird way to put it.” The kangaroo states.

“Cap.”

“What?” 

“Guys, just uh..” Edmond says blurting out of nowhere again. “George how about you explain to Wyatt and Joey about everyone or something, you know everyone from what I remember..” 

George, shocked by the sudden request from Edmond, quickly nods. He still has the memory of what happened last time, he's surprised yet glad that he's alright now.

Everyone then decided to move to this specific area next to the only working fireplace. It was the spot that Zaza, Edmond, and Richard were waiting at originally. There were some torn up yet pretty usable couches that some started sitting on and after getting themselves in a good sitting position they all started to converse.

“So.” Joey taps George’s shoulder.

“Oh uh yeah..” George says slightly startled, turning around to look at Wyatt and Joey. “Joey, you know mostly everyone here already right?”

“I mean..” Joey says. “I've heard most of their names before!” 

“Just say you don’t know anything about them, it’s not that hard.” Wyatt says immediately after Joey’s statement.

George rolls his eyes. “Well, who do you want to know more about?” 

Geroge didn’t really have a plan on how he could converse about this, so the best he could do was just ask questions till they got a better understanding.

“Who’s the rabbit?” Joey asked.

“They literally stated his name multiple times.” Wyatt responded.

“No, I know his name is Richard, I just want to know more about him!”

“Well uhm.” George interrupts the two. “Richard’s well… he's interesting to say the least. He’s a great friend overall!”

“Yeah, a great pain in the ass.” Wyatt countered. 

“Oh, shut up grumpy pants.” George instructed. “So, what else?”

“Who’s that smart guy?” Wyatt asks, completely ignoring what he had just said earlier about Richard.

“Edmond! We’re talking about the elephant one right? I heard from Zuzu that he’s some really cool child prodigy!” Joey says.

“Obviously I’m talking about him, everyone else here looks really stupid.”

“Does that include you?” George asks. But before Wyatt could answer, he answers Joey. “Yeah, that’s him! If anyone has an idea of how we can get back home, it’s him!”

“Good to know we aren't doomed.”

Gosh, is this guy always like this…

“And the zebra's name is Zuzu..the one Joey was talking about earlier when we were exploring.” Wyatt says, interrupting the silence.

“Actually that’s Zaza. They’re twins.”

“What is she? Weed?” Wyatt jokes. “Okay no, seriously, who is coming up with these nicknames. I’m actually starting to feel bad.”

“Yeah, he’s not wrong, the nicknames are kinda weird.”

“Hey, I’m not the one making it for them!” George replied back at the two. “Well, that’s all if i'm correct..”

“Yup!”

“I guess.”

George sighs from relief. I mean he was starting to get curious about what Edmond and the others were talking about, kind of feeling a bit left out. George leaves the two goes and sits on the other slightly torn couch where the other three were sitting.

“How many rooms did you two search before ending up here?” I hear Edmond ask. He seemed to still have slight concern in his body movement, even if he was only moving his hands.

“We only managed to search one room. We didn’t really have the thought to search anywhere else.” Zaza answered him. She was sitting on the floor, her knees touching her chest. 

“Then, that’s something we should do. At least one of these rooms should give a clue on where the exit is.” Edmond replies back.

“Shouldn’t we first figure out what even brought us here!” Richard says. “Maybe that would give us a better lead on what the hell is going on!”

“Richard has a point.” George says joining the conversation makes the three jump a bit in realization, just now noticing him there. “We all were brought here during different times and ways, that has to mean something!”

“Hallucinations..” Edmond whispers, getting lost in thought. “Zaza, what do you remember before coming here? From my notes, you were the first one to go missing.”

Zaza goes silent from the question, either from backtracking to what happened or the uneasiness to what happened to her. George couldn’t tell what though.

“Well, I saw Zu, she was upset. So I followed her to this junkyard to see what was wrong. As much as I wanted to turn back, something inside me was telling me to keep going after her.” She kept going on. “Then when I realized it wasn’t her, something hit my head.”

Silence filled the room, aside from Joey and Wyatt conversing about something else from the far left of the four kids. George looks at Edmond to try and get an understanding of what he was thinking about.

“I followed a magic carrot.”

“We know Richard.” Edmond responds back at him which only gained a look of concern, more of confusion, from Zaza.

“Well then, what about you two?” The zebra asked, hinting at George and Edmond.

George then thought for a moment. He was never drawn by any hallucination, he just followed a kid who just got hit by a car getting dragged by someone. Also, Edmond said he couldn’t see The Narrator. 

I mean of course that depends if the depiction of The Narrator is something only he can see, he’s never saw him before, that was his first time actually. 

“We didn’t have any ‘hallucinations’ at least not me.” Edmond said. “Can we even call it ‘hallucinations’? I mean..”

Edmond then goes silent, getting lost in thought again. 

“You were the one who said it was halluci-whatever!” Richard interrupts. “Is it or is it not?”

“I only thought that because it wouldn’t be possible for one person to do that all at once.” Edmond explains. “We saw someone drag this kid in the school carpool-”

“That’s Wyatt, the wolf that's here with us right now.” George informs.

“Oh, that makes more sense.” He responds. “Back to what I was saying. At the same time Richard was with this… carrot. There’s no way that this mystery man could be at different places at the same time. I thought it was hallucinations separate for each person so they could be grouped quicker without any havoc breaking in the school.”

“Wait, I’m confused now, we’re talking about a topic inside a topic.” Richard blurts out.

Both me and Zaza nod in agreement. Zaza lost track by the second time he said the word hallucination and George was just pretending he knew what he was saying this whole time.

“Forget it, I’ll explain it later.” Edmond explains. “By the way could I-”

Before Edmond could say another word another door slammed open, With the screaming of an annoying voice. 

“There's a FUCKING SPIDER in THERE!” The girl screamed, slamming the door behind her once another kid got out.

Silence then filled the hall. 

George gets up and turns to look at the two kids, like how everyone else was doing. The girl was a zebra and the boy was a donkey. Zuzu and Didier.

“Oh shit there's two of them.” Wyatt says breaking the silence. He was most likely talking about how Zuzu looked exactly like Zaza. I mean he had every right to, they looked exactly the same.

“Hé Wyatt!” Didier waves at him.

“Oh, hi Frenchie.” He responds back.

George looks around and counts everyone in the room. That makes 8 of them, including him. Hopefully there won’t be anymore people he knew stuck in this mess, his guilt would only keep growing from there despite it already being big enough. He knows that Edmond already knows about him being the main cause for all of this. He’s glad that he's not being questioned for it but he still feels bad.

He continued to look around the entire place, taking a glance at everyone and what they were doing now.

Didier seems to be mad at Joey for whatever reason, Wyatt was only there watching the two of them feeling awkward in the whole situation.

 Zaza was hugging Zuzu very tightly and not letting go, she's been upset about her this whole time so it’s nice that they’re together again.

 And lastly Richard was bothering Edmond about something… Unaware of what but that didn’t matter.

George thought again for a moment… He could go talk with Richard and Edmond, the safest option. The twins are having their moment and he doesn’t want to get raveled in what the other three were doing.

George walks up to the two. “What are you guys talking about!?” He exclaims.

“Nothing much, just planning on what to do next, we don’t really think that there is anyone else left. Of course if you know anyone else that could be here.” Edmond explains, the last part making a shiver go down George’s spine.

“Well, I don’t think there's anyone else, just the eight of us.” George responds.

“So… When are we actually going to get a move on? We still need to find a way out of here.” Richard asks.

“Now.” Edmond says. “I’m just trying to figure out a method on how to gather everyone and make them listen.”

“Just ask them?” George says.

“I’ve tried.” He answers back.

“Yeah he did.” Richard responds.

“Oh.”

George then thinks for a while. His eyes spark up when he finally thinks of an idea, which gains a look of curiosity from the two boys.

“Why don’t we just explore what's only in this room, that way we at least make some progress while we still can keep track of everyone here.” he says explaining his idea.

“Simple yet efficient.” Edmond states.

“Okay can we get the grind on now, I wanna leave!” Richard whines.

“Richard and George, search on the left side from the fireplace, I'll search from the right.” Edmond instructs. 

Both the boys nod in agreement. Edmond then turns around without any signal and starts searching the rims of the walls of the room. Now George was just stuck with Richard.

“So uh.”

“How about we check the strange looking bookshelf?” Richard offers, pointing at it.

George looks at the left of the room. He wasn’t wrong, there was a bookshelf that looked really off putting. It wasn’t like an average shape like a rectangle or a square but instead very wobbly like and curvy. 

George nods as the two walk up to it. The bookshelf was almost twice their size and was covered in mold and insects. George cringed as he looked. Richard on the other hand immediately grabbed a book, completely unfazed which George found shocking yet impressive.

When Richard pulled the book out he coughed from how much dust appeared. Insects then crawled into the light of the open space. All the books looked to be similar colors but that was only because of how much dust and mold compiled onto everything. 

Richard dusted the book off to see if there were any clues. The cover was completely blank, only a solid dark green color. Richard opened the book leaving more dust flying everywhere. 

“Where are the pictures?” Richard asks, only gaining a look of concern from George.

George then scoots closer to Richard to get a better look at the book. He was right, there were no pictures, but there were also no words. It was completely blank. As Richard flipped through the pages it only gained more confusion from the two of them. All the pages were blank .

George then grabs another book from the bookshelf, completely forgetting about the creepy crawlers. He flipped through the pages in a dark red book he took. All the pages were blank.

“I think all the books are blank.” Richard then says. “Maybe it's supposed to mean something…”

“Or they just want to have a bookshelf filled with books so they can look smart. I mean I would do that too.” George states.

“But this place looks like somewhere from the 1800s, wasn't education, like peak or something.”

“This place is far too modern to be set in the 1800s!”

“You call this modern !?” Richard exclaims from genuine shock.

“Wh- NO! I’m saying that it must have been built in the 1970s or something.”

 “We’re getting sidetracked.” Richard informs.

“No we aren- Oh yeah we are.” George sighs. “Well, if it isn't the books that are going to give us hints on how to get out of here then what is it!”

“I already told you dude, it’s the shelves, or behind the books, or something like that.”

George sighs. “Then we have to start placing the books on the ground.” 

Both George and Richard start placing the books down, stacking them so they could see behind better. They stacked them on the ground, not neatly or anything, but well enough for them to hold still.

After what seemed like a while they managed to almost get half of the books off the bookcase. Even with much work done they still weren't able to find anything.

…

The both paused at the same time staring at the bookshelf in front of them, thinking. 

“Maybe they hid something at the top of the shelf.” Richard says. “Look I’ll carry, and you can get a look.”

“You cannot carry me.”

“Huh? Why?” Richard asks.

“Every time we’ve tried that you’ve dropped me, or those other times where both of us somehow fall.” George explains, he’s not trying to insult him, he's trying to keep himself safe.

“Don’t worry this time it will work, trust!” Richard exclaims.

“I’ll just use the books.” George says, making sound more of a suggestion than a decision. 

Richard pouts angrily in response to him. The pig then takes some books from the stack and places them to make a stair formation. He walks up slowly yet carefully, Richard watching. Once he gets as high as he can he takes a book out, he then pauses questioning what he should do next.

“Just drop it down! I’ll catch it!” Richard shouts. 

George listens and drops the book down. And as Richard said, he caught it. He then places it down on the ground.’

George, continuing to follow the pattern, takes another book and drops it down. George looks at the very corner, noticing something. He reaches his arm out and grabs a dark cyan colored book. There he was a lever of some sort.

“I found a lever!” George says, dropping the book to Richard.

“Those things in Minecraft?”

“Uhm. Yeah.”

“Pull it then!” Richard says, placing the book with the others on the ground. “What are you waiting for!”

“Shouldn’t we tell Edmond!?” George asks the rabbit.

“If the lever were to have such a big impact then he would notice when we pull it !” Richard explains, actually sounding smart when his reason was not smart at all. 

George sighs, slightly convinced. He reaches his arm out even farther to grab the lever. Once he finally grabbed it he pulled it down causing a loud creaking noise in the room.

Before they could take charge of what happened the floor under Joey opened up causing him to fall under the floorboards. He didn't even get a chance to scream, luckily Didier did that for him.

“AGH! JOEY!?” Didier yelled from sock as Joey held onto his leg.

“Pull me up. Pull me up! PULL ME UP! PULL ME UPPP!!” Joey yelled, holding tightly.

“I'm trying, ne stresse pas me!” Didier shouted back.

Now of course this gained the attention of everyone. Zuzu rushed over and kneeled down to grab Joey's hand that was grasping onto Didier’s leg, pulling as hard as she could. 

Wyatt grabbed Didier’s arm, pulling, not as hard as he could, but he was still pulling. Zaza watched but then grabbed Joey’s other hand, also struggling to pull.

“Guys. GUYS !” Joey continued to yell.

“WHAT!?” Zuzu shouted, not being able to handle all the commotion.

“Somethings PULLING MY LEG -”

Before the kangaroo could finish his sentence he fell into the floorboard dragging Didier, Zuzu, adn Zaza down with him. Wyatt, luckily, let go of Didier's arm just in time.

Wyatt turns around to look at the three boys who didn’t even move from their places, Edmond near the walls, Richard near the bookcase and George still standing on his book staircase creation, staring at the lever. All four of them were now just standing in shock.

…

“ Erm , what the sigma-”

“NOT NOW, RICHARD! ” Edmond and Wyatt shouted at the same time, both in different tones.

“It was Richard who told me to use the lever!” George exclaims putting the blame on Richard.

Edmond sighs. “We’ll discuss who to blame later. We should go after them, separating isn't what will get us killed.”

“GO IN THERE!?” Richard yells.

“How do we know it’s even safe there?” George asks. “I mean they could be DEAD right now!”

The elephant goes silent. “I’m not so sure…” Edmond says, trying to think of a safer way they could get down there. 

“I hear commotion down there.” Wyatt says, breaking Edmond from his line of thought. 

“Well then, let’s go down.” Edmond says walking up to Wyatt and the hole.

“Wh- Wait I can’t hear them that well, I mean I can't even see the bottom, we could get inj-” Wyatt yammers on before getting pushed by Edmond.

“D-Didn't you hear him!?” Richard says walking up to Edmond. “WE could get injured!” 

“You should be fine if you don’t fall on your upper body, or anywhere near your head.” Edmond explains putting his finger up.

Before George or Richard could say anything Edmond starts walking backward near the trapdoor hole.

“I’ll see you two at the bottom!-” Edmond yells before falling.

Richard and George stand in silence. Not knowing what to do. George gets down from the books and walks up next to Richard getting a slight uneasiness from the main hall now.

“Should we ditch them and stay here?” Richard quickly says.

“Richard!” the pig exclaims.

“C’MON!! I can’t go down thereeee !!!” Richard whines.

“But uhm…” George thinks. “What if that's the only way to get out of here?” 

“Okay that's a good point.” Richard says. “Let me think first though.”

The two stand in silence above the hole. Richard thinking hard, which isn't that common. 

…

“Oh my gosh.. CAN YOU GUYS JUST GO DOWN?”  a familiar voice shouted from above them.

George then looks up in pure shock and fear. While Richard was still in his calm thinking position or whatever you call it.

“Quiet magic talking carrot I'm thinking.” Richard says. “HEY WAIT WHA-”

Before Richard could finish his sentence George interrupted him.

“WHY DID YOU BRING US HERE!” George yelled, not gaining an answer.

“Dude just came here to complain and then just left??” Richard said. “Rage quitter.” he mumbles.

George shivers. “Richard, let's just go down.” 

“I'm not ready though!” He says, complaining.

“Too bad!!” George yells.

George, not listening to the rabbit grabs his hand and jumps bringing him down with him.

Chapter Text

“Eugh…” George sits up, rubbing his back in pain.

He glances around the place in curiosity, despite him feeling really dizzy from the fall his vision was still accessible to him. The place was built with yellow dusty bricks, from the floor to the ceiling, built in a formation of a cube. Each brick with a picture of some sort.

“What took you two so long!?” A zebra, Zuzu, snarled, walking up to George with Edmond.

“Yeah, I thought you two ditched us.” Edmond states, reaching his hand out a little.

George gets up, grabbing the elephant's hand to get a better balance and looks around. Everyone was there, Wyatt, Joey, Didier, and Zaza were looking at the walls, most likely to find an escape. 

Panic set inside him after a sudden hit of realization struck him. George looked around hurryingly only to come out with no luck. The two looked at him in confusion.

“Where's Richard!?” The pig yelled, practically begging for an answer. 

Edmond and Zuzu change their expression to something more of the likes to represent their care, which they didn’t. Zuzu then looks down, pointing. George follows her direction and looks next to him on the ground.

On the ground was a Rabbit lying face flat on the brick flooring. George then sighs in disappointment. 

“He’s fine, no physical injuries, but he most likely passed out.” Edmond explains. “Should’ve listened to my advice back then..” He mumbles to himself.

“It’s okay George!” Zuzu says, scooting closer to the boy, leaning her arm over his shoulder. “If he did get any brain damage it won’t make any difference due to how damaged his brain already is!” 

“Actually, that’s not how it works, Zuzu.” Edmond corrects.

“I was striking a joke, genius.” She explains, letting go of George. 

Edmond shrugs it off, not paying attention to what she was saying. “Now, we heard a voice from up explaining that this was an escape room of some sort, Zaza explained that the voice was the one from the hallucinations, I think you should have some notice on that.”

This caused George to have a shiver down his spine at the last part that Edmond said. His back still carried the guilt from the whole situation. It was even more worryful that only he knew about it.

He shakes his head, he still needs to figure out more of the important things anyway. There's no need for worrying about The Narrator right now.

George brings his eyes back up, curiosity now ringing in his head since the topic changed in him. “Well, do we have any idea on how we are going to get out here?” George says, explaining the first question swarming inside him.

“The others and I were just waiting for you and Richard to get down before starting anything, like I said you took a while.” Edmond explains. “Though I’ve already gotten an idea, the pictures on the wall seem to replicate animals and other known symbols, so there must be some repetitive pattern we need to figure out.”

“Yeah yeah whatever, you practically missed everything!” Zuzu said, holding back laughter. “Edmond told Wyatt to start sniffing the place and then he started this whole ass tantrum!”

George looked at Wyatt, he was in fact sniffing the walls, coughing each and every 1-2 seconds due to how dusty the whole place was.

“ Wolves use their strong noses to detect prey and other scents, such as the presence of other wolves.” Edmond explains “Studies have shown that a wolf’s sense of smell can be up to 100 times stronger than any most animal or human, making it the most powerful sense they have.” 

George got lost halfway through from how fast he was talking but he's sure that he knew what he was doing, I mean he always does!

“Okayyy, you can't deny that it wasn’t funny though.” Zuzu says.

Edmond sighs. “I’m going to go help the others work on finding more clues in this cube enclosure. I need you three to… stay here and not move.” He instructs.

“Wait, why do we have to stay here?” George asks, getting more of his consciousness back.

“Because there's a higher chance of you guys causing our deaths than us escaping.”

“But I didn’t even do anything yet! Th-They were the ones who used the lever!” Zuzu stammers angrily.

“Yes! And it should stay that way shouldn’t it!” Edmond responds quickly before rushing to one of the walls where Wyatt was.

Zuzu tries mumbling about something before immediately giving up. She changes her formation to something more still before crossing her arms and pouting.

George shrugs. Not seeming much affected. I mean, he wasn't… It meant less work for him, which was nice. The only negative he sees from this situation is him dying from boredom.

“So..” George says, trying to start a conversation. “Should we wake up Richard?” He said, asking Zuzu.

“Please don't.” She responds, trying her best to not focus on the two.

“Are you sure, doesn’t it feel more reasonable to?” George says. “I mean, he can’t just lay there forever..”

Zuzu groans and looks in the opposite direction of the boys, staring at her twin sister worryingly searching the walls on her own.

George kneels down, his knees touching his chest. As he slowly reaches his arm out to stroke the boy's head he sees Richard move his hand softly.

“Ugh…Five more minutes...” Richard groans.

“Oh get up you hobo!” Zuzu snarls, immediately turning back to look at the two the second she heard Richard whining.

Richard sits up after hearing her words and takes a better glance at where he was. Slowly getting up he mutters words to himself about how tired he was or something.

“Wait where are we..?” Richard asks after getting a better guess on the situation.

“Don’t you remember? We fell in a hole, because of a lever you told me to push!” George says now crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah..”

“Wait! Wait. WAIT. You two are the reason we’re down here!?” The zebra exclaims from a drift of shock and irritation.

“Maybe..” Richard responds, wiping the dust off of him while George tries avoiding eye contact.

Zuzu, unable to muster up anything, groans and goes back to staring at the walls. George and Richard could only give a long guilty stare at her before going back to minding their own businesses.

“I still don't know what's going on.” Richard exclaimed, breaking the silence between the three.

“Oh, it's just like some escape room..” George explains, “Edmond, told us not to do anything.”

“Huh, why?”

“Take a guess.” Zuzu says, gaining annoyance from the rabbit's stupidity.

“I still don't get it.” He responds.

“Ugh- eh whatever you’ll figure it out sooner or later .”

Silence then filled again between the three, no matter how boring it got.

The three sit in the middle for around 20 minutes, Richard would stop to break the silence or do something weird before being told off by Zuzu or George.

As the three sat they felt the walls all around them start moving, shaking the floor, causing the thee to react in shock, quickly looking for the source.. Edmond had pushed a button that activated a wall to move and open up. It showed a very certain parkour with the floor having missing parts. 

At the end rested another button, except it wasn't hidden and was very visible to the eye. 

The three stood in shock, curious on what the other five were doing. George stared in awe. As he stated before, he enjoyed the fact that he didn't have to do much work but now he was feeling a bit down, seeing how cool it was. And he was sure the other two felt the same.

The kids Joey and Edmond try to jump over the obstacle-like course, trying to quickly jump on the long yellow brick like pillars. Trying their best to not fall down to what seemed like a bottomless pit

The thought of a pit being bottomless itched George’s head, he didn't know why but it really wasn’t the best feeling in the world, better than the other stuff he's been feeling that's for sure. 

“What if we just made an animal ladder to get up to the trap door.” Richard says randomly. “It’d be easier than all of this.”

All George could do was facepalm as a response. Zuzu on the other hand actually tried to make him see how dumb he sounded.

“No, that's stupid.” The zebra shot back.

“How? Like actually think about it.” Richard responds. “We could be tall enough to go all the way up to the trapdoor!”

“What? No? We would still be lacking short. Do you remember how far that drop was?” She explains. “Besides, when the person not carrying anyone gets to the top, how will we pull everyone else up?”

“We.. grab them by the hands and pull them!”

“My GOD!? You are so-”

George did his best to cancel out their arguing. How did he ever put up with this before? It genuinely started to tire him. I guess with this alone time, considering that the other two are going to be conversing for the whole time, he could think more about the situation.

Well, basics of course. ‘The Narrator’ was definitely the person who trapped them here, But no one knows him except him. And now, he is trying to trap the eight of them in this game. He thinks for a bit longer.

Guessing that they had to do this whole charade for only ONE escape room didn’t seem right to him. There was most likely more coming at them. I mean, they should be fine. Considering how ‘safe’ this ‘game’ is, all of them should be like this. They should be alive when they get out.

George's heart sinks again as the environment around him darkens. Harmless or not, why was he doing this? He had no reason to. 

George thinks back to what Peppa said to him when he was at his house last time. The memories trying to play back in his head like the repeat button on a song.

“I   g r e w   u p.”

“He left because I’m   too busy    to go jumping around in muddy puddles and learning new things everyday,    no Narrator wants to talk to an audience about some highschooler    trying to figure out what they want in life.”

“Huh, it’s like he’s tryna find a way to   d i s t a n c e   himself from me or whatever..”

“H e   l e f t   b e c a u s e   I’ m      T O O   B U S Y     t o   g o   j u m p i ng   a r o u n d   i n   m u d d y   p u d d l e s   a n d   l e a r n i n g   n e w   t h i n g s   e v e r y d a y..”

“..  t o o  b u s y   ..”

“..  t o o     B O R E D     ..”

That's it! George thought as his environment around him softened. Well, it’s not something he really should be proud of, OR excited about in general. It doesn’t really change anything, the situation they're in is still horrible.

BUT. At least now they know why they're here! That’s something he's definitely going to explain to Edmond! George turns to look where Edmond is at. Okay, maybe he should wait after the escape room is finished when Edmond isn't busy…

George sighs and tries to get a better connection on what is happening around him to begin with. The environment piqued his interest, because it was empty now. Only the three of them were standing, or sitting, in this open area.

The pig turns around to see Richard and Zuzu, STILL conversing with each other. Except, it more or so seemed like Richard was the only one talking while Zuzu had to listen for her own torture.

“Where did the others go?” George asked the other two, practically begging for an answer.

“They went through the door.” Zuzu replied.

“Huh, what door?” George asks back.

Richard then joins in. “The big door on where that button was before!” He said, pointing to the big opening past the obstacle course where there used to be a button. 

Well, that explained it.

“So, why are the three of us still here?” George says, asking another question, again.

“They told us that we should stay here! Blah blah blah, all that stuff.” Richard goes on like Zuzu lost her voice to speak. “Joey did come back a few times to check up on us and remind us that they're still there!” 

“Sucks, we can't join them.” He responds back to Richard.

“Nah, it’s just being ‘AFK’ to be honest.” the rabbit responds back.

“What… does that mean?” George asks.

To be completely honest, he was pretty sure that he was more worried by the fact Zuzu didn’t start yelling at him in anger than the actual word itself. Maybe she finally calmed down or something.

“Actually forget it, I don't want to know.” George quickly says back before Richard can respond. “Anyways, how long have we been down here for?”

“I dunno, like… four hours?” Richard responds.

“FOUR HOURS!?” 

“Don’t worry I have a watch, I can actually tell the time instead of some people here.” Zuzu says shockingly in a calm tone.

Zuzu pulls her sleeve up and takes a glance at her watch. Maybe when George gets out of here he’ll ask his dad to buy him a watch..

“It’s been 5 hours.” 

“Okay, that’s impossible! Is time moving faster!?” George says panicking.

“Maybe for you! It has felt like hours for everyone else here.” Richard responds.

George sighs. It’s best if he tries to not think about it, Right?

Before the pig could get lost in his thoughts again heard a voice shouting to the three of them. It was Zaza! She was standing on the other side of the obstacle like pillars, waving at the three, trying to get their attention.

Obviously Zuzu and Richard's curiosity was piqued, they were stating before that Joey was the one trying to get to them. 

“Guys! We found the exit!” Zaza yelled.

“How do we know you're the real weed!?” Richard yelled back.

“WHAT!?”

“He’s asking if you’re the real Zaza.” George said, trying to help Zaza gain some context.

“Wh- Of course I’m the real Zaza! Why would I think otherwise!?”

“WELL. Joey was the one who would come back!” Richard explains.

Zaza facepalms her head, slowly bringing her hand down from her face in disappointment.

“Why would Joey be coming here over and over again for four hours straight?” She explains. 

The three look at each other, almost like they were communicating to themselves just through the eyes of one another. Most likely talking about how stupid they are.

“He got tired.” Zaza explained. “Now could you guys please come to the exit so we can leave?”

“Oh PLEASE, I hate this color! It’s making me sick!” Zuzu responds.

“How can a color make you sick?” Richards asks.

Zuzu only looks at Richard for around two milliseconds before turning away from him. Wow, she really did tire herself out, George thought.

“C’mon let's just get outta here!” George tells the two.

George quickly runs and jumps up on one of the pillars. Now that he has gotten a good view of what the bottom looks like, there is no bottom by the way, he’s a bit scared now. But, he jumps onto the next pillar so the other two could jump. 

The pillars were not that small that only one person could stand on. Probably three people could stand on it from the looks of it! Zuzu and Richard then accidentally jump at the same time. 

“Why’d you jump?” Richard said.

“I thought you were last!” Zuzu said back, harsher.

George then looks at Zaza, curious on what she was thinking right now. She looked tired of the two, can't blame her, he was too. 

After a while of jumping up the pillars, the three managed to finally get to the end of the obstacle course. It took a quick few minutes, and a bunch of stress, but they were able toD manage.

“Are we almost there yet?” Richard whined.

“Don’t worry we’re almost there!” Zaza chimed, smiling.

“Really? Then why’d it take so long?” George asked.

“Well, since all the puzzles are already done, thanks to Edmond, we just can start blissfully walking!” She explained.

The four then walked through each puzzle. Each walking through the doors, gaining a different face expression each time, aweing at the place, or doing the opposite.Despite not going to many rooms, most likely five or six, they finally at the end they managed to reach a staircase.

The staircase was dark brown, old wood planks for each step. There were holes in some pieces, bugs crawling in and out of them, which caused Zuzu to tightly cling onto Zaza’s hand. George on the other hand tried not to embarrass himself.

“Aren’t these just the same materials used for the mansion?” Richard asked.

“Obviously, the escape room was literally built inside the mansion to begin with!” Zuzu snarled back at him.

“Well, the more you know!” He beamed.

Zuzu rolled her eyes and laid her head on Zaza’s shoulder as they finally walked up the stairs. Wow, George thought, she really did tire herself out. Then again, he was starting to grow tired. What time was it anyways?

As they finally got to the top, Zaza leaned her arm out and opened the doors. As they stepped out they realized that they had just walked outside from one of the bedroom closets. George didn’t know closets could lead to rooms.

As he looked around he saw everyone sitting in the bedroom casually. Didier sitting at the end of the bed, spacing out as Joey slept. Oh, that’s what Zaza meant by Joey taking a ‘break’. Edmond was sitting at a chair which was facing a desk while Wyatt was just standing most likely trying to not interact with anyone.

“We’re here!” Zaza said, grabbing their attention.

“Oh, Hello.” Didier said, snapping out with a few blinks.

Edmond turned from his chair as Wyatt just stared at the four as they stepped out properly into the open yet packed space they were in. 

Suddenly they hear the noise of a static like from a radio.

“Look who finished! All in one piece!” The voice said, scaring the hell out of everyone.

Joey picked himself from his short slumber and sat up. “Huh!? What's going on!?” He questioned.

“Mighty impressive for your guy’s first time, even if some of you didn’t do anything.”

“Who are you!?” Wyatt barked.

“My god can you guys stop interrupting me? I'm congratulating you guys and this is how you fucking act!”

The room then goes into silence.

“Finally. Don’t do that again” The Narrator warned. “Now to what I was planning on saying. I have a little gift! Since this is your guy’s first challenge!..

..You can now ask questions! Or a request for something! One for each person!”

“Can we have carrots!?” Richard quickly said.

“Except anything that's edible, I don't want you guys to have too much here.”

“Can we have a way out?” Wyatt asks.

“Definitely not! That’s also against the rules.”

“Wait, there's rules now?” The kangaroo says, half asleep.

“Yes.” The Narrator says, answering Joey’s question.

 George thought for a few moments. What could he ask that could help them get out of here. As he looked around, seeing everyone think, he noticed Edmond whispering something in Zaza’s ear. 

From the looks of it, he’s probably asking him to ask something from The Narrator. It’s fine, he knows what he’s doing.

“Is there an sor- I mean uhm, exit?” Didier asked.

“After all of- Actually I don’t want to answer that!” The Narrator said practically taunting him. Didier groaned and flopped his back on the bed.

“Could I have.. A notebook?” Zaza asked The Narrator.

The second Zaza finished speaking, a notebook landed right on top of Wyatt’s head, bonking him with it. After it landed on his head, he caught it with his hands. Then he threw it to Zaza where she easily managed to catch it.

“What are you going to write with?” George asks, his interest piquing. 

Before Zaza could answer George. Edmond stood up from his chair and asked something to The Narrator.

“Could I have a pencil?” And as Edmond wished, a pencil fell from nowhere, into his hands. Actually, three pencils.

“Why are there.. Three? I asked for A pencil.” Edmond said, but not in a tone that sounded like he was complaining.

“They’re all dull.”  The Narrator responded.

“Oh. Uhm, okay.” 

