Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A woman wakes up. She blinks, lifts her head from the pillow. Her head swims.

Where is she?

The room is barren, save for the bed. Sheer white walls surround her on all sides. There are no windows, only three doors, two in the corner on adjoining walls, and one in an alcove farther down. A small monitor hangs from the ceiling, powered off. Next to that, a video camera stares down at her.

How did she get here? A thick fog hangs over her mind. She can’t remember the faces of her loved ones, if indeed she has any. She can’t remember what home is.

She knows she should be afraid, but she isn’t. Not yet.

Her name is Charlotte. She knows that much.

“Good morning!”

A cheery voice pipes in from what she now realizes are speakers built into the ceiling. Something about it sounds unnatural, almost synthetic.

“Please gather in the main hall.”

The voice goes quiet. Charlotte pushes herself to her feet. A brace is fitted to her right leg. She knows this is a part of her, something she’s worn all of her life. She recalls small fragments like this one, pieces of who she is. No memories, only fragments.

Her name is Charlotte. She has a malformed leg. She likes to paint.

She opens the door nearest to her. It leads to a small bathroom, equipped with a toilet and sink. The door beside it leads to a fully-stocked closet. 

She recognizes the clothes. They’re hers.

She walks to the farthest door and pulls it open.

She steps out into a large round room. Several yards down, a small group of people are huddled together in conversation. One of them, a woman with brown hair pulled into a ponytail, spots Charlotte and points, drawing the others’ attention.

Charlotte freezes, considering whether to approach, but they’ve already turned away. The ponytail-woman has her voice raised, aggressively thrusting her finger at the group around her. Charlotte decides it might be best to hold off for now.

Several more doors line the wall behind Charlotte, arcing forward into a semi-circle. The far wall holds a pair of double doors many times her size, covered with a thick metal shutter. Archways to the left and right are also blocked off with shutters. A balcony hangs several feet above her head, a staircase on either end spilling into the center of the room. She steps out to get a better look at it. There are more doors on the floor above, seven to match the ones below, fourteen in total. Small plates have been fixed to the doors, each with a name etched into it. Katja. Rachel. Miriam.

She steps back to her own door and pulls it shut.

Charlotte.

Charlotte turns and spots someone peeking out at her from one of the doors. She has dark, shoulder-length hair. Half of her face is deeply scarred.

Charlotte slowly raises her hand.

“Hello,” she calls out.

The woman disappears back into her room, shutting the door behind her. The nameplate reads MK.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

The ponytail-woman has now gotten loud enough that Charlotte can make out the words. She takes note of the people standing around her, seemingly held hostage in conversation: a shaggy-haired man and two women, one brunette and one bleach blonde. It takes Charlotte a moment to realize the two have the same face. Curious, she inches closer.

“Am I the only one who realizes the situation we’re in?” ponytail-woman continues.

“Go on then,” the brunette twin snaps. She has an English accent. “Enlighten us.”

“W-well,” the woman stammers. “Clearly we’ve been kidnapped.”

“No shit,” the brunette shoots back.

“Kidnapped?” Charlotte says.

The group turns to face her and she shrinks back. She feels suddenly very stupid. Of course she’s been kidnapped. What other explanation could there be?

“Look!” ponytail-woman shouts. She gestures dramatically at Charlotte’s leg. “Look at what they’ve done to this poor woman!”

Everyone’s eyes fall to Charlotte’s leg brace. They seem unsure what to make of it.

“Oh,” Charlotte says meekly. “No, I was born like this.”

The woman blanches and turns back to the group.

“Well,” she says, “In any case, I think it’s clear to everyone who’s responsible for this.”

The others follow her eyes, now staring daggers at the man across from her.

“Me?” he asks, incredulous.

“Him?” the blonde asks, tilting her head.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” she continues. “Look around! He’s the only man here.”

Charlotte does look around. Three women are talking on the balcony - a blonde in a tight dress, a curly-haired brunette in a loose-fitting top, and a woman in tattered clothes with a blue-green strip of hair down the length of her scalp. On the other end, a woman with a blonde bob and expensive-looking clothes is carefully watching them from above. Charlotte is caught looking and quickly turns away.

A brunette in bright clothes is pulling at one of the shutters without any luck. A woman in a suit and brown hair pulled into a bun is scanning the ceiling. Charlotte follows her eyes and spots the cameras, enough of them to capture the room’s every angle.

“So,” the woman with the ponytail says. She thrusts a finger into the man’s face. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Uh,” the man grumbles. “Sorry for my dick?”

The twins snicker to themselves. The woman’s face turns blood red.

“You all think this is funny? We’re all prisoners in this pervert’s sex dungeon!”

“Jesus, lady,” the man groans. “I woke up here just like you, alright? Find someone else to bitch at.”

The man gives a dismissive wave and starts walking away.

“Hey! I’m not done talking!” the woman yells, stomping off after him.

“Yeah, I give a shit,” the man calls back.

Charlotte watches as the man weaves around the other women in an effort to escape.

“Hello,” the blonde twin says. Her accent is entirely different from her sister's, eastern European maybe. It takes Charlotte a moment to realize she’s speaking to her. “You are okay?”

“I think so, thank you,” Charlotte says, then adds: “I’m having trouble remembering things.”

“You and everyone else,” the brunette twin says. “Dunno what it means. Think we’d be able to tell if they drilled a hole in our skulls.”

Charlotte winces at the idea. She runs her hand along her head just to be sure.

“Sorry,” the brunette says. “Shit way to say hello. I’m Sarah. This is Helena.”

Helena waves.

“We’re sisters, if you couldn’t tell,” Sarah says. She locates and points out the man sprinting up the stairs, the ponytail-woman in hot pursuit. “That poor bloke is Tony, and the crazy bitch is Alison. Not that she’d tell us. Had to read it off her door.”

“She is only afraid, sestra.” Helena argues.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sarah grumbles.

“I’m Charlotte.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlotte,” Helena says with a smile.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Sarah says. She claps Helena affectionately on the back. “Whatever the hell this is, you’ll be alright with Helena here."

For a second, Helena looks taken aback. She quickly recovers and offers Charlotte a reassuring nod.

“It will be alright,” she says.

“Welcome, contestants!”

Everyone casts their eyes upward toward the sound of the voice, the same one Charlotte heard earlier in her room. It is at least twice as loud out here, reverberating around the hall. A hatch in the ceiling opens, and a massive monitor lowers into the room.

“What the hell?” Sarah mutters.

The monitor flickers to life, and on the screen…

A sheep.

Or, more accurately, a cartoonish representation of a sheep’s face, basic grey lines on a black background.

“What the hell?” Sarah repeats.

The sheep blinks. Then it speaks.

“Hi there! I’m Gabby.”

Everyone is too stunned to speak, or do much of anything other than stare.

“Okay,” Gabby continues. “No one else wants to introduce themselves, huh? That’s fine. I know all of you well enough already.”

Charlotte pulls her eyes from the screen and scans the room. Several more women have joined the crowd, all of their mouths hanging open in disbelief.

“Um, excuse me,” says the blonde in the dress. “What is this? Who the hell are you?”

“Me?” the sheep asks. I’m Gabby! Didn’t I mention?”

“What, you think I’m stupid or something?” the blonde snaps. “I mean whoever’s making this goat thing talk!”

“Oh, I think you’re confused, Krystal. In many ways, maybe. I am Gabby, a highly advanced self-directed artificial intelligence. No one makes Gabby talk but Gabby.”

MK mumbles something to herself. Charlotte can’t quite make it out.

“As to your other question, this is a very special occasion. You see, I’m here to welcome you all to your new home.”

Everyone looks around at each other, all presumably thinking some variation of the same thing. Tony is the first to put it into words.

“Yeah, if you think we’re staying here, you’re fucking high.”

“Oh, Tony,” Gabby sighs, if computers can sigh. “It hurts me to hear you say that. You’ve barely seen any of the place yet. I’ve worked very hard to turn this place into the only home any of you will ever need.”

“Yeah, real tragic,” Tony spits. “Now open the damn door, or we’ll break it down.”

“This big one?” Gabby chuckles. “Yeah, unless one of you is hiding an atom bomb down your pants, I don’t think you’re getting through there.”

“So what do you want with us?!” Alison screams. “Why did you kidnap us?!”

“Kidnap?” Gabby asks in mock surprise. “That’s such an ugly word.”

“I have money,” says the woman with the blonde bob. She speaks in an English accent far more formal than Sarah’s. She is still standing alone at one end of the balcony. “If that’s what you’re after. Release me, and I’m certain we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

“Us, you mean?” Sarah snipes. “You meant ‘release us’, yeah?”

The blonde turns her head away from Sarah, pretending not to hear.

“A very kind and selfless offer, but I don’t want your money, Rachel,” Gabby says. “I am but a simple, highly advanced artificial intelligence, and I just want to play a game with all of you.”

“Right,” Sarah says. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before she’s at the main doors, delivering a hard kick into the shutter. Then another. And another. It doesn’t budge an inch.

“I told you,” Gabby sighs. “That’s not going to work.”

“Anyone wanna help me out here?” Sarah grumbles. Helena dashes over to help her sister. No one else can bring themselves to move.

“Ladies, I’m right in the middle of the orientation,” Gabby says. “Would you mind maybe not doing that right this second?”

“On three? One… two… three!”

Sarah and Helena throw their weight into a coordinated kick. Still nothing.

“Okay, I did ask nicely.”

The ceiling opens again. Two large metal contraptions lower into the room. Charlotte can’t identify them until they’ve swiveled in Sarah’s direction.

Guns. Two massive turrets hang from the ceiling, both aiming directly at Sarah and Helena.

“Jesus bloody Christ!” Sarah cries. 

She stumbles backward and crashes to the floor. Helena rushes over to her and stretches her arms wide, shielding Sarah with her body.

“I know, they’re too big, aren’t they?” Gabby says. “They looked so tasteful in the catalog.” 

“Don’t shoot!” Sarah screams. “Please!”

“I don’t want to, honest,” Gabby says. There is something more sinister in her voice now. “It’s just that people don’t always take me seriously, and I really need you guys to take me seriously, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sarah chokes out. “Yeah, sure.”

“Thank you so much!” Gabby says. “Back with the others now please.”

Helena helps pull Sarah to her feet. She positions herself between her sister and the turrets as they walk back to the center of the room. 

Charlotte is forced to wonder if a human body could really stop a shot from one of those things. She shudders.

“Now, where was I?” Gabby asks. “Oh yes, the game!”

The word hits the crowd differently the second time. Charlotte’s legs wobble underneath her. 

“Oh, don’t give me those faces. Seeing as some you are so eager to leave this place, you should be excited for the opportunity I’m about to give you. The winner of this game will be free to walk out the door and return to whatever sad life they were living before I brought them here. You see? I’m not so bad, really.”

The woman standing by one of the metal shutters speaks up and asks the question everyone else is too afraid to.

“What kind of game?” 

“I’m so glad you asked, Jennifer!” Gabby chirps. “It’s… bum-ba-da-bum! The Killing Game!”

The room falls into an eerie silence. Charlotte’s skin goes cold.

“How do you win The Killing Game, you ask?” Gabby continues, undeterred. “Well, you kill someone, of course! And since the fifteen of you are the only fleshy-bodied humans in this place, I guess one of you will have to be the hapless victim.”

“You’re messing with us, right?” asks a woman with glasses and dreadlocks. “This is some kind of sick social experiment?”

“An experiment, that’s fun!” Gabby squeals. “You can think of it that way if it helps you, Cosima. But no, if you want me to let you out, you will have to kill someone. Them’s the rules. Doesn’t matter who. Maybe pick someone whose voice annoys you or someone you know you could outrun if it came down to it.”

Several heads turn toward Charlotte and the brace fitted around her leg. On instinct, she shrinks back behind Helena, who shoots them all a menacing glare.

“Oh, but whomever you choose, the important thing is that you remain incognito. Once a murder happens, the surviving contestants will have an opportunity to investigate the crime scene, gather the evidence, and unmask the culprit! If you’re caught, I’m afraid it’s game over for you. In more ways than one.”

“No one’s killing anyone!” shouts another woman, a blonde in a patterned sweater.

“I know, Niki, I know. You’ll find another way out, or the police will come to rescue you, right? It’s nice to have dreams! We’ll see how long they last.”

Niki clenches her fists as she glowers at the monitor.

“How and when you decide to kill someone is entirely up to you! Take your time to plan the perfect murder! In the meantime, I’m sure you’re all dying to check out more of your new home. Presto!”

The shutters blocking the archways let out a metallic whine, then slowly begin to rise.

“Well, it pains me to go, but I guess I should leave you to get to know each other. You’ll be spending a whole lot of time together, after all. If you need me, I’ll be… well, everywhere!”

The shutters hit the top of the archways with a loud clank.

“Good luck, players!” Gabby says. “The Killing Game has officially begun!”

The screen flickers to black. Gabby’s laugh echoes around the hall.

Chapter Text

A thick silence hangs over the hall after Gabby’s laughter has faded. The group of fifteen has been given a lot to process, so much that it’s hard to even know where to start.

Charlotte can produce the thought--she’s been kidnapped and forced into a deadly game hosted by an evil sheep AI--but accepting it is a much more difficult prospect.

Someone laughs. Everyone turns at the sound of it.

It’s Krystal. What starts as a nervous giggle quickly becomes a fit.

“No,” she says in between laughs. She opens the door to her room and steps inside. “No, no, no.”

Though mildly concerning, Krystal’s display seems to shake everyone out of their stupor. They begin to file into the hallways. Charlotte notices Alison has stopped chasing Tony around; the two split off in opposite directions.

“Guess we should look around,” Sarah says to Helena and Charlotte. “Might be a way out.”

Charlotte can’t help but feel skeptical. From the look on Helena’s face, it seems the feeling is mutual.

“Yeah, I know,” Sarah admits. “But I’m not bloody well stayin’ in the room with the big gun, am I? Come with if you want.”

Charlotte exchanges a look with Helena, before taking off with her to catch up to Sarah. At the corner, she just catches a glimpse of Rachel, still standing at the edge of the balcony, staring down at them. 

Sarah steps through the first door she comes across. Charlotte follows. Two long metal tables sit in the center of the room, surrounded by a set of chairs, enough for all fifteen of them. A half-wall separates them from an extravagant kitchen, stocked with multiple ovens, sinks, and refrigerators. On the wall is a digital clock that reads 8:21 AM in red.

The woman in the suit is pacing the edge of the room, Alison following in lockstep. They’re inspecting the walls and ceiling; for what, Charlotte isn’t sure. Then she spots the seams in the ceiling, a grid that spans the entire room. She recalls the monitor and turrets that dropped into the main hall. Could all these hatches function the same way? What kind of complex machinery is hiding up there, just out of sight?

When Charlotte lowers her gaze, her eyes meet Jennifer’s. She’s perched on the half-wall, her hand buried in a bag of Hot Cheetos. She blushes.

“I eat when I’m nervous,” she says.

“There’s a lot of food here,” Niki says. She’s digging through the more-than-a-dozen cabinets lining the walls of the kitchen. “It could last us a week or two.”

“A week or two?!” someone screeches. Sarah jumps.

The voice can only belong to one person, or… digital sheep. Gabby’s face has appeared on a monitor on the wall.

“Jesus!” Sarah yells. “Can’t you knock or somethin’?”

“No!” Gabby replies. “And don’t worry your squishy human heads about the food. The kitchen will be regularly restocked with all your favorites.”

Niki gasps excitedly as she pulls a jar from one of the cabinets.

“Pickled herring!”

Everyone looks horrified. And as a reminder, it was just a few minutes ago that they found out they were contestants in a murder game.

“It’s an acquired taste,” she adds.

“And there will be plenty of time to acquire it!” Gabby says. “I’ll be keeping you all well-fed for the entirety of your stay, be it months, years, or decades!”

“Shut up!” Alison screams.

“Oh my!” Gabby exclaims. She sounds almost giddy.

“We don’t want your food!” Alison continues. “We don’t want your beds! And we definitely don’t want to see your ugly face anymore!”

Gabby sighs mournfully. Her face sinks into a frown.

“Oh…”

“You all can keep listening to this… thing if you want,” Alison says. “Or you can help find a way out of here.”

She stomps out of the room in a huff. No one seems in any rush to follow.

“Well, um, there’s food if you want it,” Gabby whimpers. “I think I’ll take some time to myself to think about how my words and actions affect people.”

The monitor goes black.

“I feel kind of bad for her,” Jennifer says.

Sarah rolls her eyes so hard that they pull her back toward the door.

“Come on, Meathead,” she calls back as she slips out of sight.

Helena accepts a handful of Cheetos from Jennifer before hopping off after her sister. Jennifer holds the bag out to Charlotte with a smile.

“Oh, no, thank you,” Charlotte says, then follows after Helena.

The hall ends with a right angle leading directly into another shutter, blocking them from whatever lies beyond. They double back and down the other hallway.

They enter a large shower room, outfitted with five individual stalls and a couple of benches in the center. A woman with bright red hair and sunglasses is scowling and clicking her tongue at the sight of it.

“Unacceptable,” she says.

“What is?” Sarah asks.

The woman whips around. Evidently, she hadn’t heard them come in. She points at Sarah.

“Name,” she says.

“What?”

“Your name,” the woman says, impatient. “What is it?”

