Clarissa Merryweather's Story

On the bright side, Daniel wasn't laying in the middle of a road where he could get run over. On the bad side, he wasn't where he remembered passing out. The second his eyes snapped open, the boy was confident that he had been killed and made his way down to hell. Where else would he be? Prison cells didn't look like blank silver boxes... unless he was in some sort of weird solitary confinement room. But even if that were the case, why?
When his sight finally came in to focus, Daniel felt an unusual sense of panic. He literally had no idea where he was or how he got there. He was supposed to be outside of the police station right on the road. Looking down at his wrists, Daniel realized his handcuffs were gone. If someone was trying to free him, they were doing on awful job.

Pushing himself to his feet, Daniel staggered toward what he assumed must have been the door. Making a run for it seemed like a good idea in his head, but the lack of a handle was enough to mess with the plan. Scowling, Daniel pounded his fist against the metal. "Hey!" He shouted, scowling at the door. "How about someone tells me where I am, huh? Is this some sort of jail or something?" He waited in silence for a reply, but no answer was given to him. Snorting, Daniel rolled his eyes and turned around. Of course no one was going to tell him anything. What did he expect?

All would have been well if the lights hadn't gone out and an explanation hadn't been given to him. After he knew what was happening, Daniel realized he hadn't wanted to know. What the hell kind of place was this? It all seemed like a game to him. A horrifying but definitely tempting game. A maze, was that what it was? He only had to find his way out and he'd be freed, simple as that. It would have been a lie to say that Daniel wasn't grinning when the door in front of him opened.
However, he must have skipped over the part where the screen explained that there would be others, because he was taken aback when a girl rushed passed him. There were people with him? Daniel frowned at the realization. Winning would be a whole lot harder if he actually had to compete, and apparently he couldn't kill.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Daniel stepped out of the room and examined the hallway. There were other rooms just like his, each holding someone completely different than the next. There were two blondes, one brunette, two men and an old guy. One room, Daniel noticed, was empty when he passed by it. The one who ran. He thought, narrowing his eyes. There was only one door opening further down the hall, so the girl must have gone in to there, but Daniel figured he could talk to her later.
At the moment, he felt like yelling.
"Somebody has to know what the fuck is going on!" He shouted, eyeing the walls for cameras or hidden microphones. Someone had to be behind it all, and to be honest Daniel was scared of not finding out who it was. Was it the police? The government?
For the first time in a rather long time, Daniel was terrified.

What do you think you're in for?
Do you think you deserve to be here?
Don't you think "justice" is a flawed concept?
... Don't you think this kidnapper guy is a self-righteous moron?
Or is this just a game?
If it's just a game, maybe it could be fun ...
y'know ...

It's not like Parcher actually had the guts to ask any of those questions. Even now that his vandalism had gained state-wide recognition, he still longs to chat about the big questions to someone who's interested. Apparently the closest he's ever got was imposing his ideas on public property and watch the media's reaction.

I wish I was out of here so I can see more of those reactions. his thoughts snarked halfheartedly and with no success at provoking humour.

He gazed up at the ceiling. "I'm Parcher ... Jay Parcher." he mumbled absentmindedly as a girl's voice; Chloe, she said; next to him inquired about names. Contrary to all appearances, he really hopes people heard that. But he's not gonna repeat himself if they didn't. It's just his name. It's not worth the effort of being repeated.

Eric vaguely heard people mentioning names; he had spaced out a little bit in the few seconds after his coughing fit. He stood in the back of the room, listening. Chloe, Julie, Parker...they came out one by one. Finally, he let out a quiet "Eric."

"Hey mister. What's the mask for? Are you a germaphobe?" The callousness of the statement is what bothered Eric; even though he was very much the same. Stares he was used to, he even eventually got questions from people, but he always assumed they probably thought he was just scared of germs.

"No. No I am not." The comment came out with twice the callousness that the original statement had. "I happen to have a terminal case of cystic fibrosis, so I cannot *cough* breath easily." He gave her a dirty glare, "And it wouldn't hurt you to develop any sense of tact."

Daniel had never really liked strangers, and now he was forced to stay in a room with them. A few began talking to eachother, the Junkie saying something to Old Guy and then to Little Miss Coo.
Another girl had came into the room and agreed with Daniel's statement earlier, but he was too stubborn over by the bookshelf to look her way. They obviously weren't here to make friends, so why did it matter if he stayed to himself or not?
'Cause nobody likes a grump. He thought.