“So, we can ask for anything as long as it's not something edible or a way to get us out?” Zuzu then questioned The Narrator.

“Yeah, not sure what purpose you would gain from that…” The Narrator responded.

“Well, then I-”

“Nope you already asked a question.” The Narrator said, cutting off her completely.

Zuzu only then stood in silence after that, too tired, and scared to argue. George thought even harder now, that would mean that Richard, Wyatt, Didier, and Joey just wasted anything they could’ve asked for because of questions.

  “Well, Georgie. You’re the last one aren't you?”

“Uhm…

George paused, sweat trickling down his forehead.

…Can I have a sharpener?” 

As George asked, a sharpener fell in his hands. He looked in his hands in slight disappointment from his horrible request. There in his hands stood a dark blue colored sharpener, the blades shining, showing how it was completely new.

The sound of static radio then shuttered across the room again. Probably to show that The Narrator was gone.

The room was now silent as can be.

Chapter Text

As the silence continued to spread across the room a voice spoke out.

“Well then, let’s get a move on, shall we?” The elephant said.

Everyone then stared at Edmond with pure confusion.

“What.. what do you mean by that exactly, mate?” Joey said, being the only one to respond to him while the others still stood in silence.

“We need to separate ourselves, to search for clues, to find something as close to an exit around these parts.” Edmond explains without hesitation.

Silence goes back to continue around the others. Everyone is feeling different emotions, some already half asleep.

“Wasn’t that the thing that triggered the first challenge?” Wyatt said immediately after. “Why would we try triggering something that might cause our deaths? Besides, I’m pretty sure I still have dust stuck in my nose.”

“Yes, that’s why we should seperate, in pairs.” He said, explaining to not just the wolf but to everyone. “The goal is so the other person who is with you is to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, you reciprocate.”

“But, it’s like… wait, what time is it..” George says, already starting to lose himself as he grips the sharpener in his hands, now nudging Zaza for her watch.

“Almost 1am.” Zaza says right after.

“Yeah..” Didier yawned, mumbling to himself. “Je suis fatigué…”

“Never put off until tomorrow, what can be done today.” Edmond responded.

“Was that a… Ninjago reference…” Zuzu said with confusion.

“Ninjago?” Wyatt responded. “THE FUCKING LEGO GUYS!?”

“HEY! Don’t diss ‘Lego: Ninjago’ like that.” The rabbit explained.

“Wait, Zuzu? You watched Ninjago?” Joey asked her.

“Actually Richard forced us to watch the entire series at this one sleepov-” George said before getting interrupted.

“Okay we are getting side tracked.” Edmond says, breaking the conversation. “Like I said. We need to form pairs, this way we can explore more of this… place.”

Everyone nodded back at Edmond in agreement, finally understanding what he was saying.

“Okay, So me and-”

“Not so fast.” Edmond interrupted, again. “I’ll be choosing the pairs.”

Silence then filled the hall once again, this time in disappointment rather than confusion. And also the fact they were still tired. Like, really tired.

“Zaza, may I have the notebook?” Edmond asked the zebra.

“What about my sharpener?” George asked, trying to do his best to include himself.

“And your sharpener, George.”

Zaza slightly pushes Zuzu away from her hand, both Zaza and George then walk up to Edmond and give him the stuff in their hands. Edmond sits back in the chair and turns to the table. He pulls out the pencil and starts writing. 

Richard, Joey start scooching in closer to get a better view on what he was planning. Richard being behind his chair and Joey sitting on the side of the table, still on the bed. The other three were watching from afar waiting for their names to be called.

“George, you're going to be with me.” Edmond said, writing their names together on the opposite ends of an ‘&’ symbol.

George responded with a thumbs up and a smile. Not really seeming to care.

“Joey and Didier, from what I’ve heard, you two have experience of working together, and considering the fact Joey is the only one who knows a bit of French, you guys will be put together.”

“Connerie…” Didier responded, almost whispering.

“Who told you I could speak French?...” Joey stammered softly, that being the only thing he worried about.

“I uhm.. have my ways.” Edmond said. “But continuing.”

“Zaza.” Edmond said, looking up at Zaza which caused her to jump a bit, she was getting lost in thought a bit now. “I trust you enough to work with Wyatt.”

“I'm sorry, what?” Wyatt snarled, still leaning on the wall.

“You're working with Zaza!”

“No, I know that, WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY-”

“Lastly, that leaves us with Zuzu and Richard together.” Edmond says, slightly hesitating.

“Cool!” Richard exclaimed.

“What.”

Edmond wrote both their names together as Zuzu stood completely still, not saying anything after. Edmond then stands up from his chair, completely ignoring the two’s reactions, not really caring for it.

“There are two doors downstairs and upstairs.” Edmond says. “Me and George will explore the right half of the upstairs. Joey and Didier taking the left. Richard and Zuzu shall take the downstairs right, leaving Zaza and Wyatt to the downstairs left.” He explains.

“Simple enough?” The elephant asks, receiving a nod or thumbs up from everyone except Wyatt and Zuzu.

“Very well then! Let us begin searching now shall we, every second counts.” He said.

Joey opens the door that leads to the main hall last. He looks across at everyone going to the stationary places Edmond told them to go to. He rubs his ears, searching for Didier.

“Hé. Nous devons y aller.” A voice called out to him, grabbing Joey’s attention.

“Oh uhm.” Joey says, an awkward smile plastering his face.

Didier sighs in annoyance. “Let us go.” He said.

Joey snaps back to the environment a bit better and lets go of his ear. He nods then stares at the stairs, looking like Edmond and George have already passed through the door.

“Right. Let's go.” Joey said cheerfully, trying to lighten up the mood. Which didn’t really work.

Joey steps on the staircase, gripping on the rim. Didier followed behind him, not gripping, probably because of the mold and insects thriving on literally everything here. 

Once they get to the top they look at the door on the left, the light brown wood being covered from dust and dirt. The two paused in front of it. Didier then nudged Joey, trying to tell him to open it.

Joey startled, reaches for the doorknob and twists it open. The two boys look inside, not really that amused. I mean, it was just an exact copy downstairs. They didn’t really doubt that it would be any different. At this point, they just want to go back home, they need to try everything they can.

The two walked through the hallway, slowly, trying to catch a single difference or hint. The lights seemed to get more dim the farther they walked by. But it was not long before they found one of the hallway doors. 

Joey looked at Didier, who was refusing to reciprocate back. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Joey blurted out which caused Didier's head to turn his head to him, he stared at him in confusion.

“Are you mad at me?” Joey asked, trying to add more context for him.

“Yes.” Didier responded back with no hesitation. 

Joey stared at his confusion, I mean he was doing this before in the weird escape room so he should’ve expected it, he just needed to make sure, that's all.

“But why?” He questioned.

“You know already.” Dider answered, crossing his arms. “Open the door.”

“But. I don't...” Joey explained, opening the door to the bedroom like he had told him to. 

Didier sighed and just walked through the door. He walked in, attempting to close it but decided it's better left open. The bedroom was just like all the others, same design as all of them. 

Joey looks as Didier opens the closet, not finding anything inside, other than old looking clothes. I mean... it would make sense to check the closets, considering the fact there was a secret door in the one they came through. 

He takes a look at the bed. There was a bedside table and a desk with a matching chair right next to the bed. 

“Maybe we should check the drawers!” The kangaroo suggests.

“Go ahead.” The donkey responded back.

“Ask.” A voice ran in Joey's head.

Joey scoffed and crossed his arms. He walked closer behind to Didier as he turned back to look at him.

“What are you SO upset about?” Joey asked, stepping closer, finally managing to gain confidence.

“You ditched me!” Didier snapped back. 

“Oh, not this again.” Joey groaned, seeming kind of guilty yet annoyed. “I thought we talked about this already, before the escape room.”

“I wouldn’t be here if you had just.. est venu avec moi!” Didier said, obviously upset. He only gained back a disappointed sigh from Joey.

“Defend.”

“Look, I got distracted.” Joey started explaining. “I would’ve come back to you quickly if I wasn’t… well, kidnapped.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Didier asks, getting slightly angry. “Cela prouve seulement que nous aurions tous LES DEUX pu être sauvés.”

Joey only stared at him, his words cutting through him, even if he couldn’t understand what half of it meant. All Joey could do was sigh and look at him with sorrow. Didier wasn’t looking back at him anymore, staring down at the floor.

“Comfort.”

Joey puts his arm on the taller figure's shoulder. “We’ll get out of here, Didier.”

“I want to go home ..” Didier whispered, like he was about to cry.

“We’re gonna get home, mate! Edmond is pretty smart guy, he's gonna-”

“No. Home.” 

Didier looked back at Joey again, eyes locking. 

Silence fell between the two now.

“Let's just… Get back to searching.” Joey stuttered. Didier only turned to look away from him, not even nodding.

The kangaroo looked back at the bedside table and walked over to it. He kneeled down and grabbed the handle of the drawer and pulled it open, all he saw there was the rotting of dust and…

…a key?

Zuzu walks out the door slowly right after her sister. It was too late to do this. They shouldn’t be doing this, can’t they wait till morning?

As she steps out the lights from the main hall glisten everywhere making her cover her eyes from the pain, she was already getting used to the darkness in the room. She takes a moment to adjust her eyes to the lighting.

As she does, she feels a small tap on her shoulder. The zebra jumps and turns her head in shock, her gaze calms down as she realizes who it was, Edmond.

“Hello there, Zuzu!”

“Hi.” She responds, completely unaware of how tired she looks. 

Exactly right after she spoke, Edmond took her hand and placed a pencil, making her close her fingers to hold onto it.

“Why are you giving me a… pencil?” Zuzu asks.

“I don’t have pockets.” Edmond explains.

“Oh, yeah that makes sense.” She responds back. “Wait, weren’t there like two others and a whole notebook?”

“I gave all that stuff to Zaza, but I forgot to give this one to her.” He says, answering her.

Before Zuzu could respond she looks to find Zaza, only to realize that she was gone, she probably already went to leave with Wyatt or something. Zuzu turns her head back only to realize that Edmond had dashed off and was now talking to George while walking up the stairs.

Zuzu felt another hand on her shoulder, she didn’t jump this time. She turned to see something of her annoyance, Richard.

“Whatcha standing there for, bro? We have a quest to do!” The rabbit exclaimed.

“Do you even remember where we have to go?” Zuzu asks.

“Yeah! Uh…” He responded.

“Downstairs, right.” She explained, slightly sarcastic.

“Okay! Which one is the right side?”

“The hand that you write with Richard.” Zuzu explains. “Please don't play dumb right now, I’m really not in the mood-”

“What if I’m left-handed?” Richard asks.

“No you aren’t Richard, please stop making this complicated.”

“Aw man, I thought you would like fall for that.” Richard says, only for the zebra to respond in silence.

The two then start walking to the right door. Zuzu follows behind Richard, her hand still gripping onto the pencil inside her pocket.

The hallway stretched on and on, dimly lit by hanging bulbs that buzzed faintly overhead. The walls were lined with peeling wallpaper, growing with the usual mold while bugs crawled everywhere. Zuzu was still following behind him, her arms  were just now crossed tight over her chest. 

"So…" he said, voice echoing far too loudly, "Do you think this is, like,some cool ass reference or something?” Zuzu didn’t answer. Her jaw tensed.

Richard grinned, undeterred. "You know! Like, this whole place? Creepy mansion place? The unexplained kidnapping? Kinda like causes... trauma, right?"

She stopped walking for a second. “Can you.. not talk right now, Richard?”

"Whoa. Chill. Just tryna solve mysteries like what Edmond does!" He explained “Anyway, I'm just saying, maybe this is like one of those horror movies where you gotta feel stuff to get out. Weird, emotional growth and all that.”

Zuzu kept walking behind him, as Richard turned to look at her. He was still walking, walking backwards to be exact.

"Those movies weren’t even scary." He said, the obvious lie slipping out of his tongue.

Zuzu’s knuckles were now starting to hurt to the point where she gripped the pencil Edmond gave her. She slowly took it out of her pocket, but in a way it wasn’t noticeable.

Richard paused for her catch up. "Hey, uh... do you think Joey’s still like half asleep? I mean, aren’t kangaroos supposed to be jumpy? He’s just jumpy. He’s always been jumpy. What does jumpy even mean in this context…"

"Why do you care?" she muttered, eyes locked forward.

Richard blinked. “Dunno. He’s cool, I guess. You're always with him. Kinda surprised you're not right now.”

She halted. Turned to him sharply. “I had no choice in it. Edmond chose the duos. Remember?”

“Oooh… Yeah.” 

Zuzu couldn’t even roll her eyes in annoyance. She was just getting pissed off at him. She just gave him a dead stare, since that was all she could do.

Richard looked puzzled. "What?" 

“You’re annoying,” Zuzu snapped. “You talk like your voice will disappear if you stop using it for five seconds.”

Richard blinked in confusion, then started laughing a bit. “Hey, hey, no need to get stabby.”

Zuzu’s grip tightened on the pencil. The two then started to continue walking, except now, they were standing next to each other.

“Wow, are you really that upset, Zu?” You gotta let stuff go. Like, uhh… Sorry I don’t know what to do, guess you're stuck like that!”

Zuzu said nothing.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking beside her. “You’re really not fun when you’re angry, even though you’re always angry, I mean like when you’re the quiet angry and not the loud angry, you understand?” Richard randomly starts saying. 

Zuzu stopped.

Richard kept walking. Didn’t even notice she wasn’t beside him until she called his name.

“Richard.”

He turned, smile fading just slightly. “What?”

She didn’t hesitate. The pencil in her hand moved with terrifying speed, almost automatic. Like her body had made the decision for her.

The sharpened tip struck him directly in the right eye.

It sank inside with a horrible, wet, pop. Richard didn’t scream at first, his whole body just… locked…completely still. 

Not even a second later he let out some sort of.. Sound. Not a scream, not even a word . Just a choking, panicked whimper as his knees gave out, making him fall to his knees, as he raised trembling fingers to his face, barely brushing the pencil’s eraser now buried almost all the way to the wood. 

He gasped, blinking frantically with one good eye, the other already ruined, leaking red and clear fluid. Zuzu shut her eyes, fear drowning her over, unable to take the responsibility to watch over him. 

“What- what did?-” He trembled, trying to speak, gurgling at every instance.

She slowly opened her eyes yet didn’t answer. She couldn’t, all she did was look at him in fear, as if HE was the one who had stabbed himself, in front of HER.

His legs folded. He crumpled sideways against the floor. One arm twitched beneath him as the other curled weakly around his chest. He looked up at her, not in anger, not even fear just.. Pure confusion.

Blood trickled down his cheek, pooling itself onto the floor, leaving a small and growing puddle of the bright red liquid. His body shuddered once, then again, weaker. His breath hitched. Wet,  and shallow. 

Then it stopped.

For a moment, all Zuzu could hear was her own heartbeat. Then, silence.

The pencil stood there, absurdly ordinary, stuck in the middle of a face that would never smile again. The hallway felt colder. Smaller. 

She backed away, her eyes still wide. Her hands were sticky, her throat was tight, yet she couldn’t stop staring at him.

“Richard?..” she whispered.

But he didn’t answer.

She felt guilt digging into her insides, leaving a sharp jab. Almost like she could throw up, but was unable to, no matter how hard her body tried. A liquid rolled down her cheeks, leaving a warm mark against her cold face, her eyes burning despite how much water was piling up inside.

She shuts her eyes and finally moves, she walks closer to Richard's corpse, but pauses halfway. 

Maybe she shouldn’t.

She wanted this? For him to shut up? That’s what he's doing right now.

She didn’t want it like this. 

She didn’t want ANY of this.

She walks past Richard's corpse and searches for a door. She finds one and opens it. She then closes it and opens the one next to it. Inside was a low requited bathroom. Everything having its old tint of green and horrible lighting. 

She rushes towards the sink, desperate. She turns the faucet and to her shock, water comes out. She stared at the water, hesitant. It was probably not clean. But she did not care about that right now. She washes her hands, the blood coming off but leaving a slight pink stain, no matter how hard she scrubbed, it's fine. No one would notice such a small difference.

She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink where she was. It was dirty and horrid, but she could still see her reflection. She washed her face, even as much as it disgusted her, it was better than having blood smeared on it. 

As she stepped away from the sink a bit, she looked at her outfit. Her skirt and overall being stained in blood. She thought for a moment, her thoughts swarming in her head as she mentally panicked.

And idea popped up in her head. She took off her skirt and tried washing it as much as she could. Which still stained a bit red, showing a magenta color. She then turned it inside out, and looked at it. The stain was now not shown as well on the inside side.

She took off her overalls and copied what she did. She put the inside overall on and then the skirt. She walked back to the mirror, staring at her reflection. She took a look at herself. Barely changed a bit. You could only spot the small differences if you really focused on it. Even if you did, no one would suspect that she did a murder.

She stared at herself longer in the mirror as pain filled through her eyes. 

“Act.”  The voice inside her told.

The second she heard it, she thought of the others. What would they say? Will they figure it out? She’ll die! Her life is ruined.

“Lie.”

She paused again, still continuing to stare at the mirror, in absolute terror. The guilt dripped down her head as sweat, mimicking the blood dripping she saw. 

She took a deep breath. “I can’t find Richard!” She started. “The idiot ran off, finding himself a ‘shortcut’ when I told him to stop!” she said, the pressure fling inside her.

She never had stage fright or anything like that. In fact, being on stage wasn’t the worst, she enjoyed it, only if she was feeling pretty of course. But now, she can’t even face another person, except her reflection. 

“I tried finding him, but somehow I couldn’t see a single trace of him!” She continued. “So, I came here! I didn’t want to be alone.”

“No! They would think you would want to be alone!” She said, now starting to talk to herself rather than acting.

“Good.”

“It’s fine, don't worry. That’s enough. If anything else needs to be said, you just uhm. Roll with it! Haha! Good. Yeah.” She says, continuing to mumble to herself.

She rushes herself to the door and opens it. 

George waited at the staircase for Edmond to come to him, leaning on the railing. He picks himself off of the railing quickly though. It was probably easily breakable and fragile considering the state of the entire place. He didn’t feel like injuring himself.

“Okay, let's go!” George heard Edmond say as he watched him walk up to him.

George nodded tiringly as the two now started walking up the stairs. George grabbed onto the railing, not really caring about the fragility he was thinking about earlier. The two soon reached the top and went for the door.

As Edmonds hand grasped the handle, he opened it and immediately walked through, making George need to catch up a bit with his pace. The hallway was, a bit different, cleaner than the others to George’s relief but other than that, it was the same design, a bit. The two continued to walk in silence as they walked and searched through doors of the rooms. 

The two were now searching in another bedroom. This was most likely their fourth bedroom they had to search up here. George was kneeling on the floor, trying to search through the drawers. The silence grew, but was then broken from Edmond's voice as he closed the closet door.

“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” He asked.

George turned to look at him quickly. “What- No- At Least I don’t think-” he stumbled, obviously startled by the question.

“I’m not saying you’re hiding anything, maybe just, forgot something.” He said, reassuring him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” George asked.

“Like, you were thinking about something before, but, with all the chaos, just forgot.” Edmond explained.

“I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Try thinking back, you out of everyone here should know most about this entire situation, if not, tell me something I don’t know.”

“Well.” George said, closing the drawer door and standing up to sit on the bed. It was cleaner than the others they’ve seen. “You know how his name is ‘The Narrator’ or whatever, apparently it's actually vital. He used to narrate Peppa’s life inside her head so no one else could hear.”

“So.. She wasn’t actually…?” Edmond paused a bit before George interrupted him.

“No she was. Just not then at least. She only started acting crazy AFTER she tried explaining ‘The Narrator’ to other people, then they called her insane, so she went insane with the comments, I guess.”

“Oh.” Edmond responded. “Well, she’s better now though right?”

“Yeah.”

The two were now startled with silence again. Edmond regretted giving Zaza the notebook, for her ‘doodles’ but he sighed, it was fine, he can write it down later.

“Do you know anything else, like, if you made a connection in the last challenge.” Edmond explained.

“Remember.”

George suddenly remembered something, about the whole thinking stuff from the last challenge, why they were all here in the first place.

“Explain.”

“Oh, Yeah I remember now!-” 

“Good.” Edmond said, cutting George off a bit. “You can explain it to me as we walk, we don’t want to be behind the others.”

“Okay, yeah.” was all George could mutter up.

The two went out the door, closing it behind them, and started walking. As they walked they realized the end of the hallway was a corner moving it to the left. The two turned to the left.

“Well, I know why ‘The Narrator’ wanted us to be here.” George started.

“Was it because of you?” Edmond asked.

“That’s what I thought at first! But, it isn't! Well, sort of.” He continued to explain as they turned another left, still not finding any doors. “It has to do with the same reason ‘The Narrator’ moved onto me and away from Peppa to narrate my life-”

“Wait, he’s been narrating your life?” Edmond asked, obviously confused but it almost felt like he already knew.

“Oh, yeah.” George said, realizing what he said. “Not for long though.” 

“Huh, I never seemed to notice.” 

“Peppa told me to not make it obvious so I won’t end up like her or something.” George explained.

“Well, that seems reasonable enough.” Edmond said. “I would’ve done the same.” George smiled at the response feeling a bit comforted.

“With that out of the way. The reason he left Peppa was because her life was too boring due to her being older and stuff so he moved onto some younger, which was me. And apparently mine was also pretty boring, also.” George said.

“So he did all of this for.. Entertainment” Edmond said, quickly catching on.

“Yeah, so I’m sure we should be safe. I don’t think he would do anything to hurt us.”

“How are you so sure about that?” Edmond asked. “The last challenge was simple but if one of us had fallen, we probably could’ve died, who knows, maybe they get more extreme each time-”

The two pause in their tracks and stare at the wall in front of them, now finally finding a door. Except, it was different. It was iron sealed, Like a bank vault was a bank door instead of a vault. The two stared in awe and confusion.

Edmond stopped staring and walked up to the handle, trying to open it, but it wouldn’t go down. He kneeled down to examine the handle. 

“It needs a key,” Edmond said, standing back up.

“But what’s on the other side?” George asked.

“I'm a genius, I know, but I’m not a psychic.”

Edmond walked back to weather George was so he could get a better look at the door. It was one of the things that stood out in the entire place. Shining under the warm flickering light. As the two continued to stare, it was then broken by the noise of footsteps.

“George? Edmond?” A familiar voice called out.

The two boys turned to look where the noise came from. It was Joey and Dider, the two tiringly came out of the next corner which Edmond and George did not see.

“What are you deux doing here?” Didier asked, obviously upset.

“What is that?” Joey asked, seeming concerned by the giant metal door.

Before George could answer, Edmond did first. “I'm pretty sure the upstairs doors connect to each other.” He explained.

“And the door, uhm, we don’t know.”

“WOW! Tellement utile..” Didier sneered sarcastically, which only gained a ‘huh’ from George.

“The door needs a key-”

“Wait, we have a key! We found one in one of the rooms!” Joey exclaimed, cutting him off.

“Really!?” George and Edmond said at the same time while Dider just stood silently.

“Yeah, it should be here-” Joey reached into his pocket but fell into silence. “Where it is…”

“You lost it!?” George panicked.

“I ain’t ‘lose’ it I swear! It was just here!- I-” Joey panicked, now shoving both his hands into his pocket.

“Imbécile..” Didier mumbled.

“Joey, we NEED that key!” George explains.

“Guys calm down, we don’t know if that key was the key needed for the door.” Edmond said, trying to reason with them.

Chaos rumbled upon the four, arguing left and right. Surprised that no one downstairs was able to hear them, But, it wouldn’t get any better if they DID hear them.

“EDMOND!” A voice called out. “GEORGE!?” 

Edmond went silent as the three continued to ramble. He looked as he saw Zuzu stumble out of the hallway George and him went through. The other three’s attention grew as they heard Edmond’s silence.

“Zuzu, why are you here?” Edmond asked.

“I can’t find Richard!” She explained. “The idiot ran off, finding himself a ‘shortcut’ when I told him to stop!-”

“Why’d you come here? Chase after the rascal!” Didier explained, still showing some annoyance.

“I TRIED to, but somehow I couldn’t see a single trace of him!” She explained, seeming less tired than they last saw her.

“It’s fine.” Edmond said. “Both of our searches are over anyways.” 

He looked at the three who were now silent as ever. They nodded slowly, trying to put a more neutral looking face on.

“Come on then, let's go.”

The five kids started walking back to the hallway where Zuzu came from to get out, silence filling them all, and the reek of guilt staining EACH ONE their bodies.

Chapter Text

The three walked across the hallway, pressure still filling their heads. George was getting sick of the wallpaper now, the smell of the place was starting to itch his brain. In a bad way.

“Where exactly did he run?” George heard Edmond ask Zuzu.

...

He couldn’t hear what she had responded with.

It's fine, he was probably just in the hall the two were supposed to search in. 

George looked at the guilty looking Kangaroo next to him, who was obviously upset about the entire key thing, he was sure that everyone was still on about it. But at the same time its for a perfectly good reason. Everyone wants to escape this place already.

But then again, that key could’ve also NOT been the key for the door, who knows.

THe three had then reached the stairs, George still kept his distance from the railing, unafraid of accidentally falling down the stairs. They got to the door that they know Richard would’ve gone through, since it WAS the hallway they were told to search. Edmond grabbed the handle and opened the door.

The hallway felt colder as they walked. George tried not to shiver, but the air had this heavy, old quality to it, like a place that had been sealed shut for decades, though that would make sense… Floorboards creaked beneath their feet, ready to drown you if you made the wrong sound.

George watched as Joey skimmed a little faster to get to Zuzu’s pace, who was right behind Edmond.

“Where exactly did you see Richard run off to?” Joey asks. He tried pulling his hand to her shoulder but she flinched a bit causing him to take his hand away.

“Oh uhm, like around here or whatever.” Zuzu said, the normality in her voice becoming more recognizable than last time, maybe she's not that tired anymore, George thought. 

After that it was just a continuation of awkward yet annoyed silence.

They then turned a corner. Edmond stopped for a moment, absolutely still. The others had followed his gaze. George stayed at the back. A stench had hit George, metallic, wet, obvious, intoxicating.

“My. God…” Didier said quietly. His hands over his mouth like he was about to vomit.

Joey whimpered. “Holy shit– Is that–!?”

Edmond didn’t say a word. Just staring at the corpse.

George caught up just as they all stepped aside, clearing the doorway. He looked past them.

And froze.

His heart stopped.

Richard was there.

On the ground. In the center of the hall, his legs folded. Twisted. Still. A shape too wrong to be asleep. Too real to be anything but dead. It was obvious at this point what the outcome had come to.

His arm was folded beneath him. His shirt soaked through with blood. One eye wide open. The other. Too terrible to even look at, yet everyone kept staring. Blood pooled under his face, sticky and half-dried.

George couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move at all. LIke a puppet controlling him from above. Everything was starting to get back to him. His guts and insides, twisting, and turning, in. Fear.

“No,” he said. He didn’t know if it was out loud.

He stepped closer.

His legs moved on their own, as if they’d stopped waiting for permission, growing faster with each step. He swore someone tried reaching out for them but quickly giving up. But he didn't care about that.

He dropped to his knees beside the body, his knees hurting from impact, yet feeling painless at the time. He hovered his hands over him like he could still take it back, undo it in some way, shape or form, turn back time.

“Richard!” he yelled, putting a smile on like he was joking. Now, grabbing his shoulders trying to lift him up yet he wouldn’t budge.. “No. No, no–”

How did this happen? He isn’t dead is he? He questioned himself, as if he didn't have a non-breathing corpse from him.

George pressed his hand to Richard’s cheek. He felt the blood. The stillness. The depth.

Didier was pacing in a circle, muttering fast, helpless French, no one could understand, not even Joey.

Zuzu stood in the same place. Rigid. And silent.

Joey sat on the ground, holding his knees, facing his head, like everything was a bad dream he could forget the next day.

Edmond remained at the threshold. Watching. The only one other than George with tears falling down his eyes.

George sank lower. Tears streamed freely now, mixing with the blood on his hands as he pulled Richard against him, cradling him with shaking arms.

Richard didn’t move.

But Richard was heavy in his arms.

Too heavy. Too still.

Behind them, Zuzu didn’t move.

And Edmond… Edmond wasn’t looking at Richard.

George’s hands started to burn from the agony crushing his insides. He was disgusted yet he couldn't bring himself to puke. His face became more pale the more he looked at him.

The sound of footsteps came trotting from the distance, each noise as triggering as the next. Zaza and Wyatt popped up from the corner.

“Guys we heard a noise from here-” The voice dropped.

“Oh, dear.”

The two joined in the entire scene and all of a sudden started crying. Zaza for reasonable reasons and Wyatt for who knows what.

Maybe he's just a scared kid.

Zaza then ran toward where George and Richard were laying, she kneeled down, getting a closer look. Her face showed devastation just like any good friend would. She dragged her hand to his chest, hoping for a heartbeat despite it being already obvious that he wasn't breathing.

“Richard.. Wake up.” Zaza said, almost demanding as if she was going to get it.

She went silent, finally accepting his, more tears running down her cold face. She let go, completely silent as she just stared, sitting on her knees, watching as George tried to hold his corpse.

“W-what the fuck.” Wyatt mumbled from the back. “What the fuck. ”

Suddenly the sound of radio static went on, a familiar sound to say the least. 

Then it all went black.

George’s eyes fluttered open.

Too bright. Too yellow. It was disgusting, he hated it.

It was a dining room.

No, not a real one too clean, too deliberate. The kind you’d see in a showroom or an expensive horror movie. The long wooden table gleamed, flanked by matching chairs that looked hand-carved. A chandelier swayed gently above, casting golden light over the scene, similar to the one they've seen in the main hall. Plates. Cutlery. Wine glasses. Napkins folded like swans, which was really unnecessary.

It was a dinner party. 

And HE was the guest.

No, the prisoner.

He’s been to a dinner part before, multiple times even. They were fun, only the ones where there were other kids involved, if there weren't any he’d just hang out with his sister, Peppa. He only came there for the pasta and chocolate cake, his and his family’s favorite.

Looking at the scenery of the situation he was in, it didn’t seem like a dinner party he used to go to.

He was tied to one of the chairs. His wrists and ankles were bound with rough cord, the back of the chair biting into his spine. The ropes weren’t tight enough to cut off circulation, but firm like someone had measured them with care, it hurt.

George looked around a bit more, He wasn’t alone.

Joey was at his right, pale as paper, breathing way too fast. Zuzu was directly across from him, wide-eyed, her face still stained with.. Something of the sort. Edmond sat near the head of the table, tense and silent, struggling to process what was happening. Zaza was just across from him while Didier sat next to Edmond. And then there was Wyatt.

He sat at the table’s head.

His hands were free.

And in front of him sat a plate.

George blinked.

No.

  No.

The plate isn't empty. 

Why isn’t it empty?

“Richard,” George whispered.

No one answered.

The thing on the plate was rabbit. Not whole, just pieces. Segments. Muscle, skin, fat. Too red. A strip of scalp still had hair attached. One of the hands had some blue cloth attached.

The realization hit like a punch. Burning him from the inside, strapping up his throat with guilt even though it wasn't tied.

He was here.

Wyatt’s plate had Richard.

George gagged, mouth full of acid. He tried to twist in his seat, tried to scream, but all that came out was a croak of horror.

The speaker crackled above them.

“Welcome,” said the voice. Smooth. Too calm. “I trust you all had quite a refreshing nap.”

Zuzu’s breath hitched. Joey flinched.

George snarled. “You monster. ” Not saying it out loud, afraid of the consequences.

The voice laughed. Not loud—just amused. Like someone watching ants scramble under glass.

“Oh, You kids. Always getting so scared over the littlest of things. Like watching horror movies or doing other kid stuff that isn’t that scary for adults, or whatever, I don't know. But tonight, we’re not here to debate morals. We’re here to enjoy a meal! How exciting ”

Wyatt spoke for the first time, voice hoarse. “What the hell is this? Why is Renolds-”

“Richard” Edmond corrected.

“Richard’s corpse on my plate!?”