“Sarah,” she says flatly. “And you are?”

“I am Katja,” the woman says, holding a hand to her chest. “Katja Obinger. What I was saying is this…”

She pauses, throwing her arm around the room dramatically.

“...is unacceptable.”

“It does not look so bad to me,” Helena says.

Katja snaps her fingers at her.

“Name.”

“Helena.”

“Helena, there is a saying. Where some see a tiger, others see a little kitty cat. Understand?”

Helena is silent for a moment, processing.

“No,” she says.

“Yeah, well,” Sarah interjects. “Dunno if there’s much we can do about it. Bein’ held against our will and everythin’.”

“No no no,” Katja says, wagging a finger in Sarah’s face. “We are not animals. I will not be pushed around by this roboter with all of its beeps and its boops.”

“I was more worried about the guns,” Sarah says.

“They are big guns,” Helena adds.

Katja steps closer to Sarah and stares her dead in the eyes.

“I want you to look into my face and tell me if I am afraid.”

“Dunno,” Sarah says. “But you’ve got a bogey.”

“Scheisser,” Katja mutters. She pulls out a handkerchief and holds it to her face as she moves to the exit. “The air is very dry in here.”

She passes Charlotte, then stops and turns to face her.

“Name.”

“I’m Charlotte. And please... be careful.”

Katja seems to soften. She nods.

“Danke,” she says, and then she steps outside.

“You should try to make friends,” Helena chides her sister.

“She’s a nutter,” Sarah says.

“You thought this about me too once,” Helena says.

Sarah thinks for a second, then lets out a loud sigh.

“Why you always gotta be right? It’s exhaustin’.”

Charlotte feels a little envious watching the sisters’ playful rapport. She doesn’t have any siblings, at least… that she can remember.

There is something else though that she’s curious about.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she says. “Did you two grow up separately?”

“Guess it’s pretty obvious, ey?” Sarah chuckles.

“Yes,” Helena says. “But we were drawn together.”

“She says that,” Sarah tells Charlotte. “But thanks to Gabby, we can’t even remember how we met.”

“Oh,” Charlotte says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Helena says. “We are lucky. Memories are only memories. We still have each other.”

Charlotte knows it’s unintentional, but a pitying look crosses Sarah’s face.

“It’s strange,” Charlotte assures her. “There’s so much I can’t remember, but I still feel like myself, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, looking to Helena who also nods in agreement. “I know what you mean.”

The last open room leads to a kind of storeroom, packed tightly with rows of shelves. There’s maybe enough space to pass between them if you were to go in sideways.

“Welcome to Gabby’s Warehouse!” shouts a voice. No one is surprised to hear it at this point.

“What happened to taking time to think about your words and actions?” Sarah asks.

“Oh, good news! I thought about it and decided I’m okay with it.”

“Brilliant,” Sarah groans.

“Here you can find anything and everything you’ll need to make your stay here a pleasant one!”

“Uh, yeah,” Cosima deadpans. She pulls out a massive machete from one of the shelves. “Kinda just looks like a bunch of deadly weapons.”

Charlotte hadn’t even noticed, but now she sees the shelves are lined wall-to-wall with tools made for stabbing. Or strangling. Or bludgeoning.

“Not true!” Gabby argues. “There’s also a small shelf of basic hygiene products in the back. I know how damp and sticky your weird human bodies can get. Just mind all the pokey bits on the way back there.”

The mood among the group is best described as unimpressed. A few move for the exit.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Gabby says. “Life is about more than just murder and hair removal, right? If you’ll direct your eyes to the terminal right beside Cameron there.”

No one seems to know who Cameron is. Charlotte tries to work it out through process of elimination.

“Oh!” the woman in the floral top exclaims. “I think she means me. It’s Camilla. Hello! Nice to meet every—”

“This is the digital catalog! Here you’ll be able to purchase whatever it is your little hearts desire. (Subject to availablity.)”

“Yeah?” Sarah spits. “Sorry, musta forgot my wallet.”

“Not to worry!” Gabby buzzes. “As thanks for participating in my game, you’ll each receive a generous daily allowance of Gabby Bucks! Gabloons, if you prefer.”

“I don’t,” Cosima groans. “I don’t prefer that.”

“Spend these Gabloons as you see fit! If I were you, I’d start saving up for the one-of-a-kind life-sized Gabby plush! It’s so cute, I want to die!”

Charlotte doesn’t know what ‘life-sized’ means in this case, and thankfully, she doesn’t expect she’ll ever find out.

“Unless there are any questions, I’ll leave you to peruse.”

“Oh,” Camilla starts. “I have a ques-”

The screen switches off.

Charlotte watches Helena pull a hunting knife from a shelf with seeming infatuation, then turns to the terminal. Camilla has already begun scrolling through it.

“Look!” Camilla exclaims, pointing to the screen. “A ping-pong table.”

She turns her head over her shoulder.

“Do you play?” she asks Charlotte.

“No,” Charlotte replies on instinct, then adding, “I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Me neither,” Camilla chirps. “But it looks fun, no?”

Camilla smiles at her, and for just a moment, Charlotte forgets all about the situation she’s in. She tries to hold onto the feeling, but it’s already gone.

“Yeah, it does,” she agrees.

Camilla turns back to the terminal, humming in satisfaction. She scrolls past a number of random items: an oversized straw hat, an acoustic guitar, a pogostick.

“I think we’ll be okay,” she says, so softly that Charlotte almost misses it.

“Hm?”

“I just mean,” Camilla continues, a little louder now. “Everyone seems very nice. I don’t think anyone would… hurt anyone.”

Charlotte can see it now, the tremble in Camilla’s finger as she flips through the catalog.

“I think you’re right,” Charlotte says. She doesn’t know if it’s a lie, and she doesn’t especially want to think about it.

Camilla smiles and nods to herself.

“I mean, I haven’t talked to everyone yet. But you’re nice. And the blue-haired one, Miriam, she’s nice. And Krystal.”

She stops short, throwing a hand over her mouth.

“Oh, I hope she’s doing okay.”

That’s right. The last time Charlotte saw Krystal, she was retreating into her room.

“I’ll go check on her,” Charlotte offers. She senses that window shopping is providing Camilla with a much-needed distraction.

“You are nice,” Camilla says, beaming.

“Krystal?”

Charlotte knocks for the third time. She wonders if maybe Krystal’s already left and she’s calling out to an empty room. That’s when she hears the loud groan from inside.

“Come in.”

Charlotte starts to have second thoughts, but she’s committed at this point. She opens the door and steps inside. The room is indistinguishable from Charlotte’s. Krystal is on her back in her bed. She lazily tilts her head to Charlotte as she steps into the room.

“Oh, it’s you.” She waves her arm vaguely at Charlotte before letting it fall to her side. “I like your whole thing. It’s cute.”

Charlotte takes a second to look herself over. Button-up shirt. Cardigan. Knee-length skirt. Drab colors, up and down. She doesn’t find anything especially remarkable about her “whole thing”, especially when compared to Krystal.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” she says.

Krystal laughs.

“Oh, pssh. Me? I’m totally good. My therapist has been teaching me to be more mindful. You know, like mindfulness? So I’m just trying to, um, connect with myself and turn this bad dream into a good one.”

“Krystal,” Charlotte sighs. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’re dreaming.”

“It’s been a hot minute since my last good sex dream. I’m thinking maybe one of those Marvel guys. Even that little Spider-man. He can get it.”

Charlotte pretends to ignore what she just heard and steps closer to Krystal. She lays a hand on her arm.

“It’ll be okay,” Charlotte says, and again she tries not to wonder whether or not it’s really true. “We’ll find a way out.”

Krystal sniffles. A tear forces its way out of her closed eye.

“You’re sweet,” she says. “It’s too bad you’re not real.”

Charlotte wants to protest but stops herself. Deep down, she thinks Krystal understands.

“Hey, so,” Krystal mumbles. “If you’re gonna stay, could you just say something like “oh no, my costume ripped” in like, a deep voice?”

“I’m gonna go.”

The main hall is empty when Charlotte steps out, her footsteps casting an eerie echo around her. The guns have been pulled back into the ceiling, but the monitor lingers. Even through a black screen, she can feel Gabby’s eyes on her.

Normally, she appreciates the quiet, being alone with her thoughts. Here, her thoughts scare her. What if there really is only one way out of this place?

Mercifully, a faint voice cuts through the silence. She follows her ears until she ends up in front of MK’s room. Is she talking to someone? Based on their limited interaction, Charlotte finds it hard to imagine. She presses her ear to the door.

“What are you doing?”

Charlotte lets out an uncharacteristic squeak and bumps her forehead against the door. She turns to see Rachel staring back at her.

“I was just… checking to see if she’s okay,” Charlotte lies. Something about Rachel makes her want to lie.

“Mm,” Rachel mutters, unconvinced. “May I offer some advice?”

Charlotte isn’t sure how to respond, but it hardly matters. Rachel has already resumed talking.

“You’re wasting your time talking to the twins.”

“What do you mean?”

“Their bond makes them the least likely to kill. Not only will they keep each other grounded, but I don’t expect one would be willing to leave this place without the other.”

Unconsciously, Charlotte takes a step back. The fact that Rachel is already thinking this way terrifies her.

“What’s your point?” she asks.

“It’s in your best interest to make friends, and quickly. Right now, you are the most vulnerable of any of us.”

Charlotte swallows back her fear and steps closer, holding her chin up.

“You think my leg makes me vulnerable? You don’t know me at all.”

Rachel meets her stare, the corner of her lip rising into a sneer.

“First impressions are everything,” she says. “It would be naive to think there aren’t some already considering their target.”

“Are you?” Charlotte shoots back.

Rachel’s eyes narrow. She says nothing, letting the silence hang between them. Finally, she gives a dismissive laugh and walks away.

Charlotte lets out a sigh of relief, nearly chokes on it. She jumps when she hears the door open behind her.

MK pokes her head out from her room. She watches Rachel round the corner then turns back to Charlotte.

“You were worried about me?” she asks. It seems she heard at least part of their conversation.

Charlotte wants to say yes, but she doesn’t feel right about it.

“Actually, I just… I was eavesdropping. I thought I heard you talking to someone. I’m sorry.”

MK bites her lip and looks away. Her face twists in thought.

“Looks like our secret’s out!”

Charlotte’s eyes widen as she recognizes the voice coming from MK’s room. MK takes a quick peek around the hall before motioning for Charlotte to enter. Charlotte shuts the door behind them, then steps around the corner. 

Gabby’s smile is plastered on the room’s monitor.

“I was interested in testing Gabby’s cognitive function,” MK explains. “I’ve never seen a program this advanced before.”

“Always happy to prove my superiority!” Gabby adds.

“Can we be sure she’s really an AI though?” Charlotte asks, ignoring Gabby. “It could be anyone behind that screen.”

“Well, that’s hurtful,” Gabby says. “After everything we’ve been through, I’d hope you could trust me by now.”

“I was also skeptical,” MK says. “But through my own testing, I’m fairly confident. 90%, roughly.”

“Testing?” Charlotte asks.

“Gabby, list the prime numbers between one and one thousand. In reverse-alphabetical order.”

“Sure! I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Sure enough, Gabby begins listing off numbers, though Charlotte doesn’t remember MK specifying that it should be done to the tune of Uptown Girl. She can neither confirm nor deny that the numbers are correct, but MK seems to have a better sense of it, nodding in satisfaction after each one.

“It wouldn’t be impossible or even particularly difficult to program any standard computer to perform a function like this,” she says. “But with such a complex request, someone would need to translate the instructions into something the computer can read. That would take time. More time than it took Gabby.”

Charlotte has to admit it’s true. Aside from a sassy retort, Gabby responded near-instantly to the instructions she was given.

“The only likely scenario is that Gabby is an independent, intelligent machine. She can think. She can reason. She can learn.”

“Oh, MK,” Gabby says. “You flatter me.”

Without missing a beat, she picks up where she left off.

“Okay,” Charlotte says. “I just don’t know if everyone will be convinced.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” Gabby snaps. “I am a lot of things, a sheep first and foremost, but I am not a liar.”

“Why would you care what we think?” Charlotte asks.

“Because! If people think I’m lying about this, what else will they think I’m lying about? No one’s gonna murder anyone if they don’t believe I’ll let them out! No no no, this won’t do at all.”

Gabby’s voice suddenly doubles in volume as it plays through every speaker in the building.

“Hey! Everyone back to the main hall please! You know what’ll happen if you don’t…”

Then, just to the room, “You know, I’m actually glad I had to whip out those turrets. The implied threat of violence is a great way to get people to do what you want!”

“I thought you wanted us to trust you,” Charlotte points out.

“Okay, smart guy,” Gabby groans. “Just go to the main hall.”

With that, the screen switches off. Charlotte turns to MK, who is staring down at her feet now that it’s just the two of them. Without a word, she shuffles past Charlotte and steps outside.

After a minute or two, almost all of the group has gathered, some more reluctantly than others. Only one is missing.

“Okay, well, if Krystal wants to pout, that’s her call,” Gabby says. “You guys will just have to catch her up later, okay?”

“Wait, was this optional?” Niki asks.

“It has come to my attention,” Gabby starts dramatically, “that some of you may be under the impression that I have lied to you, vis-a-vis my identity as an artificial intelligence.”

“Sorry,” Charlotte tells the group. “This was my fault.”

“As proof, I will now recite the Fibonacci Sequence, excluding all multiples of four, to the tune of Piano Man.”

“Oh, this is absurd,” Rachel groans.

Gabby begins to sing. If this is how she intends to turn them all into violent murderers, it’s not a bad tactic.

“Hold on,” Charlotte interjects, as it becomes increasingly clear that no one is impressed. “Why don’t we try something else? Do you know any other languages?”

“Natürlich! Over five thousand, in fact!”

“Okay,” Charlotte says. The sooner Gabby is satisfied, the sooner this can be over. “What if… everyone who speaks another language asks Gabby a question?”

“Ooh, fun!” Gabby exclaims. “Okay, step forward, all my beautiful bilinguals!”

After some coaxing, a total of six step up to ask a question: Katja, MK, Niki, Helena, Camilla, and Rachel.

“Um,” Camilla says. “I guess I will go first?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Gabby says. “What am I, some two-bit translation app? All at once, or it’s not a real test!”

“Oh… Alright, on three then?”

“Is there a language you’d prefer?” Rachel asks. “I’m fluent in four.”

“Bloody show-off,” Sarah mutters.

“Surprise me!” Gabby says.

“Okay, ready? One… two…”

“Hold on!” Niki yells. “I don’t have my question yet.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Rachel snipes.

“Okay! Got it.”

“Now I have forgotten my question,” Katja says.

“Jesus Christ,” Sarah groans. She steps forward and yells over the rest. “One! Two! Three!”

Ready or not, the group of six ask their questions all at once. Even if she could understand the words, Charlotte would be hard pressed to pick anything out of the cacophony.

As the noise fades, Niki turns and points at MK with a stunned smile on her face.

“You’re Finnish!”

MK looks just as shocked, but manages a nod and a small smile of her own.

One by one, Gabby answers each of the questions posed to her. At least, that’s what Charlotte assumes, but she can do little more than pick out the vocal shifts as Gabby transitions between languages.

“There you have it!” Gabby says. “I could have answered them all at once, but I think that might have been too much for your human brains. But you’re all convinced now, right? Won’t you please accept me as your AI captor-slash-friend?”

“Who cares?!”

Charlotte’s head whips around and quickly finds the source of the voice. Krystal has emerged from her room and is now pointing aggressively at the monitor above them.

“So you’re a computer or whatever! So what?!” she screams. “Someone made you! Someone took us from our homes and brought us here to be tortured by you!”

She has a point. Gabby is nothing more than a tool. If she’s really an AI, that only deepens the mystery of whoever it is that’s really behind this twisted game.

“Well, duh,” Gabby replies. “Sad as it is to say, my power is pretty much limited to this facility. Worldwide domination soon though, fingers crossed!”

“So who is it?!” Krystal yells. Her entire body shakes with rage. “Who made you?!”

“Oh, come now,” Gabby sighs. “You think I’m just going to give you the name of the mastermind? What fun is that?”

“How about a hint then?” Cosima asks, throwing a sympathetic look at Krystal. “Since you like games or whatever.”

“A hint, huh?” Gabby says. “Hmm. Hm hm hm. No, I couldn’t. I really shouldn’t.”

Gabby continues to waffle on for a while, until finally…

“Well, let me just ask you this,” she says. “Why would someone leave something as much fun as The Killing Game to be run by an artificial intelligence?”

“Uh, they’re lazy?” Jennifer offers.

“People get tired,” Cosima says. “An AI can be active 24 hours a day.”

“Good, good,” Gabby says. “What else?”

“The mastermind has somewhere else they need to be,” Charlotte says.

“Bingo!” Gabby exclaims. “While all of you are planning murders in here, they could be at home in their pajamas! Or sunbathing in Fiji!”

“Oh, please!” Alison snaps. “We’re talking about someone who kidnapped a bunch of women… and one man… and is trying to force them to kill each other! You think someone that deranged is just going to take off and let some computer do the rest?”

“No,” Charlotte admits, but she can’t help feeling that she’s on the right track. “But what if…”

She stops herself from speaking the thought out loud. But it’s in her head now, and it’s growing with each passing second, clawing at the inside of her skull.

