Oakley Ruby Oriana

DAY ONE

_Kicking. _

_Screaming. _

_A blur of color, then none at all._

The room I wake up in is not my own. White light is the first thing I see, so bright I’m almost sure my irises have been bleached of color. 

A little man is living inside my head. That tiny man is pounding against my skull, desperate to escape. I want him to leave quite badly, actually. 

My limbs are logs, heavy and immovable. My stomach churns, and I am overcome with sickness. 

My body jerks, and I am certain the sickening soup in my stomach is about to make an appearance. I  throw myself off the bed, turning onto my hands and knees, coughing violently. 

Nothing comes up, yet I can't stop the heaving. Tears run hot, and it feels like my mouth has fallen off my face. 

I don’t know where I am, alone and afraid. It _hurts—my_ whole body aches, an endless throbbing. 

The room I'm locked in is small and white, covered entirely in tiles. They reflect the light, making it appear much brighter than it is. My head still spins, the weight of the uncertainty pulling down on my body.

There is no door, no windows, no latches…

There is only a small ledge made of the same tile that wrapped around everything else. It’s what I woke up on, what I had mistakenly taken for a bed.

There is a single circle on the ceiling, emitting the blinding white light. 

There is no way out. My heart beats, trying to burst through the cage that is my ribs, only making my chest heavier. 

I’m terrified. This isn’t a bad dream. This isn’t something I can wake myself up from. 

I hit the wall with my palm; it’s the only distraction I can find. I scream, begging anyone to hear me. My mind is at a loss, desperately trying to make sense of _something_. 

Rowan. The last image of him I have replays behind my eyes. He was fighting, fighting the man that I told him to trust. The attacker ran over to me, and I tried to fight him, I really did. But the next thing I knew, something was slicing into my face. All the oxygen was pulled from my lungs, and I was unable to draw another breath. The device pumped steam into my throat, keeping my lungs working, but in the wrong way. My eyes saw funny pictures then. Irrational and wrong. Blue trees and flashing lights. 

I don’t remember anything past that. 

My brain is bleeding, I’m sure of it. It is pushing through mud, slowing its everyday work. 

Tucking my legs under me, I collapse into myself. I cross my arms and back myself into a corner, waiting and waiting for anything. 

My arms burn. 

I hold them out in front of me and blink at the streaks of red adorning them, a series of cuts lining the skin. Some general redness leads me to believe I was dragged, but I'm unsure. 

Why would they cut me? Sure, some of the scrapes were just scratches, but there were a few larger slashes. 

I was just kidnapped. I'm not sure why I'm so offended that they wouldn't at least be careful while I was defenseless.

I have no answers, and it makes me sick. I only wonder. 

I wonder how long Rowan fought alone. I wonder where he is, if he ran like a sane man, or fought like a mad one. I would like to know where_ I_ am, if there is a chance of getting out, and if anyone is trying to save me.

I look forward, staring at the empty wall. The light is echoing through my head. I use my hands to blot it out. It's unbearable. 

Overstimulation makes everything worse, a thin layer of sweat coating my skin, my hair sticking to my neck, and that _goddamned light._ 

I’m going insane, I’m sure of it. I knot my hands in my hair in an attempt to ground myself. 

The room is too small. It's too bright. My eyes throb. 

_I can’t do this._

I scream, and I cry, yet no tears fall. 

If I could just stop the burning, if I could I beg for the smallest mercy, the slightest sign I’m not going to fight this alone. 

My head is too full, and yet entirely empty.

I lose it. Anger builds, and I’m sick of begging. I climb onto the ledge and press my hands against the light bulging from the ceiling. It’s burning the inside of my head, a migraine pulsing in my temples. 

I draw my fist back and slam it against the glass. It doesn't break, but it cracks. My hand already hurts, but I can't stand it anymore. I feel heavy, impossible to move. I punch it again and again, until an explosion of sparks burst from the spot. I shrink down as the glass shatters, covering my head with my already sliced arms.

When I drop my guard, it's black. The darkness is worse because in the darkness, the mind runs wild. I can’t win. I can feel the shadows move in the dark, surrounding me, whispering odd sounds. 

_It’s all in my head._

I repeat the phrase, trying to keep everything else out.