“You, my boy, are the guest of honor.”

More laughter. Gentle. Cheerful. Like he was hosting a birthday party for him. More gloom started to fill the room, with a side of confusion.

“What is that supposed to mean!?” Wyatt said, anger bubbling through his throat.

“Oh, it's simple, really. You know how in ‘Dinner Parties’ they play a FUN game of some sort?” The Narrator spoke. “You kids still like games right?” 

“Dont get off the topic.” Edmond demanded.

“Fair enough. Wyatt. You have sixty seconds to finish what’s on your plate. Every bite. Or you die.”

Wyatt froze.

Then he laughed. Just once. Sharp. Desperate. “You’re insane.”

The voice was smiling. You could hear it in every word. “Yes. Now eat.”

The screen behind the table lit up:

60 SECONDS.

A countdown.

George stared in disbelief. “You can’t be serious! he can’t -”

“He can,” said the voice. “And he will. Or he dies.”

“He isn’t wrong, it is possible.” Edmond said, causing almost everyone to stare at him in disbelief. “Wolves stomachs are more acidic, they can-”

Wyatt pushed back from the table, breathing fast, cutting Edmond off. “YOU’RE ASKING ME TO EAT RICHAT!? You’re asking me to-” He gagged. “ Jesus Christ. ”

“Wyatt,” Zaza whispered.

Looking him in the eyes. She spoke more boldly, making it so he was able to understand. George watched the two intently.

“Please. You have to try.”

Wyatt stared at her like she was going insane.

She shook her head. “You have a life Wyatt.”

George couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Zaza, what the hell- ”

“GEORGE HOW ABOUT YOU TELL ME A WAY HE COULD GET OUT OF THIS ALIVE,” she snapped, then broke into sobs. “He’s a kid . We all are kids. WE WANT TO LIVE. Richard was a kid , he shouldn't have died, yet he still did, none of us wanted this, and none of us wanted to suffer the same fate. Do you!?”

George sat silently. 

“No.. I don’t.”

Wyatt shook. His hands hovered over the plate, fingers twitching. 

50 seconds.

He picked up a piece.

It was soft. Red. Skin still clinging to a strip of muscle. Wyatt stared.

Then he shoved it into his mouth.

Zuzu whimpered. Joey couldn’t help but to turn his face away.

George couldn’t breathe.

The sound of chewing filled the room.

Sticky. Wet. Slow.

Wyatt’s face twisted in revulsion. He gagged once. Twice.

Then he swallowed.

42 seconds.

He grabbed another piece. It slipped. Blood smeared his hands. He tried again, this one had a fingernail.

He stared at it.

Didier choked, “FASTER!” Finally deciding to say something.

Wyatt shoved it in his mouth.

Chewed.

Blood dripped from his chin.

36 seconds.

Joey then quickly vomited after that. Right there, on the polished floor. The stench hit fast. Acid. Bile. But no one cared about that. What they were witnessing was far more disgusting.

No one said a word.

The only sounds you could hear were tears dropping to the floor and heavy breathing.

Wyatt kept chewing.

He made it through three pieces before he started crying.

George wanted to scream, but the horror had clamped over his chest like a vise. He shut his eyes closed, he had enough of staring.

Wyatt’s lips were red now. Raw. He grabbed another chunk.

Wyatt bit down.

30 seconds.

“Almost there,” Edmond whispered. He was one of the only people who didn’t look away.

Wyatt gasped between bites. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he coughed. Bone cracked beneath his teeth making George wince as if it was his bone.

25 seconds.

He dropped the fork and used his hands. Smearing blood across the table, smearing it across his face, his shirt. Red. Red . Red .

He looked feral.

He looked like an animal trying not to die.

That was probably because he was one.

20 seconds.

George didn’t realize he was crying until the tears reached his lips.

15.

Wyatt choked again. His body convulsed.

He grabbed a larger piece. Swallowed it nearly whole. A tendon dangled from his mouth.

10.

His hands slipped in the blood. He went to grab more.

8.

He shoved a final chunk into his mouth.

6.

His eyes rolled back.

5.

Blood bubbled from his nose.

4.

He sagged forward.

3.

He  whispered. Something about family.

Something about his parents. 

2.

His jaw locked.

1.

A hiss. Then a gunshot.

Wyatt’s head snapped back.

Then forward.

His skull cracked on the table.

Blood gushed from a hole in his temple, painting the remains of Richard in fresh red.

The timer disappeared.

Wyatt didn’t move.

He didn’t make a sound.

Zaza let out a wail so broken George thought it might shatter the room. Almost everyone started weeping, even George himself.

Zuzu was sobbing. Edmond was stone. Joey was shaking uncontrollably, tears mixing with vomit. Didier stared in shock, eyes glassy.

George just watched. Still crying.

He watched Wyatt’s blood spill across the plate.

Watched the thing that used to be Richard soak in both their blood.

He couldn’t look away.

Everyone had been released out of the room and were communicating in the main hall. 

Except one kid.

They went back to the dining room, when no one was looking, its fine, it's not like they cared about them anyway. 

The opened the door and peeked inside, once realizing the coast was clear they walked inside. They walked up to the head of the table.

Wyatt's corpse hadn't been cleaned up still, yet Richards was wiped off clean. The kid stared in confusion. But they brushed it off.

They went closer to the cracked skull of Wyatt and brushed his hair off his neck, then untying the bandana, searching for something. They felt disgusted in themselves but they couldn't help themselves. It's fine. It's fine. They'll just give it to his step-sister, Wendy. They'll just.. hold onto it for now.

The finally grasped something shining from the florescent lighting. It was a gold chain. The kid unlocked it and pulled it out, away from his neck and closer to their eyes. IT had a heart pendent glowing on it.

They opened it, There they saw two small photos, one was pitch white, the other intrigued the kid. It was a family photo of what seemed to be a younger version of Wyatt, he was being held by his 'mother', he seemed to around only a few months old. The parents weren't his parents.

Wasn't he adopted? They're probably his biological parents.

Wonder what happened to them.

The kid sighed and stuffed the necklace in their pocket to keep it safe. As they turned back they paused. They looked back at Wyatt's corpse then at the table they put the bandana on. They went back and took the bandana, kneeling down to tie it on their leg. 

A remembrance of both of the kids who have fallen. 

May they live in Peace. The kid prayed, almost begging.

They the walked out, closing the door.

Chapter Text

Everyone had sat down in the main hall.

The fire in the fireplace was cackling loudly to their sudden dismay, despite them not being that close to the burning sensation, George could feel the warmth on his cold face.

 He stopped staring at the floor and moved onto looking at the flickering fireplace, its brightness mesmerizing him.

He knew Richard for as long as he could remember, sure he knew that with all his friends, but. Richard was his best friend. Nobody could ever compare.

How was he ever going to keep going? How did he even die in the first place? Was it really The Narrator who killed him? Did Wyatt deserve any of that? Questions circled inside his stomach resisting to be thrown up for everyone.

George looked at the blood still smeared on his clothes, to distract himself, even if it only made it worse. They were slowly into a darkish brown, and uncomfortably crisp like. 

Everyone had at least a bit of blood on them, the only ones being Zuzu and Joey, but that's because they weren't that close to Wyatt during ‘The Dinner Party’.

‘Huh..’ George had thought to himself, was someone missing here?

Silence had then continued to consume the children. Eating them as a whole, they were hungry, but they doubt they could ever eat again. Speaking of eating, they hadn’t eaten in around 2 days, nor sleeping, based on the calculations George did in his head, but he’s not sure if they’re that accurate.

He was tired. He wanted to go to bed and wake up in a different environment, where everyone was safe and everything was normal.

George took a look at Edmond, he was silent. The three were the bestest of friends. George knew how he was feeling at the moment, how could he not? George took a look at Zaza and Joey, Zaza, she was terrified. Why wouldn’t she be? Joey was the same, but he was trembling. Zuzu just sat in a corner staring at the floor.

“Are we going to end up like him?” 

Joey had asked the question, barely a sliver of noise coming out his mouth, but from how silent the entire hall was, everyone could hear him clearly. George didn’t know which ‘him’ Joey was referring to, but he knew what he had meant.

“A-Are we going to die?” Joey repeated himself, sentencing his question differently this time, making it more obvious. You could hear the innocence shivering down your spine.

“No, No- No one else is going to die!” Zaza told, being the only voice in the room, bringing a slight comfort to everyone even though everyone knew that she wasn’t sure of her answer.

“Zaza is.. Right, No one else is going to die.” Edmond stated, finally bringing himself the courage to speak up, sounding more confident than Zaza. “The only reason Richard died was because he separated from everyone, and Wyatt died because of that.”

Zuzu looked away in the corner she was in while George uncomfortably stared at Edmond as he walked closer to everyone near the fireplace.  

“As long as we don’t separate, we’ll be fine.” Edmond continued to explain. “We’re going to be okay. We can be okay!” Every word was like an instruction, trying to comfort, but failing.

“No one is going to die.” He sighs. “Zaza… Could I have a pencil?”

Before anyone could say anything else, Joey started shaking more intensely as he watched as Zaza pulled the pencils out of her pocket. He started slowly walking backwards, still trembling.

George looked at him concerned, trying to make out what he was so scared about.

Zaza could only look at him, in confusion, even a little scared.

“You.. YOU..” Joey mumbled something to himself. “YOU! ” He said, pointing at her in fear.

“Joey what’s wrong-” Zaza said with genuine concern, before getting off.

“YOU KILLED HIM!” Joey yelled, making Zuzu grip herself harder in guilt as George stared at the two in confusion.

“Wh-What,” Zaza said, still sounding worried for him. “Joey, what are you talking about?” Her voice became more rasp.

George got up, finally, and slowly started to walk over to Joey as Edmond was at Zaza’s side. Joey gripped George’s arm and Edmond just watched the kangaroo in confusion.

“You, YOU MURDERER!” Joey said. “You killed RICHARD!” 

“Now! Let’s not make any assumptions here!” Edmond explained, slight annoyance growing in his voice.

“She killed him! SHE KILLED HIM!” Joey said, tears rolling down his eyes. “THERE'S THREE PENCILS, SHE HAD THEM! SH-”

Joey couldn’t finish his sentence, tears continuing to come forward faster than ever onto his freezing face, as something blocked his throat. 

George went silent, everyone went silent. George stared at the pencils, there were only two. The image of Richard’s dead body appeared in his head once again. Now, he started crying just by the simple thought.

“Where’s the third pencil?” George asked her, seeming almost dead as the two dead boys.

“I- I don't have it.” Zaza answered, honest and sincere, still seeming confused and scared.

“So, you killed him, didn’t you?” 

“NO SHE DIDN’T!” Edmond said, gripping Zaza’s hand, tightly..

“HOW DO YOU KNOW!?” George yelled. He was still gripping Joey, now both of them closer to the two.

“She would never do this! NONE of us would!” Edmond explained, strictly.

George had gone silent.

“I’m sorry, I-” George immediately spat out. He was unable to come up with any more words, he didn't know what was overcoming him right now.

He knew Zaza just as long as Richard, she was just as important, he shouldn’t have judged so quickly. B-But he had every right to! She just so happened to be missing a pencil, WHEN RICHARD GOT STABBED BY ONE.

“Look, how about this?” Edmond continues. “We just, we’ll go to bed. We all need a break from this.”

Joey had now been able to calm down from his entire situation by now. He was in utter silence though, unable to move.

George looks at Zuzu who was now trying to stand, Didier already standing, unfazed by everything that was going on. Was he always here? George thought of in confusion.

He looked away from Didier still trying to process on what to do next when Edmond started to speak, Didier and Zuzu slowly walked closer to the four of them to get a better hearing.

“Okay, heres the plan, we’ll all sleep on the bottom floor-”

“Upstair is clean.” Didier explained. “Clean..er.” 

“Fine, We’ll sleep upstairs tonight.” Edmond says. “What’s the time now?” 

“It’s uhm.. Around 1pm.” Zaza says softly, still tempered by the previous situation.

George was struck by confusion. “Theres no way, it was around 3am when we started the search, it cant be that.. THAT entire thing was only a few hours, we even passed out-” He went on before getting cut off.

“You’re right,” Edmond responded. “It’s probably been longer than 24 hours..”

“Correct!”

The recognizable voice struck the final six, as usual.

“My Edmond, such a ‘Clever Clogs’, you never change!” The voice went on, using an old name people used to refer to Edmond by.

“Why are you here!?” George yelled, almost feeling like crying again.

“Just leave us alone!” Joey yelled, finally speaking after a while.

“Such rudeness.” ‘The Narrator’ murmured. “I was just about to congratulate you again!”

George felt his blood boil, even though his entire body was shaking in lingering fear. He was getting sick of ‘his’ voice the more he kept hearing it.

“Anyways, I’m surprised that EVEN after our little ‘dinner party’ you haven’t thought of water OR food!” He went on.

“That ‘dinner party’ was supposed to make us… hungry?…” Zaza asked. Completely disgusted.

“Well…”

“I have filled the kitchen fridge with water and food! Food, only for tonight!” The Narrator said, completely ignoring the question.

And before they knew it he disappeared into the dark. Again. Like always.

Edmond opens the fridge, quickly closing it after in plain nausea.

“Wh… what’s in the side?” Didier asks.

“What' inside, mate?” Joey asked after Didier, correcting him. Gaining a disappointed look from Didier.

“Meat.” 

Everyone gave a slow whimper and noise of disappointment after that response. The room seemed to be filled with a dark ambiance again. Making George realize something.

“It-.. it isn't his-” George asked before getting cut off.

“Yes it is.” Edmond responded.

George could feel himself puke inside his mouth, in terrish disgust and despair. ‘That fucking sicko’ was all he could think inside his head, repeating practically over and over again.

He looked behind himself, seeing Zuzu leaning on Zaza’s shoulder. Zaza was swinging the water inside her plastic cup, looking at the water slowly moving inside. It was a good thing that they had unlimited water.

Didier and Joey were leaning on the Island and counters of the kitchen, both in their own world, for reasonable reasons. No one would want to face the real world after everything.

“We need to rest.”

Rest. It felt like years since he’s done that. The word felt foreign. George almost laughed. How could they sleep after everything? After Wyatt, after Richard?

But Edmond pressed on, like always.

“Like I had said before. Upstairs has more rooms. We’ll stay together. Pairs. Again.” His eyes swept the group. “No one alone. Not anymore. We all know what happens when we do that.”

Didier scoffed, though softer than usual. “Sleep? You think we can? After…” He waved his hand, his necklace glinting in the dim light. He didn’t finish.

Edmond didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to sleep. Just lie down. Get your strength back. If he want us moving tomorrow, we need to be able to move.”

Zaza muttered, pacing again. “What’s the point? We’ll wake up to another game. Another corpse. Another-”

“Enough.” Edmond’s voice cut sharper this time, echoing off the marble. “If you want to fall apart, do it where I can keep watch. We’re not scattering again.”

George found himself nodding, though his body felt like lead. He wanted to argue, to scream that beds and blankets wouldn’t erase what he’d seen. But Edmond was right. They ALL needed to get some rest. Any kind of rest.

Edmond gestured toward the outside of the kitchen. 

They moved slowly, like sleepwalkers. The red carpet on the stairs was worn thin, threads frayed under George’s shoes. Zuzu walked near the back, arms still wrapped around her middle, her head ducked. Zaza hovered near her but didn’t reach out. Not yet. Joey lingered close to the banister, one hand clutching the rail as if it might collapse under him. Didier muttered something in French under his breath, words too low and sharp for George to catch.

They soon got to the stairs, each one walking in a single order. At the landing, Edmond pushed open the first door on the right. A long hallway stretched ahead, lined with doors like a hotel. The air smelled of dust and wood polish.

“We’ll split into rooms across from each other,” Edmond said. “If anyone screams, we’ll be able to hear.”

“If anyone has a NEED to seperate, you separate with your pair, no other reason, unless someone else can go with you.”

George asked, “Who’s with who?”

Edmond glanced over the group. “Zaza with Zuzu. Joey with Didier. I’ll take George.”

Joey stiffened. Didier raised an eyebrow. “Tu m'as encore mis avec lui !?”

“You can handle him once you’ll handle him again..” Edmond said, understanding him unlike everyone else. “Are there any problems with you two?” He asked, looking at Zaza with genuine concern.

“Nope! We’ll be fine.” The zebra responded to him, trying to keep a positive outlook.

Edmond looked at George as quickly smiled at the elephant.

The group filed off to their doors. Hinges groaned as each one opened, spilling faint lamplight and the smell of must into the hall. Inside, the rooms were simple: beds, dressers, lamps with bulbs that hummed faintly. Too normal. Wrongly normal.

George paused at his door with Edmond. He glanced back down the hall. Zuzu stood in her doorway, staring inside like the bed was a coffin. Zaza nudged her shoulder gently, guiding her in. Joey lingered, hesitant, Didier rolled his eyes before getting shoved inside through their door by Joey.

Edmond touched George’s arm. “Inside.”

George stepped in.

Before Edmond could come inside, George saw Zaza behind him. She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hm?” Edmond, turned around.

“I left the notebook and pencils on the bottom floor, I was wondering if we could go get them.” Zaza said. George only watched from the bed.

“Why don’t you ask Zuzu?” Edmond asked.

“She’s too tired, besides, Joey’s with her.” She responded.

“Why isn't Joey with Didier?…” He asked.

“Didier shoved him outside…”

“Oh.”

“It’s fine, I need a glass of water anyways..” Edmond said, turning around to George. “George, you don’t mind being by yourself for a few minutes right? I’ll be back as quickly as I can!”

“I’m really sorry.” Zaza then said. 

“Don’t be.” Edmond, quickly said, calmly. “Remember George, scream if anything bad happens. If you feel unsafe alone, go to Didier’s room.”

George could only give a slow, gentle, nod. Not being able to break a smile.

The door shut behind them with a heavy click.

And the silence swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

The cup slowly filled up, freezing inside, then making the cold reach the outside. Edmond picks it up, taking a small sip, purposely taking his own sweet time. He then paused, looking down at the water inside the cup, getting lost in his own thoughts, again.

It was luckily broken by the noise of Zaza entering the kitchen, holding the notebook inside her arms, the pencils probably being in her pockets. 

Silence had filled the room. It’s funny isn't it? They were the two out of all of them who actually enjoyed silence, savoring it anytime it happened. But, now they just wanted the sounds of laughter to appear again. Both of them hated the silence now. 

“Hey.” Zaza said, breaking Edmonds' eyes away from the water. “I… got the stuff. You want to.. Go back up?” She asked, questioning whether she should keep talking or not through each pause in her dialogue.

“No, I kind of want to stay here a bit longer.” He replied softly.

Zaza slowly came closer to him, the ambience of the room becoming more comforting as she did. She put the notebook on the island, so she could lean back on it.

“It’s too quiet.” She said randomly, now staring back at the fridge.

“I’m— yeah, I know.” Edmond said, not being able to break in some emotion into the sentence.

Edmond sighed, taking another small sip from his water. Tired. He looked at Zaza quickly after and then noticed where she was looking. The fridge. Now he was lost in thoughts again.

Edmond thought for some moment. He loved Richard, he was like a little brother, he always felt like.. he was his older brother, he always felt older. That’s how he felt with all of his friends. 

He still remembers all those years ago, they were all toddlers, and they couldn't talk. Of course they couldn't talk, they couldn't even understand such simple things. But, he could. Sometimes, he wished he could.. Just… not know. But now, he still knows.

 And Richard’s dead. 

And, he knows how he died, he knows who killed him. How wouldn’t he know? 

He just… always knows. 

He knows she never meant it, she's not the type of person to.

“I miss him too,” Edmond said, turning to Zaza, grabbing her attention. “We all do.”

“It’s not just him,” Zaza said, immediately knowing who he was talking about. “Wyatt too.”

“Y-Yeah.” he replied.

“You see!That’s the problem, you guys just–-” She paused for a second. 

“You guys JUST-” she tried to speak but her throat blocked from the inside.

Edmond had a normal face plastered on his face, it's been stuck like that for the last.. A few days.

“You’re allowed to speak,” He explained. “I’m here to listen.”

“I-I..” She still tried to speak. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked like this, just the two of us.” Edmond said, hoping it would help. “The last time we had a proper conversation was before we came here….

…I want you to speak.” Edmond finished, finally creeping a smile after what seemed to be forever.

“Thanks, it's just.” Zaza said. The two were scooched in closer now. “Wyatt didn't need to go through that!” She went on.

“I-I don’t know why I’m so upset about this,” She murmured to herself, growing louder through each word. “I barely knew him—Wyatt! But anytime I try to think of something else, I’m just brought back to the dining hall, him dying, in front of my eyes. It’s not fair! No one needs to die here—” She continues on.

Edmond stared at her, trying to take in every detail.

“we even go back to that moment I— You guys only think of Richard!” She said, hearing croaks of pain throughout the sentences. “I care about Richard as well! Just as much but—”

She stopped. Edmond looked at her in silence, the only thing breaking the quiet ambience was the heaving panting and breathing. She obviously couldn’t go on, so Edmond decided to speak.

“You know the only reason is because we knew Richard before, we had only met Wyatt when we got here.” He responded. Giving an answer instead of comfort.

“I know! That’s why I’m upset.” She said, tears now starting to roll down her eyes.

The ambience had now gone back to an uncomforting dark setting, which neither of them enjoyed, that's for sure.

“Didier seemed quite affected by it if it… makes you better,” Edmond said, trying to make an attempt to comfort her. He never was a ‘comforter’, he always was based more on logic instead, but to be honest he wasn't a ‘comforted’ person either.

Then again, was anyone here?

“Not really.” Zaza responded, trying to calm herself down, as if she was trying to save Edmond from his embarrassment at his horrible attempt.

“Oh,” Edmond sighed, taking a sip of water. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, don't be.” Zaza said. She wiped the tears off her eyes, breathing in a more mannered way. “At least you listened.”

“Hmm…” Edmond said, nodding at her reply before he thought to himself.

“You don’t always have to exceed others' expectations.”

Her voice, the way the sentence was worded made him shiver at the thought.

Edmond stared back at her, breaking his line of thought, he looked at her with confusion, for once being unable to decipher what someone was trying to mean. Unable to understand someone to be specific.

“Huh— I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” He said.

“I know those are words that are words that should not be coming out of a child prodigy who understands physics better than the majority of the adults in this god forsaken world,” Zaza said sternly. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Her behavior was unusual, actually, her recovering from that mental breakdown that quickly was least of the concerning things, especially compared to this. She was known for having mood swings every now and then, not as much as her sister but it was still something.

“I’m fine.” He explained.

“No, you’re not,” She said quickly after. “No one here is, so how is it possible that you are?”

Edmond didn’t want to explain anything, especially to her of all people. 

Anyone but her.

He doesn’t mean any offence, it's really just the opposite. She’s so focused on helping others it hurts him. Even when she’s incapable or unaware of how to help.

“There’s nothing to worry about Zarielle.” Edmond says. Zaza only sighing back in response.

“You’re allowed to speak,” She explains. “I’m here to listen.”

Edmond stared at her, slightly defeated. She’s using his own words against him.

“What if,” he said, thinking of a response to dodge all of this. “I don't want to share, at least right now.”

He looked as Zaza kept the same facial expression, calm and quiet, as the zebras usual collected self was like. He knew that she wouldn’t go past ‘boundaries’ unless without permission.

“Then you don’t have to share,” She replied. “But that wouldn’t change the fact that you can’t keep it to yourself. You need to let it out at some point, or it will haunt you till you die.”

Guess it won’t be long then. Edmond thought to himself. No. He shouldn’t be ‘joking’ about stuff like this. Especially when you can’t properly joke. Or understand most jokes….

He felt guilty about his answer, sure. He always knew what was right, and this entire situation they were in was the only time he ever seemed to be confused. He sort of just wishes that it could go back to a time of peace. Not the life he has now. But where he was normal.

To their dismay, both of them were making the room fill up with silence, this time with a dash of guilt. They both equally hated it.

Edmond had to fix this. At least before it drove him insane.

“Could I see what you’ve drawn?” He asks, letting go of the cup, still filled with water, onto the counter of the island.

“Of course.” She answers, a smile emerging as she passes the book closer to him, still keeping it in the middle.

The both scooch in closer looking at the drawing. Surely it doesn’t matter how much time they waste right now.

George grew anxious by the second.

Where the hell was he? George kept having the lines repeat inside over again in his head. For some reason he was scared by the amount of time Edmond had been taking, actually, he should very well be worried! 

They’re in some game that they could die in! And Edmond was just—diddy-daddling around with Zaza doing who knows what? 

He sat up on the bed. He didn't enjoy laying down on it, it was itchy and it felt like something crawled up his spine every two seconds. He didn't know if it was because he was scared of being alone and having the chance of stumbling upon the Narrator or the fact that this bed might be infested with bed bugs.

He sighed, remembering what Edmond had told him last time, go to Didier’s room if you didn’t feel safe or whatever. 

It’s been a while since George had talked to Didier to say the least, not that the two were on bad terms, I mean at least he hopes they aren't. Maybe it had something to do with his sister. Y'know, with her going all cray-cray, he heard that a lot of her friends drifted away from her causing them to look at her with pure disgust.

He wouldn't be surprised if Didier just decided to follow in his own sister's footsteps. 

Of course, he doesn't blame him, he is sort of following his own sister's steps right now if you thought about it really for a good second, of course he never wanted it, maybe he didn't want it either?

George got up from the bed, in a relief since his ass was starting to hurt him, it wouldn't hurt to go talk to him.

And before he knew it, he was right in front of the door to the room Didier was in, finding the urge to creep upon his handle. In a brute force he grabbed the handle, but it only came out softly, even as he turned it to open the door.

He peeked in, seeing Didier, laying on the bed. He seemed to be fully awake, since George had noticed him kicking one of his legs back and forth. He got a good look closer at the leg, it was tied with a black bandana he swore wasn’t there before, but not as it bothered him, he went to sit down right next to where he was laying.

“laisse-moi tranquille,” He heard him grumble under his breath, finally noticing George. 

George wasn’t able to fully understand what he said but he was able to read it through the tone of his voice, despite his physical appearance seeming really unaffected by it.

“Edmond told me to stay here.” George explained, to ease getting kicked in the ass by him from Zaza’s description of what he had done to Joey.

Didier only looked in the opposite direction, George took it as him not caring enough for it. 

George sat down on the bed, now laying. With another person near him it felt like things weren't actually crawling upon his back, or maybe the bed before did actually have bugs on them.

The bedroom was too small for the silence between them. George laid stiffly, staring at his hands as if they might explain something to him.

George hated this. He hated how Didier used to be easy— Now every word George wanted to say felt too heavy, too clumsy, like it would just drop between them with a thud. Not because of their language barrier or anything but he didn’t feel like explaining it again in his head.

He cleared his throat. “Do you ever… uh…” His voice trailed, and he winced. Terrible start. “Do you ever feel like we… drifted? I mean—” He laughed weakly. “Not like I don’t notice. I just don’t… get why.”

Didier didn’t answer right away. He just shrugged, sharp and quick. “Things happen.” His voice carried that blunt edge, but George noticed he didn’t sound angry. Just… tired. Which was shockingly new.

George picked at the blanket beneath him, his chest tight. Things happen. That’s it? That’s all we are now? He wanted Didier to say more, to give him something concrete to hold onto. Instead, George found himself filling the silence.

“I keep wondering if I did something,” he admitted. His stomach flipped just saying it. “Like… maybe I said something that pushed you away. I don’t know.”

Didier finally looked at him then, but it wasn’t comforting. It was one of those unreadable looks that made George feel like a bug under glass. “Family. I listen to them.”

George blinked. That was the answer he expected. His chest ached, but he couldn’t find the right reply. He wanted to say something around the words like I need you to stop following others, but the words stuck, caught in his throat. Saying it out loud felt embarrassingly vulnerable, almost childish.

Instead he mumbled, “Well, I did. I did too.” His voice cracked a little on the last word, and he instantly regretted how small he sounded.

Didier shifted his weight, arms tightening across his chest. He gave a short nod, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the admission. The silence came back, heavier this time, and George hated himself for wishing Didier would close the gap.

The room felt awkward, suffocating, like standing in front of a door neither of them could figure out how to open. And George thought, not for the first time, that maybe this was why they drifted—not because they stopped caring, but because neither of them knew how to say it without stumbling over the words.

They technically hadn’t spoken in years. Not really. Not in a way that mattered. George kept thinking about how natural it used to be, how they’d video call until the sun rose, with their sisters most importantly. Now it felt like—he packed it away all inside his head.

George cleared his throat, but the words came out clumsy. “So… uh… long time, huh?”

Didier huffed through his nose, not quite a laugh. “C'est une façon de le dire.”

The silence returned, heavier. George hated it. He wanted to crack it open, to find the boy Didier used to be, the one who grinned at his stupid jokes and dragged him into trouble. He wanted proof that he hadn’t imagined it all.

“That's— One way to speak that.” Didier responded, trying to translate it the best he could.

Funny, usually it was Delphine, sometimes even Peppa, translating for the two of them. George thought for a moment

“Do you…” George hesitated, then pushed forward. “Do you still… talk in your sleep?”

Didier’s head snapped up, confusion plain. “Huh?”

George bit back a nervous smile. “You used to. All the time. You’d mutter nonsense in French, that's what Delphine told us.”

Didier blinked, then let out a small, reluctant chuckle. The sound was strange—familiar, but rusty, like an old record that still played if you wound it up right.
“No, Je ne fais pas ça—I don't do it?”

“I remember, how could I forget?” George leaned back on his hands, his grin shaky but genuine now. “One night you shouted something about cheese in the background of our calls, because you went to bed early. Scared the hell out of me. I thought you were possessed.”

Didier laughed properly this time—quiet, but real. It loosened something in George’s chest, something that had been wound too tight for far too long. It warmed him.

“I…” Didier paused trying to find the right words to not embarrass himself. “do not remember that,” Didier admitted, shaking his head.

“Convenient,” George teased. “Maybe you just don’t want to own up to your cheese obsession.”

For a moment, the years seemed to peel back, just a fraction. George could almost see the boy he used to know, standing in the same place. His grin softened.
“It’s been a while.” he said quietly, repeating what he has said before, this time with more confidence.

Didier froze, his smile fading into something gentler, unsure. He didn’t answer right away, but his eyes held on to George’s, and for once, he didn’t look away. George felt like crying for some reason, but when did he never.

And George thought, with a fragile kind of relief, that maybe the years hadn’t buried everything after all. Maybe there was still a bridge left to rebuild. The two soon felt the darkness of the room drift upon them entirely.

The bedroom door shut softly behind Joey, cutting them off from the muffled voices of the others. The room was dim, just the pale light of the lamp in the corner. Zuzu stood near the door as if her legs wouldn’t carry her farther, her fingers twisted together so tight they hurt.

Joey didn’t enjoy the thought of being alone, especially in a situation like this.

Joey sat on the edge of the bed, small and uncertain, watching her with wide eyes. He always seemed to look at her like that now—like he was waiting for her to crack.

And maybe tonight she finally would.

Joey has been friends with Zuzu for… around a year. They met together because well he didn't want to be seen with George, his family said something about staying away from him after all.

A year is a long time. At least a long time to realize what is going on with the person. He stares at Zuzu, seeing as her eyes seem to immediately dart the other direction every time.

Joey sat on the bed above her, his feet dangling just inches from the floor. He watched her, nervous fingers tugging at the hem of his sleeve. He had been watching her for days now—how she never interfered, even when her own sister was being yelled at and accused, her eyes far away from the scene. How she hadn’t really looked at anyone since Richard.

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Zuzu…” His voice was thin, trembling. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You’ve been… different.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

It scared the shit out of him, and he didn't like it at all. He never felt brave, even with words, but for some reason, he's willing to share his mind.

“I mean, more than the rest of us,” he added quickly, like he was afraid she’d think he was accusing her. “Everyone’s… messed up, but you’re… I don’t know. You’re scaring me a little.”

That got her eyes on him. Sharp, defensive, almost angry. Joey swallowed hard, but forced himself not to look away.