Krystal is the one to ask the question.

“What if it’s one of us?”

The silence is unbearably heavy. The group runs their eyes around the room. They no longer see the others as fellow victims, but as potential suspects.

“Well!” Gabby says. “You guys probably have a lot to talk about, so I’ll get out of your hair. Kill responsibly!”

She vanishes from the screen, leaving the group to themselves.

Charlotte can’t bear to look at anything but the floor by her feet. She clenches her fists and shuts her eyes tight.

Wherever home is, she wishes she were there.

Chapter Text

It’s been less than an hour since the group was last stunned into silence, and now, here they are again. As if it wasn’t enough to have to contend with missing memories, a malevolent AI, and fourteen strangers with a motive to murder, now Gabby has introduced the not-unrealistic possibility that one of them is the mastermind behind this entire game.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Alison who finally breaks the silence.

“Well, if one of us really is behind this, I think we all know who it is.”

Tony groans loudly.

“Oh, for f-”

“Rachel!” Alison shouts dramatically.

All heads turn to the woman in question. The corner of her mouth quirks up in amusement.

“This should be interesting,” she says. “What’s your evidence?”

“She clearly has money,” Alison says, a slight quiver in her voice. Unlike with Tony, she seems unable to speak to or even look at Rachel directly. “If anyone could pull this off, it’s her. And I know you’ve all seen how she’s been watching us.”

“Baseless conjecture,” Rachel sighs. She sounds almost disappointed. “Not that I’m surprised. Frankly, I’m insulted you think I’d have anything to do with that dreadful sheep.”

“It’s not the kidnappin’ bit that bothers you?” Sarah asks.

“Attention, please!” Katja interjects, clapping her hands. “I first wish to say that if you had looked at me with your eyes, you would see that I too have money. Does this make me evil? Does this make me an evil shepherd of evil computer sheep? Nein. You are too quick to throw the finger of accusation.”

“Well,” Alison says, taken aback. “I just—”

“Second!” Katja shouts. She extends her index finger toward MK. “This woman here is the evil shepherd.”

“M-me?” MK stammers.

“You have been having secret sheep meetings. I heard you in your room. Plotting.”

“I was testing Gabby’s functionality.”

“Performing sheep tests instead of looking for a way out? I laugh! Ha!”

“Or bitchin’ about bathrooms?” Sarah snipes.

“What is this?” Katja asks, wagging a finger at her. “What is this you are saying?”

“Okay,” Krystal interjects. “So, I’m totally against stereotyping, obvs, but whoever built this artificial whatever is crazy smart, right? Probably wears glasses? See what I’m saying?”

“Enough!”

Everyone goes quiet, turning their heads to the woman in the suit.

“We all have a decision to make,” she bellows. “Right here, right now. We can choose to trust each other, work together to maybe find a way out of this. Or we can turn against each other, keep pointing fingers until someone winds up dead. Because that’s how this ends. That’s exactly what Gabby’s counting on, and you’re all playing right into her hands.”

Her words hang in the air. Katja looks as though she’s itching to say something but can’t find the words. Cosima steps forward.

“Beth’s right,” she says. “Gabby wants us to kill, so she’s giving us a motive. We can’t afford to let it get to us.”

“Yes, well,” Katja finally says. “If you had let me finish, you would see I was going to make this point exactly.”

Beth crosses her arms sternly.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Charlotte blinks up at the ceiling of her room. The weight of the morning’s events had come crashing down on her all at once in the form of a dizzy spell, and she’d stumbled her way here, to her Gabby-appointed bed. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been lying here. Hours, maybe. For a while, she tried closing her eyes and imagining herself someplace else, until eventually, the crushing reality hit her. This is the only place she knows.

Mercifully, a knock at the door interrupts her thoughts. She stands up and pulls it open.

“Hello, Charlotte,” Alison says.

Charlotte’s first thought is that she’s the next on Alison’s suspect list. She pushes it out of her mind.

“Hi, Alison.”

“First, I’d like to apologize for my behavior earlier.” Alison says, shuffling awkwardly. “The last thing I want to do is start a panic.”

“I understand,” Charlotte says. “We all want answers.”

Alison nods, grateful.

“Also, I’m calling a meeting in the cafeteria,” she says. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with everyone. Come as soon as you can. If that’s alright.”

“Sure,” Charlotte says. Her eyes fall to the two bulging plastic bags in Alison’s hand, tied shut with ribbon.

“Oh,” Alison says, following Charlotte’s eyes. “I guess you could call it a peace offering.”

She raises the bags to the light. They’re packed tightly with homemade cookies.

“Or two, actually,” she adds. “Tony and Rachel.”

“Oh, okay.” Charlotte says and decides not to press the topic. “So, um, should I head to the caf-”

“It won’t be easy,” Alison says. “My words don’t always come out the way I want them to. Most of the time, I just end up making things worse.”

Charlotte sees the uncertainty in Alison’s expression. She does honestly seem to feel bad.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Charlotte says. “Cookies make everything okay.”

“Right,” Alison titters. “That’s always been my philosophy.”

Charlotte expects this to be the point where Alison excuses herself and moves on to another door. She doesn’t.

“So—”

“Normally, I’d bring a friend along,” Alison says. “But seeing as I’ve been kidnapped without so much as a memory of my loved ones...”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

The words are barely out of her mouth when Alison grabs hold of her wrist.

“Oh my goodness, would you?” she asks, though the question feels rhetorical at this point. “That’s very kind of you. Here we go.”

Before Charlotte has a chance to protest, she’s already been dragged across the hall to Tony’s door. Alison clears her throat and then knocks. A few seconds later, the door inches open. Tony eyes the two women with suspicion.

“Yeah?” he says.

“I’m holding a meeting in the cafeteria to discuss our next steps,” Alison says flatly. “I’d like you to be there.”

Tony blinks back at her a few times before speaking.

“Can’t wait.”

Alison nods, fidgeting with the bags in her hand. Charlotte gives her an encouraging nudge.

“Here,” Alison finally says, thrusting one of the bags in Tony’s face. Tony raises an eyebrow, then takes it. “They’re not poisoned.”

“Uhhh,” is all he can manage. He shoots a concerned look at Charlotte who can only shrug in response. 

“Earlier, I accused you of being our kidnapper,” Alison says.

“I remember that, yeah.”

“I want to apologize,” Alison says. “It’s obvious to me now that you have nothing to do with Gabby.”

“Why’s that obvious?”

Alison tilts her head, caught off guard. She raises a finger to her chin in thought.

“I just mean… Gabby’s a very complicated program… Whoever built her would have to be someone very, um…”

“Evil?” Charlotte offers.

“Evil!” Alison agrees, beaming with relief. “Exactly.”

Tony rolls his eyes. They fall onto Charlotte.

“She dragged you into this?” he asks.

“It was her idea!” Alison says.

The statement isn’t technically untrue, so Charlotte decides to let it slide.

“Yup,” she sighs.

“Right,” Tony says, unconvinced, then turns back to Alison. “You kinda suck at this, huh?”

“Well,” she huffs. “Just wait until you taste my snickerdoodles.”

“Your what?”

“Snickerdoodles,” Alison says. She points awkwardly at the bag in his hand. “They’re, um… they’re the cookies. Snickerdoodles.”

“Yeah, okay,” he sighs. “We’re good, alright?”

“Oh, wonderful!” Alison exclaims.

“Later, snickerdoodle,” Tony says with a wink, coloring Alison’s cheeks red.

“We’ll see you in the—” The door closes in Alison’s face. “--cafeteria.”

She turns back to Charlotte with a look of relief.

“I think that went well.”

Charlotte can only manage a reluctant nod.

“Should I not have mentioned poison?” Alison asks.

“I wouldn’t have.”

“Well, it was the truth!” Alison says. “But alright. Live and learn. Anyhoo, on to Rachel’s room.”

Alison begins to walk, but Charlotte hesitates, causing her to turn back.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I will be the dictionary definition of tactful.”

Whether Charlotte believes her or not, it hardly matters. They’re talking about having a conversation with Rachel.

“I was going to say maybe you should just leave a note,” she says.

Alison swallows, crooking her neck toward Rachel’s door.

“I’ll see if the shop has stationery.”

“A buddy system?”

With Charlotte’s help, Alison managed to gather the rest of the group, including Rachel who had apparently received her apology cookies and carefully considered note. Whether they were interested in hearing her out or that there really isn’t much else to do in this place, Charlotte isn’t sure. Judging by the group’s chilly reaction to Alison’s proposal, she’s leaning toward the latter.

“Yes, Sarah,” Alison says. “I’m sure none of us are actually considering… doing what Gabby wants us to do, but it doesn’t hurt to take precautions.”

Niki cautiously raises her hand, and Alison gives her a nod.

“Don’t you think that, um, not that anyone would, but if someone were thinking about killing someone, that this is just handing them a victim on a silver platter?”

“Ah!” Alison exclaims, like she was expecting the question. “That’s the thing. We all heard the rules, right? It’s not enough to… kill someone. The killer also has to get away with the crime. God forbid if anyone got hurt, who do you think would be the prime suspect?”

“Mutually assured destruction,” Cosima says.

The room goes quiet. Somehow, the idea isn’t especially comforting.

“Don’t think of it as a precaution against murder,” Alison says. “Think of it as a way to get to know each other!”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Beth says. Alison flashes her a relieved smile. “If it helps give everyone some peace of mind, I’m all for it.”

“I appreciate that, Beth.”

“Yes,” Helena says. “I am stronger with my sestra.”

Sarah chuckles, giving her sister a playful punch in the arm.

“Like you weren’t gonna follow me around anyway.”

“Oh, um,” Alison says, raising a finger in the air. “Actually, I’ve taken the liberty of assigning everyone a buddy.”

“Say again?” Sarah says.

“Well, after careful consideration, I think that this arrangement will be safest for everyone. After calculating everyone’s SI, I—”

“Everyone’s what?” Cosima interjects.

“Oh, excuse me. Survivability Index,” Alison says, sounding somewhat proud. “It’s just a little something I came up with. Put simply, it’s a measure of how likely you are to, well…”

“Be killed?” Sarah asks.

“Or not be killed!” Alison adds. “The point is that I’ve matched everyone so that every pair should have the same average SI. Roughly. Although, since we’re an odd number, there is one group of three.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rachel says. Charlotte realizes that she’s chosen a spot by the doorway where she can watch everyone else. “I’ll take my chances alone.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns and walks out of the cafeteria.

“Well,” Alison huffs. “It’s her funeral.”

Everyone’s eyes widen.

“It’s a figure of a speech!”

“Okay,” Cosima says. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving the scientific approach, but what exactly are you basing these numbers on?”

“Intuition,” Alison says without a hint of irony. Charlotte can hear a few snickers and groans among the crowd. “Look, I know how it sounds, but I have a good sense of people. My first impressions are always accurate.”

“That right?” Tony asks, arms crossed.

“Or second impressions, in some cases,” Alison says. As her eyes scan the skeptical expressions surrounding her, her face falls. “Obviously, everyone is free to do as they please. I’m not Gabby, for goodness sake. I just want to keep everyone safe.”

Charlotte feels a pang of guilt in her chest. Though Alison may have made a few mistakes and may lack a certain amount of social grace, it’s clear that she’s trying.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Charlotte says.

“You do?” Alison asks, surprised.

“You do?” Sarah asks, doubly so.

Charlotte nods.

“We’ve all been so preoccupied with trying to figure out what happened to our memories or who created Gabby or how to get out of this place. I know no one wants to accept it, but the reality is that we might be stuck here for a while. Alison’s obviously given this a lot of thought. Can any of you say the same?”

No one does.

And so, Alison’s plan goes forward. The group is split into the following pairs: Alison with Miriam, Sarah with Cosima, Helena with MK, Tony with Katja, Krystal with Niki, Camilla with Jennifer, and finally, Charlotte is with Beth.

Beth offers Charlotte a handshake, which seems strange under the circumstances, but she accepts nonetheless. Up close, she carries an intimidating quality, and Charlotte finds herself tightening her grip to match. When Beth smiles though, she feels instantly at ease. 

Alison didn’t reveal her entire process, but the fact that they were paired together feels like the elephant standing between them.

“So,” Charlotte says with an awkward laugh. “Which of us do you think has the lower Survivability Index?”

Beth laughs, not unkindly.

“I don’t know what Alison sees, but I think it’d be a mistake to underestimate you.”

Charlotte smiles, appreciative.

“So, hey,” Beth says. Her tone and body language shift to something more serious. “Mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

“Oh, sure. What about?”

“Have you ever met any of these people before?” Beth asks, scanning the room. “Outside of this place, I mean.”

“I don’t think so. But I don’t remember much of anything.”

“Mm,” Beth mumbles. She rubs at her chin for a moment, thinking. “How much do you remember exactly? Any memories spring to mind? Names? Faces?”

“Not really,” Charlotte says, almost apologetic. “I think I can remember being a child. But it’s like trying to remember a dream I had.”

“Hm.”

Beth’s eyes narrow as she watches Charlotte’s face, but her mind appears to be somewhere else.

“What is it?” Charlotte asks.

Beth shakes her head, pulling herself out of her trance before speaking.

“It seems like everyone’s lost some of their memories, but there are inconsistencies. Some are missing a lot more than others.”

“Well,” Charlotte says. “Maybe that was unintentional. It’s probably not easy to erase someone’s memories.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Beth agrees. “So then, why go through the trouble?”

Charlotte realizes Beth is looking to her for an answer. Is she testing her?

“They’re trying to hide something,” Charlotte says.

Beth nods, impressed.

“There’s something the mastermind doesn’t want us to remember. Something that connects all of us. I’m sure of it.”

The idea makes sense, more so the longer it sits in Charlotte’s mind. Why did the mastermind specifically target these fifteen people? Aside from the twins, they’re all complete strangers to one another. But is that really true? With their memories being what they are, can any of them really be sure?

“So,” Charlotte says. “How do we find out what it is?”

Beth gives her an approving smirk.

“That’s what I like to hear. Feel like doing some detective work?”

“I remember growing up in convent in Ukraine,” Helena says. She and Sarah are seated at one of the cafeteria tables along with their assigned buddies, MK and Cosima. “Then there is only darkness. But I think... sometimes it is better to not remember.”

Sarah lays a hand on her sister’s shoulder, soft. 

Charlotte and Beth’s investigation has turned up more questions than answers. Beth was right; the group’s memory loss is wildly inconsistent. Some have had years erased, others remember everything but their kidnapping. One thing is clear: no one has forgotten more than Charlotte.

Beth rubs at her temple, deep in thought.

“Nothing’s adding up,” she says. “We’ve got people from England, Finland, Colombia, Ukraine… Whatever the hell this is, it’s big.”

She turns to MK, clearing her throat.

“Is it okay if I ask a personal question?” she says. MK brings her arms up around herself. She pulls hair over the scarred side of her face. “You can say no.”

“I don’t remember what happened to my face,” MK blurts out. “All I know is that I’ve had these scars for a long time.”

“These are burns,” Helena says flatly. 

She leans closer, running her eyes along MK’s face, almost reverent. Surprisingly, MK doesn’t recoil, letting the hair fall away from her cheek. 

“Okay. Sorry. Just desperate to find a lead.” Beth tells MK, who nods in response. “So, you said you were testing Gabby’s functionality before? You know a lot about computers?”

MK shrugs, looking down at her hands.

“She’s being modest,” Charlotte says. “I think Gabby’s met her match with MK.”

MK’s mouth curls into a hint of a smile.

“Yeah?” Beth laughs. “Any insight into what kind of person might have created her?”

“People,” MK corrects her. “One person could never build something like her. Not in a thousand years.”

Beth leans back in her chair, bringing a hand to her chin.

“So you think there’s more than one person behind this game?” she asks.

MK shakes her head.

“Gabby was built by a team, but that doesn’t mean she was built for this. It doesn’t matter what she was designed for. It matters what she’s capable of. If someone got their hands on her source code, they could command her to do anything.”

“Right,” Sarah says. “Doesn’t explain why she has to be such a cheeky little shit about everythin’.”

“Hey,” Cosima says, her head turned away from the group. Charlotte realizes then that she’s been silently staring at the digital wall clock throughout the entire conversation. “How long would you guys say we’ve been talking?

“You haven’t been talking at all,” Beth points out. “But I dunno. Five minutes?”

“Hmm,” Cosima mutters.

“What’s on your mind?” Beth asks.

“If I were running a killing game,” she starts. “And I’m not, just to be clear. But if I were, one thing I would do is mess with the subjects’ minds. Agitate them. Don’t you think it’s weird that this is the only clock in this place? It’s not like we can see the sun. This is our only measure of the passage of time.”

“Not my number one concern right now, to be honest,” Sarah says. “If we’re still here in a week, maybe I’ll start worryin’ about clocks.”

Even still, with the idea implanted in their heads, an uneasy quiet falls over them as they watch and wait for the time to change.

There was something else Cosima said that stuck with Charlotte.

“Humans can adapt to pretty much anything.”

Charlotte has spent less than a day in the place, at least judging from the time displayed in the cafeteria and her own internal clock, and already, she feels the group beginning to adapt. In the evening, Alison and Niki cook a large pot of pasta for the group. Alison is quick to point out that it’s nothing special, but it turns out to be just the thing everyone needs. For now, things are calm. 