". . .What is everyone's name? I am Chloe..." The new girl said, this time causing Daniel to put the book down and turn around.
"Julie." Junkie replied.
". . .Parcher." Old Guy said, though the rest of his words had been too quiet for Daniel to hear.
Eric. The new guy squeezed in.
"Oh, i'm uhm...Sasha.." Little Miss Coo stated, her voice sounding rather nervous. She had the right to be. The place they were in was like something pulled straight out of the beginning of a horror movie.
Well, at least Daniel could quit with the nicknames, now that they were all introducing themselves.

He was about to add in his name when Sasha seemingly freaked out. It was right when the newest lady came in, which made him wonder if Sasha just didn't like big groups or something. Personally, he actually liked crowds. More people meant a better chance of blending in and staying unnoticed. Sasha, however, looked as if she would disagree.
She sprang up from the couch and rushed into the washroom without even the slightest explanation. Rude. Daniel thought, though other than that he couldn't have cared less about what the woman did... Until he heard the mirror break.

"What the hell is she-" Daniel began to say, but Julie cut his sentence short.
"I-I'm going... I'm uh... going to check on her." The junkie announced before taking a few seconds to force her way into the bathroom.
That's what being friends looks like. Daniel thought, lowering an eyebrow when Julie's frantic yelling was heard. It didn't sound like it was out of anger, though. It was like... she was worried. Julie had known Sasha would a total of, like, five seconds and already she was worried about her.
How about you try it sometime? His thoughts nudged.

As the voices from the bathroom continued, the boy cleared his throat.
"Well, uh. I'm Daniel." He muttered, glancing at the remaining faces in the room. "Someone should probably go check if they're okay." He added quickly, nodded towards where Sasha and Julie were.

"Tact is overrated." Parcher rebutted automatically at Eric's remark. "Maybe. Probably. I think. I mean sorry about your condition and stuff ... or not ... sorry hehehehe ... idunno ......" He shrank back and trailed off nervously in a string of doubts.

Shut up; they'll figure out who you are.
But that's what you've always wanted! You're just too chicken to come out and tell everyone!
True ...

His eyes darted back up as Sasha; ... sounds like a guy's name; rushed out towards the bathroom without a warning. A chill shot up his spine as the shattering of a mirror rang from the bathroom. Julie was trying desperately to get in, and Parcher hardly had the chance to respond as she approached the drawers near him in search of a fork, scattering the rest of the cutlery in the process. She sure likes to scatter things, his thoughts remarked in a vain attempt to lighten the mood.

Until she started yelling. Daniel's probably right, someone might wanna check on them, but visiting two young women in a bathroom was probably too awkward to act on. Pretend not to hear him; you're always good at that.

THE OVERSEER


In a sound proofed room not far away from the group, The Overseer smiled watching the many screens. This is an interesting group. He pushed his roller chair with his feet, stopping across the room at a desk that looked like something from a sound booth. There was music was playing in the background as he worked. A screen with mug shots of all of the people popped up. It looked like a betting bracket.

Shasha: 85 % chance of escape.

Juls: 79.3% chance of escape.

Chloe York : 65% chance of escape

Eric Batten : 35 % chance of escape

Daniel Surman : 40% chance of escape

Clarissa Merryweather: 55 % chance of escape

Kristoff McKinnon : 50%

Jay Parcher : 95% chance of escape.

All Chances are 0.01% < 99.99%. Never 100% and never 0% as long as you are alive or have escaped.

He nodded as he checked over the odds that were based on crimes, circumstances and bets taken already.
He hit a button. This made a projector lower from the ceiling in the recreation room, it turned on and displayed the odds of each person. He spoke into a microphone. His voice was being fed through several voice changers so that his voice went from deep, high, to a female's and a male's voice, in a wave type more or less. Subtitles appeared under the odds as well, just incase.
“ Hello, Glad to see you are all up and awake. As things stand theses are the chances of escape, and are no means definitive. In fact, most people who escape have done so with extremely low odds." He said with a smile.
"There is a chance that all of you will make it out of this, I promise you that, However know that the more of you there are, the more chances there is, or you will die during this ...." Game? Test? He couldn't think of a good word for this important event. " Event." He said finally settling in on a word. "But that will all come later, please enjoy yourselves for the moment and take your time getting to know one another." He tapped on a few keys. " In a moment there will be some items delivered to each one of your rooms. Share them if you wish or don't, the choice is yours. Remember, the ride never ends." He turned off the mic. He left the projector on so they could see the odds, most didn't change, but some went up or down a point. This was from the bets from people watching.The people watching were making bets on who they wanted to live, and per every ten thousand dollar's paid, the choices went up by one point.

