

### Beneath the Blast

### Jeff Rorik

### Raróg Publishing

### This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events either are products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

### Copyright 2014 Jeff Rorik

### Cover design by pixelstudio

### Distributed by Smashwords

### To my brother: this book might not involve wild dogs and trains, but it would never have come to be without you.

### Day 1: Pete

"Listen, Heather, I'm just on my way to the office now," Pete explained as he sped through a yellow light. "Are you almost at the bunker?"

The woman's voice on the other end of his phone grew quieter as it asked the same question of someone else.

"No more than five minutes away."

"Good. Remind Victor for me that you need to be down there _by_ nine. Everything fine with the contestants?" Pete slammed his free hand onto the car's horn as he overtook an old lady in a station wagon, then raised it to signal his disapproval of her speed.

"All blindfolded and quiet," Heather replied. "The blonde girl was trying to make conversation, but Brandon's with them and shut it down."

"Okay. I'm just pulling into the parking lot now, I'll call you in ten." Not waiting for a reply, Pete ended the call and turned sharply off the highway. His office was just one room in a large building, rented so that he could be close to the shooting location. Not only was it significantly smaller than his real office in L.A., but he didn't even have a secretary here. The network hadn't been willing to budget enough for one. After all, it had been extravagant spending that had forced them to turn to reality television in the first place.

He quickly found his parking space and hopped out of the car, already checking the day's appointments on his phone. Exactly how he was expected to manage running an entire show without help, he wasn't sure. Yet he'd gotten this far, buying land and hiring contractors to build the bunker. He'd found a barebones crew that was reasonably respected in the industry, but still incredibly cheap. _Beneath the Blast_ was his baby, and if it went over as well as predicted, it would save the network from bankruptcy. A month of hard work would shoot Pete up the ladder, and then he wouldn't ever have to get his hands dirty again.

When he arrived at his ground floor office, his thoughts of great success were put on hold by the unexpected visitors. The door was wide open, held by the building's manager for two burly men who were carrying out Pete's desk.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The building manager shrugged. "I guess rent isn't the only thing you haven't been paying."

"Wait," Pete stammered, scrambling to gather his thoughts while they carried his desk out the back door. "They still haven't paid? I told them last week that they needed to!"

"All I know is that I haven't seen a dime," the manager replied nonchalantly. "These fellows showed up this morning with all the right papers to repossess everything in your office, and I wasn't particularly inclined to argue."

Pete could barely sputter out a single word. "But there are people... I need to...." He saw one of the burly men carrying his computer out of the office. "Hey, there's confidential information on there, you can't just take it!"

The repo man stopped and turned. It was only then that Pete noticed that he was barely as tall as the man's shoulders.

"Not for long," the giant said. "If the debts aren't settled, the information will be wiped and the computer will be resold."

"I'll buy it from you!" Pete insisted, scrambling for his wallet. "I've got at least a couple hundred bucks in here. Take it, off the record. Our secret."

The repo man turned and started to walk away. "We've got a list of what they're expecting. Anything goes missing, I lose my job."

Pete realized that he was going about this the wrong way. He couldn't deal with these grunts, he had to get his network's lawyers on it. Not giving the repo men or the manager another thought, he pulled out his phone and started to run to his car. Speed dial entered the number of his boss, and he brought the phone to his ear.

"You have insufficient minutes to place this call," a robotic female voice informed him. "Please contact your service provider for more information."

Pete let out a sound that started as a curse but devolved into a roar before it was completed. His work phone had one of the most versatile plans available, which included unlimited minutes. If it wasn't working, that meant it was another victim of whatever cost-cutting was happening at the network.

Taking a deep breath, he started the car. He still had his personal phone. It was in the hotel, but that was only a fifteen minute drive away. Ten, if he was quick. Once he got there, he could call the head office to find out what was going wrong, and then tell Heather what that meant for the show.

The car whipped out of the parking lot, and he pressed his foot down harder. He was only half paying attention to the road as he tried to figure out what sort of incompetence had put him in this situation. They hadn't thought it important to tell him how bad the finances had gotten? They were going to lose even more money if they had to pull the plug on _Beneath the Blast_. The cast and crew would need to be compensated for their time, not to mention all the money that had gone into setting it up. And now there wouldn't be any end product to put on TV. Pete could hardly believe it.