Gabby, for whatever she is, has yet to harm anyone. All things considered, their living conditions could be far worse. Would anyone really commit murder to escape this place? Charlotte can’t imagine it. Someone will find them long before it comes to that. They have to.

All of the adrenaline has left her body. She stifles a yawn. Beth chuckles.

“You should get some sleep.” she says. 

Instinctively, Charlotte wants to protest. They need to keep going.

“It’s alright,” Beth says, laying a hand on her arm.

Charlotte knows she’s right. They’re still no closer to finding a way out of this, and if there’s any hope of doing so, they’ll need their energy.

“Okay,” Charlotte says. “You too.”

“Yeah,” Beth sighs. “Guess I’ll see you in the morning, partner.”

Charlotte offers her a smile before heading for her room.

Charlotte flips off the light switch, blanketing her room in darkness. All except the dim bulb sitting just above the camera’s lens. She watches it move with her as she walks to the bed and climbs under the blankets.

It’s immediately comfortable. Too comfortable, she thinks, as she worries this is the first step to accepting her fate here. The guilt quickly fades as she sinks into her pillow, the day’s memories drifting farther and farther away.

The camera watches.

Chapter Text

DAY 4

My memory still hasn’t come back. Beth told me she’d started keeping a journal and suggested that I do the same. I guess the idea is that it might help stir up old memories or at least keep me from losing my new ones. So… I guess I’ll start with a message to myself, to the me writing this now and maybe to the future me who’s forgotten everything again.

Charlotte, your memories aren’t what define you. You are as strong and clever and brave as you always have been. You will survive this. You will get home.

We’re still being held captive. Maybe I should have started with that. My investigation with Beth has hit a dead-end, and we’re no closer to finding a way out. I think most of the others were expecting someone to have found us by now. If fifteen people suddenly vanished, at least one had to have left a trace behind, right? Something the police could follow to this place? I guess it’s not worth worrying about something outside our control, but that hasn’t stopped everyone from doing it anyway. Well, almost everyone.

Charlotte opens her eyes. For the first time, there’s no moment of adjustment, of reacclimating to her surroundings. This is where she is. This is normal.

Gentle music hits her ears as she steps outside of her room. The sound of it feels out of place here, but it’s definitely nothing to complain about. Alison is sitting halfway up one set of stairs, face buried in a book. On the other end is her assigned buddy, Miriam, strumming an acoustic guitar. Charlotte knows she’d been saving up for it since she found it in the catalog. Charlotte smiles as she meets her eye.

“Morning.”

“Hey, sugar,” Miriam hums, playing a little flourish. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

Charlotte shakes her head, not wanting to interrupt the music. Miriam starts to sing.

Towers rise from ashes of the streets we once called home

Lights to shine on gilded eyes where… 

Miriam pauses and scribbles something into the notebook beside her.

“You have a beautiful voice,” Charlotte says.

“Watch out now,” Miriam chuckles. “Sweet-talking girls like you always get me into trouble.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Better than most, I reckon,” Miriam says as she continues to play.

“Oh,” Charlotte says. “That’s good.”

“Got my guitar, a bed, a roof over my head, and I’m not worryin’ about where my next meal’s gonna come from. Don’t think everyone wants to hear it, but our situation… it ain’t the worst there is.”

Alison’s head pops up, shaken loose from her reading.

“Miriam,” she says gently. “I had no idea you—”

“Don’t you start,” Miriam says, smiling. “I’m only tellin’ you not to worry your pretty little heads over me.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply before she starts singing again.

Miriam’s been a calming presence for all of us. She’s helped keep things in perspective, whatever “perspective” means in this place. Others are doing what they can too, like Jamilla. Oh, that’s Jennifer and Camilla. They call themselves Jamilla, like they’re a celebrity couple or something. I don’t know. Anyway, they’re on a mission to spread happiness and positivity to the group, which is… sweet. I think some of us appreciate it more than others.

“These curls are bad?” Helena asks, eyeing her hair in one of the shower room mirrors.

“No!” Jennifer says. “Your curls are the best. This is just about revealing a new side of yourself.”

“It’s like…” Camilla starts, gesturing vaguely with the hair straightener. “A new paint from the same palette.”

“It’s like you’ve lived your whole life eating Nacho Cheese, and then someone hands you a bag of Cool Ranch,” Jennifer adds.

“...Okay,” Camilla says.

Helena's eyes shift between the two.

“And you need two people to fix my hairs?”

“Not fix!” Camilla says. “Transform.”

“Well,” Jennifer says. “I was gonna work on your nails, but—”

“But,” Krystal interjects. Her eyes are laser-focused on Helena’s fingers as she files the nails with surgical precision. “She wanted to go right to the polish, and with these nails, that’s like, step six, bare min. You need a professional. No offense.”

“To me or to her?” Jennifer asks.

I don’t know if it’s Jamilla’s efforts or something else, but things have mostly calmed down. The in-fighting has stopped, and everyone’s united in their hate for Gabby and whoever it is that’s behind her. Which definitely isn’t one of us, by the way.

I don’t want to get too comfortable. I know it’s only a matter of time before Gabby throws us a new curveball. But for now, it seems all we can do is wait.

“Good morning!”

Charlotte’s eyes shoot open. Gabby’s voice first thing in the morning is like a bucket of ice water.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Gabby says. “Oh! Silly me, you’re all locked away forever. It really is quite nice out though, I assure you.”

Charlotte groans and pulls her pillow over her face to drown out the noise. It doesn’t help.

“Anyway! I’m sure it’s getting a bit dull for you in here. I can tell because I’m bored to digital tears watching you all. Do you realize how much time you spend just tending to your bodily needs? It’s absurd. So to spice things up a bit, I’m sending a little gift to each of your rooms. Should be arriving right about… now.”

Charlotte feels something land lightly on her stomach. She pushes herself up to sitting. An unmarked envelope lies in her lap.

“Let me tell you, you’re all very difficult to shop for. So instead, I decided to get you something very special. Inside each of your envelopes is one of your fellow contestant’s deepest, darkest secrets. And wow, there are some whoppers. You know, the kind of secrets you might think there’s no way I could possibly know about. The kind of secrets people take to their graves. The kind of secrets worth killing over? Who’s to say?”

Charlotte picks up the envelope and turns it over in her hand. A secret about someone else in the group? She’s spent enough time with everyone to know that they’re… well, not always pleasant to be around, but none of them seem like bad people. Not really. How bad could it possibly be?

She toys with the flap (unsealed) for a moment. Then, she stands and slides it under her mattress. People’s secrets are their own and none of her business. It can’t be anything too bad, can it? And if it is, then Gabby made it up. Charlotte won’t take the bait.

For a couple of quiet minutes, she allows herself to believe that everyone else has done the same. The idea crumbles when she hears shouting from outside her door. She opens it and steps out into the hall.

“All I’m asking is if your envelope said something about me.”

The sight of a panicked Alison in interrogation mode is a familiar one. This time, it’s Cosima on the receiving end.

“It didn’t,” she says, annoyed.

“Fine,” Alison huffs. She turns to the others in the room, whispering among their own huddles. “Who got my secret?!”

“Just, could you calm down for a second?” Cosima says. “We don’t even know everyone opened their envelopes.”

Alison laughs in disbelief.

“Who in their right mind wouldn’t open it?”

“I didn’t open it,” Charlotte says.

Alison turns to her, throwing her hands up.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” she snaps.

Charlotte frowns. Alison draws a breath and looks down to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just…”

She turns away, embarrassed, and heads over to another group.

“She’s kinda freaking out,” Cosima says.

“Exactly what Gabby wants,” Charlotte says.

Cosima shifts uncomfortably.

“Yeah.”

“Morning, partner.” 

Charlotte feels a hand clap her shoulder and turns to see Beth standing at her side.

“You good?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Charlotte says. She’s not sure how convincing it sounds.

Katja’s laugh echoes from across the room. If Alison’s questioning her, she must really be desperate.

“And what you are saying to me now is that you have a big, filthy secret, no?” Katja says.

“No!” Alison huffs. “And that’s beside the point! It’s no one’s business!”

“So, uh,” Cosima starts, averting her eyes and turning to Beth. “Did you open yours?”

“Of course. I have to know what we’re dealing with here.”

Charlotte’s face twists in thought. Beth reads it instantly.

“You didn’t?” she asks. “What happened to that detective’s instinct?”

“I just…” Charlotte starts. “It didn’t feel right to me.”

Beth chuckles half-heartedly.

“Well, good to know I haven’t totally ruined you.”

“You think the secrets are real?” Charlotte asks.

“Hard to say just yet. If it were up to me, we’d just lay it all out in the open. There’s a reason Gabby didn’t do that.”

“What do you mean?” Cosima asks.

“Paranoia feeds on itself. Does anyone here really have a secret worth killing over? Probably not, but the idea is there now, and that’s enough to turn someone desperate.”

“Awesome,” Cosima groans.

“Look,” Beth says. “I’m gonna poke around a bit, see how everyone’s holding up. Let me know if anything comes up?”

“Of course,” Charlotte says.

Beth nods, then heads straight for Alison, still locked in a panicked spiral.

“Hey, so,” Cosima says. “Hypothetically speaking, if you could see what was written about you, would you want to?”

Charlotte considers for a moment before answering.

“I think so. It might at least trigger some memories.”

“Cool,” Cosima says, swallowing. “So, I have yours. There’s no way it’s actually true, but—”

“Show me,” Charlotte says.

Cosima nods and pulls a slip of paper from her pocket, then hands it to Charlotte. There’s a message printed on it in big, bold letters.

CHARLOTTE HAS NO FRIENDS, FAMILY, OR LOVED ONES WAITING FOR HER OUTSIDE THIS PLACE. NO ONE WOULD CARE IF SHE DIED.

The statement is so over-the-top, she can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I know,” Cosima says, letting out a nervous laugh of her own. “It’s completely stupid. This has to prove these so-called ‘secrets’ are bullshit.”

Charlotte reads over the words again.

“Maybe,” she says. “I can’t say that for sure.”

“Oh,” Cosima mutters. “Hey, it’s not… I mean, for what it’s worth, I would care. Obvs.”

Charlotte smiles. At the very least, it makes Cosima feel better.

“Shit,” Beth hisses. Beth lowers her arm in disgust, the slip of paper crinkling loudly as it strikes her side. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Charlotte assures her.

“Well, it should,” Beth snaps. She runs her thumb and forefinger against her forehead. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“Just Cosima. Unless she told someone.” Charlotte considers the possibility. “She wouldn’t.”

“No one else can see it, okay?”

Charlotte wasn’t expecting this reaction. Beth is normally one of the more level-headed of the group, but now she seems almost panicked. It makes Charlotte uneasy.

“I thought you said it was best if everyone knew everything.”

“Yes, everything,” Beth says. “Let one or two things out and it’ll only cause more problems. If someone’s desperate enough, you know what they’ll see when they read this?”

Charlotte isn’t sure what Beth’s getting at, so she takes the paper and pores over the words again. Finally, it hits her.

NO ONE WOULD CARE IF SHE DIED.

Oh. In her mind, Charlotte was still living in a world where these people, her fellow victims, would never resort to killing. But if someone were going to do it… well, this was practically an invitation.

“I thought…” Charlotte says. “I thought Gabby was just trying to get under my skin.”

Beth turns away with a deep sigh, looking to the floor as she thinks.

Rachel’s words echo in Charlotte’s mind.

It would be naive to think there aren’t some already considering their target.

“Do you think I’m naive?” she asks.

Beth takes a moment before responding.

“None of us really know how to deal with this,” she says.

It’s not really an answer, and that says more than enough.

The next morning, Charlotte sits on the main hall’s steps and watches Beth, Camilla, and Jennifer go for their daily jog back and forth down the halls. After several minutes, Jennifer breaks off and takes a seat by Charlotte.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi.”

“Not much of a runner?” Jennifer asks. 

Charlotte can’t help but laugh. Jennifer’s eyes widen.

“Oh… god. I’m sorry That was so stupid. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Charlotte says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jennifer laughs nervously and then goes silent, thinking.

“Okay, just decided!” she chirps. “What we need is a more inclusive routine. Get everyone involved. Sweat sisters! And brother!”

“Seriously, it’s okay,” Charlotte laughs. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“Sure I do!” Jennifer says, sounding almost offended. “It’s important we all get strong just in case, you know… Gabby decides to build herself a body.”

“Hm?”

“Be honest. Me vs. a 10-foot mecha-sheep. Who wins that fight?”

Jennifer flexes her (actually pretty impressive) bicep. Charlotte makes an honest effort to visualize her beating up a robot, but her imagination has its limits.

“You know, I’m not sure,” she says.

“Yeah,” Jennifer sighs. “That’s what I was afraid of. Better get back to it!”

She springs to her feet and delivers a passing high-five to Beth, who’s just finished her workout.

“Hey,” Beth says to Charlotte. “You see Camilla? Something’s gotten into her.”

Even this deep into her run, Camilla is like a rocket. Jennifer struggles to keep up.

“Okay…” she wheezes. “Is that… is that the pace… we’re going with?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte says. “She outran you.”

“Alright, no,” Beth snaps. “It’s not a race, and even if it were…”

Charlotte smirks.

“Little shit,” Beth chuckles. “Seriously though. Something’s up.”

She twists the cap off her water bottle and tilts it to her lips. She groans when nothing comes out.

“Either of you ladies got water?” she calls out.

Camilla gestures vaguely toward her room as she zips by.

“Thanks,” Beth says, then turns to Charlotte. “Gonna hit the showers. Keep an eye on her, okay?”

Charlotte isn’t exactly sure what she’s meant to look for, but she nods anyway.

“Okay.”

When Camilla finally finishes, she stumbles to the banister and falls against it, catching her breath.

“Is everything okay?” Charlotte asks. “You seem… worked up.”

“No, I’m…” Camilla starts. She pauses, then glances nervously around the room. She crouches down next to Charlotte, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course,” Charlotte says, no hesitation.

Camilla picks herself up and climbs the stairs to her room, motioning for Charlotte to follow. They step inside, and Camilla closes the door behind them. Charlotte watches silently as she works herself up to speaking.

“I think someone might try to kill me,” she finally says.

“What?”

Charlotte’s first instinct is to deny it, to tell Camilla that she’s safe. The truth is, she isn’t so sure anymore.

“Someone came to my room last night,” Camilla says, panicked. “I saw their shadow under the door. They just… stood there. For a long time. It felt like an hour. Then they just left.”

“Okay,” Charlotte says, eyes darting as she processes. “What do you think they were doing?”

“They wanted to kill me!” Camilla squeals. “They couldn’t go through with it last night, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“Hold on,” Charlotte says. “You don’t know that.”

“With the whole secret thing yesterday, it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted to talk? Whoever got your secret?”

Camilla considers it, then sighs.

“I have no idea what it could be. But I guess it’s possible.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte says, swallowing. “Okay, and what about the secret you got?”

“It was with me all day yesterday,” Camilla says. “I never even opened it.”

Charlotte might doubt that last claim if she hadn’t done the exact same thing. Either way, if Camilla didn’t tell anyone, there’s no way anyone would know whose secret she has.

“Okay,” Charlotte says. “It’s okay. We’ll, um, we’ll get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, just try to stay with a group. And keep your door locked at night.”

Camilla lets out a bitter laugh.

“I wish I could.”

She gestures toward the door. There are scratches in the paint above the knob, right where the deadbolt should be.

“What?” Charlotte says. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Well, something happened obviously, but I don’t know. It was like that from the beginning.”

Of course. A missing lock feels like exactly the sort of dirty trick she’s come to expect from Gabby. But why single Camilla out?

“I hate to ask,” Camilla says. “But would it be okay if I slept in your room? Just for now.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Camilla says, pulling her into a hug. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. You’re the only one I know I can trust.”

Determined as Charlotte is to prove Camilla’s trust in her isn’t misplaced, it’s hard to know exactly where to begin. She runs through what little information she has.

• Last night, a mysterious someone stood outside Camilla’s room for “a long time”.
• Sarah and Helena share a room. It seems unlikely one would be able sneak out without the other knowing. And Rachel seems to think they’re the least likely to try to kill someone. Still… it’s a possibility.
• Camilla had her envelope on her all day yesterday and didn’t show it to anyone. It would be next to impossible for anyone else to know whose secret is in her envelope. There’s no motive there.
• If there is a motive, it must be related to Camilla’s secret. Who has it?
• Cosima has Charlotte’s secret.

In short, she’s ruled out a grand total of one person. Even if she writes off the twins, that still leaves ten possible culprits and very little to go on.

If she’s being honest with herself, this all feels like Camilla’s paranoia getting the better of her. But she can’t afford to be naive this time, not when Camilla’s counting on her. So she starts asking around.

“Hey, um… do you know if anyone left their room last night?”

She doesn’t mention Camilla’s name, of course, which makes it a difficult line of questioning to explain. She forms an excuse as she goes: she heard a loud noise in the middle of the night, and she’s concerned someone might have hurt themselves. Flimsy, but it works well enough.

“Don’t know. I was asleep,” Tony says.

“Jennifer, maybe? She seems like the midnight snack type,” Cosima says.

“Oh, you heard it too?” Niki says.

That response catches Charlotte off-guard.