Meanwhile, in each of the rooms, part of the wall slid up exposing the items for each person. The rooms would close after each person walked in. There was now a button beside the doors to open them from the inside. All of the

In Shasha's room there is a Cello that was not anything really fancy, but it was still there.With a note "Something to take your mind off things. The room is sound proof."

In Julie's Room there was a large bowl of Mi Goreng noodles, and a photo of her family waiting for her as well as a very small dose of heroin, not enough to get her blitzed but enough to stop the cravings and let her think level headed for a while. Her note read "Something to take the edge off."

Chloe's room contained something small, a lock picking set designed for the games that couldn't be used on the rooms of other players and a monopoly "get out of jail free card" on the back of the card it explained that there was one card in every challenge and if you used the card you got to advance without having to do anything. "Just an advantage."

Eric's room held a small, slender blade that would fit easily between someone's ribs and could be hidden extremely easily on his person. Odds are, no one would notice it. Next to it was some medical mask to help him breath nothing fancy. And last was a picture of his wife. " Some things to remind you of home"

Daniel's room had a zippo lighter waiting for him, it was full and had a decent flint spark. "For those cold nights alone."

Clarisasa 's room had a flashlight sitting atom a vest of some sort, The vest was black and would fit under her clothing seamlessly. No one would be able to spot the vest unless she did something silly. The vest would only fit someone close to her size. "A little protection"

Kristoff's room had a Schimmel (grand piano). Sitting on the seat was a 5th of good whisky. "Play on sir, play on" on the back of the card was a number 53294. Tapped under the piano was a knife proof vest much like Clarisasa's the same rules applied to it as well.

Jay's room held a large sketchbook , a small sketchbook, some acrylic paint, some charcoal of different hardness's and some spray paint: 4 cans, red, blue, yellow and black. "Enjoy"

The Overseer smiled a bit, leaning back in his chair that squeaked a little. He poured himself a small glass of scotch "Let the game begin." he held the glass up to the screen. "Cheers."

Things were calming down a bit, though one look told Daniel that Julie was still a little upset. The junkie tried to occupy herself with cards, failed, and curled into a corner. At the moment she kind of reminded Daniel of one of the animals one would see at a pound. Quivering in her little corner, Julie looked almost afraid.
Of course, Daniel didn't doubt that she would punch him if he pointed that out. Who knew what her mental state was? She could be just as crazy as him, for all he knew.
At least I can think straight. Daniel thought, his eyes drifting to where Parcher was. The old guy was definitely missing a few bolts in his head. ...He probably didn't even know where he was, poor guy.

When he felt like someone's eyes were on him, Daniel looked over at saw Julie. Her resentment towards him was obvious, and Daniel was just about to tell her that the feeling was mutual. He wasn't overly fond of the junkie, either. But before he could get a word out, Julie piped up and spat out a question.
"What have you guys done wrong?" She asked, actually sounding interested.
"You're seriously asking that?" Daniel said, a smirk appearing on his face. He may had felt guilt over his crime at one point, but the boy didn't mind talking about it. Hell, he had gloated about it right in front of the police officer who had been interrogating him. "All right, I guess I'll start off then." He started, clapping his hands together. "Three houses in my neighborhood no longer exist, thanks to me. They went up in flames and not a single... thing, was able to be recovered. Cool, huh?" Daniel explained, his eyes lighting up at just the memory. He had wanted to say that not a single person made out, at least to his knowledge, but he didn't think the group would take kindly to hearing that Daniel had shoved knives through peoples chests.
"Who's next-"

The screen shifted Daniel's attention away from his question. A voice sounded from somewhere, the exact location not really mattering as the boy had his mind focused on something else.
Daniel Surman : 40% chance of escape Showed up on the screen, right under Eric. Daniel frowned. Only forty? That wasn't even half! He caught sight of Parcher's name and... ninety five percent. Wow. The guy looked like he could hardly run, let alone participate in a stupid bunch of 'events'.