“I don’t know what it is,” he went on, his words spilling out faster now, shaky but stubborn. “But you’re holding something in. I can see it. I just…” He twisted his hands together. “I wish you’d tell me. Whatever it is. I don’t care if it’s ugly. Just—say it. Please.”

Zuzu looked away, her throat tight. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him he was imagining things. But the desperation in his voice pinned her in place.

Joey leaned forward, his voice smaller now. “You were my first friend here. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you. But I feel like you’re already slipping away, like you’re carrying something that’s eating you alive.”

The words hit too close. Zuzu dug her nails into her knees, biting back the sob that clawed at her throat.

“Joey,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Don’t ask me that. You don’t want to know.”

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak. The walls pressed in. And she thought: maybe—just maybe—she couldn’t keep this buried much longer.

Would you like me to flow directly from this into the confession scene you asked for before (so they connect seamlessly), or keep this as a standalone moment of pressure before she breaks later?

“Joey…” Her voice was quiet, trembling, and she hated how weak it sounded. “I… I need to tell you something. You can’t—” She swallowed. “You can’t tell anyone else.”

Joey nodded quickly, almost too quickly, his hands clutching at his knees. “O-okay.”

The words stuck in her throat. Her chest felt heavy, her tongue like stone. She thought of Richard’s face, the pencil, the way the world spun after. Her stomach lurched, but she forced it out anyway.

“It was me.”

Joey blinked, confusion flickering. “W-what do you mean?”

Zuzu pressed her hands to her face, her voice cracking. “ It wasn’t an accident. I—” Her breath hitched, sharp and ugly. “I did it, and then I lied, and they all looked at him like he was just gone and I—”

Her words dissolved into ragged silence.

Joey just sat there, pale as the sheets beneath him. For a moment she thought he’d scream, or bolt for the door, or look at her the way she deserved—like a monster. But instead, Joey’s hands trembled in his lap, and he whispered, “I-Is this about– him?.”

Zuzu’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, stung. “What do you think?” Her response seemed honest, genuine. It didn't seem like she meant any harm.

Joey’s lip quivered, but he didn’t look away. “I… I’m confused. But, I–Understand?” He didn’t.

Her stomach dropped, a strange mix of relief and dread tangling inside her. She wanted to scream, to laugh, to collapse. She really wanted to. She wanted everything to just end now. 

She didn’t care anymore.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I ruined everything. I ruined us.”

Joey shook his head hard, his voice breaking as he tried to sound steady. “No, Zuzu. I’m not— I’m not saying it’s okay” He didn’t know what he was saying now.. “But… I understand. You were scared. We’re all scared. I… I know you didn’t mean to—”

“I did,” she snapped, her voice hoarse, tears pricking her eyes. “Joey, I meant it at that moment. I hated him. I hated him so much.” Her voice broke, and she crumpled onto the chair by the desk, burying her face in her hands. “And now he’s gone, and it’s my fault.”

The silence after was unbearable, but then she felt a timid hand on her shoulder. Joey’s hand. Shaking, hesitant, but still there.

Zuzu sobbed into her palms, the sound raw and jagged. And though Joey’s hand trembled, it stayed on her shoulder, as if holding her together by the thinnest thread.

Chapter Text

Zuzu rubbed her eyes, how long was she out for?

She looked around, the environment has changed. She was in a white room, cold, and scarring. She didn’t like it at all. 

She then looked at the bodies around her.

They were all breathing, some even awake. Every single person was silent. As if this was a normal occurrence, as if… this SHOULD be a normal occurrence. She didn’t want it to be, but how was she supposed to act? Like this hasn’t happened before?

She heard voices, many, well, not really, only a few recognizable voices. All of them are the people she’s been stuck with, some she’s known her entire life. Why can’t she bring herself to care?

Well, she can’t seem to care for herself, at least not anymore. She can’t see anyone's face. Not because they were wearing blindfolds, or any horrible lighting, it was really bright after all. Her eyes had just given up trying, her eyes weren’t damaged, they were tired. She’s seen stuff, and she doesn’t want to see anything like that again.

She only sees one face now, sometimes another, but always that one face, he always seems to reappear, taunting her, begging for an apology, wanting her to beg for forgiveness for her sins. White fur, stained with the essence of blood, redder than rubies she’s ever seen before. And eye pierced, fully, and painfully, yet all she sees is him smiling at her.

All she can do is look back at him with a different face, a face of fear, as if their own roles were swapped. 

She looks at him with fear as if she would do anything to just hear his voice, see his face unscarred. But, if he ever came back, she doubts she could ever walk up near him again. The cruel black ink in her heart could always hurt someone again. 

Zuzu’s face became blank as everyone's face was blurred for her. 

She jumped in shock as she heard something, something of static, a familiar static. The static that brought fear to all the children that sat in this room.

“My, Isn’t this such a big change?” She heard the ‘voice’ speak.

She felt her insides become weak. She didn’t want to go through this again.

She tried her best to listen to the voices around her, the sounds of fear, agony, and anger. She heard the static of a voice speak again, as a bit of that black ink dripped in her heart fall to her stomach.

“Wow, D̴̡̞̜̰̪̜̱̙͛͌̔͒̍̽i̷̧̝̭͎̫̘̜̣̯̺̦̇͒͆́̅̓̄̽̅̂d̸̢̙̖̦̖͕͉̣̔̉̌̀͜͝ì̷̦̈͌͛ḛ̷̓͂͒̊̅͋͆͘r̶̢͍̒͊̍̔͒͝ͅ feisty now are we?” The names became a blur to her. 

Another voice spoke out, very recognizable, that's for sure, yet she couldn’t make it out. It was male that was for sure, it was calm, yet she can hear the same ink dripping from his heart, as if he was holding onto another luggage of guilt, a responsibility that he doesn't want.

“That’s correct, E̷̬̼̗͚͖̐̎̈́̒̊͑̇̀͠d̸͈͉̦͖̣̹̾͐̋͆̊̎m̷͈̫̾̊͆̾ȍ̶̟͉̭̼̘̰̮́̂͝n̸̢̮̯̻̑͗̂̄̈̇͛̍͂̇͝d̴̫̗̂̉” The pain of a voice replied. “That’s why the shackles are there after all!”

She stared down, there was a shackle on her arm, it stuck to the ground. It gripped onto her skin, leaving her in a huge pain, she for sure could feel her blood vessels popping out because of it. How was that not her first concern?

She looks at the floor next to her. A saw.

“You all can easily escape! Five come out, one gets left behind, it's easy really.” He explains. “You see the saws? Well, one of you guys has to go chop chop to your least favorite limb! I’m feeling niceee… letting you choose the person AND the limb!”

So that’s it. That’s the game. One limb for freedom. One body for all. It should sound monstrous. It should make her sick. And yet… All she feels is a strange quiet inside her, like someone has finally turned down the volume of the noise in her head. Everyone else is panicking— but she can only sit here and stare at the saw gleaming in front of her. It looks like a mirror. A cruel, jagged mirror, showing her what she's been hiding from. Showing her a way out.

For weeks now, she's been walking with a shadow tied to my ankles. His face. His voice. The sound of the pencil—she still hears it sometimes when the room goes quiet. She carries it like a second heartbeat, too loud, too heavy. Every time someone laughs, every time someone looks at her, she remembers. It’s like being eaten alive from the inside. But now, now… the Narrator’s little joke of a game has given a shape for all that guilt. The pain has somewhere to go.

And isn’t it terrible that it feels like a blessing? That she’s sitting here with her wrist chained, the smell of acid climbing up from the floor, and all she can think is finally. Finally, a chance to balance the scale. A chance to do something that isn’t hiding, or lying, or watching everyone I care about get hurt. She should be screaming. Instead she feels almost… happy. Not the kind of happiness you get when you’re safe or warm or loved. The kind of happiness you get when a nightmare ends because you’ve hit the ground after the fall. The kind of happiness that feels like surrender.

Maybe they’ll never forgive her for what I’ve done. Maybe even this won’t erase it. But at least it’s something. At least when they walk out of this room, they’ll have their freedom—and they’ll have given them something real instead of another lie. At least when they think of her, they won’t only think of the girl who took a life. Maybe they’ll think of the girl who gave one back.

The thought makes her throat tighten. She feels the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but they’re not tears of fear. They’re almost relieved. The first thing that feels like hers.

‘So let me do this. Let me be the one. Let me lay it all down and be done. If this is how I go, then at least it’s a choice I made with my eyes open. At least it’s a choice that means something.’ She thinks.

‘Let me be free.’

Her hands shook as she lifted the saw, its teeth catching the harsh white light. Her breath stuttered, shallow and uneven. The world narrowed to the sound of her pulse in her ears, and the acid’s hiss became a distant, cruel lullaby. The cold metal bit against her skin, sharp enough to make her flinch before it even moved.

She pressed down.

The first drag of the blade sent a jolt through her body. Her jaw locked, a muffled sound slipped from her throat. Sweat stung her eyes, her whole frame trembling, but she forced her arm to move again, slow and jerking, the rasp of metal on flesh rasping against her nerves like static.

She can hear blurbs of people talking now, crying maybe. She knows its at her, but the sounds, even if she can’t hear it properly, bring her joy, joy that she has been longing for, longer than she should’ve had.

Her knuckles turned white around the handle. Her breath became a rhythm—inhale, pull, exhale, pull—each motion sending shockwaves of pain that threatened to fold her in on herself. She bit down on her lip until she tasted iron, until her vision blurred. As if her vision wasn’t bad before.

Her body recoiled but she held herself there, anchored, trembling. Her muscles quivered; she dug her nails into her palm to keep from screaming. The saw dragged again. Again. Her stomach churned, her lungs spasmed with every ragged breath.

Tears slicked her cheeks, falling without sound. Her heartbeat thundered so loud it drowned out everything. Her arm kept moving, even as her vision wavered, even as her hands slipped. The sound of the saw was a cruel metronome, ticking away the last fragments of her will.

She clenched her teeth. She dragged it once more. And once more. Every motion carved through more than flesh—it carved through fear, through hesitation, through the space between herself and everyone else. The saw grew heavier in her hands. The room tilted. Her breath shuddered.

She pressed down again, and again, until her whole body was shaking from the effort, until she thought she might pass out, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

Her arms felt like lead. Every drag of the blade drained something deeper than strength; it gnawed at her resolve, at the very core of her will. The saw slipped once, clattering against her skin at a wrong angle, and a strangled cry tore from her throat before she could choke it back. Her breath stammered, hitched, but she forced her grip tighter.

The world began to sway. Spots of white light crowded her vision, but still she kept moving. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to drop the saw, to collapse—but she clenched her jaw and pushed through the tremor in her bones.

Her whole body was trembling now, her knees drawn up against the floor, her shoulders shuddering with every motion. The sound of the saw was unbearable, scraping and grating, like it was echoing inside her skull. She could barely hear herself over it—barely hear her own ragged sobs.

Her lips moved around words, half-thought, half-broken—fragments like prayers she didn’t know she was saying. “Please… just—please…” She wasn’t even sure who she was speaking to.

The blade caught again, dragging slow, deliberate. Her breathing broke apart into shallow gasps. Every pull of the saw sent lightning through her, but she held it firm, pressing down, dragging, dragging, dragging—her body wracked with shivers, her throat raw from swallowed screams.

Her fingers numbed. Her arms felt foreign, detached, as if they no longer belonged to her. Still, she made the motion again, mechanical, relentless, as though her body knew the path even while her mind faltered.

And then, she felt it give, the chain of resistance breaking. Her whole body lurched forward, collapsing onto the floor, the saw slipping from her grasp with a hollow clang.

Her breath came in harsh, uneven bursts. The pain burned so fiercely it blurred into something else—something past pain, past thought. She could barely hold onto consciousness, but a flicker of relief broke through the haze.

She had done it.

The floor was cold beneath her cheek, a sharp contrast to the fire running through her body. Her breath rattled in and out, shallow, unsteady, as though her lungs had forgotten how to work. She tried to lift her head, but the weight of it dragged her down again. The saw lay inches from her fingers, its handle slick, mocking in its stillness.

Her vision blurred at the edges, swimming in and out of focus. The ceiling above her pulsed like it was breathing. The walls bent inward, then out again, her mind struggling to hold onto anything solid. She shut her eyes tight, but the dark was worse—because there, behind her lids, the pain sharpened, merciless, undeniable.

Her body trembled in uneven waves, every shiver jarring her further. Her hands twitched helplessly against the floor, nails scraping faintly, searching for something to hold on to.

For a moment, her thoughts scattered into fragments, broken and nonsensical. She was a child again, clutching at Z̷͉̫͒̒̀̒͝o̴̰̕ě̴́̅͂ͅ'̵̹̋̈́̀̔š̸̼̹̭̎̇̂̚ hand; she was in the schoolyard with Z̸̡͙̪̆͝a̷̙̪͙͌̀͂͛ź̶̰͍͊̌ã̵̼̣’̸͎͍̓̈́͘s̸̨̪͓̈́̐  laughter ringing in her ears; she was everywhere but here. But reality snapped back with another throb that clawed up her spine, dragging her into the present.

Her lips parted around a sob, but no sound came out. The silence pressed heavy against her, broken only by her uneven gasps. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, desperate for any anchor, any control, but even that slipped through.

Her whole body curled instinctively, trying to make itself small against the enormity of the pain. The floor smelled of iron and acid and fear. Her teeth chattered. She forced her eyes open again, only to see the blur of white walls leaning closer, like they meant to swallow her.

Her chest seized. She dragged in another shallow breath, then another, every inhale trembling on the verge of breaking. Her arms hung limp. Her thoughts blurred into one steady, desperate refrain: just breathe, just breathe, just breathe.

The world tilted sideways. Darkness pushed at the corners of her vision again, heavy, inevitable. She tried to resist, but her body betrayed her.

The last thing she managed was a faint, cracked whisper—something that could’ve been a name, or a plea, or both. Then her eyes slipped shut, her breath shuddering out into silence.

She looked at the person above her, his white fur, still stained with red, smiling at her. In a way of comfort. She felt relieved. She smiled back.

“R̶̰͈̰͇͍̳̥̞̪̤̎́̓̌̈́̎̍̂̌͒̆͂͑̾̈́̆̾͊̏̽̒͒͘͜͠͝í̸̢̧̝̫̣̠̥̻͇̜̪̺̅̏̓̂̿̐̅̆͐͜͝͝͠͝c̵̩͎̫͎͍̖̤̫͇͇͕͊̓̾̏́̊̚͜h̵̛͓͇̼̏̉̍͊͋͆̓͌͑̔̽̈͆̂̆̊̈́͗͊͗̊̎̊͗̋͋̓̽͆̉̇̒̉̊̎͆̓̕̕͘͠͝͠͠ã̴̧̨̢̛̗̜̼̲̱͈͓̥̞̃͌́̔̋̌̈́̃̄̀̉̀̌̉̽̎̿̿̎͂̈́͋̿͋͗̏̒͗͌͛̔͗̌̀̎̓̏̒̓̈́̌͌̆̀͛̕̕͘͝͝͝r̴̪͉̜̙̫̙̮̯̫̜͍̖͚̒͂̅̇͑͂͗̅̎̏͘d̷̡̨̢̛̦̰̲̺̳̼͎̖̟͎̜͚͕̟̦̬̘͚̲͙͙̟̙̹̺̙̲̘͈͇͎̱̫̝͕̫̠͕̦̺̪̙̰̙̦̿̆̀̎̇̒͋̈̈̿͛͐̉̎̒͘͘̚̕̕̕͜͜͜͝”

            .

Chapter Text

When you wake up, you still feel tired, still feel tired when you had your daily amount of rest, why is that? They say it’s because of other factors—diets, physical exercise, hydration, and even mental health. It’s stupid. You work hard for something no one will notice, not even you yourself would see, and if you did, would you care—care that you're doing fine? Of course not. The body, you, will only care about your flaws, your mistakes, things that need to be fixed. 

Sleep is only noticed when you don't have it.

So why should I try to have it? I don’t care for it, I can live without it. There’s bigger problems out here in society. You shouldn’t care about what others have to think, you shouldn’t think about anyone, you shouldn’t even think of yourself.

Yet, I can’t stop thinking of my death, my impending doom; my endless demise. Not just myself, I think of the deaths of others, or the privileges some have for being able to live longer than most do. I do not believe I will live long, it isn’t a state of opinion or rather a choice, its fact. My death was bound to happen, if whatever was above decided i’d not die of natural causes i’d take matters into my own hands.

I guess I did lie, I lied about not wanting sleep—-at the same time I didn’t lie. I do want to sleep, I want the sleep where I sleep forever, a sleep where I need not to wake up, wake up only to feel tired again. I want to cure my tiredness. No one will bother me, force me to do things I don't want, or be incapable to control; I will control my happy ending. 

And my happy ending is to die.

-

Didier lies in the bed. The challenge was definitely at most the most horrid thing he had ever seen. He didn’t feel safe, and he had every right to feel that way.

Didier turned around to look at Joey who was laying on the bed, sleeping. He swore that he was shaking, it freaked him out. He was friends with her, he remembered back when things were normal, he would constantly talk about her, about her relationship with her other friends, how he wished they hung out together more, how she was always there for him when he needed her. She was his only friend, as he described her. 

Didier continued to stare. He probably saw him as a friend, he could never tell. He was technically forced to hang out with him, the school told him, why would he consider him a friend? Even if he did he didn’t think of him as one right now. Didier looked away, now swarmed with thoughts; he had a habit of overthinking. 

Why would he want to be friends with him? He’s rude to him and many others, cursing at them in his own language at simple actions that barely affect him. He’s violent, he pushed Joey out of the bedroom the night before. He’s dramatic, he didn’t even forgive Joey yet over that… stupid thing. 

Didier brought his leg up unto the bed, starting to fiddle with the bandana tied right above the ankle, “Vous comprenez sans doute ce que je ressens..." He whispers to himself.

He remembered the scene clearly. 

The green acid was swarming closer, he was closest to it, there was a ledge in the room that he climbed on, he was unable to fully stand on it, as the acid swarmed below. People were more worried about the fact someone was cutting their leg, killing themself voluntarily. He saw how she did it.

It was like a bad commercial or when your sister put on a show you don’t like because it's ‘her turn’ and if you didn’t give the remote to her you would be in trouble with your mom. You can’t look away from the screen. You hated whatever was on that screen, it was disgusting, or weird, or whatever you didn’t like, but you still stared at the glowing rectangle. That's how it felt watching Zuzu die. 

He didn’t know what was more pathetic, the fact that he wouldn’t cut a leg to if he was in her place or how she saved his life, knowing very well she didn't do it for him, but to put herself out of her own misery. He had to admit he was jealous, he wanted to have that chance, have a chance to kill yourself, not let the murder be taken in someone else’s hands, Richard and the pencils, Wyatt and… Wyatt.

He blanked out, he took out something hiding beneath his scarf. A locket. He opened it, looking at the photos again. He needs to give it back, he can’t keep it, he needs to give it to someone who would truly care. Someone who wouldn’t be selfish enough to keep it for themselves. Like him.

He stepped up from the bed, grasping on the locked as he closed it. Who should he go to? Didier didn’t have to think long for that question, it was easy to answer. He needed to give it to someone who knew how to survive, not living with the fact of death is always on their mind. Not anyone who's like him.

And just like that he stepped out the door as he opened it with his free hand.

-

“ This is sick. This entire place is sick. This… Narrator. He’s so despicably sick, it's so sick it makes me sick, I feel like throwing up anytime I think about that guy, their actions, their disgusting methods of entertainment. He makes everyone SICK. 

H̷̡͔͙̦̲̼̍́͆̂͒̐̕͘ě̸̡̺͙̳̘͔͓͖̻̠̪̠̯͓͑̑͛̈́͌͌̇̇͊͋̚͜s̷̨͔̯̘̟̰̄͌̔̿ ̵̢̢̠͇͓̤͈̝͋̿̉̈̒̾̈̌͘s̴̲͈͕̗̳̑̀͛͌o̶̡̡͖̟͕̪̥̞̰͇͈̳͒̂͊̎͘͝͠ͅ ̸̢͍̟̳̖̹͈̲̦͖̀͑̍̀̅f̶̛̝̈́̌̉͆̔́̀̍͂͋́̓͘͝u̵̼̒̈́̀c̷̪̞͎̞̙͔̜͎̄͊̈́͋͠ͅk̴̨̛͉̬͎̰̺͉͚̼̀̀͗̓̋̄̚͘͝i̶̡̢͓̠͍͙̳̹̹̬̬̘̯͇͓̐n̶̟͕̥̳͇̩͚͇͖̋̀̚ģ̶̡̨̛͔͂̂́͐̌̌̓̓̉̂̾͌͘͝ ̴̨̦̙͉̙͇̘̣̳̭̮̩̙͒̽̕ͅs̸̠͎̹̱̪͈͍͍͇̹̲̳̯͍̍͐̈́̏̍̕͝͝i̴̡̢̛̞̘̮͒̐͌͘̚͠͝ͅc̶̩͉̼̝̘̙̰̥̖̝̲̭̪͓̽̃̎̌͂̑̄̊̉͂̕͘͝͝͝ḱ̵̨̮̟͚̞̭̯̮̍̓̓̔̚͜͝͠ 

It’s so funny! Am I offending you? Using sarcasm against your own words? This is how you feel, am I correct— oh wait I already know that I’m correct! Hahaha… Funny. 

You don’t like this Narrator I’m guessing… “He's so… uTtErLlY sIcK!!!” and all of that diddly darn crap, but hey, I’m not here to choose sides or anything, but… I can help you, like a genie wish or something, owing your soul to the angel thing, except I’m not gonna take your soul! And I’m not an angel, literally of course! Others have called me one figuratively, at least I think I have.

Enough of my silly silly, oh so silly blabbering! I can help you Ǵ̵̨͇̼͍̞̣̹̦͖̫̒̆̚͝é̴̢̝̯͓̣̲̠̙̻̱̫̔͆͛̂̀͑̃̃͆̅͛ŏ̷̹̩̈́͆r̷̛̪͔̠̜̯̲̪̽̆̽̏̾̆̚g̷̢̛̦͙̹͚̖͂̆̈́̔͗̉ͅę̴̞͉̤̋͂͌͂̓̾͐͗̋̑̔  I can save you.

It's so easy, all you have to do is agree to this deal. I haven’t decided on a payment yet, I might even decide on wanting nothing in return! So basically, you just agree and… I’ll free you and your friends! No tricksies!!! Of course of course, I’m a man of my word, your cuddly whumpy brown friend!

I’m not going to hurt you. 

I would never hurt you!! Do you really take me to be that kind of person? I just want to help you, I’ve already said that a bunch of freaking times! You have to believe it now don’t you?

…

Look, here, I understand, I can’t expect you to immediately accept me, so I’ll give you time,I’ll always be here so you can tell me your answer. Oh wait, that’s right, you don’t even know my name… hmm…

Here how about this—you can call me…

B̷̢̮̭̙͎̻̹̳̜̭̀̋͋͘̕r̵̮͙͙̜̻͍̀ǫ̶̖̺̙̼͓̱͙̔̐̔͂̇̈́͛́͌͜͝w̶̢̡̨̨̡̡̲͕̯͍̙͇̱͉͆̀̍̏̌͐̂̀͌̾̋̎̋̚͜͝͝n̸͓͎͊̽̈̄̓̈́̅̈̎̚͘į̷̲̭̜̻̃́̀͆͘è̸̬̰͈̟̰̦̉̎̅̾̀̓̊̽ “

-

George woke up in a panicked manner, as if he had a nightmare. But nothing in his dreams can be scarier than the world he was stuck in right now. He didn’t like it here, and he didn’t like what he had witnessed, he was surprised that he even fell asleep.

And just like that, the water works started pouring down as if there was a canal beneath his chin. He tried wiping them away, trying his best not to make noise, not to wake up the sleeping elephant next to him. He wasn’t exactly sure if he WAS asleep or not… He was too scared to look at Edmond, cause if he was awake he had to beat embarrassment.

The bedroom had disappeared into darkness, the sort of dark that closed in from all sides. A band of moonlight traced the narrow space between the curtains and striped the bed. George lay turgid in the bed, eyes wide but unfocused, gasping at shallow intervals as though too hard a breath might cause the Truth to see him.

Zuzu was gone.

The thought came not in a scream, but as a tide: quiet, unstoppable — impossible to push away. One by one George repeated it in his mind, as though repetition might sand the edges smooth. Gone. Not missing. Not lost. Gone in the last, unforgiving way.

Beside him, Edmond slept.

That was the strangest part. Edmond’s breathing was even, rehearsed, as it always was when he feigned rest. One arm trailed limply between them and close enough to feel its coolness through the blanket. It grounded him as well as suffocated him at once. Edmond was still here. Zuzu wasn’t. The imbalance felt obscene.

George was laying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling and watching, as shadows shifted with the passing category of clouds over the moon. Every shadow looked wrong. Every sound — the creak of the house, the distant hum of something mechanical — felt too loud, too alive. The world did not deserve to continue on.

He’d thought by now he would be crying. That was just what people did, wasn’t it? But the tears remained stuck, clotted behind his eyes as reckoning hadn’t yet come to his body. Instead there was only this dull pressure in his chest, as though something vital had been excised and his ribs hadn’t gotten the hang of collapsing inward yet.

Zuzu’s laugh echoed in his brain, unsolicited. Too loud. Too sharp. Friend irritating the way you want it to be. That was the memory he loathed most of all. Hated that it had come alive and remained whole, hardly touched by death, as if taunting him. He clenched his lips so tightly, terrified of parting them in case a noise came, something fragmented, something that would wake Edmond up and make it true.

You can survive this, he told himself, not because he believed it but because the alternative was too agonizing to bear.

George moved, enough to glance at Edmond’s face which rested. Even now, even broken, Edmond still looked like a man who knew what he was doing. Someone solid. George wondered abstractly how long Edmond had been carting them all like this. How long he’d been pretending not to have that weight.

George’s chest bloomed with a sharp, irrational guilt. Zuzu was dead and he was alive, that’s what it took to keep breathing on a bed like this. The very idea made him feel disloyal, as if life in and of itself was a betrayal. He shut his eyes hard, and finally one tear slipped away. It slipped sideways between the folds of his fur hat to rest against his hairline, silent and cold.

That was how he was dealing with it, he understood now — not by comprehending, not by coming to terms with it, but simply by holding himself perfectly still. By becoming small. By getting through the night one breath at a time.

At his side, Edmond tossed lightly in his slumber; he muttered a few queer words. Something within George cracked when he heard the sound. He edged nearer—cautious, almost reverential—until their shoulders touched. It wasn’t comfort, not exactly — but it was evidence that he wasn’t alone in the dark.

George gazed back into the darkness, and left the night to keep his secret.

Zuzu was gone.

And for some reason, impossibly, he would somehow still be there when morning arrived.

Before he could mourn anymore, he saw a figure staring out the door, it had peeked open, a tad bit of light glazed on the floor upon them. He stared and froze at the figure, It had a yellow sweater, and blue jeans. He couldn’t tell what animal they were, since a faint shadow cast upon them. All of a sudden the kid ran away, rushing through the hallway without making a sound.

George unfroze, reaching his arm out trying to call him to wait, but nothing came out his mouth. He slowly lowered his arm, till it paralleled his other arm. He choked on nothing before grabbing the sheets and pulling it off him. He stepped on the cold floor and put his shoes on.

He recognized that kid, even though he had never met them. Just the ambience of the creature brought him back, he was sure it was a hallucination but honestly a lot of this he thought wasn't possible managed to happen in this place.

This place was terrible. It made him sick.

He got up, and walked through the door, zooming past to get to the door as quietly as he could, he opened it slowly, and closed it quickly. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be left alone. Then he thought about Zaza, she asked to sleep alone tonight, and everybody knows why. Cmon… not again, don’t start tearing up again.

“George.” He turned around to see Didier standing in the hallway. He watched as he slowly walked up towards him, grasping something in his hand, till he shoved it in his pocket.

George wiped his eyes, letting dry as quickly as he could before the donkey could notice it. “Oh, uhm… why are you awake… right now.” He asked him.

“I’m not sure.” He answered more confidently rather than confused. 

They both stood silently not understanding why the situation was so awkward again.

And the hallway was dark too, with lighting from one flickering bulb whose hum made us nervous that it might soon give out. Doors ran down both sides of the walls, all shut now, all silent—all sleeping or faking it. The house had a hollow feeling at this time of the evening, as if it were suspending its breath.

George had his back against the wall, arms crossed over one another, and he didn't know why Didier wanted him to walk out here. The insoles of his socks felt the cold floor. He moved, and listened dully to the creak in the distance of part of the building resettling; each sound was too sharp in the silence.

Didier stood just a few feet away, both hands stuffed deep into his pockets. For a start, he didn’t even glance over at George. He stood at the end of the hall, his jaw clenched and his shoulders drawn close as if awaiting a collision.

Nothing happened for a very long time.

George was about to say something when Didier did at long last, his tone low and careful — like a man who feared it might carry through walls.

“I don’t sleep,” Didier said.

George blinked. It wasn’t what he expected if it wasn’t obvious enough. “What?”

Didier let out a sharp breath through his nose. “I lie down. I close my eyes. I don’t sleep.” He turned, there was a scraping of heel against the floor. “When I sleep, I hear things. Voices. Words. Stuff I have forgotten by now.”

George’s chest tightened. He didn’t interrupt. He knew better than to interrupt.

Didier looked at him then, so momentarily, before turning away again. “I’m okay because I don’t speak it. Because I’m rude to others rather than myself..” His voice wavered, only slightly.

George could tell that he was unsure of what were the right words to use. “But I do. I care too much. And it’s so tired.”

The words landed between them with a thud.

George flashed on all the times he’d filed away Didier as being difficult. Cold. Distant by choice. It hurt to realize, sharp and instantaneous.

“I feel like I’m always one bad thought, one thing gone wrong, away from lost,” Didier went on, quieter now. “And I hate. So I keep my mouth loud. Push people away. It’s better than having them look at me.”

George swallowed. The hallway felt narrower somehow.

“Uhm… Why are you telling me this?” George said gently, as much a statement as a question. “I mean I’m fine with you saying this but, this all feels so sudden.” So forced.

Didier hesitated. Then, he emitted a brief, humorless laugh. “I didn’t know how to stop.”

The admission came out in a rasp, like glass being pulled from a wound.

George glanced at the closed doors around him — at the people sleeping behind them, oblivious to this tender scene playing out in the dark. “You could have mentioned this… before,” he said gently.

Didier’s shoulders slumped, slightly. “I didn’t feel like it.”

That did it. Something turned over inside George, weighed down and sore. He moved closer, and his voice dropped an octave. “You do,” he said. 

Didier was finally able to look him fully in the eye. The was something raw there — fear, guilt, exhaustion—all mixed up together. For a moment he seemed younger. Smaller.

“Enough of me,” Didier confessed. “I want to hear some words from you.”

“Do you want to die?”

George didn’t claim to have the answers. He just slowly shook his head. “I–”

George felt confused, why was he asking this all of a sudden. Was he trying to kill him? Did he kill Richard?...

The hallway remained quiet. The light buzzed. Somewhere, a floorboard creaked. Life, faint but persistent.

Didier cast his eyes to the floor and then, after a moment, nodded once as though conceding defeat over something he’d fought for far longer than just one night.

They lingered there for another moment, two dark silhouettes in the dark, trading one of those bits of truth that could only be uttered when the world was sleeping — and no one remained to act for.

“Im fine.” George said, lying.

“Très bien. Je dois donc vous faire confiance.” Didier spoke slowly, going closer to George which made him tremble a bit. Didier went through his pocket and pulled out something.

The necklace reflected the light just before Georges realized what Didier was up to.

They were close, too close for comfort, close enough George could hear Didier’s uneven inhalations over the sound of his own heartbeat. The room was still, suspended, as though the air itself understood that this wasn’t an every day sort of thing. Didier clasped the chain in his hand, his fingers curled around it as if he thought that it would disappear unless he held onto it.