Wrapped up in his anger, he didn't notice the light ahead of him turning red. His foot stayed firmly planted on the gas in an effort to reach his destination faster. He barely registered that he had entered the intersection before the bus slammed into the left side of his car. As he was catapulted through the air, his momentum still carrying him forward, one question filled his mind.

Would anyone think to tell Heather?

### Day 1: Heather

"Welcome to _Beneath the Blast_!" Heather called out as Brandon swept the camera in a smooth arc around her, before turning to the contestants. They broke out in enthusiastic applause, just as she had asked them to before the filming had begun.

"For the next thirty days, the ten of you will live in this bunker deep underground, just as you would if hiding from nuclear war. You will have no contact with the world outside, and you will rely on each other to keep this safe house comfortable. You will keep the machines running, prepare your own food, and live in a very limited amount of space. There will be a challenge every alternating day. Do well in these challenges, and you will be awarded point tokens which can be spent to make your life easier. Do poorly, and you'll struggle to keep yourself from going stir-crazy. At the end of the game, you will vote for the contestant who you would most like to be stuck in a real bunker with. The winner of that vote will receive five hundred point tokens, possibly enough to turn the tide of the game. The contestant with the most points at the end of the thirtieth day will be declared winner, and will return home with the prize... one million dollars!" She drew out the final words for dramatic effect. "Your first challenge is tomorrow morning, so get settled, and good luck!"

The contestants cheered again, while Brandon circled them and Victor followed, holding the boom microphone over the crowd. After giving them a few seconds, Heather raised a hand for silence.

"You can stop filming, Brandon. Now, that's the introduction we'll show in the first episode, but I want to make sure everyone understands how this game works. Like I said, you will rely on each other to keep this place running. We aren't providing you with a chef, a maintenance person, or a janitor. There are two bunk rooms, but you can divide yourselves however you like. You are free to go anywhere in the bunker at any time, with the exception of the control room, the challenge room, and the interview room, all of which are clearly marked. As soon as we're done here, you'll be separated and interviewed one at a time before you've had a chance to interact. Any questions?"

A young, skinny man with glasses raised his hand. During casting, Pete had insisted they pick him so that the show had a "likeable geek."

"Devin," Heather acknowledged.

He spoke quietly, his voice sounding like it hadn't been used all day. "You mentioned we could spend point tokens to make our lives easier. What exactly do we spend them on?"

"As the game progresses, you'll be given opportunities to purchase comforts. Your initial options will come in the form of foods that would otherwise be unavailable to you. Fresh fruit, candy, and the like."

"But why would we buy those?" Devin asked. "Don't the points directly affect whether we win or lose?"

"That's right. It's up to you to decide if comfort items will make you perform better and win more points, or if they're a waste," Heather explained.

"Alright," Devin mumbled, "thanks."

"Anyone else?"

Nobody spoke up.

"Great. Brandon and Victor will separate you, then you'll be brought into the interview room in alphabetical order." Heather pulled out her notebook to double check their names. "Victor, it looks like that will put Allison up first." She indicated towards the talkative young blonde, another casting choice intended to engage the key demographics. "I'm going to make a quick call, then I'll be along to start the interviews."

As the two men started herding the contestants around, Heather made her way to the control room. She was still getting used to hosting and directing the show, especially with such a skeleton crew, but she was feeling optimistic. Victor had worked with her several times prior, including the last show she had hosted, and was always an asset. Brandon, on the other hand, she had just met. Still, he seemed like a professional, talented cameraman, more than capable of keeping the show visually interesting.

She allowed her shoulders to slouch once she entered the control room. It, and the crew quarters that were adjoined to it, were the only rooms without cameras recording everything. She grabbed the phone off the desk and brought it to the couch, glad that she had chosen one with a long cord. She picked up the receiver, debating who to call first. Her children, she decided. Pete could wait a few minutes.

There was no dial tone when she placed the receiver against her ear. Concerned, she pressed down the button to end the call, then released it. Still no sound. Maybe there was something wrong with the connection. She stood up and walked to the wall, checking the cables, but everything appeared to be in order.