Eric scoffed at Parcher's comment. "You could use some, as well." He kept standing in the back of the room, and the two girls that had left came back in, looking a little shaken. One of them piped up, asking what they had done wrong. Wrong? Wrong? No, Eric thought, I've done nothing wrong. Survival of the fittest, after all. Although, he did not deny that he had committed crimes. But no, he was not like the people here, he considered himself to be of a higher caliber. He took and killed to support him and his wife. He was nothing like the barbaric pyromaniac, or the unstable addict.

All of a sudden, the screen came down and the talking stopped. 35%? He felt a little insulted, but realized that whatever 'games' they'd be playing might be made more difficult due to his condition.

=========================================================================================================

Later on, in his room, Eric found the gifts that had been left for him. He shoved the additional mask in his back pocket, and the picture up front. He smirked when he picked up the knife, and took that as well. He hadn't decided whether or not to share that he had it; on one hand, it might allow him to intimidate the others, if he needed to. Then again, the element of surprise would be nice...

Parcher smiled as the yelling stopped and Julie entered back into the room. He didn't know why he cared. But it's not something bad or anything. Or something good. Anyway, shut up, she just asked a question. What have you guys done wrong?

Good, he was hoping someone would ask that. Though the whole concept of wrongness needs to be discussed, well, not need, but you get the picture. Like for example, how does being a drug addict mean you deserve to be locked up in some steely underground facility and play games to get out? It didn't make sense. But maybe sense as we know it is completely wrong.

Parcher was somewhat surprised as another screen appeared, this time with a list of the group and their likelihood of escape. He recognised most of the names, though he was temporarily thrown off by the absence of the last name for Sasha and shorthand for Julie. Well, at least he thought Juls was Julie.

Then someone started speaking. The change of voice made him chuckle a little at the start. This thing is suspiciously intricately planned. It's like we're on a game show or something, Parcher thought jokingly.

Though they did mention death. Usually when someone mentions you're gonna die, you wouldn't bat an eye because you wouldn't talk it seriously. But when you suddenly woke up in an underground facility without knowing it beforehand, the possibility of anything being possible just seems so much clearer.

He did have the highest odds of escape though, so far. How much the odds; or really anything that comes out of this guy's virtual instruments of communication; could be trusted was doubtful. What were the odds even based on? Does every little movement they make affect the odds somehow? Otherwise why would they be changing? He did feel a twinge of pride about being the most likely to escape, though. For some reason. He always seemed to feel good about being at the most advantage against everyone else, even if he did nothing of merit to warrant such an advantage. His mind said it didn't make sense, but that never stopped the heart. Maybe this time it was for the better.

As people started leaving for their rooms, presumably to find whatever Mystery Kidnapper Guy left them for whatever reason, Parcher decided to stay for a while. He couldn't remember which one was his room anyway. But now that he thinks about it, if he had tons of money and time on his hands, building a secret underground facility and kidnapping random wrongdoers to toy with was exactly what he'd do if only it isn't being done already.

He chuckled at the thought, and made his way to the cards with which Julie was trying to build a house earlier. He shuffled them aimlessly. He should really show her some real card-housebuilding sometime.

While the majority of the others had awakened from their slumber rather suddenly, Kristoff had been, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world. As certain people screamed for answers, Kristoff slept on, scowling in his slumber, a hand lifting to cover his ear, to block out the sound that rattled inside his head like a ball of barbed wire. He had even missed the words flashing on the screen, the paltry explanation of what was happening.

No. Kristoff slept.

There were no dreams. Occasionally, a picture would flash through his mind, accompanying a stabbing pain as it made its way through his brain. Gradually, he would become more cognizant of sounds, and they would filter through his memory in an attempt to identify them. A female voice. A male voice. Words indistinguishable. He groaned, rolling onto his back. Cracking his eyes open only made him groan once more, and his hand lifted to shield them from the harsh florescent lights. The inside of his eyelids felt like sandpaper. His tongue felt alien within his mouth, having dried out completely.

’How much did you drink?’ he thought to himself, his face contorting into a grimace as even the act of thinking caused his head to pound. ’Ok, think. You were working on your, what was it? Sixth? Seventh? Yeah, seventh glass of bourbon… You were with Sheila… no, Stella… Shit, what was her name? Fuck, doesn’t matter. Some broad. The one in the black dress… or was it blue?... Fuck…’ His fingers massaged his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut against the light. ’Okay, so, you were with some chick… Had you…? Oh… yeah… yeah, you did… a few times...’ The corners of Kristoff’s mouth lifted slightly at the memory of the woman’s curves. ’Then there was the knock at the door…’ The half-smile turned into a frown as his mind drew a complete blank on what happened next.