George couldn't recognize it.

His stomach tightened.

“You don’t have to —” George began, unthinkingly, because that was how human beings responded when another person gave them something valuable. Something loaded.

“Take it.” Didier interrupted him with a slight shake of his head. His voice sounded low, slow, devoid of its customary edginess.

“I want you to.”

He opened his hand.

The necklace was there, unassuming on first sighting—just metal and thread—but George knew better. It was a locket, he didn't know if it was his but it carried history. Memory. The quiet pull of the presence of someone who wasn’t there any more. Didier’s thumb brushed over it once, slow, reverent and then he offered it out fully.

“Keep it safe,” Didier said. Not hold it. Not borrow it. Safe.

George hesitated. His hands seemed suddenly too awkward for something that was so important. “Didier, this is yours,” he said breathily and broke off.

Didier’s mouth compressed, but with resolve, not anger. “It isn’t,” he replied. “But right now I don’t trust myself not to lose it..” A pause. Gentler, almost ashamed: Je crois que vous ne ferez pas les mêmes erreurs que moi.”

The quiet was now too much to even bear. “I kept it for someone.” Didier explained. “Give it to the wolf’s sister.”

The words struck harder than the necklace ever would.

Slowly, George hesitated as though he was afraid the instant would break if he acted too quickly. Cool against his skin, grounding when the fingers closed around it. Real. It was heavy in his hand, and with it a silent, aching burden.

“I won’t live long enough to give it to her. Et si je le fais... ma cupidité me le prendra.” He said finally which made George find his voice again.

“I’ll keep it safe,” George said, and he meant it with everything in him. “I promise.”

Didier nodded once, brisk and final, as though that was all he could hold. But before he withdrew, for a fraction of a second, his hand remained there and trailing over George’s knuckles in silent thanks.

There was a moment of silence between them.

The necklace vanished down into George’s pocket, pressed against his chest where it belonged for the moment. And in the silence that followed, George knew this to be true: not a farewell, not an absolution, but a quiet act of trust given in bravery and grief and too much loss.

What a delicate thing he was charged with.

And this time, George knew — he’d make sure it would never get lost.

He watched as Didier quickly walked away. Strolling as if nothing had even happened. George didn’t understand what happened. 

Sister. He said. He’s talking about Wyatt’s step sister… He started to think, trying his best not to think about the dinner party. Wendy was her name, right? He recognized the name immediately. The wolf family, his dad built their house, the one with the swingset outside in the front yard. Her and Peppa were close back then. Back then.

Peppa wasn’t close with any of her friends anymore. 

He doesn’t even want to know how they feel about her with their disappearance. How they feel knowing their siblings are dead.

George stood at the other end of a long, dead hall, the walls anemicly lit. He stood there too long, thoughts running in circles without mercy — Zuzu’s voice, Didier’s confession, the blank weight of everything unsaid. The guilt of the entire situation. The house slept around him, its doors closed like sealed mouths. You told yourself if you stayed still enough, the night wouldn’t ask questions of you.

Then something moved.

A figure raced up the opposite end of the hall — too fast, too odd. The sound of bare feet didn’t slap against the floor. The shape dissolved darkly at the rim, gaunt and white; vanished before George could satisfy himself that he had seen it. His heart leaped, a jolt of fear flaring in his chest that was sharp, treasonous.

He didn’t turn his head.

George fixed his gaze ahead of us, jaw set, breathing measured. He knew that rule by now: you didn’t run after what the dark was willing to leave you. Don’t give it a name. Hallucinations were grief with other people’s legs on, running through his mind to see if he would try to chase them.

The figure was similar to what he had seen before when trying to get out. That's right. He came outside just for that reason. He came out to see if he was real.

I’m tired, he told himself. That’s all.

Nobody is there, even if you begged. He told himself. There's no one there to save you, he can’t save you. He can't save you.

The hallway was empty again. Silence reasserted itself, smug and definitive. George let out a slow breath, the sound measured, deliberate. He refused to look back. Would neither confirm nor deny what he had seen.

He then went for the door handle.

It was warmer inside the bedroom. Familiar. Yet it sickened him, this entire place was sick. Edmond was sleeping, his face turned a little to the wall, an even and regular breathing following every motion he made. The view worked to calm George far more than any form of reassurance could have. This—this was real. This weight, this room, this night. Disgustingly real. Disgustingly sick.

George just settled in to work when the door opened and closed on silent hinges. He settled onto the bed so as not to rouse Edmond, and drew the blanket up to his chest like a shield. He stared at the dark ceiling his eyes locked, but his mind eased, loosening its hold.

If the hallway wanted to run, let it run.

George stayed where he was. He counted breaths. Let the quiet settle. And in the end — there was no fanfare, no dreams — sleep came to him, softly, as if even the night knew he needed a break.

No one was here to save him.

He can’t save him.

“Now… Who said I couldn’t?”

“Ị̶̧̮̹̻̻̘̲̰͉̪̜̳̖͂͆̀͛̒͂̋͌̋͠ ̸̣̦̰̂̏́̆̇͒͆c̵͔̆̈̈́̀̎͝a̸͍͉̒̂̊̀̏̈́͝ͅñ̷̛̟͇͗̐̿̔̇̏̃̌͝ͅ ̸͉̻̬̳͚͎̇̆͆̓͑͋̚͘͜͠͝͝ś̵̛̭̭̞̯͚͎̮̔̇̄̓͑͊̔̀ä̶̢͇͓̣̮͍̯̖̯̘́́ṿ̸͕̭͙̩̜̫̹̏͗͆́̾̾͌́ͅė̵̥̱̈́ ̴̮̟̺̟͐̉̔̿͂̂ͅy̸̻̳͙̲͉̯̲̐̓̔͝͠ò̶̖͈̭̦̝̮͌̉̃͂́̀̿̈́u̵̮̺̪̘͈͓͙̐̌̿̔͛̐͑̿̌͝ ̶̬̾͌̈̔̏̓̄̈̈́̀͗̐̃̋͠G̴͉̱̮̞͉̮̈́͑͒̈́̾̋̔̽͝e̴̥̯͑͗͆̚o̸̡̞͇̱̮̩̘̞̝̜̮̭̖̥̞̮̓͌͗͗̽͒̓̅͗̉͋͆ŗ̴̗͖̞̬̗̜̮͠g̸̡͙̗̹̦̻̳̘̼̩̘̣̟͇̠̉̓͊̈́͆͌́͊̄͘͝e̴̘̫̠̖̺̺̫͈̲̿ͅ”

Chapter Text

Ring Ding-a Ding-a Ding Dinga Ding Ding, It’s all about the ringtone—

SLAM. The boy pressed the snooze on his phone with his finger, his face still lying on the pile of papers scattered on his desk. Scruffing his hair, he manages to lift his head. How long was he asleep for…? He then looks up at the phone—it is now buzzing with a flood of notifications.

He immediately wakes up, snapping back into realisation. He picks up his phone, looking at the time. 10:47 am, HE'S LATE! Fuck. He already has so many missing assignments that he can’t do this again. 

He’s already so behind in class, he can’t keep up with this… He was already absent for almost a week due to having a fever. 30 missing assignments, only 12 done. He almost started crying till another notification binged on his phone. He wiped his tired eyes and grabbed his phone again. He stared at the screen.

There was a name with a purple heart, with around 21 missed messages and 4 missed calls. All around… 7 minutes ago… oh. It was one of his classmates, she didn’t seem to be the one to message and call in class, which was suspicious,s but maybe she was just… worrying about him. He unlocked his phone and called her, video calling her, hoping for an answer. 

“Pedro? PEDRO!” A voice spoke from the other side of the screen. She was at her home, which was.. Strange. “Whoa… are you okay? You look like you haven’t slept in… Years!” 

“Why– Why aren’t you at school?...” He asked, the only thing that really seemed to worry his mind. 

“School? What do you mean, it's Saturday?” She answered with a slight confusion in her voice.

All Pedro could do was stare at her with a look of relief. “Oh… yeah.” He spoke slowly. “Do you need anything?”

“Oh yes, the cops spoke to us again—” She started to go on. “About the twins, and they said they were unable to find any information about them, BUT! I went out after that—”

“Zoë, we told you not to start getting involved in this,” he interrupted her. And he was absolutely correct, her and their classmates, who were involved victims with sibling disappearances, had told her not to start getting involved with it. 

Zoë stared through the screen, obviously feeling a bit temperamental. “Well, if they’re not going to do anything about it, then who will?” She asked. Which left the pony silent. “Exactly, that’s what I thought.”

“This is dangerous. This is very dangerous.” Pedro explained slowly. All he heard was Zoë sigh back. She knew he worried about him; he was one of the only people who listened to her after all.

“I know,” she replied, "that's why I’m not doing it alone.” Pedro paused at the response. “Could you call as many people to the forest entrance. That's why I called you! Oh, and don’t think the number of kids you brought is too much, the more the merrier!” Pedro smiled awkwardly out of habit as she started to ramble.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I can do that,” He said, completely ignoring his many missed assignments. 

“Okay, okay, thank youuu!!! I just need to set up everything—” Zoë quickly spoke.

“Wait, how much did you set up?...” Pedro asked her.

Zoë then went silent, quickly shoving a bunch of stuff beneath her, “nothing to worry about, OKAY BYE!” And just like that, the call ended. All Pedro did was sigh and spin his chair, kicking his legs a bit, blanking out.

He thought for a good long while, and this was a bad idea. But anytime he thought about that, he thought about the tears of others. Everyone was scared of the disappearances. 

It had been around 4 days since they had last seen the kids. 

The cops started searching only on the 2nd day, when some of them came home late on the first day, some parents weren’t worried about them. It was only when the next morning came that they were crying on their knees to the cops, begging for their children to come back.

On the 2nd day, they managed to make some connections between the kids. They all went to the same school, were all in the same grade, and all their older siblings knew each other—some of the younger siblings were even friends because of this. Most had even been to or at least visited the preschool that was taken down for construction purposes; the teacher, Madam Gazelle, was nowhere to be found when wanted for questioning.

He knew Madam Gazelle, he knew all the missing kids and their siblings, yet he wasn’t related to any of them. But then again, a lot of his classmates were in his shoes. They've all known each other since preschool, some of them even knowing each other when they were only a few months old. Their parents were also going through the same thing, which probably had something to do with it.

It’s actually kind of weird when you think about it. I guess he’s just really now only noticing because not everyone has been close. It’s all because the pig family isn’t it. 

Their daughter is crazy. S̶h̶e̶ d̶o̶e̶s̶n̶'t̶ s̶e̶e̶m̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ c̶r̶a̶z̶y̶.  The doctors said she was crazy.

Peppa Pig. 

Pedro knew her; in fact, he even had a crush on her when he was younger, but it only stopped around 4th grade. He doesn’t know why it stopped, but then again, he didn’t know why it even started in the first place. He was just a dumb kid after all. Even so, she w̶a̶s̶ a̶ f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶ w̶h̶o̶ h̶e̶ c̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶  is a schizo patient who he shouldn’t talk to.

He got up from his bed; he needed to get a hold of himself.

The woods stood like a clamped mouth.

Beyond the dirt path were tall trees packed in tightly; their branches wove into a shade roof so dark that no sunlight penetrated. It was cooler here, the air wet and thick with earth and moss, and it was wrong—t̶o̶o̶ s̶i̶l̶e̶n̶t̶, t̶o̶o̶ v̶i̶g̶i̶l̶a̶n̶t̶. No one had stepped over the lintel. No one planned to.

Pedro, at the front of the line, rocked back and forth on his heels with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as if to stop himself from running away. He looked over his shoulder at the group, then back at Zoë beside him with a sheaf of papers clutched to her chest as if it were a shield.

Everyone was concerned or confused; if not, they probably thought this was all stupid, something so stupid that they shouldn’t even be doing this. Which confused him even more about why they agreed to join them.

“I just want to make it clear,” Pedro mumbled, his voice small, “that if anybody asks later, this was not my idea.”

“Really? Then who was?” Wendy shot back immediately, arms crossed, her eyeliner sharp against the exhaustion of her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “Last time I remember, you texted us. With coordinates.”

Wendy was the step-sister of… Wyatt? Pedro never met Wyatt before, but hopefully, he was more like Wendy when she was younger. Wendy only moved in midway through the playgroup; she wasn’t there from the very beginning, but still, they all treated her as if she was. She was mostly close with P̶e̶p̶p̶a̶  Zoë and Rebecca.

Pedro winced. “Okay, maybe, yes. But spiritually? This is Zoë’s fault.”

Zoë didn’t rise to it. She stood straight and tall at the edge of the forest, chin lifted as if she could be rational with the trees if she tried hard enough. Confidence was literally  emanating from her in an almost obnoxiously defiant way. Pedro had to admit he kind of a̶d̶m̶i̶r̶e̶d̶ h̶e̶r̶  respected it. 

“This is not about blame,” she said coolly. “It’s about patterns.”

Rebecca waited a bit behind the others, fingers tangling together. Her glance went from the forest to Zoë and back. “Zoë, I— I just like think maybe the police would—”

Rebecca had always been shy, afraid to speak up. Even though he’s known her for a very long time, he only really now realised it. I guess it's because P̶e̶p̶p̶a̶  someone would usually help her when it came to speaking up in social situations. Her younger brother Richard, she also had two younger siblings, who were twins. He hasn’t talked to them in a while… He should go visit them again soon.

“They checked already,” Zoë cut in, not unkindly. “They followed the obvious routes. I’m not talking about the obvious.”

Danny gave a low whistle and stood with his hands on his hips, scanning the tree line as if measuring rough seas. “So you’re telling me they went in there,” he half-marvelled. “That’s… bold.”

Danny, h̶i̶m̶ a̶n̶d̶ P̶e̶p̶p̶a̶'s̶  his best friend, at least that's how he saw their relationship. Danny is busy nowadays; he’s usually travelling, which is quite a dumb thing to do when you’re in high school. But unlike him, he doesn’t focus on grades; he says that he's gonna be a sailor like his father and collect treasure. Good thing he didn’t have parents who pressured him not to follow his dreams.

“Or stupid,” Suzy added, unimpressed. A square word came from her, and she switched her weight, her boots scraping on gravel. “No offence. Actually—full offence.”

Kylie, meanwhile, was down on her knees near a patch of rocks, poking at a beetle with fascination. “It’s beautiful here,” she said brightly. “If I were lost, I’d come here.”Everyoneknew she had just said that only because of how everyone was slowly turning everything into an argument.

Kyylie moved here around.. A year ago, but she has visited them many times, staying at P̶e̶p̶p̶a̶'s̶  house. In fact, her younger brother, Joey, is actually really nice—

Joey—the mere mention made Pedro’s stomach clench, nonetheless.

There was Emily, standing at the back with folded arms and thoughtful eyes. “Zoë,” she said, measured and composed, “could you please explain what exactly you mean?”

Emily is talented, VERY talented actually, she's probably top of our class and the smartest one! No one really pays attention to her works, though, because of her younger brother, Edmond, who was naturally gifted. It’s a shame, Pedro thinks she’s really cool.

Zoë let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and took the step. She laid the papers on the hood of Pedro’s car—maps, notes, timelines scribbled in handwriting.

“Every disappearance was here,” she said, tapping a marked area just beyond the tree line. “Not inside the forest—near it. Phones lost range at the same radius. Search parties were halted here because the terrain changes, but that’s precisely why—”

“That’s the place most people don’t want to look,” Delphine concluded softly.

Heads turned.

Delphine only moved here when the new school year started. She, like Kylie, has visited here too. She’s quiet, and a bit scary, but shes surprisingly really good at English, probably better than Pedro actually, which is embarrassing. He doesn’t really know much about her other than all of that.

Delphine leaned against a tree, arms crossed in much the same manner as her brothers would be, looking sharp and knowing. Pedro also had to admit that he was afraid of her brother aswell. “Fear makes blind spots.”

Wendy scoffed softly. “Yeah, but fear also keeps you alive.”

Zoë kept her eyes steady on hers. “And complacency keeps people lost.”

“Whoa… Somebody get some popcorn.” Kylie whispered; only Pedro and some people near her heard.

The words landed heavily. I mean, not Kylie’s, but you understand the gist.

Pedro swallowed, his eyes flicking to the forest, then back. He hated how sensible she was. Hated even more that he trusted her.

“So,” he said weakly, trying levity, “hypothetically. If you’re right. What then?”

Zoë gathered the documents back into her arms. “Then we don’t rush in. We don’t play heroes.” A pause. “We document. We make noise. We make the adults look again — properly.”

Rebecca breathed out, not even realising she hadn’t been breathing in at all. “So… we’re not going in.”

“No,” Zoë said firmly.

“Well then,” Wendy started, “How exactly do we do that? Do whatever… your plan on making the adults focus better?”

Emily started to speak, and she tried to keep her voice level, but a tremor was in it. “She’s right, you can’t just pick this as the location and expect us to follow whatever you’re saying.” She said, “Do you even know what you’re doing? How do you expect us to make them cooperate?”

“I’m not asking you to find some way to convince them,” Zoë shot back. “I’m asking you to think, think of ways to help. As a team.”

Wendy laughed, sharp and humourless. “Oh, we’re thinking. We’re like, ‘This is such a good tool to get more people lost.’”

“That’s what they want you to believe,” Zoë shot back at once. “That it’s dangerous. That nothing is connecting it.”

Suzy rolled her eyes. “Or maybe it really does happen to be dangerous, Zoë.”

There was a rustling of movement from Delphine, and her voice came sharper, cooler, and more precise. “Suzy may have a point,” Her voice was intimidating, yet Zoë didn’t fumble. “You hit on the same idea and say it’s progress. If you want answers, stop defending yourself and ask better questions.”

Zoë clenched her jaw. It seemed for a moment that she might fight back—defend her statement, but there was nothing. She breathed in, long and deep.

Silence.

Not empty—tight.

It was Kylie who spoke next, quiet but sincere. “Joey said he liked the woods, but he was always too scared to go in when it was dark,” she chimed in,n which made everyone turn to her. “Once. But he says that about a lot of things.”

“That’s not a lead,” Wendy said, regretting the words even as she spoke them—but not regretful enough to take them back.

“And how do you know that?” Zoë asked her, which drew their attention again. “At least she can remember things about her sibling; some of us didn’t even know your family had adopted a brother. Tell me, do you even know his favourite colour?”

“No– That’s not important, Wyatt never–” Wendy stuttered as Zoë got closer. “Wyatt never shared anything stupid like that.

Their noses were almost touching now. Pedro couldn’t tell how Wendy was feeling by this; her face was a bit red, but he didn’t know whether it was for anger or embarrassment. 

“I know my sisters’ favourite colours,” Zoë said. “I also know that I want my family back. While for you, I doubt you could even feel the same, family or not.”

 Pedro swore she was trying to hint at something, but the last time he remembered, they were considered best friends. Yet again, he hasn’t seen anybody talk to ‘their best friends’ in like forever.

Rebecca’s shoulders curled tighter.

Zoë noticed, and probably some others. Her voice softened, just slightly. “Do you ever hear Richard say anything? Even something small?”

Rebecca shook her head fast, too fast. “N-no,” she said, barely audible. “He just… joked. He always joked.” Her fingers twisted together harder. “I don’t remember anything useful.”

No one pushed her to say anything more. 

“So that’s it?” Danny said, frustration bleeding through. “We're arguing over here because everybody forgot the magic clue on colours or jokes?”

“I didn’t mention magic,” Zoë answered. “I said, any clue on anything?”

“And what if there aren’t any?” Wendy shot back, as if she hadn’t had enough of talking to her. "What if you’re just trying to impose order on something that doesn’t have it?"

Zoë’s fists clenched around those papers; their edges wrinkled. “Then you tell me what we do instead.”

“As I said before, we go back, we stop all of the bullcrap. So, that way, nobody else goes missing or gets hurt, again.” 

Pedro waited behind her, half a step away, silent, as others continued to talk. Not a peep since their arrival. He looked at Zoë’s back, the way her shoulders stayed straight while everyone caved in from all angles. He nodded, agreed with her that yes—doing nothing was worse, at least feeling-wise—but the second he pictured himself opening his mouth, his chest tensed up.

He stayed quiet.

Voices kept circling. Accusations without targets. Fear in the costume of anger, concern honed into accusation. No one won. No one convinced anyone.

The forest didn’t care.

Zoë surveyed them—folded arms, turned backs, shaking hands, eyes that wouldn’t meet her own—and for the first time, she was unsteady with confidence.

“I simply want them back,” she said softly. Not to argue. Just to be heard.

No one disagreed.

Suzy broke the silence with a snort, lifting her shoulders in an attempt to shake off the doubt. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “You’re all beginning to talk like that girl. You know the one—”

The air shifted.

Pedro sensed it before he comprehended it. Danny’s restless movement stalled. Rebecca folded in on herself, hands twisting her sleeves.

Zoë froze.

“…What did you say?” she asked.

Suzy regretted what she had said; it was obvious all over her face. Everybody knew she still cared about her, even if she wasn’t supposed to, even if people said she wasn’t supposed to.

Suzy paused and waved a hand. “I didn’t say her name. But come on. Y-You know. The voice she kept talking about, about someone watching everything—don't look at me like that! I said I didn't say her name this time!”

Zoë’s stomach dropped. For a moment,t her hand relaxed on the papers, pages sliding slightly askew. “Peppa,” she said flatly.

No one corrected her. All they did was stare at her firmly, trying to get a glimpse at her eyes, but they were staring at the sheets of information in her handswhichat were probably useless now. The name sounded wrong even to hear aloud. Like pulling something delicate inthe to open air.

Zoë swallowed. Her brain whirred, not toward sympathy but alignment—facts clicking together in a way she didn’t want. “She said she could hear someone… commenting on everything, Zoë mumbled. “Giving commentary. Making it feel like a game.”

Emily frowned. “Zoë, she was unwel; she is not sane.”

“I know,” Zoë snapped, too fast. She inhaled, steadied herself. "I’m not defending her.”

Pedro watched her carefully now. Zoë hadn’t lost her confidence—but it had changed shape, transformed into something sharp and edged with guilt. He didn’t admire this version.

“She’s mentioned a bunch of stuff—Has she mentioned this forest?” Zoë went on, shuffling through her papers again, except faster this time. “She mentioned something about rules. About watching. About people being controlled. Used as playthings” Her jaw tightened. “And then years later, you have kids disappearing out here.”

Pedro stared blankly, remembering words from the newspaper. Everything flashing through his eyes. The things she s̶c̶r̶e̶a̶m̶e̶d̶  said. 

Delphine crossed her arms. “So you think she caused it.” The words broke Pedro from his thoughts, grabbing himself some conscience. 

Zoë didn’t answer right away.

Rebecca’s voice, barely audible: “People said she was crazy.”

Zoë nodded once. “And maybe they were right.”

Pedro’s head snapped up. “Zoë—”

“No,” Zoë interrupted him. Her voice was stiff now, in the way that it would get when she was trying not to lose all control over herself. “Think about it. She talked. She drew attention. She made it real.” Her gaze darted to the forest, then back. “If she didn’t say anything back then, maybe none of this would’ve … escalated.”

Wendy frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Saying something doesn’t make it true. “It will just go away. It’s not a strategy. Talking about something doesn’t make it happen.”

“It does when someone’s listening.”

The group shifted uneasily.

Danny rubbed a hand over his face. "So what—now you want her in all this? After everything?” She never did anything to you.

Zoë pressed her lips together. “I want answers. And she’s the only one who can give me.” A pause. “If she was wrong, then fine. But if she wasn’t—then whatever’s happening now, it didn’t come out of nowhere.”

Pedro stepped closer, voice careful. “She’s George’s sister.” He didn’t even know why he said that

Zoë looked at him, eyes hard. “All the more reason.” No warmth there. No defense. After that, just an aching cold responsibility pouring the other way.

Emily’s expression darkened. “If we march on her like this, we’re not helping.”

Zoë collected the papers back into one neat pile—hands silent at last. “I’m not trying to help her.” She made eye contact with each of them in turn. “I’m trying to understand what she started.”

The tension didn’t ease. If anything, it constricted—tangled up by half-formed thoughts and words that kept sliding past one another.

“So this is it?” I said Wendy, with arms crossed and weight shifted back on her heels. “We’re really coming back around to her.”

Zoë didn’t answer right away. She was looking down at the papers again, her jaw clenched, as if reading the right sequence of facts might wash away any trace of guilt over having spoken Peppa’s name aloud.

Danny shook his head. “I still don’t like this plan. It sounds like what happens when an explanation can’t find a drunk teenager to pin it on.”

“That’s not fair,” Suzy snapped. “Some of us aren't ready to go back and talk to her, besides—we’re just going to go into her house like “Hey! We need information on why everybody’s missing! Spit it out!” Yeah, like that’ll work”

Pedro swallowed. He wanted to say something—perhaps soften it a little—but his mouth remained obstinately shut. Standing behind Zoë made him feel safer, as if he could borrow her surety without having to bear the load of it himself.

It was Emily who spoke then, her voice mild but slashing. “We have to be delicate about the way we word this. If we go in thinking she was the cause of something, we’re going to hear only what fits that.”

Zoë finally looked up. “I’m not assuming. I’m checking.” Her voice was clipped, defensive. “She made claims. Big ones. Allegations that fit rather well.”

Kylie frowned, unconsciously turning one of her bracelets on her finger. “But she didn’t do anything, did she? She just… talked.”

Zoë’s eyes flicked to her. “Talking is doing something.”

That hit harder than anybody anticipated.

Pedro felt his weight transfer, heart pounding in his chest. He despised how silent he was. Loathed that silence was construed as consent—but also as a cowardly act. He cleared his throat. “It won’t mean we’re accusing her if we go to her house,” his voice tripped, but it was an earnest tripping. ”It just means we’re … not pretending it doesn’t exist.”

Wendy snorted. “Seems like a nice way of putting it.” Pedro, for once, felt a bit angry.

Pedro pushed on. “I would just—if she said weird things back then, now there’s weird happening… I don’t think that it’s wrong to ask why. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Not because she’s right. Just because she’s… connected. Even she would notice it.”

Pedro added another thing. “Maybe the reason she didn’t say anything was that she was scared.”

Zoë took a look at him, something inscrutable moving over her expression, then nodded once—as if he’d uttered whatever version of it she could speak.

Emily exhaled slowly. “If we did that, then we’re staying in facts. No dramatising. No pushing.”

“And no sympathy speeches,” Zoë said right away.

Rebecca seemed to diminish slightly at the remark but spoke nonetheless, her voice small and strained. 

Delphine tilted her head. “Either way, she’s not some unbiased observer. She was involved. At least in the telling.” She said, as if she could read Rebecca’s mind.

Kylie nodded uncertainly. “So… we’re listening, but we’re not changing anything after.... Is that it?”

Zoë made a tighter pile of the papers. “We listen for inconsistencies. For patterns.” A pause. “For consequences.”

Pedro shivered down his back, and yet, however cold it was outside, the room felt hot!

Danny leaned his head back and forth, jaw squeezed. “And if she breaks down? Or begins to say nonsensical things?”

“Then we go,” Zoë said simply. “We don’t owe her belief.”

That sat heavily.

Pedro wanted to argue—to say we don’t owe her disbelief either—but the words stuck in his throat. He remained standing where he was, a few paces behind Zoë, fists held tight in his sleeves, electing presence over protest. The last thing he wanted was to lose Zoë.

Emily nodded curtly, taking the plan ungraciously. Kylie lapsed into silence, chewing on her lip. Rebecca appeared as if she might fade into her shadow.

Zoë turned away first. “We’re done speculating.”

Zoë looked back at the forest and began to walk. “We’re going to her house,” she said. “Deliberately or not, she is part of this.”

Everyone started to walk.

Pedro lifted his head, glancing at Rebecca, who seemed t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶i̶e̶d̶  a bit guilty. Suzy mimics the same inner expression. Pedro sighed, lastly looking at Zoë, who was determined, yet also had a sense of fear in her. He knows she’s only doing this for her sisters, but it also seemed like she did it for all the missing kids.

He admired that.

So then, he started to walk, hoping that no harm would ever happen when going to the house that everyone tries not to look at when passing by.

Chapter Text

That's strange. I don’t remember living this life, this life happily. Well, I’m not dead! Ain’t that right? I still have a chance to fix all of this, make the most of it when everything's back to normal, a-ok. I’m scared. I’m not scared anymore. I can—I will escape. 

Everyone here is scary. I will help them escape. No matter what it takes, if it costs my life, at least I will die on a good note. I managed to save someone, more than just one. Why am I so scared? I’m not scared.

I lie to myself about the truth I want to believe. I am not helpless. I am not a “wait to be picked” kind of mate.

Fear perches like a bird in my ribs—it flutters and claws—but I’ve figured out how to put it to work. When my chest tightens, I transform that constriction into an atlas: exits, shadows where movement is absorbed, how a window lifts without any noise. I practice escaping the way some people hum a song. I work out in my head the shortest routes until I know them as if they were memory.

I eye doors as a scout does: is the lock old, does the knob not give, which hinge goes first? I add in the weight of my shoes, though I won’t wear them until later, and test it with a step in my mind. I breathe slow and small to teach my feet how to mind me. I try to think of corners as teammates, not enemies. I practice small lies—“I’m off to the look,” “Be right back”—that purchase time and open up a space in which to move.

When my thoughts reach the end, I fight back with plans. I won't answer if a voice in the dark screams my name. I will run around it. If a room becomes too silent, I’ll make some noise on my own terms: Clear a throat, then drop a tray, cough—disrupt the silence in any way that will draw focus and give me one moment to hide. I bookmark what can be exploited as a weapon and used as a wedge. I see where there is light and what can shadow it. The world is well-stocked with tools if you look at it the right way.

This hunger is not bravery in the story-book sense. It’s cold and practical. It’s the opposite of passivity in someone else’s master narrative. I would then show up and imagine the people I would come back to, small faces, how they laugh during moments when they aren’t thinking about bad things, and make that image like a magnet. It propels me forward where the dark wants to drag me back.

Occasionally, I hear the question that scares me most—what if you don’t make it?—and I answer it before it’s done. I murmur strategies at it, the way you might whisper a secret to a friend: not now, not like this. Saying it fixes it a little. It says that it is a promise with swinging hinges.”

I am afraid of death, sure—but fear hones me rather than immobilises me. It is teaching me routes and rhythms. It forces me to straighten my pockets, double-check laces, and commit the occupants of each room to memory. It was making me practice leaving, because the rehearsal is half of getting away.

So I stand steady. I keep my head light with plans, my hands busy with doing things, and my voice steady if someone asks me how I am. I don’t let panic draw the map for me. Instead, I write it—little checkpoints, new fail-safes, another dozen names to call if one fails.

I tell myself that, and the bird in my ribs quiets enough that I can hear my feet working out their next step. I believe I can get out. I believe I will.

Beneath all of that planning, there’s another heaviness I do not like to go near.

Home.

Australia feels unreal right now, like a place I read about in a book that I used to own. More than anything, I remember the colour of the sky — too big to belong to anyone, too wide open to ensnare you. I was lonely there in a sort of silent, mundane way. The type who sits next to you on the bus and doesn’t talk. People forgot to look for me. Teachers mixed up my name. At home, my presence has even felt optional, like a chair that could be shifted without anyone noticing a space.

But I would take that again. I would take being overlooked. I’d take empty rooms and afternoons that didn’t give a damn what I was thinking.

For neglect, when you get down to it, is kind. It doesn’t chase you.

Here, everything is sharp. Everything is awake. This place is aware that I am alive, and it wants something from that fact. Out there, I was invisible — but safe. If I had a choice between invisibility and being stuck in this nightmare of flesh heaving above me, then, of course, I would choose invisibility.

So when I plot my escapes, sometimes I don’t imagine myself running to freedom as a door or an avenue.

Sometimes I picture quiet.

A bed that doesn’t look like a temporary solution.

A ceiling that doesn’t listen.

A life that is small enough to be boring once more.

And I remind myself that even if no one is waiting for me the way people wait for in stories, I still go back. Not because it was perfect.