_I see something._

I let my defences fall, zoning in on a small purple light, shining from a crack in the wall. It's tiny, unnoticeable, placed between two tiles. 

I run my hands over the crack, temporarily blotting out the color. I miss it instantly. It's only an inch long, and hardly tall at all. The light casts a shadow around the slot, forming a small circle that encloses the gap. 

It's a keyhole. A keyhole I wasn't supposed to find. I just had to find the missing piece. 

Hope pulses through my bones while battling the doubt in my blood. There is nothing in here. It’s a white room, with nothing but the ledge and the light. 

_The light. _

Though I couldn't see now, I remember the way it looked, a slight bulge on the ceiling. Made of glass, but there’s a small circle in the center. I assumed it was just design, but it might have be much more than that. It has a symbol on it. My mind doesn’t remember the picture clearly, it only knows that there was one. 

Of course, I could be wrong; I might be letting my hope cloud my judgment. But, if I’m right, it could be my escape.  It's better to take the chance. I fumble around in the darkness. There is broken glass everywhere, so I make sure to move slowly.

My hand roams the floor, feeling for the disk. It didn't look like a stereotypical key, but it seemed like it would fit. If it wasn't the intended key, it might still help pick the lock. 

I whimper as my hand meets the first shard of glass, slicing open the skin on my palm. It’s not deep, but I pull back, hissing, only allowing myself a few deep breaths before forcing myself to continue the search. It’s too dark to see anything, so I have to feel my way using my fingers. 

I let them roam despite the pain, wincing at every nick and slice. It's nothing but broken glass, and I question my memory. 

But then my fingers find it, a disk, something that's _not _slicing my skin open. 

I hold it up, and the tears I cry are tears of relief. 

I stumble back to the light, carefully sliding the key into place. 

It fits perfectly, jutting halfway out of the wall. I turn it in a full circle until it returns to its original position. At first, it doesn't budge, but when it does, a sense of comfort floods me, and a broken laugh falls from my lips. 

Where the wall meets the floor, something lights up. A door that wasn’t there before slides out of the wall. It pushes back, then slides to the side, leaving a doorway for me to walk through. 

The second the gap is big enough for me, I slide through. It opens to an empty hallway, only a few feet long. There is only a door on the other side.  

I throw myself forward, praying silently as I push against it, pleading for it to open. 

It does with ease. I suppress my surprise, and I stumble into a room, similar to the last one. Panic rises temporarily, but this room is different. 

It’s dark, but lit with the same purple light that seeped through the keyhole, only brighter. It lights up the room, coating everything in a sheer layer of color. 

I walk into the emptiness, and the door clicks behind me. I jump, and a picture is displayed against the wall. 

A projection, a video. I’m fascinated, I’ve never seen anything like it. 

But my heart drops when I see what is being projected. A familiar face lights up the darkness, dark lips and bright, amber eyes. They stare into my soul, and I squirm uncomfortably. The air around me is shattering, getting pulled apart. 

I saw her only a day ago, sitting in my very house, next to my mother. She is the nameless woman. 

_Is she behind all of this?_

I move forward, feeling as if I can’t blink my eyes closed for even a moment as my lungs shrink and shrivel, not remembering their purpose. 

She opens her mouth, and as the words fall from her red lips, I have one answer. 

She did this. 

“Congratulations. You’ve passed your first test. Now that you have escaped our rooms, you need not worry. It was simply a test of strategy, a way for our team to assess the way you act in stressful situations.” 

A test. Of course. Why would someone leave the key to freedom in a room with the person they were trying to steal it from? I feel completely idiotic. 

“I understand this may be disorienting, but I promise, my intentions are pure. The Kingdom of Cardlem is corrupt. There are many faults that they hide behind elaborate parties and banquets. Don’t let them fool you.”

The screen flashes pictures of the Sembiars. A smile creeps onto my face. Traitor. I choke on my laugh, trying to muffle it. 

I have never seen the creatures, and I definitely didn’t expect them to look like that. They are tall and bony, but their face is that of a serpent. I figured it would have a mouth with thousands of teeth, saliva spewing. They didn’t. 

They looked underdeveloped, it's the only words I can find to describe it. 