Rolling onto his side, Kristoff groaned as the pounding in his head intensified. It might even be said that a slight whimper escaped his lips, but he would never admit to it. Cracking open one eye, he braved the piercing light to look at his surroundings. Silver. Metal. He recognized the pedals of a piano.

’What the hell…?’ He thought to himself, both eyes opening to survey his surroundings, despite the excruciating pain in his head. Gone was his Armani suit, replaced with the brown button up and green pants. He frowned, his free hand moving over the clothing. Not his style. Not his style at all!

After struggling into a sitting position, Kristoff sat for a few minutes, trying to control the nausea that movement had induced. ’Okay, think… You were with Stella… or Sheila… Whatever her name was… You had a few drinks… Knock at the door… Had Gino found out that you were sleeping with his sister? Wait, she was his sister, right? Oh shit, did you sleep with his woman? Is that was this is? Mob revenge?

Having missed the instructions, Kristoff truly had no idea why he was here or what he was supposed to do, and mob revenge seemed like the most rational explanation. He’d fucked up. He’d dipped his straw into someone else’s drink… Maybe they’d found out he was working for their rivals. Maybe they found out he was a mole. No… that couldn’t be. He’d be dead already if that was the case. Unless they wanted to make a lesson out of him…

God he needed a drink.

That would help so much. It would help take away the headache. Nothing like the hair of the dog, right? Kristoff almost chuckled, but was stopped by a fresh burst of painful pounding in his head. Groaning, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, willing the pain to stop.

A few minutes later, he cracked his eyes again and his sight was drawn straight to the piano bench. Whiskey. Ignoring the migraine for a moment, Kristoff crawled across the room toward the piano. Reaching it, he sat hunched beneath it, the whiskey bottle clasped in his hands. ’Bless you, he thought as his shaking hands struggled to twist off the cap. ’Whoever left this, bless you! After struggling with the cap for a few moments, he finally loosened it, spilling a few drops as he pulled it off. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he almost took a swig before his eyes landed on the note.

’Play on sir, play on.’

He lifted the card, examining it, taking note of the number as well. Was that a mob message? Was the whiskey poisoned? Cautiously, he pulled the bottle away from his lips without taking that much needed drink. He stared down at the liquid, sniffing warily. It smelled alright… But, what if it was poisoned? What if this was Gino’s way of getting back at him for sleeping with Sheila?... Or Stella?... Or whatever the fuck her name had been. Shaking hands replaced the cap and he set the bottle on the floor beside him.

’Think, Kristoff! What the fuck is going on?’

Sitting as he was hunched up beneath the keyboard of the piano, Kristoff looked up and noticed the black cloth taped there. Cautiously, he reached up, loosening it. Studying the cloth, he frowned. A vest of some sort. Too light-weight to be bullet proof, but the weave… it definitely wasn’t a fashion statement. Was the mob fucking with him? Playing a game? Was this something he was supposed to find? After all, it was hidden… taped beneath the keyboard of this piano… Who would notice something taped beneath something else? Despite the ache in his head, Kristoff decided to put it on. Couldn’t hurt, right? Unbuttoning his shirt took much longer than normal with his hands shaking the way they were. After slipping the vest on over the singlet, he replaced the brown shirt, buttoning it back up slowly.

’I’ll just go find Gino… Apologize for sleeping with Stella… Sheila… That woman… I’ll blame it on her! Yeah… she came on to me! That’s how it was… her slinky form draped over the piano as I played ‘Pretend You Don’t See Her’… Her boobs practically fell out of her gown into my face! It wasn’t my fault! I’ll just go explain that to Gino. Surely, he’ll understand… He’s a reasonable man, right?’

The pounding in his head intensified as Kristoff stood up. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey by the neck, holding it down by his side. He had to brace himself against the wall as he moved into the hallway and down into the communal area, seeking out Gino…

…but there was no Gino…

Kristoff blinked as he looked around at the strangers, all dressed like himself. Had he joined a cult in his drunken stupor? What the hell was going on?

Trying to remain out of everyone’s way until he could figure things out, Kristoff stepped into the communal room, keeping his back to the wall. Slowly, he slid down it until he was sitting. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back, the bottle of whiskey clasped tightly between his hands.