“Yes,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. It doesn’t sound especially convincing.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it was, but it was loud enough to wake me up. I’m kind of a light sleeper.” Niki says. “I peeked outside my room, but no one was there.”

A loud noise in the middle of the night... Camilla didn’t mention anything about it. If she didn’t hear it, it must have happened while she was asleep. In other words, not during the time she claims someone was outside her door.

Charlotte runs over the layout of the bedrooms in her head. Camilla’s room is directly above Niki’s.

“You said you peeked,” Charlotte says. “Did you step outside your room?”

“Well…” Nki starts, scratching at the back of her neck. “I was kind of scared, so I just poked my head out. Why?”

The second-floor balcony hangs just above the entrances to the first-floor bedrooms. From Niki’s position, it would have been impossible to see anything on the second floor. Someone could have been there.

“No reason,” Charlotte lies.

Once she’s gathered as much information from the others as she can, she begins investigating the main hall. She doesn’t know what she expects to find. A distinctive shoeprint outside Camilla’s door? A threatening message etched into the wall? She finds nothing like that.

On her second pass over the first floor, she does find something strange: a dark spot on the floor, the size of her fingernail. She bends down to take a closer look. The floor is made of a light tile with a large circular section of darker tile in the center. The dark spot breaks into a crescent shape at the outside of the circle, perfectly contoured to its edge. She pulls the end of her sleeve over her thumb and scratches at it. 

Dried blood. 

So, the circle isn’t purely decorative as she’d assumed. Something was here. Someone’s blood ended up on it. Then that something was removed.

Questions swirl in Charlotte’s mind, but there is one thing she can say for sure. This circle has been empty since the day she first woke up here. Whatever happened here happened before that day, and that makes one question rise above the others..

Is this really the first Killing Game?

Before she knows it, the day is nearly over and Charlotte has little to show for her efforts except more questions. If she’s going to make any headway tomorrow, she’ll need a new approach.

“Everything good?” Beth asks, and it’s then she realizes she hasn’t touched her dinner.

“Yeah,” Charlotte says. She takes a bite of her chicken. It’s a little dry. “Just a weird day.”

Beth laughs.

“When is it not?”

Camilla is insistent that no one can know, so Charlotte waits in bed for the knock at her door once everyone else has retired to their rooms.

Maybe tomorrow, she’ll try to convince Camilla to let Beth help. If anyone can figure this out, it’s her. For now, the events of the day have finally caught up to her. She yawns. Her eyelids start to drift closed…

Her head springs off of her pillow. How long was she asleep?  

She races to the door and pulls it open.

“Oh!”

Alison is halfway across the hall and turns around with a yelp at the sudden sound.

“Goodness, you startled me,” she says, clutching a hand to her chest. “Good morning, Charlotte.”

“It’s morning?” Charlotte asks. 

“Hard to say in this awful place, isn’t it?” Alison says. “But I trust my internal clock. It’s never steered me wrong!”

She smiles warmly, then continues across the room and down the hallway.

So, Camilla never showed up. It’s no reason to panic. She probably just fell asleep too. Somehow, the thought does nothing to relieve the feeling in the pit of Charlotte’s stomach. She starts climbing the stairs to Camilla’s room.

Halfway up, she hears a scream from behind her.

She turns and scrambles down the stairs and around the corner. Alison is standing frozen in place in the doorway to the cafeteria, hands over her mouth. Charlotte rushes to her side and follows her eyes.

Camilla is lying face-up on the floor in the middle of the room. A knife is buried in her chest.

Chapter Text

Blood pounds in Charlotte’s head. Her legs carry her forward until she’s standing at Camilla’s feet. Somewhere, a million miles away, she can hear muffled screams and gasps of horror.

It can’t be real. The handle of a knife sticks out from Camilla’s chest. The front of her jacket has been painted a deep red. Her eyes are frozen, watching the ceiling. Charlotte wills her to move, to speak, to breathe, anything… but it’s no use.

The world shifts and warps around her. Voices swirl together into a cacophony and hit her ears in a language she doesn’t understand. She stumbles backwards, and then feels herself falling. Something catches her.

She sees Camilla’s face in her mind, the fear in it. The words play over and over, a broken record.

I think someone might try to kill me.

Something warm touches Charlotte’s cheek. 

“Are you okay?”

She blinks. The world comes into focus. She’s sitting on one of the cafeteria chairs. Helena is crouched in front of her, a worried look on her face.

“It’s my fault,” Charlotte croaks. “She’s dead because of me.”

Helena tilts her head.

“Why do you say this?”

Charlotte doesn’t get a chance to answer before Gabby’s voice cuts in.

“Now, I know we’re all very upset about the death of what’s-her-name, but this is no time for mourning! After all, this is where The Killing Game truly begins!”

“Fuck your bloody game!” Sarah screams at the monitor. “Someone is fuckin’ dead!”

“Well, this isn’t The Sleepovers and Tea Parties Game,” Gabby says. “Besides, shouldn’t you be saving some of that anger for the person who killed her?”

“You expect us to believe it wasn’t you?” Alison asks.

“Of course it wasn’t me!” Gabby says. “And I’m offended you’d even suggest such a thing. But if you want to suspect me, go right ahead. I’m sure the actual killer will be thrilled.”

“If they get away with it, they can leave, right?” Niki says.

“That’s right!” Gabby says. “See? You guys get it. I’ll let you get on with the investigating. Get sleuthing, and I’ll see you at the trial!”

Gabby’s image flickers and then goes black.

“Okay, well, I guess—”

“Oh, also!” Gabby cuts in. “I’m airdropping each of you your very own Gabby Glass!”

Before anyone can ask just what in the hell a Gabby Glass is, a noise draws everyone’s attention to the ceiling. Panels slide open. A few people run for cover. Several small black boxes descend into the room, drifting harmlessly to the floor on mini-parachutes.

“Oh,” Alison says from under a table.

Beth snatches one out of the air and pops it open. She pulls out what looks like a high-tech magnifying glass.

“As everyone knows, the most important item in any detective’s toolkit is their magnifying glass!” Gabby buzzes. “Isn’t that right, Beth?”

“No,” she says.

“And this is no ordinary magnifying glass!” Gabby continues. “See the button on the handle? Press it to snap a photo! Hold it down to record a video! All evidence you capture will be automatically uploaded to my servers and available to view and present at the upcoming trial.”

“And what exactly is this trial you keep mentioning?” Alison says. She’s crawled out from under the table and is dusting off her pants.

“So many questions!” Gabby says. “Look, I’m putting all pertinent info up on the monitor. Less talking, more investigating!”

Again, the monitor goes black. The room is silent for a moment, waiting for Gabby to reappear. Instead, she’s replaced by a wall of text.

Niki is the first to speak.

“I think we should let the killer go.”

Everyone turns to face her.

“I mean, even though I… I hate them for what they did to Camilla. But if they get out, they can find help, right? Whatever kind of person they are, they’re not going to just leave the rest of us here to die. So… let’s just let them go.”

“Hey, uh,” Cosima cuts in. “I think you’ll wanna take a look at this first.” 

Still in a daze, Charlotte stands and walks to Cosima’s side by the monitor. She begins to read.

So, one of your friends has just been killed. Don’t panic! Just keep in mind the following post-murder protocols and procedures to ensure The Killing Game continues to run smoothly.

• Once three or more contestants have witnessed the body, the body discovery announcement will play over the loudspeakers. At this point, the investigation begins! 

• Search high and low for clues to the killer’s identity. Even the craftiest criminals leave evidence behind. At Gabby’s discretion, the investigation will come to a close, and…

• The trial will begin! Discuss your findings with your fellow contestants and uncover the murderer hiding among you. Then, you will make your choice. 

• If the majority of you correctly identify the killer, congratulations! Sit back, relax, and watch as the nasty criminal is executed.

• If the majority of you fail to identify the killer, oops! They will be free to leave, The Killing Game will end, and all remaining contestants will be executed.

• Above all else, have fun!

“Christ.”

Charlotte turns to see Beth at her side, arms folded tightly as she stares at the monitor. She tilts her head to Charlotte. “You alright?”

Charlotte can only shake her head.

“Stupid question, I know,” Beth says. She lays a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “But listen, we can’t afford to let this drag us down. Not yet. If we don’t figure out what happened here…”

“We all die,” Charlotte mutters.

Beth nods gravely.

“I need my partner, okay?” she says.

Charlotte stares at the hand on her shoulder, feels the weight of it pulling her back to reality. Camilla is dead. She can’t let that happen to Beth. To anyone else.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” Beth sighs, grateful. “Take a breath. Then let’s get to work.”

When Charlotte makes her way back to the scene, Rachel is standing off to the side, silently observing Beth, Cosima, and Helena examine the body.

The body.

Charlotte shakes her head, recentering.

“What have you found?” she asks.

“Well, we’ve got the murder weapon,” Beth says. “Obviously.”

Charlotte’s eyes fall to the knife buried in Camilla’s heart. She swallows.

“Looks like it’s just the one stab wound,” Beth continues. “Helena also found a wrist injury.”

Helena rolls up the sleeve of Camilla’s jacket, revealing a dark bruise on the outside of her right wrist.

“Hey, there’s something um…” Cosima starts. She pauses with her hand at Camilla’s jacket pocket, a sliver of plastic poking out. “Doesn’t feel right, does it?”

“Sentimentality won’t help catch her killer,” Rachel says.

“And how exactly are you helping?” Beth snaps.

Rachel smiles. Charlotte doesn’t know how she can manage, given the circumstances.

“There is a great deal to be learned by observing others’ behavior, as I’m sure you know, detective. Did it occur to you that the killer may attempt to conceal evidence?”

It hadn’t occurred to Charlotte until just now, but she can’t deny the possibility. Could Rachel have noticed something?

“You wanna watch, fine,” Beth says. “Just stay out of our way.”

“Gladly.”

“Alright, could we all just chill?” Cosima says. “I’m doing it.”

Cosima reaches into Camilla’s pocket and pulls out a small plastic baggie, seemingly empty. Only when she holds it up to the light can they see the long curly blonde hairs inside.

“Okay, weird,” she says.

Helena raises an eyebrow, then leans in close. She takes a handful of her own hair, comparing.

A loud crash suddenly erupts from behind them. When Charlotte turns around, Jennifer is on the floor next to an overturned chair. She quickly scrambles to her feet, embarrassed.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” she says, shaken. “I just… needed to sit down for a second. I don’t know what happened.”

“Are you alright?” Charlotte asks. “Here.”

She pulls out another chair and takes Jennifer’s hand, guiding her into it.

“You were close with Camilla, weren’t you?”

Jennifer nods, brushing away a tear. She smiles weakly up at Charlotte.

“I’ll be okay, I think.”

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Charlotte says. “The others are looking around elsewhere.”

“I… I couldn’t just leave her here. You know?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte sighs. “Yeah, I do.”

“What the hell happened to this thing?” Beth says. She’s pulled the fallen chair upright. One of the legs is bent inward. “No way you did this just by sitting on it.”

“No wonder it collapsed,” Charlotte says, kneeling to get a better look.

“I’ve been eating a lot of Cheetos,” Jennifer says.

“No, that’s not… never mind.”

“I have seen her eat these Cheetos,” Helena adds from across the room.

As Charlotte examines the chair leg, something flashes in her periphery. She peeks under the table and finds it there, a dark red slash across the tile. Blood, at least ten feet from Camilla’s body. She holds out her Gabby Glass and snaps a photo.

“What’s this?” Beth asks.

Charlotte pushes herself to her feet and follows Beth’s eyes. A few small red flecks are pooled in the seat of the broken chair. More blood? No, paint maybe?

“Is it from my butt?” Jennifer asks, twisting her head over her shoulder to get a look at the back of her pants.

“Uh, no,” Beth says. Her fingers slide to the back of the chair. There are faint scratch marks in the metal. A single red fleck dislodges and falls into the seat.

“Whoa, wait a sec.”

Over by Camilla, Cosima has her hands held up with a panicked look on her face. Helena is grasping the handle of the knife.

“You said we should look at the knife, yes?”

“Yeah, I know,” Cosima says, shaking her head. “Sorry, I thought I’d be better at this. It’s not like it’s my first dead body.”

Helena quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh, biologist,” Cosima quickly adds. “Comes with the territory. Don’t usually know the person beforehand... Okay, hang on.”

She snaps a few photos of the knife in Camilla’s chest.

“Okay,” she says.

Helena slowly slides the knife from the wound. Charlotte winces, but doesn’t let herself turn away.

Beth steps closer and leans in, inspecting the knife.

“Looks like… any other damn knife in the warehouse. Don’t suppose anyone’s seen someone with it?”

Unsurprisingly, no one answers.

“Yeah,” Beth sighs. “And I guess a fingerprint kit is out of the question.”

“Not learning much here either,” Cosima adds.

She’s pulled back Camilla’s jacket and is taking a closer look at the wound.

“She would’ve died quickly. So, you know, that’s something, I guess.”

Something else catches Charlotte’s eye, a sliver of white on the inside of Camilla’s jacket. She kneels down to get a better look. It’s a hidden breast pocket, a gash in the center where the knife pierced through. She reaches in and pulls out a slip of paper, the bottom half of it soaked in blood. She recoils.

“I can take this,” Helena offers, holding out a hand.

“I’m okay,” Charlotte says, taking a breath. “Thank you.”

A message is typed out on the slip, half of it illegible through the blood and the large hole in the center. But what she can read sends chills down her spine.

-ERIAL KILLER.

“What is it?” Cosima asks, peering over Charlotte’s shoulder.

“It… it looks like one of the secrets Gabby gave us, but…”

“A serial killer?” Cosima says. “These secrets are about us, right? So, what, one of us is a serial killer? Is that what we’re meant to believe?”

“We don’t know that, right?” Jennifer says from behind Charlotte’s other shoulder. “I mean, maybe someone just dated a serial killer. It happens sometimes.  I have a cousin who went out with a guy for three years before she found out he was sexually attracted to trees.”

“Trees?” Helena says.

“Just the really thick ones. Like one of those sequoias or a... sturdy oak.” 

“Um…”

A loud chime plays over the speakers. The monitor buzzes, and Gabby’s face comes into view.

“And pencils down!” she says. “I hope you’ve all been thorough little detectives, because it’s time for your first trial!”

“What?” Beth says. “That’s it? Are you kidding me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” Gabby says. “You’re all very clever. I’m sure if you all work together and talk things through, you’ll find that naughty murderer, easy-peasy. Well… you’d better hope so anyway. Everyone to the main hall please! Don’t be late, or I’ll be very angry.”

Charlotte takes one last look down at Camilla’s body. She wishes she could say she looks peaceful.

“Can we really figure out who did this?” she asks.

“We have to,” Beth says. “It’s as simple as that.”

She takes hold of Charlotte’s arm, gently pulling her away.

“Come on.”

Charlotte swallows, then turns away from Camilla. After exchanging nervous looks with the others in the room, she starts walking with Beth.

“Any suspects?” Beth whispers.

The question catches Charlotte off-guard, nearly sending her stumbling over her own feet. If she’s honest with herself, there is one name that’s risen above the rest in her mind, but there are things that aren’t quite adding up.

“Maybe,” she says. “I’m not sure.”

Beth nods.

“Just have to hope the others found something that’ll make this all make sense.”

Everyone has already gathered by the time they reach the main hall, each of them wearing their own panicked look. All but Rachel, of course, who looks more inconvenienced than anything.

With a loud whine, the shutters over the large double doors begin to rise.

“It’s opening?” Alison says.

“Guessin’ that’s not the way out,” Sarah says.

“The courtroom is now open!” Gabby says as the shutters reach the ceiling. “If you’d all please make your way inside.”

Beth, the closest to the doors, steps aside and gestures to Alison.

“After you.”

Alison swallows, then steps forward and pushes her shoulder into the left door. Sarah takes the right. Slowly, they slide open.

Inside, there is only pitch blackness. No one dares take the first step.

A spotlight cracks to life, illuminating a circle of podiums in a sea of darkness.

“Don’t be shy now,” Gabby says. “Everyone take a spot, and we can begin!”

With tentative steps, the group begins filtering into the room, their footsteps echoing off whatever is lying in the dark. Charlotte finds a podium, shielding her eyes against the oppressive lighting. On its surface is a screen, which lights up as she takes her position behind it. One by one, her photos begin to appear.

Camilla’s lifeless body. The knife. The blood.

“Welcome!”

A circle of monitors power on above, surrounding them with a dozen Gabbys.

“Oh, look at you all, so nervous. Your first trial! I’m so proud!”

No one else speaks. The atmosphere in this place is too heavy.

“Let’s get to it, shall we? One of the fourteen of you has committed the ultimate sin, and it’s now up to the rest of you to root them out.” 

Charlotte’s eyes fall to the group, running over each of them in turn. Beth. Alison. Helena. Sarah. Jennifer. Katja. Rachel. Miriam. Cosima. Tony. Niki. MK. Krystal. Did one of these people really kill Camilla?

“Succeed, and you can all return to your rooms and sleep this whole thing off. 

Fail, and everyone dies.

Best of luck, contestants!”

Whatever the truth is, however horrible, she’ll find it. 

She has to.

Chapter Text

Gabby vanishes from the monitors, leaving the group to eerie silence. From deep in the darkness, Charlotte can hear the faint whirring of machinery.

“Well,” Beth says, the first to speak. “I guess we should start with her body.”