When the pictures shifted to images of the creatures standing on their hind legs, towering tall, my insides swirl. My smile flees, and a yelp slipped from my mouth, before my hand can catch it. Pictures of them eating, as well as videos of them snapping necks and running people through with nothing more than their claws replay. 

I space out through pieces of the speech. 

“The kingdom is using these creatures known to most as ‘Sembiars’ or ‘The Night Guard’ in the section of Cardlem known as Candorless. Some of you have never heard of such a thing. The king is good at concealing questionable actions. Others, however, may not be affected by these images, as they are normalized. 

“The kingdom is run by two men, the king, Segard Cardlem, and the Commander in Chief, Tamas Cardlem. Neither man is fit to run a kingdom. There is a corruption buried deep within the bones of the kingdom, slowly cracking it down and eventually tearing it apart. 

“I cannot disclose anymore until you join us. We have watched each of you for varying amounts of time. We picked each of you for a different reason, but you all have one primary objective: we are building a rebellion. 

“Which is why you are here. We need to build an army that is bigger, stronger, and better. However, to do that, we need to test each of you. We will be playing a game of sorts. Simple rules, simple rewards.” I smile then. It’s a game, a game I am  now determined to win.

“There are four roles, all very important. You will be assigned a role after I explain the rules. I will explain in greater detail when we meet again.” My stomach sinks at that part. She demands respect, and I feel guilty about not being able to give it to her—something about her causes my mind to draw up flags of warning. 

“The roles are: Angel, Detective, Citizen, and Assassin. The Angels will be trained to save people, much like medics. Each will be given an elixir that they can use at any time to heal almost any wound. Detectives will be trained to notice unnoticeable details, until they can find and eliminate the Assassins. Every morning, a meeting will be held, where you will gather and attempt to vote Assassins out of the game. If you are a citizen, your job will be to control the crowds and sway the votes in your favor.  Be careful what you convince people to do, however. If you vote incorrectly, an innocent person could be eliminated from the games. People that could save you in times of need, like Angels, could be eliminated, leaving you defenceless.”

My mind is swarming, trying to take in every drop of information. It’s complicated, but it makes sense in a way. 

“And finally, Assassins. Your task is to eliminate the person you are assigned before your time runs out. Assassins receive targets at random, so be ready. Simple as that. Your primary objective is to remain discreet while also being assertive. _Don’t get caught—the_ most essential rule. 

“As for the other rules, do not tell anyone your role. You cannot communicate your role in any way. You do not have to come forward with any information you find, though it is advised. You must attend each meeting, or there will be consequences.” 

I try to jot everything down mentally, sensing the serious attitude in the air. I’m grasping at straws, trying to piece it all together. 

She continues, “The games will start in two days. You will find your room, rest, and then you are expected to make an appearance. The Watchers will explain the rest. You will make one more appearance the next day; then we will start the game. 

“Hidden in a compartment, in the middle of the wall where this is projecting, you will find a vial. Inside, there will be a glass card. On it, your role.” The woman smiles. A chill races down my spine. 

“We have given you the role that fits you the best. Stay safe, stay secret. Sincerely, Whitney Muscaria.” 

The projection clicks off, and I only sit there for a minute, processing. A metal square is visible where the woman’s—Muscaria’s—head used to be. 

I lunge for it. I push against it and it opens with a click. A glass vial rolls to the opening of the compartment, and I pull it out as soon as my eyes land on it. 

I open the top of the bottle with my eyes closed, wanting the excitement to last just a little longer. I pour the contents into my uninjured palm, closing my fingers around the glass slip. 

The whole kidnapping thing was a little excessive, but I didn’t realize our kingdom was broken. I’m glad to restore justice, even if I spaced out while they read off at least half of the accusations against Cardlem. They should have just asked me, of course, but I see why they didn’t. 

Of course, the stalking was unsettling, too, but they only thought I was capable of great things. At least that's what I tell myself. 

Excitement runs through me in waves, and I’m forced to take a series of deep breaths between giggles. With eyes still closed, I open my fist, placing it in front of my face. 

My smile is so large I worry if it will split my lips in half as I open my eyes.

The glass is clear, but the words engraved inside it glow a light blue. The words are what make me smile even larger. I read the word out loud, rushed and breathy, but filled with pure joy. 

DETECTIVE.