She pulled out her cell phone, but as expected, it was unable to get a signal so far underground. Even on the surface, the reception would probably have been patchy or nonexistent, given their location. Dialing Pete's number regardless, she raised the phone to her ear. Once again, nothing but silence replied. Frustrated, she began to walk towards the door. Maybe Victor would have an idea. The worst part was that she had even suggested to Pete that they invest in a radio or some other method of communication in case of an emergency, but he had insisted they save money, making assurances that the phone would be perfectly reliable.

The door swung open before she reached it, and Victor entered the room.

"Does your phone work?" Heather asked immediately.

"Haven't tried," Victor responded, looking surprised at the question. "Doubt I've got a signal."

"Try calling Pete."

Victor reached into his pocket and withdrew the phone. "No," he said. "Nothing. Is there something wrong with the main one?"

"I'm not even getting a dial tone. Can't call anyone."

"Well, everything's ready for the interviews, if you want to sit in on them."

"Tell Brandon to get started without me," Heather said. "I'm going to try to figure out what's going on." She grabbed the sheet of paper with the interview questions off the desk and handed it to Victor.

"Do you think something's wrong?"

"Must be, but I'm not worried. If Pete can't get through to us, he'll either clear up the problem or come here himself to sort it out. Probably best not to tell anyone about this setback, we don't want to cause worry."

"Alright. I'll go get the second interviewee ready," Victor said, turning back to the door.

"Thanks," Heather replied. She returned to the phone, hoping she could find an easy explanation for the issue before it led to any real trouble.

### Day 1: Allison

After nearly ten minutes of waiting alone on the interview couch, the door opened again and Victor returned. Allison was curious why Heather still wasn't there, but had been told no questions would be answered until the interview began. The cameraman, Brandon, had been mounting his camera on a tripod and adjusting settings while they waited. He explained the technical reasoning to her, but she just nodded and pretended she cared.

"Heather needs to deal with something else, so you're going to do the interviews," Victor explained, handing a sheet of paper to Brandon. "Those are the questions. Feel free to add in any more that come up, though. I'll be out in the hall with the next one, just send her out when you're done." He nodded towards Allison as he spoke.

"Is it anything I can help with?" Brandon asked.

"No, just a technical glitch that she needs to sort out," he explained nonchalantly as he left the room.

Brandon turned back to Allison. "Alright, so I'm just going to run down this list of questions. Just answer honestly, as long or short as you need to."

Allison nodded, excited to get the game underway.

"Tell me about yourself," Brandon prompted.

Allison put on her best smile, fixed her pose, and began. "My name is Allison, I'm twenty-four years old. I work as a bartender, which I love because I get to meet so many different people. And that's given me a real talent for reading them."

"How do you think you'll handle living with everyone in here for an entire month?"

"I make friends quickly, I'm a talkative, outgoing person. I think anyone else that wants to work with me will find it very easy." Allison tried to smile just a little wider. "But I am here to win the game, and I know I can't split the prize. I've been told that I can be a bitch—oh, I can say that, right?"

Brandon nodded. "That one's fine. It's not a big deal if something slips out. The editors will work around it or bleep it if they need to, and it can help make everything feel more real. Try not to let it be every other word, because censoring that much just makes for irritating TV."

"Whew," Allison laughed, trying to find her train of thought again. "I've been told I can turn into a bitch when I get mad, so I think people will learn pretty early on that they don't want to get on my bad side."

"Do you think you're going to win?"

"Yes, I think I can. I'm athletic, I'm smart, and I expect I'll be able to get the social vote without any hassle."

"Have you seen anyone who looks like they could be a threat to your victory?" Brandon asked. "I know you don't know their names yet, so describe them for me and I'll tell you for the recording."

Allison thought back to seeing the other contestants during Heather's speech. Even if she was being modest, she didn't think any of the women would be able to beat her in the looks department, which would give her an edge with the men. "You know, it's hard to say at this point. I didn't see anyone that stood out as an obvious problem. I'd say I have a good chance of winning."

### Day 1: Cliff

"Y'all been doing this for long?" Cliff asked Victor as he waited in the hall outside the interview room.

The older man nodded. "I've been an audio technician for over twenty years now. This is only my second reality show, mind you, but it's all the same in principle."