But because it was mine.

I will. I will go home.

-

Joey lifts his head from the cold floor. Pain is killing him from every bone in his body. He looks around, the kids, remaining kids, he’s trapped with are also lying on the floor, some blinking awake as he did. He wasn’t surprised.

He wasn’t surprised that they were moved into a room when they were unconscious. It had already happened twice before. Three times, if you count how they got into this damn place. His mind flashes. His sister, the camera, the choking, the others, their corpses—He’s getting distracted again, isn’t he? 

It really isn’t a big deal; there isn't a need for him to react like that. He’s seen the corpses of many animals before, but they just weren't beings who lived happily, had a life with family and friends, were beings in a society, even that just sickens him; he doesn’t get sick that easily. This—Narrator, he hates him, and Joey doesn’t just hate people.

Joey had already been lying awake long enough to count the cracks in the plaster on the ceiling twice. The light was too white, watery as a bandage spooled across the room; the bricks were stale cereal yellow in all its flagging variations. Not in the centre of it, where there was a single wide hole cut into the floor—too neat, too intentional—and filled with dark water that exhaled slow little rings whenever someone stirred on the stone. The water made the place feel like a throat.

He watched the other men the way you watch a sleeping dog: careful, low movements so as not to disturb whatever fragile corner-mile of karma was keeping them in. He rested on one elbow at the opposite end of the room, knees drawn up near his chin, and in the depression he had made there with his weight for an hour. He knew the angle of light on the water precisely. He knew where the shadows gathered darkest, along the scabbed bricks. Already, he’d been through the escape a dozen times in his head while others were sleeping—routes, breathing, the noise you make when you want somebody’s eyes to glance away—and still his lungs felt like a fist.

Edmond was the first to stir.

He didn’t stir or moan into the land of consciousness. He stood up like a man who had trained himself to rise without surprise: slow, careful, eyes registering. Joey looked on as Edmond blinked at the ceiling, at the hole in it, at each person as if he were ticking boxes for injuries, breathing and level of alertness. The older boy’s face revealed nothing; he’d had to become the stable shape everyone else could lean against far too soon. Yet as Edmond’s eyes met Joey’s, something small jumped—like a tooth skipping inside of a clock—and Joey was aware of the jump even if it left his body with no sound. He sensed the hitch before he heard it: concern drawn taut, judged and folded into action that didn’t announce itself.

George regained consciousness after that, but not immediately. His eyelids fluttered, closed again, opened, as though the world were a bad joke he hadn’t made up his mind whether to respond to. When he did finally sit up, it was as if he were hoisting a body that belonged to someone else; his shoulders crumpled in a way where it felt like they could just fold over and down until he’d been swallowed whole. He looked at the hole and away, eyes following the bricks, the seam where mortar had given up. Joey could tell how tired George was—how faint the line separating thought from indifference had grown. There was no cry, no scream; just a little private hurt that drew George's fingers like moths to the hem of his jacket, where they tugged at it until the threads curled up like a confession. Which was just uncomfortable to look at.

Zaza’s awakening was positively dramatic in comparison: a single sharp intake, a hand tossed up to her mouth as if to plug the passage of the first unsaid thing out, then stillness like she’d willed herself into it. When she got up, her jaw worked, the calming mask slipping in that moment to something more primal—something closer to fear that tasted a little like shame. She stared at the water as though it had somehow.

Didier was the last one in, as if peeling sleep off him like a recalcitrant coat. His limbs moved with a carelessly precise click—one eyebrow raised, a breath drawn in, an assessing look around the room for threats as if he were clocking wind speed for storms. He sat up slowly, and Joey saw the little thing that Didier did without thinking: a hand to his neck. Fingers located where a necklace would rest on it and pinched it as if checking for the weight of the necklace. It was a private movement, reflexive—an anchor nobody else could see. Didier’s mouth was a hard line; his face one of the insolence that could at any moment shatter into something like tenderness. Joey felt bad for him, though he didn’t know Didier all that much. Now they were all cut from the same tired cloth.

Not one of them screamed. Not one of them shouted. The room held the sound of the water and the gentle movement of joints spread across it, and the resonance conducted worry. They moved the way people taught, somewhere dark and unpleasant, to be small. It was worse than panic; it looked like the long, weary resignation that comes from being too often taken by surprise by the world. Joey had thought that they would fight the moment with noise—tears and shouting and pleading—, but this silence was worse. It was the silence of a people who’d been trained into fear.

He observed Edmond rise, ponderous and deliberate, and fix his eyes on the water as though he would fain have made it tell him something. Edmond's hands patted down his pockets in unconscious search of a small tool—flashlight, paper, anything he'd gotten into the habit of keeping when things threatened to fall apart. There was a steadiness in Edmond’s movements that steadied Joey in turn, but it wasn’t comforting. It was like how, when someone presses a fingertip into a wound to measure where it ends.

Finally, George’s eyes locked on Joey’s, and for a moment, Joey was waiting for the usual shy smile, the way George could take one of those little jokes to make badness not feel so dark. There was no joke now. George’s expression was a soft, hollow thing that posed everything without shaping the question. Joey wished he could say we’re going to get out, but his voice would be too loud, so sure a lie that might spook the others into a panic. So he said nothing, allowing his plans to exist in what was essentially their natural state — luckily swirling around only within him, where they could be refined without breaking anything.

Zaza found her voice first, a whisper that might have been a question if the world let it: “Is anyone hurt?” It was a small one because none of them wanted to speak the answer loudly. Edmond shook his head once, no, mouthed it with a lip movement that barely registered. Didier made no great noise, but the time at which he sighed was all wrong; it was a dry exhalation comprising disbelief and an attempt to make light in a very dark place.

They studied the walls, touched the bricks as though trying to prove it was a real room and not a snare sewn together from memory. Joey watched them leave doubt in the marks of their fingers on the mortar. He started cataloguing those marks for escape routes: loose stone, the angle of the nearest wall, the way that water lapped at the hole, ceiling vents which might mean fresh air.

The future had a metallic flavour at the back of his tongue. He was thinking it — crisp, naked — that they were waking to the start of something that would not go well. It was as if you were being let to see a scene run backwards, and to know what the cut after it would be. He hated that he understood how tension coiled; he hated that his brain could make contingency out of breath.

Yet he practised silence as a means. He had learned that shouting did not save things here and practised being little, being watchful, being patient. Screaming pulled answers and attention, and whoever listened for answers. He had the brutal clarity of someone who’d chosen to stay quiet to keep them thinking, alive, for a second longer.

Edmond walked on to the spot, not withstanding that one course had already been given when he proceeded to the hole. The rest revolved in the tight orbit of his motion, sullen moons tracking possibility. Joey watched them from his corner—the way their faces were vivid with the slant of light, the water showing a wobbled, paler variation on everyone—and felt that heavy, intimate thudding of fear close behind his breastbone.

He had a plan that wasn’t going to leave anyone unscarred. He had strategies that could maybe work and pockets of time he could snatch. But for now, in the yellow room with the big, breathing hole, he allowed the others to wake and come into their apprehension of doom in peace. He gazed upon them as if time had been stretched thin, and he was the only one left who truly remembered how they looked whole.

The only sound that mattered was their breathing. Every quiet breath was a rebuttal to the thing waiting in the water. Joey held his breath with them, not because he felt any hope doing so would change what was about to happen, but perhaps because for a single held second — shared, restrained—he might delude himself into believing that he’d already led them away from it.

Joey listened to it before anything moved.

A voice slithered into the room — soft, bright, impossibly clear — as if he’d placed his mouth directly against the inside of Adler’s mind.

“Oh! Awake at last.”

No one moved at first.

“Oh, c’mon, where's the obvious confusion and fear? Don’t be boring now!”

Joey heard it again — the voice that resided in the air, urbane and theatrical and awfully patient. It was not a mouth, though; it was the room’s mouth, and that was worse.

“Well, I do enjoy not being interrupted! You kids learn fast. Very good,” it said, slick as polished tile. “How about I explain this new challenge! It’s fun, I swear, I enjoyed putting my work into this, my favourite challenge actually, I’ll explain it in the rules.”

The rest listened; all the muscles ached like taut wire.

“Rule one,” the voice continued. “Enter the water. Walk, swim, get pushed—it’s up to you. Go to the end of the pool. There is an opening there. Get to that hole, and the labyrinth, maze, starts! Fun isn’t it, I know how much you guys love puzzles!”

Joey’s throat went dry. He saw Edmond’s shoulders stiffen at the mention of the maze.

“Rule two.” There was a telltale pause in the voice, as if it were savouring the heft of the ledger about to be cracked open. “The maze walls are puzzles. Not trivial distractions—puzzles that alter the maze when solved. Some puzzles unlock passages. Some puzzles create air pockets. Some puzzles require bodies to press, to slide, to fit into mechanisms. You will have to do some physical actions in your world. Observation alone will not suffice.”

George’s fingers moved in and out at his knees; he looked over toward the nearest brick seam as though you were hoping to see that certain mechanism there.

“Rule three.” The voice sounded out its words, but was clinical. “The water level is not full. There is a strip of imprisoned air at the top, where wall meets ceiling, which I will refer to as breathing capacity. And it is finite and shallow. It's like you can come up for air, but it's only for a little while. Surface too many times, and the maze will block restricted passages or rearrange puzzles. And if you don’t often resurface, you won’t have the strength to make it to the far side.”

Zaza emitted a little involuntary gurgle. Didier cursed softly in French.

“Rule four.” The voice mellowed, as if softening in an attempt to lull them into placid submission to cruelty. “You can swim for as long as you need, or take air, but if ALL of you decide to just use the air up, the water will rise.”

Edmond’s jaw worked. “One at a time?” he said, calm, but in a voice that everyone could hear.

“Not necessarily,” the voice said. “Multiple can go up, just not all, I’m not that cruel now, am I?”

“Is there a time limit?” George said, his voice small and precise.

“A practical one,” the voice said. “Breath is a more reliable clock. In the maze, seconds don’t matter—choices do. Pause, and the maze will rearrange. Move on purpose, and you will find other doors. Live and knowing, or not live, and the water decides slowly and painfully. But, don’t worry theres only a timer on the last puzzle! You just don’t know which one that is.” It said the final word as a benediction.

Joey felt the air in the room as if it were thick.

Edmond felt his hands in his pockets, fingers seeking something—anything—that might help. Joey watched him do this the way people watch someone tie a knot before climbing up something: methodical, kind of necessary.

One last line was spoken in what was pretended to be a kind tone. "You don't have to comply. You don’t have to trust each other. You just have to be able to select. Pick quickly enough and good enough, and you might get somewhere that seems like an end you want.”

Silence fell like thin gauze. There was no sound in the room for the longest time but for the water, small circles breathing at its lip.

Joey logged the rules as they fell, taking them to be of a piece with the little cruel architecture he had already been constructing in his head: entryway into the pool; maze underwater; puzzles inside walls that change their layout; a thin band for breathing air; a system moving with choices made faster and faster; consequences slow and real.

He looked at the others. Edmond’s face was already over with prudential—practical, looking to translate into a plan against the rules. “Joey?” George’s face had the sharp, numerical look that Joey knew when someone counted breaths. Zaza’s rage was long and slow and terrible; Didier’s anger was a fragile carapace; the impervious Edmond hurried to prepare, as if he were assembling a first-aid kit against an oncoming storm.

It is the exhalation that Joey thought of, and fingers trying to reach air beyond. He thought of riddles that needed bodies to wedge into stone, passages that might open only when two people pushed opposite faces. He considered coming up with a temptation that would lose them channels.

“Oh! And, there's a gift at the end!” The voice, back to nowhere now and closing as though it had been reading a user manual because. “Begin when ready.”

Joey gripped the edge of his shorts. He did not feel ready. He felt practised. He sounded like a man who knew the arithmetic of survival. He started to count—not how long he could hold his breath, but which of them might be able to outlast the rest, which among them would have the sense not to jump around or scream, where there might be air if you had a slanted ceiling, what seams in the yellow brick walls appeared worked away.

The rules had been explained. The maze had a voice. The rest was up to them.

He watched as Edmond stood up. “We need to go. We can’t start procrastinating when our lives are on the line.” Joey watched him speak as he saw him help Zaza off the ground.

Nobody seemed to argue with him. I mean, It didnt seem so hard, it’s just a maze, compared to the other challenges, it felt teh most safe. He said it was his favourite challenge, that’s what scared everyone. He wasn’t telling them something, something that they should know, something that could prevent their deaths.

As everyone got up, Joey watched as George said something. “We probably should’ve asked what would happen if some of us didn’t make it in time, he said on the last puzzle he said. What if not all of us are there during that?”

The question sparked Joey's brain; he didn’t want to think of a punishment that could happen to any of them, that could happen to him.

“He has a point, we can’t use a splitting-up method in the maze to work,” Zaza spoke. 

He still remembers when he accused her of murdering Richard. The scene he made, he was overdramatic. He didn’t need to do all of that. Zuzu said she was too scared and sweet to everyone for her own good; there is no way that she could’ve done it anyway. Now, all he did was make them end up on bad terms.

“That’s going to be a problem, yes, it will take longer to traverse and escape,” Edmond replies.

“Longer? It’s going to take days,” He heard Didier complain, still sitting on the floor. He isn’t wrong. There is a chance that they don't know how big the puzzle is, and the Narrator is cruel enough to put them through that.

Joey then realises that he is also sitting on the floor and should probably get up. Once he pulled himself up, he went and reached his hand out to Didier, trying his best to put on a smile without it hurting too much. Joey watches as he hesitates for a few seconds, then grabs his hand. He pulls him up before letting go and listening to the conversation.

All of them were now facing eachother in a circle, questioning, wondering, what they should be doing next, if we had a game plan of some sort, and an idea of what they should do. Do they prepare? Do they go straight in? They were all just waiting for someone to say something so they could get a move on, while also trying not to die doing it.

“We should first go in,” Edomd started to explain, which everyone was fine with doing. “We all stay in as a group. Getting lost in this maze could lead to death. Do I make myself clear?” Everyone nods. Anytime I hear Edmond speak nowadays, it sounds like he’s no longer a kid our age; he sounds like a teacher, forced to work with kids like his life depended on it.

Joey observed them sway like some slow, unstoppable tide.

Edmond led the way to the brink—no theatrics, no dramatic flourish. He stood with the same deliberate ability he had when he mended things or bound them up: shoulders squared, eyes listing. He squatted for a moment, finger-splayed on the frosty brick as though checking the world for grip before launching himself into space. The splash was a "da," the sound of reality, and it rang in the room for a moment louder than anybody's voice had.

Water snapped shut around him like a door. Joey’s world narrowed to the rim of the hole and how light fragmented on its surface, for a moment. Bubbles pursued Edmond’s lead upward—white, impatient—and then he shattered the ring of air with a practised breath in and resurfaced, blinking, hair plastered to his face. The older boy shook the water from his eyes, then turned to him with a small nod of reassurance. It was the sort of signal that said: I did what had to be done. You’re up next.

George came slowly, with the slow advance that indicates courage rehearsed in other and quieter rooms. He didn’t run. He stepped one foot, then the other, then pushed, as if the muscle of movement had forgotten itself and required reminding. His was a less splashy, more submittal entry: The water swallowed him with a quiet rush. He shot up out of the water with a short-cut bark, shoulders hunched and hand over his mouth as if to keep the breath from escaping. They were raw but resolved—their fragile armour, chosen that morning.

Zaza’s jump was almost defiant. She ran hard across the last few paces, reckless young worry that pretends not to care. Her feet broke the surface hard, and water erupted; for a second, it looked as if there was some small storm in this hole. She erupted in mumbling, embarrassment maybe—a short, disbelieving sound that was trying to be bravado and wound up between relief and shame. She shook water from her hair, cheeks bright, then eyed the band of air at the top as if it had been a prize all along.

Didier’s manner was clipped, all angles and efficiency. He did not betray the crackle of nerves through awkward movement; his movements were those you would expect from a man who had already searched for possibilities. He stopped at the lip and placed his fingers on his neck as if to reassure himself that whatever amulet rested there could come back. With a barely perceptible shrug, he dived. Beneath the water, his body sliced through straight and fast; the bubbles marking his path were trim and few. He surfaced a snip, exhaled once and then shot back into one of the kind of half-smiles that this had just been slightly irritating, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

It was Joey’s turn last. This hadn’t been the first time Joey had swam; if anything, he was more fit to swim out of anyone here, but this challenge, this challenge had felt as if it had been targeted towards him specifically. Joey has swum in beaches and many other areas before; he was a fast swimmer and surfer; he enjoyed surfing. His mother was a marine biologist; she loved sea animals, so did he and his sister. He and his sister would also put information and take pictures of the sea animals—The pictures—Thecamera—His sister—Kylie—

Joey held back to watch how the water took them—how it bent and let go, how light hazed on their shoulders when they surfaced. The first splash had been a punctuation; the second, third, and fourth became a sentence. Each one provided him with a small, indispensable piece of information: how they breathed afterwards, how fast their hands ascended to pockets, the direction in which their eyes glanced for exits. He catalogued the tiny mercies—whose system could recover from a short dunk, who coughed and steadied, who laughed to keep panic from naming itself.

He had a rope around his legs when it was his turn. For hours, he had spent the practice period in silent arithmetic on this moment—his routes, his seams, the thinly curved plane of the breathing band. He knew it was just water, he told himself. He reminded himself that he’d been practising his departures since he was born, and that planning was the way he honoured fear. He bent, he stepped in and slipped.

The temperature struck him like an answer. Cold, immediate, honest, bracing enough to make his lungs protest and precise enough to focus his mind. Everything was muffled and thick and very close, for a breathless second. … swallowed necklaces and glint of shoes, but also sharpened edges: angle of the nearest seam, faint slit where two bricks met, pattern on the ceiling through this skin. He felt his body involuntarily curve toward the imaginary centre tunnel he’d envisioned, then one last cautionary correction, no heroics, just the plan: surface, check the band of air, assess.

He broke for air as Joey always did when he needed to show he was still himself: smooth, controlled, the inhale loud and grateful. The others were doing the same — spitting water, wiping their faces with their hands, rolling their shoulders as if to wring out the sting from muscles. Edmond looked over and mouthed something that sounded like okay, the single syllable doing its duty with command and comfort at once. George laughed once, a dry little laugh that made him stand up a little straighter.

The lung room at the top intercepted their shallow gasps—a homely, petty relief. They paused there, chests heaving, eyes wide and wet. The ribbon of air was the difference between trying and failing — it was weak and narrow, and there wouldn’t be enough if they stayed.

No one shouted. No one cheered. Water sluiced sound into silence. The room swallowed their splashes and held on to them, tiny and reverberating and futile.

Joey’s hands shook as he lifted himself up out of the hole and on top of the brick, water sluicing down his arms. He rubbed his palms on his jeans and looked around at the others: Edmond already had a map out, George rubbing his throat, Zaza holding a hand to her chest as if she could still feel her heart’s high, Didier arranging his collar with the cold patience of someone setting himself.

They stood at the rim, panting odd and in time, a little circle of moist bodies in the yellow room. And they had done the one easy thing, which was also where everything began; there would be harder choices to come, puzzles and submerged corridors and the cruel twists of the maze. But for now, there was no more than the steady, animal business of recovery — checking breath, tucking hair back, and listening to the water’s slow breathing.

Joey allowed himself to fully exhale, the air whooshes out sharply and privately. His face was as calm as he could make it; his nerves folded into plans. He looked at the way the ceiling’s meagre air band gusted an inch or so with each of their breaths, and he felt a strange, sharp clarity in his head as he wished—vividly wished—that their next inhale would not be the last taken by any of them.

They duck under together, a crooked line of wet bodies sliding beneath the breathing band as if it were a curtain. The water closes over them with the same polite brutality as a glass door: muffled, compressed, everything instantly smaller. Joey’s ears pop, and he tastes metal on the first breath in. Light above is a porthole; below, the world is bony dark and blue green, all of it filtered into round, slow edges.

The hallway is a throat. Stone walls disappear off to either hand, crusted with algae, here and there engraved with brittle mosaics—scarred pools of tilework, scratchy glyphs, shadowed niches that could be the puzzles the Narrator mentioned. Here is a lever half-gobbled by moss. There, a disc embedded in the wall and marked with a set of notches reminiscent of key teeth. Water currents pull on the hair of Joey’s arms; the air itself smells vaguely of iron and old rain. Small particulate motes dance in the straining beam of faint light trickling in from the mouth of the room above. Each exhalation throws up a ribbon of bubbles that ascends like a white prayer.

Edmond leads first, as he always seems to do, with that steady, unshowy confidence that has kept them alive through more perilous predicaments. He tapes his hand slowly across the wall, though it is as if reading the surface—searching for seams, for spots where plates could give. George follows, slower, eyes dilated but wrists steely. Zaza comes too, a fast, sudden shadow; Didier slips behind like a muscle under the shadow. Joey follows at the back of them, and he notices their shapes cutting through the water, filing into his memory with each passing silhouette like directions on a map.

There’s a long—and then, a fork. The maze is alive in the way a sleeping animal is alive: patient, monstrous, indifferent. Stalactitelike drips dangle from the bowed ceiling; sometimes the hallway opens onto a room with an inset flat-faced stone that demands a series of pushes. A couple of spots require slots to be filled with rusty bells, which ding once when struck, chiming into the quiet. The puzzles are tangible and obstinate: openings that seem to want an arm thrust through them, ruts into which hands may be cranked in parallel, valves that moan when they’re cranked. Asphyxiated thought scrabbles at Joey’s skull: some of them are going to require bodies—tangible weight and touch—all just like the voice promised.

And then they spot the crocodiles.

They are not human shapes, like the walls and levers are human-shaped. They are great, fossil-true silhouettes, their ridged backs melting into the darkness as if half-buried trunks. Joey’s first, aimless vertical thought is that they seem like old furniture tossed out into the water—a couch of armoured hide—but his second one skates close and cold across his brain: freshwater crocodile. Memory vectors in faster than fear can complete a sentence. He recalls a school field trip, a documentary—something with a captioned warning. He understands the purpose of those jaws, how sluggishly and opportunistically a croc’s hunger can be.

They are at every turn of the corridor. One is draped over a submerged doorway, only its eyes emerging above the moss like a pair of marbles. Another is etched darkly in a side-recess, its nostrils barely breaking the surface of an air pocket it would never escape from, back serrated like a knife. None of them looks up. None of them moves.

It’s not the crocodiles that are dangerous, in other words (they don’t splash and snarl like storybook monsters). The true horror is their complete stillness. They're patient sculptures of purpose. Joey’s heart beats one or two notches harder—not from the menace of sound, but because they needn’t chase now. Patience is their hunting plan. You get through by not being interesting.

Someone leaks a bubble—too many of them in the wrong rhythm. And it stumbles and hiccups its way out of the water in a tiny sound. For a moment, it feels like the corridor inhales it back. The world to Joey, feels reduced to the rise and fall of his own ribcage. He can’t let his lungs scream at his teeth. He makes them card-sized, small enough to disappear, like a secret.

They don’t see the kids.

Not at first.

But the sight as a sentence, it is read into their limbs. Edmond’s hand splayed against the wall for support; his eyes, already inventorying, take in an additional assessment: distance, speed, size. George’s shoulders hunched as if he could be small enough not be able to read. Zaza’s jaw clenches so hard that a vein rises in the side of her neck; she appears angry at the universe for consigning prehistoric predators to a child’s nightmare. Didier’s fingers locate where his necklace would be if he’d brought it; he presses into what’s not there as though it might save him. Joey can sense the others—the hugging electric silence.

They’re all terrified, simultaneously.

Stillness is a decision. It’s the same few motions performed in silence — thumbs wrapping to palm, breath pinched toward chest, calves braced for spring — but no one takes any action yet. Their bodies turn into statues attuned to the magic of staying alive: make no sign, let no vibration leak out, read live in water’s loud language. Any motion could be punctuation. Any rush could be an invitation.

Joey’s pulse is an animal in his skin. He keeps track—silently, praying for no noise—of how long each can keep what they have. He imagines the crocs’ abilities to sense: a thrumming pressure sense, like a spider web; eyes that read shimmer; ears that translate water movement into language. He understands there are windows of safety, and he knows they, too, can be thin.

It is the longest type of silence—the kind that isn’t empty but tired of watching. The crocodiles puff their little, lazy bubbles and quiet further into the shadow. The maze stretches beyond them, these corridors gaping into black. Joey can see the carved mechanisms half-hidden behind a croc’s tail, a slot where a hand might brush up against scales. He sees things at close hand with terrible precision: the taste of iron in his mouth, the bilious way algae attaches itself to rock like hair, the powerless eddies around crocs’ snouts where the water just moves enough to indicate life.

No one moves. Not because they can’t—because to move, now, feels like choosing how you will be eaten. The fact of staying is alive: It burns with strategy, and cowardice , and the thrum of fear twined into the bludgeon of survival. Joey feels his lungs stinging against his ribs. He continues to count, catalogue, and wait for someone to make a decision he can get behind.

The corridor held its breath and released it in a ripple of movement.

At first, just the twitch up a ridge of scale — one of the eyes of a crocodile inching open, slow and merciless on something that hadn’t yet seen its way to movement. Then a long, deliberate tail muscled under water and the calm split like skin cracking. Heads twisted as one: a line of amber, black, the ancient patient faces of animals that had been waiting their whole lives for small, predictable cues.

Joey noticed the change before the others did—the subtle increase in pressure, how the water’s microcurrents bent toward odour and motion. The crocs saw them now. They had been undecipherable sculptures; now they were calculating engines, wound in patient curls and suddenly, terrifyingly awake.

There was a bubble and one dry sound. Someone’s exhale when,t and a single A SOUND bit too loud in the squeezed world. A ripple streaked down the nearest crocodile’s side. It lifted its head a fraction, pinching its nostrils closed, rolling its eyes. A second croc slipped from shadow, arching back over the line of dark. The corridor became a hunting ground; the animals distancing themselves with disciplined geometry.

"Move," Edmond breathed, quietly, the word a knife. He spat it out loud enough for the others to hear. George’s fingers gripped the nearest seam; Zaza worked his jaw; Didier shrugged a shoulder. They understood the rhythm now: still shrank you, but movement—movement had teeth.

Joey didn’t think. He did what he had drilled himself in private, at a length he wouldn’t own to anyone: He chose himself.

He kicked hard, the motion obvious and bright, cutting sound out of the water. His arm lashed out — too much motion, too much shine — and he pushed off the wall with all the strength in him. The crocs replied as a chorus made of muscle. Heads rose. Tails churned. They turned to him so abruptly that it was exactly as he’d feared and anticipated.

He worked his way deeper, not towards the light and safety but away from it—straight into a narrower side passage that branched off from the main corridor, where he’d noticed earlier how the walls closed in, and the ceiling dipped lower. And it was smaller and darker and, as important, kept the other tunnels that led to the rest of the crocs away from that in the main chamber. He employed the geography of the maze as a promise: if he could create distance and an angle between the beasts and everyone else, then they’d be able to move.

“Joey—!” George’s voice grew thin, but not to command. It was a plea, small and unvarnished.

Joey turned around and could feel photons slowing their descent in the current of eyes. His lungs were searing as he swam. He dreamt the air band above them up there, a ledger of seconds coughing through it; he tasted iron and the clean ache of cold. He dumbed himself down: splash, dash, lead.

The crocodiles followed. They skidded after him in sibilant avalanches, scales rustling across stone, bodies as quiet and patient as a weather system. Joey felt the pressure of one massive head funnelling down the corridor behind him, sensed their weight moving through water. He thrust all the harder, straightening out not for swiftness but purpose: away from pocked walls and puzzles clustering there and into a hollowed side-avenue that curved about as if a finger pointed further in.

Behind him, as he had anticipated and hoped for all along, the others moved with the liquid swiftness of those who knew in a brutally precise way what his own movement signified. Edmond lunged toward the nearest lever — a rusted wheel placed into a wall covered in barnaclelike growths, or biscuits — and his thumb rested on it with fingers accustomed to staying at the ready for breaking things while fishing broke them. George and Didier stood on either side of the next slot; Zaza reached for a plate that was recessed just enough to need two hands. They slipped into the positions his movement had purchased: one to solve, one to pry, one to wedge.

Joey sensed them labouring as vibrations through the water. A clank, subdued but unmistakable: a lever turning. A hiss as a sluice opened, letting a trapped pocket of air bubble up like an oath. The crocs behind him paused only for the faintest fraction of a heartbeat—scent and sound and the smooth thrill of pursuit swept them onward—and then centred their motion again on his bright target. He swam on, assured of how it must sound to the beasts: a single glinting target cleaving through silence.

Then he thought of Australia, where the skies were emptier and where rooms had no gaze. The image grounded him in ways that shame and fear never could. That home had taught him how to be small in bodies that saw past him; this place insisted on his being noisily visible. It was an ugly and crude trade: You let them see you to buy time.

The crocs moved in as the side passage expanded into a shallow basin. Joey could see the silhouettes grow darker, the ridges of their backs looking like sawteeth cut into black. One of them brushed the back of his calf as it swept by — cold, scaly and completely indifferent. The contact had not been a bite or an attack; it was instead the touch of reminding what was possible. His heart stuttered. He drew his legs up, then kicked out, sending himself toward a narrow passageway at the base of a ledge he had hoped was too thin for the hellhounds to pile into en masse.

Behind him, the labyrinth answered to their labours. A plate gave with a groan. Air hissed up in a bell of bubbles, an accommodating pocket that Edmond signalled to — small and vital. George seized the plate and pushed; metal rasped on metal. Zaza slipped herself under the lip, something shifting her weight and causing a disk to turn, and the maze in which they walked compressed as if it had a touch memory and changed around them. Didier’s hands fast and steady as joysticks when they demanded an angle, got hold and pulled.

Joey’s mouth was full of water and thinking, and a taste that was pure attention. He steered around the funnel and felt, as a hand at his back, the thing slacken in pursuit for an instant almost too short to count as the crocs read the geometry and slid. One came forward, a thicker, older one that scoped out the opening and then backed up as if doing math about whether it was worth the squeeze. The rest hung back, tails scything, hesitant for an instant as gods might be waiting for a human favour.

He shook his body to fit the bight at its end and curved into the slot allthe way in back, palms flat against seam and stone, the world a wrinkled, rubbery grip. The crocs swarm the entrance like thunder, heads in line with each other; eyes glare. They were near enough that he could detect the thrum of their breathing through the water. He could have sworn he felt a wet and patient rumble that could have been a thought.

For a raw moment, Joey allowed the truth of it to settle in his guts—the thinness of the line that separated decision from disaster. His lungs screamed protest. He had a metallic taste in his mouth and the sourness of pulled algae. He did not regret it.

There was a dull thud from behind them—a slab set into place, thanks to the Hungry Men's efforts. The crocs twitched, their focus ticking back toward the side where the main corridor had changed. The slot he’d found to hide in had immediately narrowed so that they could not all come through en masse; the maze had realigned for that moment of their pause, as well.

Edmond’s voice floated back, near enough to Joey that he could hear the gravel in it. “Now! Move—this way!” He gestured with his whole body,y and the others took their opportunity,y; pushing through the hole they had made, ahead of the point where the crocodiles could close ranks to block.

Joey saw them — George, Zaza, Didier — receding down the avenues of it, faces pale and pinched in an expression that had become fixed following lights off Cardiff, shoulders angling themselves round the new corners of the maze. In a smooth, fluid movement that said we would remember this for the rest of our lives, George’s hand brushed against some kind of mechanism. He stood by as they departed, each step another little, horrible prayer that his gamble would have been enough.

The crocodiles moved along, the ancient sum rebalancing itself. They swung around to face the new sound and began to advance—slow, inexorable, confused by this unexpected crookedness of the configuration. Joey teetered onto the stone and levered himself from it, to fling after if not follow them. It was a warning message, loud and clear, and the animal swam up to the side of it obediently and slapped its hard bullet head against the water. And they responded the way they were coming was—they came, a sucking shadow.