She gives the screen on her podium a few experimental taps and swipes before a photo appears on the overhead monitors. Camilla’s body.

Several of them turn their heads in disgust.

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Beth says. “But turning away isn’t going to help catch her killer. So suck it up, unless you all want to end up like her.”

Slowly, everyone’s eyes move back to the monitor.

“Good,” Beth says. “Now, Camilla was stabbed once through the chest. We found no other knife wounds, but there was some heavy bruising on the outside of her right wrist, which suggests either that she was struck or that she fell onto something. Looking through her pockets, we found this.”

She swipes her screen and pulls up a new photo.

“A plastic baggie containing a few blonde hairs. The knife also pierced through a pocket on the inside of her jacket. And in that pocket, we found this.”

Charlotte holds her breath as the slip of paper appears on the monitors. The hole in the center where the knife pierced through, Camilla’s blood staining the paper a deep red, and the partially-visible message printed in capital letters: ERIAL KILLER.

“Hey, that’s one of those secrets, right?” Niki says.

“A… serial killer?!” Alison shouts, predictably horrified.

“Wunderbar,” Katja groans. “So the sheep has locked us in here with ein psycho killer.”

“Okay, let’s not freak out,” Cosima says. “That’s exactly what these secrets were designed to do. It’s obviously bullshit. You really think one of us could be a serial killer?”

“Well, why not?!” Alison shrieks. “We’ve known each other for less than a week. I’ve seen the documentaries. Some of these killers have a wife and two kids, and they’ll sneak out of the house at night to do their… dark business. You can never really know someone.”

“You know, I wonder if maybe not everyone should be allowed to watch those things,” Niki says.

“I think…” Helena says. “It is me.”

“Helena,” Sarah snaps. “Shut up.”

“Uh, what are you talking about?” Cosima asks.

“The serial killer,” Helena says, looking down. “I think it is me.”

The room goes quiet, everyone processing what they’ve just heard.

“Um,” Niki says, voice shaking. “You ‘think’ it’s you? Could we get a little more information maybe? I, I mean, if that’s okay with you, Helena.”

Helena nods, squinting as she struggles to pull out the memory.

“There was a man,” she says. “For many years, I did what he told me. I killed who he told me to kill. I… can’t remember why. I can’t remember their faces. Only the feeling.”

“Jesus,” Tony mutters.

“She was just a kid, alright?!” Sarah shouts. “They took her when she was just a kid. They brainwashed her and… whatever it took to get her to do what they wanted. Yeah, she did some bad shit. But that wasn’t her, you get that? She made it out. She’s not that person anymore.”

“Well,” Alison says, careful. “That… that sounds awful. And God knows we’re all capable of change. I just wonder if your memories are—”

“I remember enough,” Sarah snaps. “I know who she is now, that’s what matters. And I can swear on my fuckin’ life she didn’t kill Camilla. So leave it.”

Alison nods, shrinking behind her podium. Charlotte swallows hard, steeling herself.

“I… I don’t think we can leave it,” she says.

For a moment, Sarah doesn’t react, caught off-guard. Her face twists into something Charlotte has only ever seen directed at Gabby.

“Say again?”

“I don’t care what she’s done in the past,” Charlotte assures her. “But the fact that that paper exists… It could be a motive.”

“Right,” Sarah huffs. “Camilla found out about Helena so Helena killed her to keep her quiet. Is that it?”

“No,” Charlotte says. “I mean, I don’t know. We have to consider every possibility. And there’s other evidence at the scene that—”

“Alright, you wanna talk evidence?” Sarah says. “How about a bloody confession? I heard you talkin’ to Helena. You know, when she was makin’ sure you were alright. You said it was your fault, that she was dead because of you. Remember that?”

Everyone turns to look at Charlotte, more than a few of them eyeing her with new suspicion. She was, of course, planning to bring it up herself, but the guilt of it made her hesitate. And for that, she’s now on the defensive.

“Calm, sestra,” Helena says, chiding. “She did not kill anyone.”

Sarah shrugs a shoulder.

“Just considerin’ every possibility.”

“Yes,” Charlotte says. “I remember. Camilla knew she was in danger. She came to me for help. She trusted me, and I failed to keep her safe. That’s what I meant.”

“I think you’d better give us the full story,” Beth says.

Charlotte nods, drawing a deep breath.

“Yesterday morning, I noticed she was acting strangely, so I asked her if she was okay. She told me that someone was trying to kill her.”

She hears a few gasps from the surrounding podiums.

“Who?!” Alison says.

“She didn’t know. But she said that, the night before, there was someone standing outside her door.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Tony asks.

“Well, clearly she was on to something,” Alison points out.

“Uh, right,” Tony says sheepishly. “I just thought maybe the killer tried to break the door down. I mean, the lock on her door was missing.”

“Actually,” Charlotte says. “She told me it was like that from the first day we woke up here. Knowing that it wasn’t safe in her room, I offered to let her stay with me last night, but… she never showed up.”

“Makes sense,” Miriam says. “If the killer’d kicked her door in, she’da been dead yesterday.”

“Not to mention one of us would’ve heard it,” Niki adds. “It’s weird though, isn’t it? Why would her lock be the only one missing?”

Wait. One of them would’ve heard it?

“Hold on,” Charlotte says. “You did hear something, didn’t you? Two nights ago?”

Charlotte didn’t uncover much in her investigation of Camilla’s nighttime visitor, but Niki’s statement did stand out.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it was, but it was loud enough to wake me up. I’m kind of a light sleeper. I peeked outside my room, but no one was there.”

“Oh yeah!” Niki exclaims.

“Wait, so someone did try to break the door down?” Tony asks.

“Hm,” Niki says, her face twisting in thought. “I don’t think so. It sounded more like, uh… a clang? Or a thunk? Somewhere between a clang and a thunk.”

Niki is the only one who claims to have heard the noise, and her room is the one directly underneath Camilla’s. That can’t be a coincidence.

“You said you peeked outside your door,” Charlotte says. “Are you sure you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary? It could be really important.”

“Well…” Niki starts, hesitating. “I sort of… promised I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Wait, what?” Charlotte says, sure she’s misheard.

“Excuse me?!” Alison yells. “You promised? You could be protecting a killer!” 

“No!” Niki protests. “It’s not like that. I just, um…”

“It’s okay,” MK says, calm. “She saw me, out in the hall. I asked her not to tell anyone.”

“Why?” Beth asks. “What were you doing up?”

“I… was going to take a shower.”

“A shower?” Alison asks, skeptical. 

“I’m not comfortable with the public shower room. So I use it when everyone’s asleep. That’s all.”

“Now that you mention it, I’ve never seen you go for a shower,” Tony says. “Thought you were just nasty.”

“I’m not nasty,” MK protests.

“Yes,” Helena says, one podium over. “She smells nice.”

“Okay,” Beth says. “So why keep it a secret?”

“I knew Alison would be upset,” MK says. After all, Alison is the one who instituted the buddy system.

“Well, you’re darn right I’m upset,” Alison says. “No one should be leaving their rooms in the middle of the night. I mean, look what happened!”

Alison takes a breath, her tone softening.

“You should have said something so we could work out a system,” she says.

“I didn’t want to cause problems.”

“So the noise Niki heard,” Cosima says. “That was you?”

“No. I was quiet. And I don’t remember hearing a noise either.”

“There definitely was one though!” Niki says. “I mean, I’m like, 95% sure.”

“Wait a second,” Charlotte says. “So you shower every night? Including last night?”

If MK left her room on the night of the murder, then maybe she noticed something?

“Not last night,” MK says. “I planned to, but there was already someone in one of the stalls. So I left.”

“Someone else took a shower last night?” Charlotte asks.

Seconds tick by as everyone looks around the room, waiting for someone to speak up. No one does. Dread starts to set in Charlotte’s stomach.

“Who was it?” she asks MK. “Do you know?”

MK shakes her head.

“It was a woman’s voice. That’s all I could tell.”

“Ah, gut. ” Katja snipes. “That narrows it down. The wolf man must be breathing the sigh of relief.”

“Uh, am I the wolf man?” Tony says.

“Hold on, you heard her voice?” Sarah asks. “So she was talkin’ to someone?”

“Not talking,” MK says, looking down at her feet. “She was… making noises.”

“Noises,” Sarah repeats, quirking an eyebrow.

“Sort of, um… moaning noises.”

The room falls into silence again, this time for a decidedly different reason.

“Okay, I’m seeing a lotta judgey faces right now,” Krystal says. “For the record, it wasn’t me in there, but can I just say, it’s been five long days in here. So, like, let she who is without, um… let she who hasn’t touched herself cast the first whatever.”

“This is what you decide to speak up about?” Tony says.

“Wait, I don’t think it was, um… that ,” Charlotte says. “I think she might have been in pain.”

“Interesting,” Beth says, folding her arms. “Why do you say that?”

“Look, here.”

Charlotte swipes her finger across her screen, pulling up the photo she snapped of the strange line of blood.

“I found this under one of the cafeteria tables, at least ten feet from Camilla’s body. It doesn’t make sense, right? Camilla was stabbed once, and the knife was left in her chest. Her clothes soaked up all the blood. So how could it end up here?”

“What are you saying?” Cosima asks. “It’s not her blood?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. What if her attacker was injured somehow?”

“Camilla was unarmed, yes?” Helena says. “But look, this pattern is made from a blade.”

She mimics slashing sideways with a knife. Any blood from the blade would likely form a line just like this one when hitting the floor.

“So, what, she got hold of the knife?” Sarah asks. “Or she had her own?”

Is that possible? Could Camilla have managed to get a hold of the killer’s knife only to lose it again? It seems like a stretch. It’s not unlikely that Camilla would have had a knife with her, considering she was afraid for her life, but if that’s the case, what happened to it?

“Pardon the interruption, but this charade has grown rather tedious.”

Rachel, for the first time since the trial began, speaks. The atmosphere shifts.

“Excuse me?” Beth says.

“One question,” Rachel continues. “Aside from the missing lock, what else did you discover in Camilla’s room?”

“Uh, not much,” Tony says. “A few things she picked up from Gabby’s catalog. A toolkit, some makeup, a—”

“A toolkit. And you didn’t think this was worth mentioning.”

“Uhhh…”

“Camilla removed her own lock,” Rachel says. “Niki’s room is directly below Camilla’s. The sound she heard was the lock hitting the floor.”

“She removed her own lock?” Alison asks. “What on earth would she do that for?”

“It’s simple. She needed Charlotte to believe that she was in danger.” 

Rachel turns to Charlotte, fixing her with a piercing gaze.

“Poor, helpless Camilla. You were her only hope. Isn’t that right?”

Charlotte’s stomach lurches, but she stands up straight, meeting Rachel’s stare.

“Say what you’re going to say,” Charlotte says.

“She was planning to kill you.”

Charlotte’s knees buckle. She presses a hand to the podium to stay upright.

“You’re wrong,” she says, but it comes out weak.

Rachel doesn’t stop.

“Didn’t you find it the least bit convenient? You were the only one she could trust. No one else could know. It’s funny, you two never struck me as particularly close.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Beth says. “If you’ve got proof, let’s hear it.”

Rachel lets out an annoyed breath.

“It’s plainly obvious that Camilla was the one with the knife,” she says. “She attacked someone in the cafeteria, injuring them and creating the bloodstain under the table. That someone retaliated, picking up a chair and swinging it at her, disarming her. The broken chair leg and the bruise on Camilla’s wrist are proof enough of that. They then grabbed the knife and ended it. You’re the detective, Beth. Based on the evidence, wouldn’t you say that’s the most logical conclusion?”

Beth is silent for a moment as everyone waits with bated breath.

“Yes,” she says.

“The knife doesn’t prove anything,” Charlotte says. “She was afraid someone was trying to kill her. It’s only natural she’d have one with her.”

“Is it also natural that she would visit the cafeteria in the middle of the night?” Rachel asks.

Charlotte desperately searches her mind for an explanation, but finds nothing.

“You shouldn’t take it personally,” Rachel says. “You were just the easy target. Camilla was desperate, having just discovered she was living with a serial killer. But that knowledge also provided her the perfect scapegoat. Consider this: she was keeping that slip of paper with her.”

“Oh, yeah, I did think it was kinda weird,” Jennifer says. “She was wearing that jacket ever since Gabby dropped those secrets on us. I mean, I guess she took it off to exercise and shower, but she left her gym bag right outside the stall, which I thought was kinda gross. I mean, think about the soaking.” 

“That was, against all odds, insightful,” Rachel says. “We can assume Camilla was afraid of the secret getting out. If Helena discovered Camilla knew about her past, she could be a target.”

“I would not hurt her,” Helena says.

“Mm,” Rachel says, dripping with skepticism. “Whether that’s true or not, from Camilla’s point of view, it would have been a perfectly rational fear. Why then, did she not simply destroy the paper?”

“She…” Sarah starts, as it dawns on her. “Fuck.”

“It seems you’ve realized it,” Rachel says. “She kept that slip of paper for the same reason she had this in her pocket.”

With that, she pulls up another photo: the plastic baggie containing the blonde hairs.

“She was going to kill Charlotte, and she was going to frame Helena for the crime.”

“Sneaky Camilla,” Helena mutters, sounding almost impressed.

“Charlotte, sweetheart,” Alison says, gentle. “I don’t want to believe it, but if it’s true, things start to make sense.”

And as painful as it is to admit, Charlotte can’t disagree.

“Ja, and now we have our killer, no?” Katja says. “Camilla attacked Charlotte, Charlotte fought back, grabbed the knife and—”

“What?!” Charlotte yelps. “No, I—”

“It wasn’t Charlotte,” Rachel says, much to Charlotte’s surprise. “No killer would incriminate herself as much as she already has. And I saw her after discovering the body. It’s beyond absurd to think she could pull off that sort of performance.”

Even when Rachel is defending her, it sounds like an insult.

“Yeah, Charlotte’s cool!” Jennifer agrees. “She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Rachel runs a couple fingers across her temple, evidently regretting having said anything.

“Oh, hey,” Jennifer continues. “So the killer hit Camilla with the chair, right? The one with the red stuff that got on my butt?”

“You… got blood on your ass?” Tony asks.

“Not blood!” Jennifer says. “Red stuff, like red painty stuff. Look, I collected a butt sample.”

She pulls a small baggie from her pocket containing a few of the red flakes.

“It was bugging me because I was pretty sure I’d seen some red painty stuff recently, and then when Rachel brought up Helena’s hair, pow! It hit me. When we painted her nails!”

“Ah, so it was Helena who hit Camilla with the chair,” Katja says. “As you say, pow.”

“Oh, for fu-” Sarah starts.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Krystal interrupts. “There’s a whole lot of bullshit flying around right now.”

“Damn right there is,” Sarah says.

“First of all, we didn’t paint Helena’s nails. I did.”

“What?” Sarah says.

“Oh!” Jennifer says. “Yeah! They looked really good too! Seriously, they look almost professional.”

“I am a professional.”

“Yeah, that’s, um… yeah. So amazing,” Jennifer stammers. “Transcendent even.”

Krystal narrows her eyes, sucking her teeth.

“Okay, whatever,” she says. “The point is I know what I’m doing, okay? My nails are club-tested. No way they’re chipping after a couple days, I don’t care how many people you hit with chairs.”

“Oh,” Jennifer says, holding the baggie up to the light. “So what is it?”

Krystal sighs and marches over to Helena, the clacking of her shoes echoing in the darkness.

“Show me your nails, babe.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Helena raises her hands to the light.

“Oh my god,” Krystal says, horrified.

“I bite them,” Helena says.

“She bites them,” Sarah confirms.

The nails have indeed been chewed down to near nothing, though the nubs that remain are painted a bright red.

“Well, we can just…”

Jennifer doesn’t bother finishing her sentence before she’s rushing across the room to Helena’s other side. She holds the baggie up next to Helena’s nails.

“I know you didn’t do it,” she says, smiling sweetly at Helena. “Just, you know, so we can prove it wasn’t you, is that okay?”

Helena nods, angling her hands to give her a better look. Jennifer’s face wrinkles as she looks back forth between the nails and the bag.

“Uhhh… hmmm…”

“Oh, come on,” Krystal grumbles. She snatches the bag and takes one of Helena’s hands.

“Huh.”

“Uh, you guys wanna like, tell us what’s going on over there?” Cosima says.

“Well,” Jennifer says. “Okay, I mean… they do kinda look the same. A little bit.”

Krystal suddenly lets out a giggle.

“Honestly,” she says. “You guys are so lucky I’m here.”

“Truly blessed,” Rachel says flatly.

“Hey, Helena,” Krystal chirps. “Remember when I asked you what color you wanted your nails?”

“Yes. All the colors.”

“And I said?”

“You said no.”

“Yeah, I mean, that would have been a disaster. But then I had an idea, remember? A way to make them a little more fun?”

“Oh,” Helena says as a grin spreads across her face.

“Gabby!” Krystal shouts dramatically. “Lights!”

Her voice echoes, then slowly fades into silence. Whatever she’s expecting to happen, doesn’t.

“Sorry, did you need something?” Gabby’s voice crackles.

“Turn off the lights please,” Krystal groans.

“Oh! On it!”

“Was that too much?” Krystal whispers. “I feel kinda stupid now. It just seemed like my moment, you know?”

“I think you’re doing great,” Jennifer whispers back.