"Hey, anyone who can stick with a job that long must be doing something right." Cliff said, ensuring that he played up the drawl of his accent.

Before Victor could respond, the door opened and the young woman Cliff had been unable to take his eyes off during Heather's speech walked out. "He's ready for you," she said with a smile.

"Thank you, ma'am," Cliff said with a nod. He reached up to his head. "Darn it, I'm so used to wearing my hat. If it were here, I'd be tipping it to you." He hoped he wasn't overplaying the part.

The woman's giggle told him that he was not. Content, he walked into the room, where Brandon directed him to the couch.

"No offence man, but I rather be doing the interview with her," Cliff quipped as he sat down.

The cameraman smiled, but went straight to business, asking Cliff to keep his head still until the camera was properly aligned. "Now, tell me about yourself."

"Not much to tell, really," Cliff began. "I'm a country boy, redneck and proud of it. I do odd jobs here and there, make a living and have fun doing it. The only things I need in my life are a good woman who'll get me to church every Sunday, a good beer to wash down the dinner she makes me, and a good gun to bring home the meat for that dinner."

"How long have you been married?"

"I never said I had all of them, did I? Haven't found that good woman just yet. The good beer will be flowing once I win this game, and the gun, that I've already got." Cliff hid the deep breath he was taking in preparation, then reached into a pocket on the inside of his coat. His fingers found the grip, and he drew out the revolver that he had hidden.

Brandon's eyes visibly widened. "How did you...?"

"Hey, don't worry, I'm a responsible person. They said we could bring a comfort item if we wanted, I could think of nothing more comforting than this. Don't worry, I'll keep it quiet. Nobody else will know."

Cliff could see that Brandon's mind was racing, just as he had predicted. He had known bringing a gun onto the show was a risk, but he wanted to show off who he was clearly, and he had decided this was the best way to get it across.

"Alright, I won't say anything for now," Brandon finally said. "But if anyone finds out, I know nothing about this."

Cliff nodded in agreement. He wondered if Brandon was considering that this was all being filmed. Maybe he was planning to destroy the footage if need be. Either way, Cliff knew that he would certainly be the most interesting character on the show once this scene aired, which was exactly what he wanted.

### Day 1: Brandon

"...I want to make my husband and children proud. I'm not sure I can win this, but I'm going to make every effort to try," concluded Suzanne, the eldest and final contestant to be interviewed.

"Okay, that should be enough," Brandon said, rubbing his aching eyes. "You can just head out the door and start unpacking and mingling with the other contestants. If you go to the dining hall, we provided a lunch for today that didn't need any preparation from you guys. Don't get used to it, though," he added with a laugh.

Suzanne thanked him and left Brandon alone to pack up the equipment. After more than four straight hours of interviewing the contestants, he was exhausted. But there was still a lot of work to do. The footage would be edited later, but it was part of his job to pull out anything completely unusable before sending it along. Normally that would happen in the evening, but with the interviews concluded there was little business left for the first day. With the camera in hand, Brandon left the interview room and started to walk down the hallway. He could hear the chatter of contestants in the bedrooms and the dining hall, already making each other's acquaintance. Generally a show like this would have a whole team of camera people, but to save money the executives had decided to just fill every room with cameras. Brandon was glad that he didn't have to shoot everything, but did feel a pang of loneliness as he made his way to the control room, knowing that friendships would already be forming amongst the contestants.

The matter of Cliff's revelation weighed heavily on his mind. Common sense told him that he should inform Heather as soon as possible. Cliff would doubtlessly be kicked off the show, and that would likely mean reshooting a lot of the day's events to make it look like he'd never been there. Even the idea of all that extra work was draining. Besides, he rationalized, if he didn't mention it, Heather's reaction if it ever did come up would be more authentic. And while Cliff seemed to be a bit of a caricature, Brandon was certain he wasn't a fool. The weapon was just a prop to him, it wasn't a danger to anyone.

When he entered the control room, he found it lifeless. Heather and Victor would already be in the challenge room, preparing for the next day. He pulled out a chair and sat down, loading the camera's memory card into the computer, ready to spend another four hours sorting through all of the footage. He gave one last glance at the monitors that showed every room the contestants had access to, then got to work.