As they rolled away down the corridor he’d opted for, Joey gave himself one long, horrible breath. He could hear the others moving —distant and frantic now, the new punctuation of the maze. He didn’t breathe again until his lungs screamed out for it, until the world narrowed to the beat of his ribs, and then he released the life-giving oxygen slowly, numbering those seconds as if they were beads.

They didn’t question him. They didn’t have to. They believed in the clean diction of his decision: that someone had to be seen, that someone had to be loud enough to draw all the hunger after them. Their silence was a language more primitive than speech.

The corridor swallowed sound. Behind him surged the crocs to follow where he trailed his bright human sound; ahead, the maze opened and closed at hands that worked nimbly. Joey crouched againstthe stone and waited, every nerve a wire, while the water around him stood its ancient, patient watch.

-

I am not brave.

I am loud.

That’s the calculus my body knows before I know it.

My clothes stick to my body like hands that don’t care who I am. Legs burning, lungs tightening into angry little fists, and behind me the water works a different magic — thicker, heavier, reorganised by things that had been constructed to finish stories. I do not look back. I already know what is there. Knowing does not require eyes.

Don’t think of teeth.

Think of distance.

Think of angles.

Think of corners.

I repeat this to myself, like people repeat prayers.

If I am quick enough, I become a direction rather than an individual. I am wondering if I make enough noise. Predators don’t chase storms — they tail them. Good. Follow me. Come with me until the maze forgets your names.

My breast hurts like it’s folding in, paper soaked too long. Each breath is on loan, dated with a time I cannot decipher. I fleetingly wonder if this is what makes people aware that they are alive —this violent enumeration of parts, this keen terror that gauges the dimensions of each inch of skin.

Australia, get out of my head.

Blue sky too wide to hold.

A ceiling that would not listen.

My little, ignored room, but it was mine.

Kylieis laughing at nothing.

The scent of dust, and toast, and safety pretending it was the same thing as boring.

I wish I were neglected. I’d trade this cutting importance for the silent invisibility of home. I’d take being forgotten over being needed.

But necessity has already selected me.

My legs are shaking. My thoughts are thinning. The water is louder now, sentences churned by tails and ancient patience. They are close enough to where I can feel the pull of their intent as if it were gravity. Not anger. Not hunger. Certainty.

You are like food, the water tells me.

You're a solution, to be sure.

I’m not the kind of person stories are supposed to stick with. I know this. I am quiet. I am background noise. I am the kid that people forget to count unless someone else counts me for them.

But maybe that’s why this works.

I always say if I vanish from here, it will be clean. Efficient. The maze will eat me like a word badly enunciated.

No.

Not yet.

George’s face flits through my head — trying to be brave in sections.

Edmond’s hands, steady as architecture.

Zaza’s fury, sharp as a razor that could slice through fate.

The silence of Didier, full of things never put back down.

They are moving. They are solving. They are alive because I am loud.

So I keep being loud.

My muscles shout in tiny, vibrant languages. My vision burned in toward the centre, as paper does when it’s set on fire. I put more into it, though my legs scream to quit pretending I am eternal.

I am not infinite.

I am temporary.

I am fragile.

I am terrified.

But I am also moving.

And so long as I am running, the teeth are not where they should be.

So I run through water.

I become noise.

I am whatever mistake the monsters prefer.

And for now—

for these few stolen seconds—

That is enough.

I can live—

KRSHHHH

-

Didier gasps for breath from up, he coughs a bit, eyes blurry as he tries to take in the fact that he’s very much alive. The sounds of a door opening catch his attention, the sounds creating a jolt up his spine; it felt like the walls were shaking. 

He dipped down, and there was an entrance open; he could see all the kids signalling to go through the exit, which was the exit. There's a timer.

The door is a mouth of light at the end of a passage.

It hums. It breathes warm air down the stone tunnel like something alive pretending to be nice. Numbers burn above it in red seconds, ripping themselves to pieces one at a time.

They swim. Then they reach a land. They run.

Bloodied clothes still steady, it was Edmond who went first. George stumbles but remains upright. Zaza judders through the final contraption, dislocated shoulder and clenched jaw so tight that her skull vibrates. The door seems to be waiting for them and their bodies, opening up as though prepared just for them, a little wider still, more closely now.

Didier is last. 

He turns around. He isnt here yet. They aren't going to abandon him, right? He should be glad. Whys he worried? He’s not a monster. A voice calls out, he can't tell whose it is, but it tells him to come, come through the door. To freedom, to safety, to dryness, to a vision of a home.

He’s halfway down the path when something wet brushes his ankle.

A hand.

Not stone.

Something warm. Dragging.

Blood.

He looks down.

Joey is on the floor.

Or what is left of him is.

The lower part of his body is just gone—cleanly missing, in the wrong way, as though reality cut and pasted him out from the waist down. His spine ends in red. His clothes hang on him like surrendered banners. Water and blood mingle along the yellow stone, narrow rivers drawn up with a sip of light on the way out, splitting loose to shake in gold.

Joey is still alive.

That is the cruellest detail.

His fingers scrabble feebly against the earth, torn and soft nails dragging his body forward inch by inch. For each step, he leaves a thicker smear behind him again — a hallmark written in organs. His face is grey, his lips are blue, his eyes too bright, too awake.

Didier’s brain refuses the picture.

This is not Joey.

This is a shape wearing him.

“Don’t—” Joey breathes. It is barely sound. Bubbles rise from his throat as if he were still underwater. “Don’t stop.”

Didier’s legs lock.

The timer screams.

George is pounding on the door now, hollering Didier’s name, voice ripping itself to shreds in panic.

Joey pulls himself near, his elbows cracking, his teeth chattering like glass breaking. “You have to go,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. It worked.”

Didier shakes his head.

This is wrong. This is an incorrectly arranged reality. Joey is supposed to be trailing behind him, panting too hard, excusing his slowness.

“I don’t feel it anymore,” Joey says, quietly, the sort of confession you might offer a priest. “That means it’s fine.”

Didier takes a step back.

Then another.

He meets the wall, breath caught in his ribs like a cornered animal.

The door begins to close.

Not fast.

Politely.

Like it is sorry.

Edmond leans out of the light; his arm is so far extended that his shoulder quivers. “Didier!”

Joey looks up at him.

Not begging.

Not angry.

Just tired.

So deeply tired.

“Please,” he mouths.

Didier does nothing. He doesn’t deserve to die; only he, himself, should. No one deserves to go through such excruciating pain alone.

He cannot step over him.

He cannot pick him up. Cannot save him, can't do anything to help him.

The door closes.

Light traps herself down to a slender blade, and then … nothing.

Silence crashes down.

Didier is alone now in the yellow corridor that reeks of rust and salt and something sweetly off.

Joey exhales once.

It rattles.

His eyes stay open.

The maze hums, satisfied.

Didier kneels next to him, his hands fluttering helplessly in the air, not daring to touch what is already going away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but the words sink into blood and do not return.

Something moves behind him.

A soft sound.

A presence rearranging the air.

He turns.

There is no face.

Only motion.

Just the notion of a knife in place of where a thought should be.

Didier does not feel the cut.

He feels nothing but the instant right before it—

a clear line dripping  down onto his vision,

a smack of realisation that he’d waited too long to go.

And then the corridor is empty.

The water keeps drying.

The maze keeps breathing.

And the light never returns.

His head falls to the ground, rolling. His body still stands straight before it falls after that, losing its own balance. His eyes face Joey, wide open, he stares back, terrified, his face didn’t show it, but his eyes did. Both of their eyes did.

Visions pass.

At least now they died on good terms.

Maybe in the next life you’ll show when to run… Where can one hide from the world?

Hmm… That I can do.

I want to be friends in our next life.

We’re… friends?

Of course. Dans chaque univers…

Chapter Text

When you win a game, you usually expect something in return, no matter how many winners there are or how tough the challenge is; whether that be a prize, joy, pride, or even a feeling of freedom. Isn’t that what you people do?

It’s a nice feeling from what I’ve heard. Everyone loves winning. Now, tell me, has there ever been an occurrence in your life where you… Didn’t like the win? Sure, you felt free, you felt fulfilled, you completed something you wanted to be done, and over it! But you weren’t happy, why? Maybe you… are distracted by something else, something that’s more important. Oh, or maybe you lost something because of it!

Hm? Was that it? Let me try guessing what you lost?

A choice?

Your life?

Your joy?

Your bravery?

Your freedom?

A certain someone?

A few certain people?

No, a certain someone.

Is that certain someone,

You?

Haha! Right on the money! Sure, it was over three guesses, but you HAVE to admit that it was impressive. I didn’t even get a hint! What? Too harsh? Aw, c’mon, now you know very well about what you have gone through, want a recap?

Richard Rabbit. A Childhood friend lost his life. Punctured right in the eye. You still don’t even know who did it!

Wyatt Wolf. An innocent minority lost its life. Forced into cannibalism, all for this game!

Zurielle Zebra. A long-time friend killed her own bodily self to save everyone. What a hero she is.

Joey Kangaroo. Long-distance friend, still, he cared enough to protect the people he hardly knew. Half of his body… SKRRRR gone!

Didier Donkey. One who died of his own care for others, you knew he was going to die; he even told you, and you still let him. 

Well, hey! At least you have two left. They’re probably going to die soon, but how do I know, maybe they CAN live, you can escape, live happily together with your families. 

I can help.

I can HELP you, Ǵ̵̨͇̼͍̞̣̹̦͖̫̒̆̚͝é̴̢̝̯͓̣̲̠̙̻̱̫̔͆͛̂̀͑̃̃͆̅͛ŏ̷̹̩̈́͆r̷̛̪͔̠̜̯̲̪̽̆̽̏̾̆̚g̷̢̛̦͙̹͚̖͂̆̈́̔͗̉ͅę̴̞͉̤̋͂͌͂̓̾͐͗̋̑̔. 

You know me. I know you. I can save you and what is left of what makes you happy. Then I can rebuild each block of joy, one by one, till you feel all better again. Till you can live through the day without a single ounce of sorrow and regret. I can save you from the hell you have trapped your mind in. From the hell he has trapped your body in.

All you need to do is trust me. I’m your friend.

Don’t lie. I know when you lie. I can only come when you speak your truth. Your truth of trust. You need to trust me. Say it with your heart.

Or think about it. 

I can hear those too. Your thoughts... 

Of course if you hate admitting it. You can just think it, I always know what you’re thinking. I know you know I'm there. I’m watching you. Observing you. Trying to find the right time to swoop in and save you.

But I can't. I need you to trust me. Accept my help and only then can I. I wish I could do more, I really could, but the world, the universe, is against its laws.

Make your choice. I’ll get on my hands and knees if you need!

You have time. 

But you don’t have forever.

I could’ve done something. 

That's all that George can hear in his head. Other than the voice he’s been hearing, and the other Narrators, not even the ones alive. 

The others alive.

George looks beside him, there he sees Edmond. 

George sat on the edge of the couch. He was worried that if he leaned back the whole room might tilt over. The couch was his spot so George just sat there not moving because he did not want the room to tilt. George was being very careful; he did not want anything to happen so he just sat on the edge of the couch waiting to see what would happen next, with the room and the couch.

The living room was back to the way it used to be. It had lamps and quiet walls. The furniture was arranged in a way that made me feel calm.

Edmond stood near the wall half-turned away from everyone. His hands were folded in front of him; it looked like someone had put them there for him. The cuffs of his sleeves were still damp and darkened. Edmond had not even noticed this.

George looked at him the way you look at a house that's on fire after all the people have gone outside. George watched him closely like you do when you see a building burning and everyone is already safe.

The boy tried to understand what the elephant was seeing. He looked at the thing in front of him. He did not know what it was. The pig was very confused about what the boy was looking at.

Edmond did not cry. He just stood there and did not shed a tear. Edmond was really strong about it.

The man did not pace back and forth. Fall to the ground or cover his eyes with his fists.

He just stood there with his back straight and his head held high staring at a little crack in the wall.

The crack in the wall was like a puzzle that the man had not figured out yet. He was trying to solve it.

He kept staring at the crack in the wall.

George thought to himself that Edmond had always been like this. He was put together in a careful way. Every part of Edmond was lined up right like a building that is made to hold up a lot of weight even though Edmond never said it was okay to put all that weight on him. George thought about Edmond. How he was built to support others.

George said this loud but he did not know he was talking until he heard his own voice. His voice sounded weird. Not like him. "He looks like the kind of person who would say sorry to a fire " George said, "you know for burning him the fire." George was talking about this person. How he thought this person would act. George thought this person would apologize to the fire, for burning him which's a pretty strange thing to do.

Why’s he talking to himself? It’s not like anyone’s listening.

I did not get any response from anyone. Nobody replied to me. The message he sent was completely ignored. That's what he thought.

George's hands were shaking badly. He tried to calm them down by folding them. Then he unfolded them again. After that he pressed them into his knees. He did this until the shaking was not so bad anymore.. Even though the shaking was gone George felt something else that was even more uncomfortable. The feeling was quieter. It was worse, than the shaking. Georges hands were still bothering him. Now he felt this other bad feeling too.

Edmond moved his body a little to one side so that his weight was not all, on one foot. He shifted his weight. This made him feel a bit more comfortable so Edmond shifted his weight again.

Just a fraction.

The movement cracked something in Georges chest. It was a feeling for George. The movement really cracked something, inside Georges chest. That is what George felt.

He recalled Edmond counting their breaths when they were in rooms. Edmond would give up his food. Not say why he did not want to eat. Edmond was always standing between them and things that were too loud or things that were sharp or things that were too interested, in them. He remembered Edmond doing these things for them.

His vision changed to the recent events. The maze.

He recalled the way Edmond said Joeys name. It sounded really strange when Edmond said Joeys name, like that. The way Edmond said Joeys name was something that stuck with him.

Not screamed.

Not begged.

Just said it.

Maybe if I had said it the way things would have turned out differently. Saying it correctly might have made all the difference in the world and that is what is really bothering me about the situation with the ending. The ending of this story is still on my mind and I keep thinking about what I said. That’s all George could think. No one’s answering anyway.

Edmond finally turned around.

The boy's eyes met the girl's eyes across the room. The girl’s eyes met the boy’s eyes. They just stared at each other. The man and the woman were looking at each other. The boy’s eyes and the girl’s eyes were fixed on the boy and the girl.

George was about to look.

There was no anger in Edmond’s face. No accusation. No demand.

This place feels empty like a house after all the good things have been removed. It is a precision a house with nothing valuable left in it. The precision is hollow it is, like a house that has been emptied of everything that made it worth something.

George swallowed.

Edmond blinked once. He closed his eyes and then he opened them again it was one blink.

A single, mechanical motion.

George saw it then. The effort it took for Edmond to stay upright, the discipline he had to use so he did not collapse into the shape of what Edmond had lost. Edmond was not a person in the loud way that people usually admired he was strong, in a different way. George realized that Edmond had to work to keep going to not let his feelings get the best of him to not fall apart because of what had happened to Edmond.

He was strong the way bridges are strong.

Quiet.

Tired.

It is breaking slowly in the places where no one thinks to look at the things that are breaking slowly, like the breaking of something that is not really noticed by people because it is breaking slowly.

George looked down at his hands. He saw that they were his hands. The hands of George were shaking a little. George was staring at his hands.

The people were still shaking. They were really scared. The people were still shaking.

He said that he does not know how to talk to the boy. The boy is someone he needs to talk to. He is having a hard time figuring out what to say to him. He wishes he knew how to have a conversation with the man. Talking to the boy is something he really wants to do. It is very difficult for him. The man is the person he wants to talk to.

The room was completely silent. Did not say a word.

Edmond turned back to the wall. He looked at the wall again. The wall was a wall but Edmond was really looking at it. Edmond turned back, to the wall because he wanted to see it one time.

And George stayed where he was, memorizing the exact distance between them, already afraid of the day that space would feel permanent.

George looked to his other side.

George saw Zaza. She caught his attention because Zaza was just standing there not moving at all.

Zaza is sitting on the floor. She is just sitting there on the floor. The floor is where Zaza has chosen to sit. 

He remembers the argument she and Joey had, he accused her of killing Richard. He knows she wouldn’t have the heart to do so. He remembers Zuzu sitting in the exact spot, watching it unfold, her so-called best friend and twin sister fighting. She didn’t do anything.

George is sitting back on the couch now. His knees are folded in towards his body. He has his arms wrapped around the couch.

Still.

At first he thought she was sleeping with her eyes open. She was really quiet. I mean really quiet. Like something that just stopped happening. The girl was like that. She was so quiet it was weird. The girl just sat there.

The main room looked like it always did. The lamps were not too bright, the walls were a color and the furniture was set up to make it seem like everything was going to be okay. The living room was really good, at acting like nothing was wrong. The living room had a lot of practice doing that.

Zaza was better.

She did not look at the door where Didier should have walked through.

She did not look at the space where Joey should have been sitting with much empty air and too many apologies.

The girl looked at the carpet. She was really looking at the carpet. The carpet was what she was looking at.

George looked where she was looking. Saw a little stain that did not look like anything special. The stain was small and shaped like nothing that really mattered. George thought about the stain. It was just a stain, it was not shaped like a person or a place or anything interesting, it was just a small stain shaped like nothing important.

The boy thought about it. He wondered if they did that on purpose. He was really thinking about it. He wondered if that was really, on purpose.

Zaza had always been like this. She was not a person. She was not dramatic either. Zaza was a person who kept things inside. Zaza was someone who learned when she was young how to make space for others by taking space for herself.

The people were always talking to her. She had people talking to her all the time. People would talk to her every day. The people just kept talking to her.

People did not wait for answers most of the time. They just went ahead. Did what the people wanted to do. The people rarely waited for answers.

He remembered that his teachers would say things about her because she was easy to get along with. His classmates would just stand there quietly with her like she was a piece of furniture that was made for times. He had even done the thing. He would talk over her or around her or, through her. He was grateful that she never asked him to say things in a way. He liked that she never made him explain himself clearly like the way he was feeling or what he was thinking.

The girls hands were pressed tightly into her sleeves. This made the fabric of her sleeves twist all up. Her sleeves were all wrinkled now because her hands were squeezed in tight. The fabric of her sleeves was twisted.

That was the only movement.

George felt something cold settle behind his ribs. It was a weird feeling. The cold feeling was behind his ribs. It would not go away. George did not like this feeling that was behind his ribs.

She saw two people die. It was a sad thing for her to see. The death of those two people is something that will stay with her. She will always remember the two people who died.

She didn’t like seeing people die. 

This is not something you just hear about on the news from away. It is not a story, with a beginning and end.

She saw Joey. He did not get finished. She watched as Joey became unfinished. The thing with Joey was that he remained unfinished.

The girl saw that Didier was not sure what to do. He just trembled there. Didier did not say a word. Didier was really hesitant.

She looked at the door—tried to figure out what to do. The door was the thing that had to be decided about. She was thinking about the door. What would happen if she opened the door? The door was really the thing, on her mind.

Now she was sitting there feeling like the world had given her something else to deal with. The world had just given her another problem to handle another weight to hold. She was sitting there feeling the weight of the world feeling like the world had simply handed her another thing to carry.

George stood up. Then he was standing. George was now on his feet. The boy, George, had gotten up from wherever he was sitting. George was standing.

The boys legs did not want to move. He walked across the room anyway. He walked really slow like he was trying not to scare an animal. This animal had forgotten how to run. The boy had to be very careful. The man was being careful because he did not want to frighten the animal and his legs were still arguing with him about what he was doing. The room was quiet. The boy’s slow steps were the only sound as he approached the wild animal that had forgotten how to run.

The boy stopped a step away from where he was going. He just. Stood there a few steps away.

The boy said Zaza.

Her eyes lifted up. She looked at something. Her eyes were looking at that thing. The thing that caught her attention. Her eyes were fixed on it now.

They were dry.

Not peaceful. Not strong.

Just… locked.

The boy waited. He just stood there. Waited. The man was waiting for something or someone. He waited.

He was waiting for something to arrive. Nothing came.

He tried again this time he spoke softer. "You do not have to be quiet " he said to the person "you really do not have to be quiet."

Her mouth opened wide. She looked like she was going to say something. Then she just stood there with her mouth opened. Her mouth was still opened.

For a second something almost formed there. It was like a shape or a sentence. Then it was gone. A sentence was there I could feel it but it did not quite form.

The thing folded back into her body. The darkness folded back into her. It was like something that folded back into her.

She closed her mouth carefully like she was putting a breakable thing away so it would not break and make a mess in the room.

George understood then. It really hurt him. It was a feeling, worse than if someone had screamed at him.

The girl stayed quiet because she had never learned where to put her feelings. She doesn’t trust a disgusting monster like him. She had never figured out what to do with these feelings. Making excuses for himself. The loud feelings were still inside her.

People had always needed her to be empty enough so that she could hold them. She had to be empty so that people could fill her with their problems. You are her problem. She could hold all of that for them. You’re the reason she’s like this. The people needed her to be empty enough to hold them. She’s trapped here because of you. She was always there for them.

She had to be quiet all the time. She lost her sister. This was what she did now. She lost her friends. Silence had become her job.

The boy sat down on the floor. He was a distance away from where he had been standing before. The floor was where he chose to sit.

Not close enough to touch.

Close enough to be counted.

He said "I am here" because it was the thing he could say that did not ask her for anything. He’s asking too much.

Zaza nodded once.

A tiny motion.

She doesn’t want his help

Her hands were shaking badly. She could not stop her hands from shaking. The shaking of her hands was very noticeable. Her hands were still shaking.

George looked at the wall of her face. She lost everything. This is what you do when you do not want someone to feel like they are being watched while they are falling apart quietly. This is because of him. George did this so she would not feel like he was staring at her.

He remembered what Joey's voice sounded like. Joey's voice was really something that stuck with him. He could still hear Joey's voice, in his head.

Didier’s last hesitation.

The maze closed in like a person who does not want to hurt your feelings. It shut tightly like someone closing their mouth to be polite. The way the maze had closed was pretty strange, like a mouth.

The boy thought of Zaza and how Zaza was able to carry everything without making a sound. Zaza was really good at that. The boy was thinking about Zaza and this ability of Zaza to be so quiet.

Some people are really fragile; they can fall apart like glass. This is because they cannot handle a lot of stress. When something bad happens to them they can break down easily like glass that is dropped on the floor and shatters into a million pieces. The people who are like glass need to be treated with care. Else they will fall apart.

People can be really fragile like paper that you can fold easily. Some people are like that they can not handle things when they get tough and they fold like paper.

Zaza stayed whole.

And George realized, with a slow, helpless certainty, that this kind of survival might hurt more than dying.

He didn’t like that realization. 

He stepped over back to the couch, but before anything could truly happen a voice called out. The voice is tormenting them.

“Final three.” He spoke in that sickening voice he hated. The disgusting voice. The voice that everyone hears because of George.

The three turned to him. They didn’t really, they couldn't see him, no matter what they did it always felt like they were facing him, despite him only being a voice in the air.

They were all terrified. They all hated this. They couldn’t move their faces, into something that seemed more fitting: fear. They just seemed dead, as if they were the ones who died, not the ones who really did.

They knew he could tell.

“Awww, now what’s with the upside down smiles?” The Narrator joked. No one laughed of course.

“Continue.” Edmond said. Not asked, completely dead.

The room was eerie, the lighting wasn’t too dim, but it tortured all of them. It’s not like they cared anymore—cared anymore about what was in store for them. 

“Ehem… yes. Yeah.” He spoke, his tone not changing. “Remember how I had spoken about a prize at the end of this challenge.”

Nobody spoke, nobody moved.

George remembered the last time The Narrator gave them presents. All they got from it was a notebook, 3 pencils, no, 2 pencils, and a sharpener. A sharpener. He still has it.

“C’mon! This time you’ll all love it!” He cheered, “now, it’s something that you’ve all been waiting for!

Death Penalty!”

The room went into shock, yet still no one moved, but they did, they moved slightly, trembling, flinching, tweaking.

“Just kidding!” The Narrator said, and yet again no one laughed. And it didn’t make it better. “It’s actually quite the opposite.”

The realization hit George too late.

Confetti pops out of nowhere, hitting the ground. The sound of children cheering sound effect played across the room. It was only then that the three made actual movements. They got up from their places and stood closer together, almost in the middle of the room.

The voice hits them all in the heads. “Congratulations!” 

The word terrified them, they waited for something, something that would lead to their demise, something that was gonna come out and eat them alive. Nothing felt real. George felt Zaza grab his hand on his right side. Edmond stood still, yet terrified.

Were they terrified? It really was all just confusion.

“You win! All of you!” He spoke, each word hitting them in their spines. “The games are over… go home! And eat carrots! You guys like carrots right cause the noisy one liked carrots a bit too much—yeah he kinda freaked me out glad he’s dead—“

George stared at the floor as The Narrator continued to speak, none of them wanted to say anything back. Confetti on the ground. 

They didn’t want to say something that would somehow change his mind. Confetti on the ground, each a different color. 

This felt wrong. There had to be a catch. There were many colors, like purple, and pink, and green, and a dark blue, with a lighter one too! 

Zaza was still holding onto his hand, he knew that she could hardly believe anything she heard. There’s cyan, brown, and orange. One stood out… 

Edmond looked like he was about to smile, just holding it, he didn’t want to be seen misreading a situation. The yellow ones, the bright yellow colored confetti. It spoke to him. 

Are they going home? The yellow one spoke to him.

The yellow one said he’ll save him. But they’re already saved? What can he do?

“Now now, let me do what you’ve all probably been waiting for.” The Narrator said, the sound of a click opened into the room. 

The kids turned behind them, where the couch and fireplace was, the fireplace. The fireplace isn’t there anymore, all that’s stored is a opening, it’s dark outside. 

They’re fascinated. When was the last time they saw the outside world? A day? Two days? A week?

It was green, but it looked blue against the night sky, the forest was quiet, yet charming in a way. All George wanted to do was run away, go home. He wanted to see his parents, his Mum, his Father, his older sister—he wanted to go home.

“Done admiring yet? Okay—well take this with ya won’t you?” The Narrator says, as a map flies from above, “Youre going to need that.”

All three of them were too stunned to speak. They looked at the map, everything just seemed to be a blur, a blur of something, George didn’t understand it that’s for sure.

 “Well this is goodbye now isn’t it?” The Narrator said, trying to sound sad when it was something that deserved to be celebrated. “Farewell! Till next time.”

And just like the voice disappeared. 

The map is thin as an apology.

George holds the paper at first careful like it can get hurt. The paper is damp at the corners. It is warped where water used to be in it. There are lines of ink on the paper that look like veins with corridors and symbols and numbers that do not make sense as numbers. The maze is like a code that nobody knows how to read a language that George and the others were never taught this language of the maze.

People come together without thinking about it. They gather without meaning to. It just happens that they gather without having a reason for the people to gather.

Edmond is standing close and he is already reading, trying to make sense of all the craziness and turn it into something that makes sense. Zaza is hanging out near the arm. George can feel that Zaza is there, without looking at her because she has this quiet way of being that pulls him in. The room is filled with this fake light that shines down on Edmond and the others.

George is moving his finger along one path. He is using his finger to follow this one path that he is looking at.

The road doubles back.

Splits.

Narrows into nothing.

The boy says this part might go here. He says it quietly like he is waiting for the paper to tell him if he is right.

George asks what kind of thing there is.

Edmond does not answer away.

The boy moves the map. He looks at the map again. The map is very important to him. He shifts the map more.

Turn it sideways.

Then upside down.

The lines are not kind to him. They do not become kinder. Life is tough and the lines just stay that way they do not become kinder.

Edmond says finally "They overlap." His voice is steady. It is the kind of steady that comes from holding something down with both hands. "These paths" Edmond says, "occupy the space as the paths do."

That is not possible, someone says quietly. It’s that voice again.

George feels it then. It is not panic that he is feeling. Not panic, not yet. George is feeling something. It is not panic.

Weight.

The kind of sadness that settles behind your eyes.

He looks at the symbols like teeth shapes and circles with lines through them. There are also squares inside squares, like thoughts that are trying to stay hidden. He does not know what any of these symbols mean. The symbols are confusing to him. He thinks that maybe he is not supposed to know what they mean the symbols are there to make him think about the symbols.

He says that this is not a map.

The sound of his voice startles him. He hears his voice and it surprises him. His own voice is really loud. It startles him.

Edmond looks at him. He is really looking at the man. Edmond is giving him his attention. The boy is the focus of Edmonds' gaze.

Zaza shifts.

The smallest movement.

This thing still grabs his attention, like a string that pulls him in.

The girl is looking at the map now too. She is not paying a lot of attention to it. The map is something in front of her and she is not really studying the map.

It seems like something that might actually speak to you. The thing is, it looks like it could talk. You know, like something that might speak.

Her fingers curl into the sleeves of her shirt. The sleeves are a bit long so her fingers can curl into them easily. This is what her fingers do when she is feeling a little cold or nervous. Her fingers just curl into the sleeves.

George sees that her shoulders are going up. He is looking at her. He notices that her shoulders rise. George is watching the way she moves. He pays attention to her shoulders as they rise.

Hold.

Fall.

Edmond says softly that she is right. George is not sure if Edmond really means what he is saying or if he is just saying it because that is how he feels. The measurements that they have are not the same. The distances are not correct for the scale that they are using. Some of the corridors are very strange because they seem to fold in on themselves. The corridors just do not make sense. Edmond and George are looking at the measurements for the corridors. They are trying to figure out what is going on with them. Edmond thinks that the corridors are folding.

“Fold?..” George repeats.

“Yes.”

Silence gathers.

The thing is right, between them. It feels very heavy and kind of awkward.

Zaza says something. Zaza is talking. What Zaza says is important to him. He want to hear what Zaza has to say. Zaza is speaking now.

It is barely a sound.

“…so we can’t.”

The person does not tell her to finish. Nobody asks her to finish what she is doing. She is just left to do what the person is doing. That is it. The person never asks her to finish anything.

Everyone knows what the sentence is supposed to look like. The people all get the shape of the sentence. They can see the shape of the sentence. That is what matters. The shape of the sentence is very important to them.

George is being very careful when he puts the map down. He does it slowly like he is trying not to hurt anything. It is like when you have to lay someone down gently you know so you do not hurt them. George lowers the map, like that slowly and carefully.

His hands are shaking really badly now. He does not even try to stop his hands from shaking.

So even if we memorize the thing he says, even if we follow the rules perfectly—

Edmond finishes by saying that we will not get to a place where things are the same all the time.

The room is humming. It is making a humming noise. The humming noise is coming from the room.

The lamps have a glow. The lamps are really glowing.

The walls of the house behave.

The thing is acting like it does not hear. It just pretends that it does not hear.

Zaza sits down this time. She puts her body in the chair and gets comfortable. Zaza is really sitting down now.

Her back is up, against the couch. The couch is where her back meets.

Her knees go back to her chest. She pulls them in tight to her body with her knees against her chest. This is a comfortable position for her with her knees tucked in close to her chest.

The girl does not cry. She is a person and the girl does not cry.

The girl just gets smaller and smaller. She becomes tiny the girl does.

George looks at the map. He is really studying the map to figure out where he needs to go. The map is right, in front of him. George is trying to understand it. George is looking at the map carefully.

Ink on paper.

Lies in careful lines.

Joey had been getting ready for this moment. He really wanted to do. Joey was very excited about this. Joey wanted to escape and go home.

Didier had waited for a long time. He was getting really tired of waiting for something to happen. Didier was starting to feel like he would never get what he wanted. Didier had waited long for this moment. No he didn’t, he told you otherwise.

So this is what is waiting for the people.

A diagram of impossible.

George takes the map. Fold it one time.

Then again.

The wrinkles on the page do not make the information easier to understand. The creases are really not helping to make the information more understandable.

These things only make the noise quieter. The noise is still there. These things make it quieter.

Nobody is saying anything. People are just quiet. There is no argument happening with the people. The people are not arguing.

Even the room does not.

Edmond didn't just sit down with the map; he loomed over it. Spread out on the rickety table, the map looked like a sick person refusing to say where it hurt. Its edges curled up like they were trying to escape, and the ink had bled, creating strange, new shapes.