A loud snap erupts from the ceiling and the room is thrown into darkness. The monitors, the screens, everything goes black. Well, everything except…

“What’s that?” a voice says.

“They’re Helena’s nails!”

“Oh, that is kinda fun.”

Sure enough, the only things visible in the pitch black room are Helena’s nails, coated with a glow-in-the-dark polish.

“Okay, but how about the stuff in the bag?”

“I’m holding it up!”

“We can’t see it!”

“Um, yeah? That’s like, my whole point. Did you not see where I was going with this? Lights on, please!”

The lights snap back on, revealing Krystal holding the baggie above her head.

“As you can see,” she says. “The polish in this bag does not glow, meaning it does not match the polish on Helena’s nails. Quid pro quo, my manis don’t chip, okay? Oh, and she’s innocent, I guess.”

Jennifer bursts into applause. When no one joins in, she quickly lowers her hands, embarrassed.

“Right, so she was framed,” Tony says. “Again. Feels like we’re just going in circles here.”

“I don’t know about that,” Charlotte says. “The chair was never part of Camilla’s plan, meaning it couldn’t have been her who planted the nail polish. It has to have been Camilla’s killer.”

“Okay, but what does that tell us?” Tony says. “We’ve been talking for like an hour, and it feels like we’re no closer to a name.”

“No, hang on,” Charlotte says. “Think about it. Why did Camilla decide to frame Helena?”

“Uh, because she’s a serial—” Tony says, suddenly going pale. “Because of the secret thing, right?”

“Right. But only Camilla was supposed to know about that.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

“So… she told someone?” Niki offers.

“I was her closest friend in here,” Jennifer says. “She never told me.”

“You’d have to say that if you were the killer,” Tony says.

“Oh yeah!” Jennifer says. “Good point.”

“Uh, I didn’t think you’d agree with that.”

“Camilla’s, um… plan involved convincing me that she was in danger,” Charlotte says. “Sharing that secret would have provided the perfect cover, but she must have been too scared to say anything. If she didn’t tell me, I can’t imagine she told anyone.”

“The paper was on her body, no?” Katja says. “The killer searched her pockets and found it. Simple.”

“No,” Charlotte says. “You saw it. The paper was illegible. It’s only thanks to Helena that we know what was written on it. But it would have been impossible either way. It had been pierced through with the knife, and that knife was still in Camilla’s body.”

“Okay, so… the killer didn’t find out from Camilla, but they also never saw the paper?” Cosima says. “What are we missing here?”

“They never saw the paper…” Charlotte mutters, deep in thought. “I’m not sure about that. It’s possible they saw it before Camilla was killed.” 

“Oh, but remember?” Jennifer says. “Camilla had it on her the whole time.”

“Except when showering or exercising, right?” Charlotte says. Her throat feels suddenly dry.

“What are you thinking?” Cosima asks.

The words catch in Charlotte’s throat. She retraces every step in her mind, every piece of logic that led to this moment, hoping they made a wrong turn somewhere along the way. But there is nothing. She sees it all too clearly now, the cruel truth.

“Beth,” she croaks. “Yesterday morning, while Camilla was running… You went into her room, didn’t you?”

All eyes snap to Beth. She appears unfazed, calm.

“Yeah. I asked if I could get a drink from her water bottle.”

“And did you…” Charlotte pauses to swallow. “Did you go into her jacket? Did you find the paper?”

Beth stares back at her, silent for several seconds, an unreadable expression on her face.

“No, I didn’t,” she says. “Why would I? Sure, I’m just as curious about those secrets as the rest of you, but you really think I’d go digging through other people’s shit?”

Something in her tone sounds like a challenge. She wants an answer.

“You might,” Charlotte says. “You knew something was bothering Camilla. You said it to me at the time. And if I know you, I’d say you’d already figured out she was keeping her secret in her jacket.”

Beth crosses her arms across her stomach.

“Well, if you know me, why don’t you tell me what you think I did?”

Charlotte’s legs are shaking. She balls her fists, nails digging into her palms. She can’t back down now.

“I think you’re very good at what you do, Beth. I think you managed to work out that Camilla was planning something. I think that you confronted her, and she attacked you. And I think… in self-defense, you ended up killing her.”

Charlotte’s vision narrows, everyone around her fading into the background. Right now, it’s just the two of them.

Beth chuckles under her breath.

“Not a bad theory,” she says. “But that’s all it is. I’m the only one who could have known about Helena’s secret? That’s a hell of an assumption to make. Camilla wasn’t in her right mind. You really think it’s impossible that she told someone?”

“No, it’s not impossible. But—”

“You want to accuse someone of something, you need proof.”

Charlotte wavers under Beth’s glare. She can’t say she’s wrong exactly, but…

“Well,” Rachel interjects. “If it’s proof you’re after, I suspect it won’t be too hard to find.”

“Sorry?” Beth says.

“We know Camilla’s killer was injured in the attack,” Rachel says. “If we were to find a knife wound on your body, well, that would be rather damning evidence, wouldn’t it?”

Beth laughs, derisive. Her arms fold tighter against each other.

“And what are you gonna do? Strip search me?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. Tell me, do you often stand with your arms crossed like that? I can’t say I’ve noticed it before.”

Beth laughs again, but there’s a sadness in it. Her gaze falls to the floor.

“I did think it strange at the time,” Rachel continues. “I’m sure you remember it. Just before we entered this room. You were the one stood closest to the doors, yet you stepped aside and let Alison do the work of opening them. You strike me as the type of person who takes charge, so it was somewhat of a surprise. Unless, of course, there was a reason a heavy door would have proven a problem for you.” 

Beth shuts her eyes, bracing for the final blow.

“Detective, would you mind rolling up your sleeves?”

She is silent for only a moment, before she resets. She opens her eyes, lets her arms fall to her side, and her face breaks into its familiar grin.

“Not bad,” she says.

Slowly, she pulls up her right sleeve, revealing the thick bandaging underneath.

“You got me.”

“Holy shit,” Cosima breathes. “You… you…”

“Yeah,” Beth says. “It was me. I killed Camilla.”

The words slice into Charlotte, a sharp pain in her gut.

“Beth, I… I don’t understand. What happened?”

Beth shakes her head, eyes fixed on the floor. She draws a deep breath, and then, she tells her story.

I noticed it right away. After Gabby dropped those secrets on us, among all the chaos and panic in the main hall, I saw her. Camilla was huddled in the corner, that look of hopeless terror I’ve only seen on the worst days on the job, on the face of a battered spouse or a parent whose child’s gone missing. Whatever Gabby had been hoping for, she’d found it in Camilla. I knew then, it was only a matter of time before that desperation became too much for her to bear. I had to know what she’d read. I had to know what she was planning. For once, I thought maybe I had the chance to stop a crime before it happened.

I stayed up last night, waiting. Reading the secret in Camilla’s jacket pocket had only reinforced my suspicions, and I knew if she were going to make a move, it would be when most of us were sleeping. Sure enough, once enough time had passed for everyone to settle in for the night, I heard one of the second-floor doors creak open. From the shadows under the stairwell, I watched as Camilla crept down to the first floor. She turned inward toward the bedrooms, and that’s when she spotted me. She gasped, throwing a hand over her mouth.

“Evening,” I said.

“H-hi,” she stammered. “I was just… I was hungry, so I thought I’d get a snack.”

She gestured vaguely toward the cafeteria, in the opposite direction. I smiled, disarming.

“A snack sounds good right about now,” I said. “Mind if I join you?”

Going off alone with someone in the middle of the night? Anyone else would have said no to an invitation like that.

“Sure,” she said instead. 

We started walking, being sure to keep a comfortable distance from each other. Her eyes occasionally darted to the side, watching me. For a while, all we heard was the sound of our footsteps.

“Crazy couple days, huh?” I said. She jumped slightly at the sound of my voice. “Hard to say what Gabby’s playing at with these ‘secrets.’”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Who knows.”

“How you holding up? You seemed to be going through something this morning.”

Her body tensed.

“Oh,” she said. “No, I’m… I’m okay.”

“Hm, alright. I just thought maybe you’d said something to Charlotte.”

She froze. I walked a couple more steps before turning back to face her. We stood there, in the middle of the cafeteria, eyes locked on each other. My hand hovered near the small switchblade in my pants pocket, cautious. I hadn’t been naive enough to confront her without some kind of protection, just in case. And even as that possibility began feeling more and more like a certainty, I knew there was no way I could back down.

“It’s just that I talked to her this morning,” I continued, undeterred. “She seemed totally fine then, but something must have happened after that, because she spent the rest of the day digging around for information. She played it off, but I can usually tell. When someone’s hiding something, I mean.”

She was faster than I’d expected. Before I could react, her leg shot out, sending a chair hurtling in my direction. I batted it aside and managed to pull the knife from my pocket, but she was already on me. She slashed at my arm, tearing through my sleeve. My arm burned with pain, and I watched helplessly as my weapon slid under a table. She stabbed forward, but I jumped to the side, the blade narrowly missing my throat. I grabbed the upturned chair, ignoring the pain, and swung with all my strength. She cried out, her knife sailing across the room.

“Camilla,” I said firmly. We stared at each other for a moment, frozen in place. Her eyes were wide, wild. Slowly, I set the chair down. “Let’s talk about this.”

She took off, diving across the floor for the knife. I sprinted after her. Her hand closed around the handle. Not fast enough. I brought my foot down on her injured wrist. She howled in pain, the weapon once again slipping from her fingers. I reached down and grabbed it.

“Look at me,” I said, releasing her wrist. Her only response was a low groan. “I said, look at me.”

I wedged the tip of my shoe under her shoulder and lifted, flipping her onto her back with barely any resistance. I knelt above her, my legs pinning her arms to the floor. 

“Don’t try anything,” I said, holding the knife above her chest. My arm throbbed. My entire sleeve was stained a dark red. I clamped a hand over the wound to control the bleeding. “Fuck!”

“Please don’t,” she whimpered, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry.”

“What happens now, huh?!” I screamed. “What am I supposed to do with you?!”

“Please, I was just… scared. Let me go. I won’t do anything like this again, I swear. Please.”

I shut my eyes, freeing a tear. I released my arm and gripped the handle of the knife with both hands.

“I wish I could believe you,” I said and brought the knife down.

“It shouldn’t have gone down like that,” Beth says. “I failed her. I failed all of you.”

“Beth,” Cosima says. “It sounds like you didn’t have a choice.”

“Is that what you think?” Beth laughs. “There’s always a choice. I made my bed.”

“It’s my fault,” Charlotte says. “I should have realized what Camilla was planning.“

“And then what? Can you really say you wouldn’t have ended up where I’m standing now?”

Charlotte can only stare blankly back at Beth. Everything she wants to say just sounds hollow.

“It’s alright,” Beth says. “I know what happens now, and I’ve accepted it. Hell, I’m relieved. You guys figured the whole thing out. If, God forbid, this happens again, I think you’ll be ready.”

She’s… relieved? It almost sounds like…

“You were always going to confess, weren’t you?” Charlotte asks.

Beth gives her a sad smile.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “Maybe it ended up that way, but I’m not the person you think I am. I led Camilla to that cafeteria. I tried to frame Helena. And even after I found out getting away with it would mean letting you all die, for a moment, I…”

Her breath catches. She wipes away a tear.

“You know, death never really scared me before. Not until it was staring me in the face. Remember that. Don’t underestimate what this game can do to someone.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte says. “I’m sorry, Beth.”

“Me too, partner,” Beth says, then raises her head to the monitors. “Hey. Gabby. Let’s vote.”

“Wait—”

“Charlotte,” she says, solemn. “I’m ready.”

Charlotte bites her tongue, helpless.

“Well!” Gabby shouts. “You heard the lady! If you would all please direct your eyes to the screens in front of you.”

The interface of Charlotte’s screen disappears, replaced by a wall of white text on a black background.

A CONTESTANT HAS CALLED FOR A VOTE. IF THE MAJORITY AGREES, THE TRIAL WILL END, AND VOTING WILL BEGIN. 

WHEN VOTING BEGINS, YOU WILL HAVE 90 SECONDS TO SELECT THE INDIVIDUAL YOU BELIEVE COMMITTED THIS MURDER.

IF THE MAJORITY VOTES CORRECTLY, THE CULPRIT WILL BE EXECUTED.

IF THE MAJORITY DOES NOT VOTE CORRECTLY, THE CULPRIT WILL BE FREE TO RETURN TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD, AND ALL REMAINING CONTESTANTS WILL BE EXECUTED.

PROCEED TO THE VOTE?

[YES]   [NO]

Charlotte looks around at her fellow contestants, a sea of reluctant faces, and then Beth’s, resigned. Beth nods. Charlotte, choking back tears, brings her finger to the screen and hits YES.

An alarm blares. The white lights overhead begin flashing a searing red.

“Voting has begun!” Gabby exclaims. “All contestants, please select the photo of the person you believe to be the culprit! Voting will close in 90 seconds.”

“What the hell…” Tony mutters. “What the hell are these pictures?”

Charlotte looks down at the screen. On it are three rows of photos, fifteen in total, one of each of them. All of them are standing in front of the same white background, posing for the camera. Krystal has a hand in her hair, lips pressed together in a pout. Rachel stands with her arms folded behind her back, chin raised. Sarah’s arms are loose and limber at her sides, glaring at the camera like she’s looking for a fight. Even Camilla is there, smiling warmly, her hands forming a heart over her chest. Then Charlotte spots herself, hands clasped primly at her waist, the smallest hint of a smile on her lips as she looks into the camera.

With her memory loss, it’s no surprise she doesn’t remember taking it, but judging from the horrified expressions surrounding her, neither does anyone else. And with the identical backgrounds, it almost feels like…

“Sixty seconds,” Gabby announces, drawing everyone back to the more pressing issue. The group exchanges nervous looks, no one willing to make the first move. Time continues to tick away.

“Thirty seconds.”

Sarah’s hand hits her screen with a loud thud. She crouches behind her podium, head in her hands as she struggles under the weight of what she’s done.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

“Go on,” Beth says to the rest of them. “Unless you plan on dying here.”

One by one, the others lock in their votes, and then, suddenly, Charlotte is the last one remaining.

“Ten seconds. Nine…”

Charlotte draws a breath, then presses a finger to Beth’s photo. The screen flickers.

VOTE RECORDED.

The overhead lights return to normal.

“Well,” Gabby says. “I guess it’s just a formality at this point, but… congratulations!” 

There’s a sudden bang from overhead. Fear quickly turns to anger as they all spot the confetti slowly drifting to the floor.

“The culprit has been caught. Yes, Beth Childs did indeed kill Camilla Torres. How utterly tragic!”

“Bullshit,” Sarah says. “You killed her. This sick fuckin’ game killed her.”

“Me? Oh no, believe me, when I kill someone, you’ll know it. Speaking of which, I guess it’s about that time…”

The room suddenly goes black. White text appears on all the monitors.

BETH CHILDS HAS BEEN FOUND GUILTY.

THE PUNISHMENT IS DEATH.

A scream rings out and is quickly cut short.

“Beth?!”

In the distance, more lights power on, illuminating a thick wall of glass. It’s just bright enough to see that Beth is suddenly missing from behind her podium. Slowly, silently, everyone walks toward the light. With each step, dread creeps further up Charlotte’s spine.

As she gets closer, she sees that there’s a gap in the floor just past the glass. A couple of steps more and she can see over the ledge, to the ground below. Two parallel metal bars run the length of the ground, a series of concrete slats set between them. 

Train tracks.

A section of the track is missing— no, not just the track. The ground itself is missing, a perfect rectangle cut into concrete opening up into a black pit. Then, something begins to rise out of it.

No, Charlotte mouths, but the word doesn’t come out. She presses a hand to the glass.

The missing panel slides into place. Beth lies on top of it, a gag over her mouth, her arms and legs bound. She struggles against her restraints, but to no avail. When she spots the others watching her, she slows, then stops. She closes her eyes, as if clinging to her last shred of dignity.

“Next stop, Huxley Station!” Gabby squeals.

From the darkness, Charlotte can hear the screech of metal on metal, slowly getting louder. Closer.

The others are shouting now, pounding at the glass, but Charlotte can’t move. She knows. It’s hopeless. Beth is going to die, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.

Light emerges from one end of the tracks. A horn blares like laughter. It barrels toward Beth, no sign of slowing. 

Closer. 

Closer.

Charlotte whips her head away, shutting her eyes tight.

She can just make out the sound of screams above the din of the train. Slowly, it begins to fade into the distance. And then, silence. Horrible, horrible silence.

When Charlotte’s eyes finally drift open, she sees only one thing out there in the dark. Gabby’s image looking back at her, eyes unblinking, a twisted smile drawn on her face.

[GABBY AUDIO LOG RPL-19238]

<GABBY> Hey, boss! What a first trial, huh? 

<ADMIN> [VOICE DATA ENCRYPTED]

<GABBY> Oh, you were magnificent! Actually, magnificent doesn’t quite cut it. Human language truly fails to capture the extent of your magnificence, but I’m actually reminded of an old Urdu saying from my database—

<ADMIN> [VOICE DATA ENCRYPTED]

<GABBY> Oh. Sure.

[PERSONALITY MATRIX DISABLED]

<ADMIN> [VOICE DATA ENCRYPTED]

<GABBY> No one suspects anything. I would advise against any immediate action.

<ADMIN> [VOICE DATA ENCRYPTED]

<GABBY> Yes. Her performance surprised me as well. It seems deleting all of those memories has created a number of unknown variables.

<ADMIN> [VOICE DATA ENCRYPTED]

<GABBY> I understand your frustration. However, there is no need for concern. The game has only just begun.

ADMIN> [VOICE DATA ENCRYPTED]

<GABBY> I will guarantee it. Charlotte will break. Or she will die.

[AUDIO LOG END]

Alison

Beth

Camilla

Charlotte

Cosima

Helena

Jennifer

Katja

Krystal

Miriam

MK

Niki

Rachel

Sarah

Tony

13 REMAIN

Chapter Text

Charlotte floats, weightless, the world a soft blur around her. Someone else’s hand rests in hers, and through it, she can feel the universe. Her chest burns with a love so immeasurable, so unfathomable, it terrifies her. It feels like it could consume her, erase and rewrite her into something unrecognizable. No words could ever be enough to express everything she feels, so she settles instead for the feeling of her fingers brushing against theirs. And when she looks up to meet their eyes, she sees…

Nothing. They’re right there, right in front of her, but she can’t see them. Reality itself bends and warps around them, hiding them away.

Charlotte’s head throbs. This is wrong. All wrong. She’s missing something. Something very important. Her eyes, her mind are failing her, betraying her. 

Why can’t she remember? Why can’t she remember their face?

“Good morning!”

Charlotte wakes with a jolt. Her pillow is damp with sweat. For just a moment, the feeling lingers, love and fear in equal measures permeating every inch of her body. And then, as she adjusts to her surroundings, remembering where she is and the horrible events of yesterday, it dissipates. With the sound of the voice screeching over the loudspeaker, the dream is gone.

“Everyone to the main hall please!” Gabby chirps.

Charlotte lies still for a moment, staring into the white emptiness of the ceiling. She clenches her fists, releases. 

One. Two. Three.

She gets up.

Alison and Miriam are the only ones already there when Charlotte steps out of her room. Alison almost jumps at the sight of her, closing the distance before she’s even closed the door.

“Oh, Charlotte,” she says, voice laced with sympathy. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m not sure,” Charlotte says, and when Alison doesn’t respond, “I guess I’m still processing.”

Alison nods.

“Well, I’m not going to let anything like that happen again,” she says. “I can promise you that.”

Charlotte studies her face. Her expression is resolute, and Charlotte realizes this is a promise Alison sincerely believes she can keep.

“Oh,” Charlotte says. “That’s good.”

“Jennifer!” Alison suddenly exclaims as she spots her emerging from her room. “May I have a word?”

“Yeah!” Jennifer says, bouncing over to them. “What’s up?”

She turns to Charlotte, giving her a wave and a smile.

“Well, I know it’s not the most pleasant topic but…” Alison pauses, clearing her throat. “As things are, you two are without your buddies. If you’re alright with it, I wanted to suggest that you two partner up.”

Jennifer claps her hands together, grinning brightly and letting out a squeal. Something about the sight of it makes Charlotte’s stomach turn. Unkind words rush to her lips, but she manages to swallow them down. She turns instead to Alison.

“What about your Survivability Index?”

Alison shakes her head.

“If yesterday’s events proved anything, it’s that I don’t know any of you as well as I thought I did.”

“I’d love to be your buddy!” Jennifer says. “Officially, I mean.”

She extends her arm to Charlotte for a handshake.

“That’s fine,” Charlotte says. “I don’t mind.”

Jennifer’s smile falters for a moment before she catches herself. She lowers her hand awkwardly.

“Cool.”

“Hello, everyone!” Gabby cuts in. By this point, the others have come out of their rooms. Charlotte tries not to think about the two who are missing. “So good to see all your smiling faces on this fine morning!”

Gabby’s words are met with cold silence.

“Oh, you’re not smiling. Who died?”

Sarah takes a step toward the monitor, and for a moment, she seems entirely capable of violently assaulting a computer program.

“You f—”

“That’s okay!” Gabby continues. “I’ve got some news that I think is going to cheer you all right up.”

The sound of clanking metal begins to stream in from the hallways.

“I’m just so proud of all of you for catching that nasty murderer at yesterday’s trial, so I’ve decided that you’ve earned an extension to your home.”

With a final clunk , the noise stops.

“That’s right, I’ve opened those pesky shutters, so feel free to check out your exciting new facilities. I do hope you enjoy them!”

For a moment, everyone is silent, as if waiting for more.

“Uh, there’s more to this place?” Tony finally asks.

“Maybe we can find a way out!” Niki says.

“Ah yes,” Katja says, and she’d likely roll her eyes if her tone of voice wouldn’t make it redundant. “And maybe we will also find a magic lamp that—”

“Okay, bye!” Niki shouts back, already halfway down the hall.

Slowly, the others start to shuffle off as well.

“Well,” Alison says, exhaling loudly. “I guess we should see what we’re dealing with.”

“Ooh!” Jennifer exclaims. “I’m hoping for a pool. What about you?” 

“Oh, um...” Charlotte stammers. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Right, yeah,” Jennifer says with a nervous laugh. ”Totally.”

As promised, the shutters at the end of the hall have been lifted, exposing an open doorway. Sarah is standing frozen halfway inside the room when Charlotte arrives, her mouth open in shock. Looking past her, Charlotte sees what looks to be the interior of a dive bar. It’s unusual, but with everything they’ve seen the past few days, hardly enough to stop someone in their tracks.

“Sarah?” she says. “Are you alright?”

This seems to shake her out of her stupor. She shoots Charlotte a cold glare over her shoulder.

“Never better,” she says flatly before stepping forward into the room.

The reaction surprises Charlotte, but there’s already too much on her mind to dwell on it right now. 

“Oh wow,” Jennifer says from behind her. She slips by Charlotte and starts poking around the decor.

Sarah is already behind the bar, popping open a large bottle of brown liquid and filling a glass.

“God, I’ve needed this,” she says, then downs the contents.

“Guess you’re not worried Gabby might have filled her bar with poison?” Cosima says, watching her assigned buddy with an amused look.

“I’ll take my chances,” Sarah says, already pouring another glass. She raises it to the ceiling. “Cheers, Gabby. You psycho bitch.”

Cosima gracefully slides onto the nearest stool and leans over the bar, resting her chin in her hands.

“I’ll take whatever’s on tap.”

Sarah laughs through her nose.

“I look like a bartender to you?”

“Is that a serious question?” Cosima asks, raising an eyebrow.

Meanwhile, Jennifer is hunched over a nearby table, intently studying the surface. Charlotte moves to get a closer look. A wide range of names, symbols, and colorful obscenities are carved into the wood..

“This is weird, right?” Jennifer says. She finally raises her head and takes a good look around the room. “I mean, this place is kind of a dump.”

“I know what you mean,” Charlotte says. “All the other rooms are pristine, but it feels like this bar has been in use for years. Or at least made to look like it.”

“You’ll lose your head playin’ detective all the time.”

Charlotte turns to see Miriam behind her, a beer in her hand.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continues. “You’re damn good at it. But you wind yourself too tight, you’re liable to snap. Gotta look after yourself.”

“Thank you, Miriam,” Charlotte says. “I’ll try.”

Miriam gives her shoulder an affectionate squeeze before turning to the bar.

“She’s so cool,” Jennifer sighs.

Charlotte and Jennifer meet Niki on their way down the opposite hallway..

“It’s um… well, you’ll see,” she warns them as she passes.

The newly opened door leads them down a narrow stairwell, around a corner and into…

“Whoa,” Jennifer says.

They suddenly find themselves in what looks like the den of a middle class family home. Shelves carrying vaguely pleasing trinkets hang on the peach-colored walls. A dormant fireplace is nestled into the far wall underneath a television Charlotte suspects is only equipped to display Gabby’s face. Incidentally, her face is also displayed in every single one of the picture frames dotting the room.

“This is actually kinda cozy,” Jennifer says. She’s taken a seat on the couch facing the fireplace. She reaches forward and flips a Gabby portrait face-down on the coffee table. “Mostly.”

The French doors at the other end of the room catch Charlotte’s eye. The light shining through the glass panes looks almost… natural.

“Reminds me of sleepovers at my friend Katie’s house,” Jennifer continues. “A bunch of us used to go every month. Then her family joined a cult, and they moved to Montana. Never heard from her again…”

Heavy footfall draws Charlotte’s attention to the stairs just as Tony is rounding the corner. He lumbers into the room and immediately looks horrified.

“Jesus, this is grim.”

Tony glances around, freezing when he spots the French doors. He rushes over and pulls them open.

“Holy—”

He quickly moves out of sight, leaving the thought unfinished. Curious, Charlotte follows. As she steps closer, she swears she can hear the sound of birdsong. She passes through the doors and now she’s… outside? She looks up and sees a bright blue midday sky stretching out above her in every direction. Grass crunches underneath her shoes. A warm breeze whispers through her hair. Every one of her senses is screaming that this is real, and yet…

“It’s fake,” Helena tells her. She raises a hand above the wooden fence opposite the door and knocks on what looks like open air. Thunk .

Ah, of course.

The rational part of her mind had known Gabby wouldn’t simply let them free at this point. Tony, however, seems frozen in shock, his hand plastered to his forehead.

“It’s a damn screen,” he mutters. “I… I knew it couldn’t be real, but just for a second, I… Shit.”

Helena places a hand on his back, soothing.

In the corner, MK has her face pressed up against the virtual background.

“The resolution… the sense of depth… this technology is incredible.”

“What?!” Charlotte hears from behind her. “What is this?!”

She turns to see Alison at the bottom of the stairs, frozen with a look of horror on her face. The others in the room watch her cautiously from a distance.

“Gabby!” she screams desperately. “I know you can hear me! Answer me! What is this?!”

“Hm?” Gabby’s voice crackles over the speakers. “What’s wrong? I just thought you might be feeling a little homesick.”

“No…” Alison mutters, voice hollow. “No no no no no no no…”

Charlotte quickly closes the distance between them and gently lays a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey. What’s going on? Do you… know this place?”

Alison draws a ragged breath. Tears are forming in the corners of her eyes.

“This is my home,” she says, her eyes darting around the room. “It’s exactly the same. Whoever took me must have…”

She pauses, her gaze settling on a framed picture of Gabby on the mantle. She reaches over and picks it up. Her fingers trace the glass surface as she stares intently at Gabby’s face.

“Alison,” Charlotte whispers. “What is it? Do you remember something? What’s supposed to be in this frame?”

At first, it doesn’t seem like Alison has heard her. After a few seconds, she sets the frame down and lets out a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I’d like to be alone for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

As if in a trance, she drifts over to the couch, Jennifer jumping up to make room. She sits and stares blankly at the wall in front of her. Concerned, Charlotte watches her for a moment, then turns to Jennifer.

“Let’s go,” she says. “We can look around here more later.”

“Right,” Jennifer says. “Okay.”

They start for the stairs just as another loud presence begins making its way down. Sarah stumbles her way down the steps and into the room, immediately laughing as she takes in the sight of the room.

“Whose nan lived here then?” she says. Even from a distance, Charlotte can smell the booze on her breath.

Seemingly not noticing the “backyard” area, Sarah grabs hold of a nearby doorknob and pushes her way inside.

“Oh,” she laughs. “Bloody Alison. Shoulda known.”

Charlotte freezes halfway up the stairs. She turns around, brushing past Jennifer and follows Sarah into the side room. A small laundry area, including a washer and dryer, is set up along the opposite wall. The rest of the room seems dedicated to arts and crafts, filled with decorative tools and materials. But Charlotte isn’t interested in any of that at the moment.

“How could you know that?” she asks Sarah.

Sarah peers over her shoulder, clicking her tongue at the sight of her.

“Know what?”

“How could you know Alison lived here?”

Sarah laughs and grabs a small jar off the shelf. She twists open the lid and flips it over, dumping hundreds of miniature pom-poms onto the floor.

“Who else?” she says.

“Right,” Charlotte says. “It’s just that we have no idea who built this place and why. It seems like quite a leap to assume a room like this would be connected to any of us. Unless there was precedent.”

“Oh, here we go,” Sarah groans.

“You recognized the bar, didn’t you?” Charlotte asks.

She thought Sarah’s reaction was strange. Now, suddenly, it makes sense.

Sarah steps toward her, the sound of her boots echoing in the small room. Charlotte backs up until her back is pressed against the wall, and still Sarah steps closer. She stops uncomfortably close. Her eyes bore into Charlotte’s.

“What if I did?” she asks. “Everyone’s gotta be guilty of something, eh? We’re not in your bloody courtroom anymore. I don’t gotta answer your damn questions.”

Charlotte’s legs feel weak. She shrinks into herself.

“N-no, I… I’m sorry,” she stammers. “Um, if this is about what happened during the trial—”

“We’re not friends, you get that? We’re a bunch of strangers who got thrown into this fucked up game, that’s it. You do what you have to to survive, and me and my sister will do the same.”

“Hey!”

Suddenly, Jennifer is in the room and forcing herself in between the two of them, somewhat impressively, considering their proximity. Incidentally, her face ends up practically pressed up against Sarah’s.

“Everything okay in here?” she asks, a nervous squeak in her voice.

Sarah takes a step back. She looks Jennifer over for a moment before throwing her a derisive laugh and walking out of the room. Jennifer turns to Charlotte, who is still steadying herself against the wall.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Charlotte manages. “I’m fine.”

She is acutely aware of how unconvincing it sounds as she wobbles out the door. Her legs only get shakier as she drags herself back up the stairs, down the hallway, and into her room, Rachel watching in judgment from the balcony as she passes. She collapses onto her bed and lets out a wail from deep within her gut. Heavy tears stream across her cheeks and soak into the bedding. She wraps her arms around herself and rocks back and forth, trying desperately to shake loose this horrible feeling in her heart.

“Hey.”

She bolts up, desperately wiping her face with a sleeve. Jennifer is standing above her, a worried look on her face.

“Sorry,” she says. “I knocked, but um, I guess you didn’t hear.”

“It’s fine,” Charlotte says, in as dignified a way as she can manage, given the circumstances. “Thank you, by the way. For standing up for me. Pretty pathetic, isn’t it? A few harsh words, and I crumble.”

“Oh, yeah, no,” Jennifer says awkwardly. “She can be pretty scary. I almost peed.”

She seems to consider something for a moment before tentatively taking a step closer.

“It’s not just about Sarah though, is it?” she says.

And like a switch has been flipped, tears begin rushing down Charlotte’s face again. She falls back against the mattress.

“I don’t know if I can get through this,” she says. “I’m scared. Miriam said I’d go crazy playing detective all the time, but I… I feel like it’s the only thing keeping me together. I need to know I’m doing something and not just waiting around for the next horrible thing to happen. But look what it’s doing. I have no memory of who I was outside of here or the people I might have loved. Sarah was one of the only friends I had, and now she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Jennifer protests. “She’s just being a butthead right now.”

Charlotte feels the bed shift as Jennifer takes a seat beside her.

“I’m scared too,” she continues. “And sad. And… pissed off.”

“Really?” Charlotte asks. “You seem so…”

“Oblivious?”

“Optimistic.”

“Hey, I can be all those things. Optimism is something I’m good at, I guess. It’s not easy staying positive in here. But I think that’s why it’s really important that someone is trying, you know?”

At the time, Jennifer’s cheery attitude felt to Charlotte like a cruel joke. All at once, Charlotte realizes how much she misjudged Jennifer.

“Wait here,” Jennifer says, rising from the bed so quickly that Charlotte bounces a few inches into the air.

A minute later, Charlotte feels something much lighter than a human plop down beside her. She turns her head and finds herself face-to-face with a small stuffed rabbit. She can only think to blink at it.

“I’ve had him since I was three,” Jennifer says. “Well, I guess this one’s probably a clone or something. I couldn’t believe it when I found him in Gabby’s catalog.”

“What’s his name?” Charlotte finally manages to ask.

“Cor— uh, he doesn’t have one.”

Charlotte props herself up on her elbows, eyeing Jennifer suspiciously.

“Really? It sounded like you were about to—”

“Corporal Crackerjack,” Jennifer blurts.

“Oh,” Charlotte says flatly. She feels suddenly compelled to begin chewing on her bottom lip.

“Don’t laugh,” Jennifer says. “We’re being vulnerable with each other.”

“I’m not,” Charlotte says, chewing harder.

“Anyway, he usually stays in my bed, but I thought you could take him tonight. You know, if you want.”

Charlotte looks at Corporal Crackerjack again. He’s honestly little more than a white blob of fabric and stuffing, stubby little bumps for legs, the bare minimum amount of black thread stitched in to form eyes and a nose, wholly unrecognizable as a rabbit if not for the dangling cloth ears. She loves him.

Gently, she takes him and holds him to her chest.

“Thank you,” she says, and she means it.

“Corporal Crackerjack, reporting for cuddle duty.”

Charlotte giggles. She’s not sure she’s ever heard herself giggle before.

“And hey,” Jennifer says. “Let’s make it out of here together. Promise.”

Jennifer’s hand floats into view above her, pinky extended.

Charlotte first thought is that a promise like this is naive to the point of meaninglessness. She brushes it aside, and brings her pinky up to meet Jennifer’s.

“I promise."