From the couch, George watched Edmond. He noticed how Edmond’s hands floated above the map, never quite touching it, as if a rough touch could make the problem worse. Time ticked by. Maybe minutes, maybe longer. The room seemed to hold its breath. Edmond traced a finger through the air, above the map. He wasn’t following the lines; he was cutting across them and measuring distances with his thumb against his knuckle.

No, he mumbled once. Then again, softer, No.

George leaned forward, “You found something.”

Edmond didn’t look up. These parts, he said, touching two far corners of the map, have the same coordinates.

“Is that… good?” George asked, unsure.

Edmond shook his head. “It means the forest uses the same space more than once, " he said. “Or at least, it pretends to.” Zaza perked up a bit.

He kept talking, his voice calm like you'd hear in a hospital. “The trees move around. Paths fold back on themselves. Distance doesn't matter here. Things can change.”

George felt a chill run down his spine. So, there's no real path.

There is, Edmond said, pausing after. But it keeps changing. He finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. He wasn’t crying; Edmond didn’t seem like he could cry anymore. They were only red from being awake for days. “The forest has patterns,” he said. “It favors certain things. Certain actions. If we do what it knows we will do, such as sacrifice and hesitate in panic, it’ll fix the forest to meet that need.”

George got it before Edmond finished speaking. “It wants us to fail.”

“Yes.” The word landed softly, like a book closing.

Zaza spoke, her voice weak but clear, “What about a chance?”

Edmond hesitated, just for a moment, which showed in his body language. “There's a way,” he said. “A spot where the shifts stop. Where the puzzles stay put long enough for the exit to stay there.”

George’s throat was dry. “How long do we have?”

Edmond looked back at the map.“Considering the amount of water and food we have consumed maybe… 2 days at best. But the journey will take exactly that much amount of time.”

Silence filled the room. George thought about Joey holding his breath. Didier waiting. The door is waiting to slam. Zuzu smiling, staring at her blood. Wyatt not smiling, staring at a corpse. And Richard.

Zaza hugged her knees tighter, but she didn’t look away. “And what will it cost us?” George asked.

Edmond looked him in the eyes. His voice didn’t change. “We need to do something the maze isn’t expecting.”

Zaza’s fingers dug into her sleeves. George waited.

Together, Edmond said. The word sounded strange coming from him. “No running off. No splitting up. No one trying to do everything themselves. No one left behind.”

George almost laughed, but it came out as a sigh. “That’s it?”

Edmond shook his head. “We also need to ignore the things the forest does to scare us.”

George swallowed. “…or what?”

Edmond folded the map slowly. Once. Twice. Then held it to his chest like a warm embrace. “Then the Narrator wins this time.”

Zaza stood up suddenly. The movement surprised everyone. She was small, always had been. But she stood anyway. “If this is impossible,” she said softly, “then it won’t matter much if we're scared.”

George watched her hands shake and watched her hide them.

Edmond closed his eyes, taking just a second to make his mind up before saying, “There is a chance.”

George sighed, a mix of a laugh and goodbye sound. “Then we’ll take it.”

No one said anything brave or made any promises. Three survivors moved closer to the table and the map with all of its twists and turns. Right then and there, they had a handful of seconds that the maze couldn’t touch. With all honesty, that was enough to stand up for.

The three of them looked outside. Were they really going to do this?

Yeah.

It’s either death or death with a slight chance of survival.

There’s a hard chance to survive for sure.

Maybe the just need… some help.

Chapter Text

What in the world just fucking happened? 

That was all Rebecca could hear in her head as she sat down, still quiet since they had all set foot here. She looks around the hospital floor, a perfect white, yet she knows blood has dripped on these very floors before. She keeps staring at the floor. It's okay, they’re okay.

She looks back up, to distract herself from her own thoughts. Only some of them came to the hospital to see how they were, some ran away back to their house to t̶e̶l̶l̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶s̶ w̶h̶a̶t̶ h̶a̶d̶ h̶a̶p̶p̶e̶n̶e̶d̶ warn others what had happened. S̶h̶e̶ r̶e̶m̶e̶m̶b̶e̶r̶s̶ K̶y̶l̶i̶e̶ g̶r̶a̶b̶b̶i̶n̶g̶ D̶e̶l̶p̶h̶i̶n̶e̶'s̶ h̶a̶n̶d̶, d̶a̶r̶g̶g̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶e̶r̶ o̶u̶t̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ h̶o̶u̶s̶e̶. 

She looks around at the kids who had witnessed the exact scene she had, each expression plastered on their face being different from the one next to them, yet they all felt the same emotions running through them all at the same time. 

She looked at all of them, counting them.

Wendy, her best friend, and Zoë’s so-called ‘ex-best-friend’ that she explained herself, yet she still stands here, S̶h̶e̶ c̶a̶n̶t̶ e̶x̶c̶e̶p̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶a̶c̶t̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ d̶o̶n̶'t̶ t̶a̶l̶k̶. S̶h̶e̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ s̶h̶u̶t̶s̶ u̶p̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ Z̶o̶ë, i̶t̶'s̶ a̶l̶m̶o̶s̶t̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ s̶h̶e̶'s̶ o̶b̶s̶e̶s̶s̶e̶d̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ h̶e̶r̶ b̶u̶t̶ s̶h̶e̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ a̶d̶m̶i̶t̶s̶ i̶t̶. S̶h̶e̶ s̶a̶y̶s̶ s̶h̶e̶ h̶a̶t̶e̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶, y̶e̶t̶ s̶h̶e̶ s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ c̶a̶m̶e̶.She stood next to Rebecca with her arms crossed, despite a chair being right there behind her. 

Pedro, her clumsy classmate, she doesn’t remember the last time she talked to him. She watches him pace back and forth. He’s always had a habit of acting anxious when the situation really did not correlate with him, t̶h̶e̶n̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶ i̶t̶ r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ h̶a̶d̶ n̶o̶ c̶o̶r̶r̶e̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ t̶o̶ h̶e̶r̶, t̶o̶ a̶n̶y̶o̶n̶e̶ h̶e̶r̶e̶.W̶e̶ a̶l̶l̶ k̶n̶o̶w̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ h̶e̶'s̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶ w̶h̶o̶ t̶r̶u̶l̶y̶ c̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ e̶n̶t̶i̶r̶e̶ s̶i̶t̶u̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ c̶o̶m̶p̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶o̶n̶e̶ i̶n̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ r̶o̶o̶m̶, h̶e̶ a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ i̶s̶n̶'t̶ a̶f̶r̶a̶i̶d̶ t̶o̶ s̶h̶o̶w̶ h̶o̶w̶ h̶e̶ f̶e̶e̶l̶s̶. He’s mumbling something to himself. Rebecca can’t hear him.

Danny, a very absent person in her life, prioritizes himself rather than others. He travels constantly and never shows up to class; he’s too busy ‘sailing’; he wants to be like his father. T̶h̶e̶ f̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ w̶h̶o̶ a̶b̶a̶n̶d̶o̶n̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶s̶ f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶, h̶i̶s̶ s̶o̶n̶, j̶u̶s̶t̶ t̶o̶ f̶o̶l̶l̶o̶w̶ h̶i̶s̶ d̶r̶e̶a̶m̶. H̶e̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶ h̶i̶s̶ w̶i̶f̶e̶ t̶o̶ t̶a̶k̶e̶ c̶a̶r̶e̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ 2̶ y̶e̶a̶r̶ o̶l̶d̶ s̶o̶n̶, o̶n̶l̶y̶ t̶o̶ c̶o̶m̶e̶ b̶a̶c̶k̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ h̶e̶ t̶u̶r̶n̶e̶d̶ 4̶, a̶n̶d̶ h̶e̶ s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶ m̶a̶n̶y̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶. Y̶e̶t̶ h̶e̶ s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ a̶s̶p̶i̶r̶e̶s̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ h̶i̶s̶ f̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶. He was tapping his foot, his tail wagging, paralleling his foot. 

Suzy, someone who was b̶e̶s̶t̶ f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶s̶, m̶a̶y̶b̶e̶ e̶v̶e̶n̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ friends with the person they all considered a monster. She was the most distant from all of them, yet she had the bravery to act up in the situation, the only reason those two were alive. S̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ a̶ b̶i̶t̶ s̶n̶a̶r̶k̶y̶, p̶e̶o̶p̶l̶e̶ d̶i̶n̶'t̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ h̶e̶r̶ f̶o̶r̶ i̶t̶, b̶u̶t̶ R̶e̶b̶e̶c̶c̶a̶ a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ s̶a̶w̶ h̶e̶r̶ a̶s̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶o̶n̶e̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ a̶ h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ o̶f̶ g̶o̶l̶d̶, s̶h̶e̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ h̶a̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶o̶c̶i̶a̶l̶ e̶m̶p̶a̶t̶h̶y̶ t̶o̶ s̶h̶o̶w̶ i̶t̶, s̶h̶e̶ u̶s̶e̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶ p̶a̶s̶s̶i̶o̶n̶;̶ b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶ n̶u̶r̶s̶e̶, s̶t̶u̶d̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶, a̶s̶ a̶ w̶a̶y̶ t̶o̶ e̶x̶p̶r̶e̶s̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶ h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ t̶r̶u̶l̶y̶. Rebecca appreciated that. She was sitting, staring at the floor.

Emily, a quiet yet serious friend, tried to break the entire argument, but she failed. Her cooperation and leadership skills w̶e̶r̶e̶n̶'t̶ a̶s̶ g̶o̶o̶d̶ a̶s̶ h̶e̶r̶ b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶s̶ werent enough to stop the two from causing the entire incident. Rebecca always asks her for help when it comes to schoolwork. She’s nice, caring, and understanding. S̶h̶a̶m̶e̶ h̶e̶r̶ b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶'s̶ c̶o̶n̶s̶i̶d̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ g̶i̶f̶t̶.o̶n̶e̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ h̶a̶d̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ d̶i̶s̶a̶p̶o̶i̶n̶t̶m̶e̶n̶t̶. E̶v̶e̶n̶ n̶o̶ o̶n̶e̶ r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ t̶o̶l̶d̶ h̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶, s̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ a̶w̶a̶r̶e̶ o̶f̶ i̶t̶. She was sitting as well, right next to Rebecca as well.

Her brother used to visit their house to hangout with R̶i̶c̶h̶a̶r̶d̶ her siblings. 

S̶h̶e̶ m̶i̶s̶s̶e̶d̶ R̶i̶c̶h̶a̶r̶d̶.

No. 

Change the topic.

Remember why you’re here. How’d you end up in a hospital, was what she told herself.

What in the world could’ve happened?

What in the world just fucking happened?

Rebecca settled on the edge of the doorway, wherever it felt safe to be because it wasn’t in danger—either close enough that she could hear, or far enough back from where no one would look for her and expect her to trample right into the middle of whichever shitstorm was about to roll up.

Peppa’s bedroom was smaller than Rebecca had remembered. The memory of her and a bunch of the playgroup kids playing hide and seek in her house hummed faintly. There was a bottle of medicine, the medicine she was forced to take, on the windowsill, and a mug with a chipped rim. Everything looked like it was placed carefully and then stayed there: no moving around. The air had a distant whiff of peppermint and dust, and this was the sort of room that made you think someone had been trying to put a lid on panic for years.

Peppa was beside the bed, fists balled at her sides. There was a long moment where she didn’t say anything—just looked, one glass eye chasing the other from face to face like it could puzzle together some sort of fact from two mismatched parts. Her lips fell open, then pressed together. Confusion hung on her like a coat she couldn’t shed. 

She had every right to feel like this, all this danger surrounding her like a ball of flame. Rebecca had to admit that she felt bad for her, but it’s not like she can say that out loud, the punishment she’d get would be equivelent as a woman in the 1800’s being burned alive because she said one single thing that made her seem like a witch.

“…Why are you here?” she inquired at last, her voice small enough to let me know she was surprised there also. “Who—Who let you in?”

The question came awkwardly and ramblingly. It sliced softly through the room; Rebecca could see the flinch of a few at its throat sharpened to cut this atmosphere open. Zoë stepped forward, papers gripped in her hands against the chill. But before she could respond, something changed in Peppa’s expression—fear, raw and confusing—then closed over with learned caution.

Peppa’s hands came to her fists, rubbed as if against fingers shaken cold. “St-step back—” she started, and the rest was consumed. Her brow furrowed; she blinked quickly. “I’ll call my mother! My father! You can’t just—WHO LET YOU IN!?” Her words evaporated into a quivery breath.

Rebecca listened to the history woven into such a breath. She had been a little girl then, standing in the far corner of the playground when the others’ laughter had leapt to another circle. She'd had a sense of the absenting before; she heard the echo of it in Peppa's small, scared voice now. There was, the room began to fill with, some offshoot of guilt that made her feel uncomfortable and hot in the face.

Zoë answered carefully. “Calm down, Peppa, we asked your mom if we could come in, she’s aware.” She was firm, but Rebecca could see her feel out which edges were right. “We just need to talk to you. ” 

Peppa squinted, as though she were straining to see Zoë’s words better. “What are you talking about?” She waved broadly, meaning more than she said. Everyone in the room, including her, knew what they wanted to talk about. 

Zoë spoke their mind. “We want to talk about those things you said—years ago.”

Everyone could see Peppa’s confusion snap into something else.

“Those things I said—years ago? You want to dig that up now? After you all ran away?” Her face crumpled for a beat—anger from the same place as hurt. “You left me.”

There was the old wound, sudden and clear. The group swayed, an automatic tension. Danny’s fists clenched, Wendy’s jaw set hard; Pedro stepped back a half an inch. Kylie shivered. Emily jolted. Delphine's eyes moved back to the floor. Zoë even flinched; there was no escaping the past that Peppa’s words rested upon.

Rebecca saw Peppa’s fury bloom—not loud and ostentatious, but tinged with the brittle hurt of someone who’d come to wield rage like armor. “You all called me crazy,” Peppa said, still softer but cleaner, like a simple statement of fact. “You called me a sociopath. Teachers whispered. Parents avoided me. All of you… Cast me as the monster that was in the room so that you could all leave it empty. YOU LEFT ME. YOU ALL LEFT ME TO ROT!” She spoke. “And now you’re crawling back to me? What am I? A tool?”

The room seemed to tilt. Rebecca felt the sentence resonate through everyone who had been there then, and everyone who hadn’t. She had heard the whispers before; she had seen the faces turn. The shame was hot behind her sternum. “Where’s my mom—I need her to kick you all out—you need to leave, all of you—”

Zoë’s mouth opened and closed. “We were kids,” she said finally, old excuse now offered as an apology. “We didn’t know what insults we were spewing out of our mouths. You know—we thought—”

“So?” Peppa snapped, the pull snapping back into place so quickly that Rebecca flinched. “What are you going to do when you're done here? I know you still call me those names behind my back, I’m not stupid.”

Zoë’s hands tightened on the papers; her voice slipped from its practiced calm. “We’re here cause kids are missing. George—” She paused. The name hung between them like a guillotine. “George and the others have been gone four days, you know. We’ve been spinning and thinking that what you said could explain things.”

At the mention of George, Peppa’s face changed again—fear mixed with rage, trembling. She sucked in a sharp breath. “My brother,” she said. “Of course, I know he is missing. I live with that rascal every day.” Her fingers were intertwined until the knuckles showed white. “You weren’t there for me then. You left me at a convenient time. Now you come because you want an answer that will make your problem go away. I know none of you care for George,”

The room seemed to clench into a fist for Rebecca. There was some truth in what Peppa said, and it soured the screeching confession. No justification could clothe it in comfort. Wrinkles there span decades and cannot simply be ironed flat with explanations. 

It’s not that she didn’t care for George; it was the fact that she only cared for one person. Her brother. She wanted him back; she wanted his stupid talking, his stupid jokes, his stupid smile, his stupid older brother protectiveness for their younger siblings, his stupid younger sibling behavior when it came to bothering her; she wanted him and his stupid self. That stupid Richard. Richard.

“You don’t see me as a person, only a freak,” Peppa said now, in a lower voice, each word formed to land like a stone. She swallowed. “Now you think of me as a tool.

This answer of Zoë’s was quieter, an effort to finesse. “We didn’t come to use you. We came because—”

So much for the advice of no emotional speeches.

“Because you want to know,” Peppa concluded for her, not meanly but wearily bright. “Because it’s all of a sudden that the story might be useful for you once more. I’m not a resource. I’m not a plot device.” She stepped toward me then, not in a threatening way but close enough that her words hit my face. “Don’t act like you’re not one of the kids who watched it happen. Bystanders are just as bad.”

The rest watched, a few even cowering at the realization of seeing in themselves what Peppa described. Rebecca’s stomach twisted into a knot; she despised the watching, hated being an audience to something real that was other people’s and couldn’t be fixed.

Zoë’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Her eyes didn’t leave Peppa’s. “We apologize,” she said, plain and insufficient. “We didn’t come here to make you live through that. We came because we knew that—hoped—your memory might lead us to them.”

There was nothing in Peppa’s laugh this time that sounded funny. “Hope.” She spat the word as if it were a flavor. “You used me, then you ran. Don’t make me the patsy for the police’s failure now.”

The room was silent then in a manner that felt like accusation and relief. Rebecca watched each tiny muscle on Peppa’s face—the clench of her jaw for a moment, the way her eyes became transparent in their collection of light: taking whatever shard occurred to it. She was terrified; Rebecca could see it in the fact that Peppa’s hands shook at her sides, a wavering line the anger did its best to smother.

At last, Peppa’s voice descended to something empty and tired. “Ask your questions. Take what you came for. But do yourself a favor, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor by showing up now. I know you don’t mean your apology.”

Zoë folded her papers and stood, dignity and empathy in the act. She glanced at the others, then back to Peppa, and nodded. “We’ll go from the very start,” she said. “Tell us what you remember.”

Peppa didn’t move to sit. She kept her hands clasped. She wasn’t soft now. She was protective of herself and also of whatever was left to a person they had once helped write off.

Rebecca was afraid she might dissolve into the doorframe—witness, part a problem, part history—watching two old wounds collapse under the too-pale light of a small, measured room.

“I’m sure most of you know the story already, but little miss perfect want me to explain it from the beginning,” Peppa starts, gesturing towards the zebra. “It was when I was around three years old when the voice appeared, he narrated my life, simple stuff, it was only at the age of 8 that people started noticing my behavior was weird, people had seen me act strangely before, but it was just phased as an ‘imaginary friend’, but it wasn’t.”

Rebecca remembers a scene in her head, the memory of the past. It was around 2nd grade, she was visiting Peppa’s house, it was a double-playdate, since Richard had come as well. They were playing a game, just the two of them, since the boys wanted to play outside. Rebecca asked if she wanted to switch between them, narrating their story. Peppa had said that ‘he was already doing it’, Rebecca was confused, she was young and childish, she played it as a made-up imaginary friend since there weren’t enough people, she played along for the game, thinking Peppa was only playing as well.

“It was only at the beginning of middle school that I was diagnosed and taken away. I remember every word you guys told me before I was trapped there.” Rebecca felt her spine shiver; she felt everyone else in the room also tremble from her words. “They gave me pills; it was only then that ‘The Narrator’ disappeared, and I was allowed to go home again, only four years later.”

“I don’t think the pills removed the voice.” I hear Pedro mumble, the first voice to speak that wasn’t Zoë's or Peppa’s.

“It didn’t remove ‘The Narrator’.” Peppa corrected Pedro sharply, making him jolt back. “That’s because he came back.”

Quiet stayed in the space at first.

Heavy quiet came before anything else—thick, almost smothering—pushing at the edges of Peppa’s room as if it had weight. Into Rebecca’s ribs it sank, that stillness, until each breath became something deliberate.

Near her desk, Peppa kept her arms crossed, standing still—careful, yet quiet. Not a hint of urgency colored her voice; instead, it drifted like she was describing yesterday’s weather, not unraveling old truths. What came out wasn’t loud, just steady - each word slipping into place while the room shifted beneath them. Her tone stayed flat, almost careless, though what she said bent every assumption sideways. A pause hung after each phrase, long enough for doubt to creep in, then settle. She didn’t gesture, barely blinked, letting silence do half the work. It felt less like a revelation, more like watching something crack slowly under pressure nobody saw coming. Nothing dramatic marked the moment - just the slow tilt of understanding tipping off balance.

Wendy gave way before anyone else did.

“You’re saying,” she said slowly, brows pulled together, “the voice just… came back? After all that?”

Just a small shrug from Peppa. "Doesn’t matter much," she said.

Falling short of expectation, that reply struck a sour note.

A sharp breath escaped Danny through his nostrils as he stepped one lap over the rug. His voice came flat— “Why are you… acting like this is some—daily thing!?”

Peppa tilted her head. “For me, it kind of was.”

A hush passed over them as Rebecca noticed it first—eyes narrowing where smiles had been just seconds before. Tension replaced confusion, then hardened into quiet anger that settled like dust after a slammed door.

Not a word from Zoë before this moment, yet Rebecca kept her eyes fixed. Her usual certainty—solid as stone—seemed stretched thin, propped up by sheer will alone.

“And you didn’t think,” Zoë asked carefully, each word measured, “to tell anyone?”

Her eyes flicked open wide, confusion clear. What reason could she possibly have? A chuckle slipped out as Wendy stayed propped on the wall, elbows locked across her ribs. Her voice came slowly—“Not what I expected. Honestly? Sounds completely unreal.” Her gaze landed on Peppa, flat. A slow blink answered back.

“It wasn’t a big deal in the beginning to me,” Peppa said, almost dismissively. “Not at first.”

Off to the side of the bookcase, Emily adjusted herself, back stiff, though her shoulders were tight. Most times she’d stay silent, yet this moment brought a soft voice, each phrase weighed slowly. “If something identical to what hospitalized you started happening again,” she said, “most people would consider that serious.”

Peppa shrugged again, stubborn. “Most people didn’t live through it for what seems to be their entire life.”

Out by the doorway, Delphine stood just like her brother always did—head tilted up a touch, face tight with doubt. Rebecca made a quiet clicking sound with her tongue. “So, you decided alone that everyone else didn’t deserve to know?” Delphine asked, voice edged but not cruel. “That sounds less like familiarity and more like control.”

Peppa’s shoulders stiffened. “I knew what would happen if adults got involved,” she said. “I wasn’t guessing.”

Footsteps faded as Danny stood still. "Go on," he told her. "Explain yourself—Explain why you kept silent—Explain how you know what you’re doing."

Just a short pause slipped by as Peppa went on, her words calm. A quiet moment passed before she spoke again, tone even. “It started the same way mine did,” she said. “Narration. Commentary. Predicting little things before they happen. The same tone. Same rhythm.” She exhaled lightly. “I recognized it immediately.”

Rebecca didn’t have the bravery to speak. She never did. Beneath her ribs, a knot began to grow.

Wendy pushed herself off the wall. “And you’re telling us this now because…?”

Her eyes dropped to the tiles for a moment when she spoke. “Because it didn’t come back to me.”

A hush settled, thin and taut. Expectation edged the air.

Pedro tilted his body a little ahead. “I—What exactly are you trying to say here?” Pedro hadn’t spoken in the conversation before in the forest. He saw him nervously stumbling back, trying not to get involved, acting like he was only here because of Zoë. Now, he was still shaking, but he was speaking, almost like he wanted to speak to Peppa.

Pausing before she said anything, Peppa chose her next lines as each one weighed heavily. Speaking took work now; sentences dragged. “I knew the signs,” she said. “The hesitation when he talked about it. The way he tried to laugh it off.”

Zoë's hands barely moved, just a small curl of her fingertips near her hips. A quiet shift, nothing loud or sudden—just there. “What do you mean by ‘he’, who was this voice—Narrator—tormenting?...” She asked, clutching the papers.

Up above, Peppa glanced once more.

“It was George.”

A hush broke apart at the sound of it.

“What?” Pedro blurted.

A low curse slipped out of Danny. Up went Wendy, stiff and sudden. Emily almost kept still—almost—but Rebecca caught the quick breath anyway. Delphine stared at the floor. Suzy wasn’t staring at the floor. Mid-step, Kylie stopped still, though moments before she’d been shifting by the bed without a sound. 

“Wait,” Kylie said, blinking rapidly, voice small but incredulous. “Like… George-George? As in, actual George? The little guy who looks like you? Your BROTHER?” She spoke. Silence came back.

Zoë stepped forward, disbelief bleeding into anger. “You knew this was happening to my sisters’ best friend—to George—and you said nothing?” Her face tightened, a shield going up fast.

“I told him not to tell anyone.”

Her eyes locked on him. What did you just say?

“I told him to keep it quiet,” Peppa repeated firmly. “Not you. Not to any of you. Not to any of his friends. Not his parents. N

Nobody.”

Peppa’s jaw tightened. “They took me away when I told the truth,” she said, voice sharpening for the first time. “Four years. Doctorswere watching everything I said. Pills that made me feel like I wasn’t even real.” Her gaze swept across them. “I wasn’t letting that happen to him.”

For a moment, Peppa said nothing. Her eyes carried weight—not guilt, not theater, simply fatigue.

“He was scared,” she said quietly. “And I understood that fear better than anyone else could.”

Kylie shifted awkwardly, rubbing her arms. “So… you just… both ignored it?” she asked gently. “Like when the teacher is giving a ‘Never in my 9 years of teaching—’ speech after a substitute left a bad note and we all just ignore it because we all heard it many times before?”

Delphine’s eyes snapped toward Kylie. “Kylie.”

“What? That’s a valid coping strategy; dark humor is how some people cope with tragedy.”

A hush held everyone still—then just briefly, something shifted. Laughter didn’t follow, yet the weight bent, if only for an instant, before pulling tight once more. Now her voice dropped, weighed down. Quiet filled each word she let go.

“And now he’s missing.”

Peppa’s gaze flickered. “Yes.” A hush carried it, just audible. The sound seemed almost afraid to leave the lips.

It hit Rebecca then, moving across the space like cold air. Each choice, seen again, seemed wrong somehow. The quiet moments weighed more now. A slow pull of fingers across her scalp. Four days, she whispered under his breath. That makes it four since George left. Since all of them left. Since Richard left.

Peppa nodded once. “You came here asking questions,” she said. “So I answered.”

A silence came instead. Nothing was said to take it back. Not even a word to make it easier. Still, Rebecca saw what nobody else had picked up on—how Peppa’s hands shook a little as they gripped her sleeves, how her steady voice felt practiced instead of real. Holding back wasn’t about indifference.

What scared her wasn’t their rage, but the thought of being wrong. Admitting the size meant facing doubt, so she made it small. Fear of mistake weighed heavier than fury ever did. Only now, after all these minutes, did Rebecca notice it—Peppa’s face held nothing behind its calm. Waiting, it seemed, was her way of bracing against what she feared most—the moment reality matched her dread.

Only after Rebecca noticed things unraveling did silence settle across the room.

Breathing shaky, Zoë stayed frozen inside Peppa’s room. Her hands bunched into fists, knuckles white, shaking slightly where they hung. Papers littered the floor around her—maps, scribbled dates, wild guesses about eight children gone - but none of it mattered anymore. What once felt urgent now seemed small. Closer. Real in a way that cut deeper than facts ever could.

Leaning on her desk, Peppa stayed quiet—too still, really. No shouting. No rush. Zoë came apart right there, yet she didn’t move closer or back up either. Stillness held her, like it meant something sharp.

“You told him to keep it secret,” Zoë said, voice thin with disbelief. “You knew something was wrong, and you still said nothing. George is gone. Seven other kids are gone. And you decided that was acceptable!?”

“I decided he wouldn’t end up like me!” Peppa replied evenly.

Fidgeting by the door, Danny peeked at Emily as if expecting a cue. Up went her spine, grasping for logic like a lifeline. “We’re all upset,” she said carefully. “This isn’t helping anyone. We need information, not—”

Zoë laughed suddenly.

Not gentle. Not calm. A raw edge cut through, nearly frantic. Sharpness where there should have been ease.

“Information?” she repeated. “We’ve been running in circles for days because she decided she was the only one allowed to know anything!”

Out of nowhere, her voice climbed in pitch. A sudden edge cut through the air. “You don’t get to act calm about this!” Zoë shouted at Peppa. “You don’t get to stand there like you didn’t gamble with eight lives!”

Almost no shift crossed Peppa's face.

“I protected my brother.”

“Protected?” Zoë snapped. “You dragged him into whatever this is! You let him carry it alone!”

Something clenched inside Rebecca when Zoë’s words cracked, rage rushing out before she could stop it.

“And honestly?” Zoë continued, words turning sharper, uglier. “George always followed people who sounded confident. He never questioned anything! And you—you just fed into it! You know damn well he’s too fucking stupid to handle any of the bullshit you deal with!”

Her gaze turned sharp, yet sound stayed low. Stillness held her words.

Back stiff against the wall, Delphine held her arms close, gaze locked ahead—still, watchful. A low murmur slipped from Wendy, words too soft to catch, yet her unease filled the space without sound. By the bed, Kylie stood frozen, eyes large, voice barely rising above the air: "Oh dear, this isn’t going to end well…" she said, though no one answered.

On she moved, feet refusing rest. Still forward, though every breath pulled heavy. Not once did her pace drop. Step after step carried her past doubt.

“I’ve been trying to fix this since they disappeared!” she shouted. “I’ve been trying to find answers while everyone else just waits and hopes! ‘Leave it to the cops!’ ‘Stay out of it, Zoë!’ And you—you knew something real,l and you kept it to yourself like it was some personal tragedy instead of a danger! Danger to ALL of us, TO THOSE 8 KIDS!”

Midway through his step, Danny raised his hands a little, like maybe he’d pull them apart—but then he froze. The weight of everything pressed in, and his nerve slipped away.

Out of nowhere, Zoë began speaking—not carefully, but raw, like pieces pulled up from deep under. Her voice carried scraps of something hidden, not shaped into thought before leaving her lips.

“I am so tired,” she said, voice cracking into harsh, uneven sobs she didn’t try to hide. “I’m so fucking tired of being the one who fixes everything while everyone else makes decisions that ruin people, THAT PUT CHILDREN AT RISK!”

Her tears came loud, unfiltered by silence.

Gasping came hard, sharp, a noise too rough for comfort - sobs spilled out, messy, cracking the air so deeply that Rebecca felt each one press against her ribs. Out of nowhere, Zoë snatched up the stack by her toes and kicked it down hard. Loose sheets flew apart, slipping under chairs, catching dust near heels.

“I’m trying to save them!” she shouted. “All of them! Every single one! Because NONE of YOU GUYS will do ANYTHING about it!”

Emily tried again, voice firmer now. “Zoë, stop. This isn’t you. You need to step away before you say something you—”

Now Zoë moved for the exit, one unsteady palm sweeping her cheek, pushing up from collapse. A shift started under Rebecca’s gaze—spine lifting, breath pulled tight, that well-known calm clawing back into place.

Her fingers brushed the handle just as footsteps echoed behind her.

Suddenly, Suzy spoke up, her voice quieter than normal, there behind her.

“Peppa… maybe just—maybe explain it properly,” she said carefully, almost gently. “We’re still your friends. We just… we don’t understand.”

A shadow passed over Peppa's face, just for an instant - not warmth, yet understanding. What showed there wasn’t kindness, but knowing. A brief shift, not gentle, simply awareness. Not tenderness appeared, instead clarity. The look held no soft glow, only sudden realization.

Then it disappeared.

“Shut up, Suzy.”

Behind Zoë stood Peppa, eyes locked without moving.

Quiet filled her words. Not loud, just steady. She spoke like it could not be any other way.

“You’re angry because it’s easier than admitting the truth,” she said, breaking the silence.

Zoë froze.

Peppa didn’t pause.

“You can’t accept that your sisters disappeared while you were busy pretending you could keep everyone safe,” she said simply. 

“At least I protected my brother.”

Zoë moved her hand away from the handle, somehow keeping her entire body still.

“You’re so worried about saving everyone—”

Zoë’s head moved slightly, you almost couldnt notice.

“I bet you never even tried to prioritize your sisters.”