### Day 1: Liz

Sitting quietly in the corner of the dining room, Liz watched as Allison introduced herself to everyone. Her shrill laughter at anything resembling a joke was starting to give Liz a headache, but the usefulness of her discussions made it worth the pain. While Allison tried to make friends, Liz was able to sit back and soak up the information. She'd have the chance to know people before they knew her, and that meant choosing her allies without exposing herself.

When the middle-aged woman, the last one to be interviewed, entered the room, Allison was in the middle of squealing excitedly at who one of her fellow contestants was.

"I can't believe it," she screeched. "I'm a huge fan of your mother's. She's an inspiration!"

"I bet you could win that contest too," the young man replied with a wave of his hand. He had the look of someone who had been conditioned his whole life to think he was handsome, but Liz didn't think his face lived up to his ego.

The new arrival grabbed one of the sandwiches off the table, then approached Liz.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

Liz shook her head, though she would have preferred to listen to Allison's conversation.

"My name's Suzanne," the woman said, extending a hand. "What's going on over there?"

Liz accepted the hand without offering her own name. "I guess that one's parents are minor celebrities, a beauty queen and an actor. That girl, Allison, recognized his name and started freaking out."

"I thought we were supposed to just use first names?"

"He did," Liz explained absentmindedly. "His name's Quart. Short for Quarterback, apparently."

"That does sound like a celebrity child," Suzanne observed. "I didn't get your name..." she paused, waiting for an answer.

"Liz." She had no interest in trying to socialize at that moment, and Suzanne was making it difficult to continue with her eavesdropping. She might as well go unpack. "Excuse me."

Suzanne politely nodded and smiled as she walked past, into the hallway and away from all the chatter.

The room that the contestants had decided was the women's was mercifully empty. Liz opened her suitcase and began to lay the clothes out on her bunk, trying to figure out the best way to fit them into the footlocker she had been supplied with. As she did, she ran through the list of contestants in her mind.

Other than Allison, Quart, Suzanne, and herself, there were six. Joey, an aspiring musician. He seemed energetic, but it was hard to get a reading on what his strategy was. She had briefly talked to Rachael, who seemed reasonable and professional. Obviously intelligent, too, as she was a doctor, but couldn't be much older than Liz was herself. She had only met the man called Marcus briefly. He was heavy, loud, and boisterous, but he seemed like someone she could use to her own ends. Cliff was similar in a lot of ways, though younger, in better shape, and trying to come off as a gentleman. He'd also made no attempt at subtlety in flirting with Allison. Devin seemed like he was strategic, with a similar mind to her own. He was smart, clearly, but didn't look like he'd be much use in physical challenges.

She did a quick mental count, and realized she was missing someone. It took her a second to remember Katrina, a young woman who seemed like she was trying to be as inoffensive as possible. She was polite but quiet. Liz wasn't sure if it was an act or not, but suspected that she would be tougher competition than she appeared at first.

"Hey there," a man's voice called out from behind her. Liz spun around, a half folded shirt in hand, and saw Quart standing in the doorway.

"Hi," she answered questioningly.

"I saw you back in the dining room, sitting in the corner, watching me," he explained. "You looked shy, so I thought I'd introduce myself."

"Quart, I heard. I'm Liz." She tried to sound friendly, but it took all her effort not to roll her eyes at his directness. It was clear to her that he was trying to leverage his imagined good looks to impress her. She wouldn't have been surprised if the next words out of his mouth were a cheesy pickup line.

"When I saw you sitting there, I could just sense that you were taking it all in. Watching things, you know? I just wanted to say, I like people that can assess a situation. Shows that you know not to leap right into anything."

Liz remained silent.

"It looks to me like you're going to be the person who knows what's what in this game. And I want to be on your good side if that's the case." Quart leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms. "What do you say to an alliance, you and me? We don't know what this game is going to throw at us. Won't hurt to at least know we have each other's backs."

Mind racing, Liz turned back to her bunk and finished folding her shirt. Quart was displaying an unexpected amount of good reasoning. She doubted there was much more depth to his intelligence, but if he was willing to make the offer, that put her in a position of power. The exact way the game would be played was still unclear, but the odds of an ally being useful were high enough to be worth the risks.

"Alright," she said, facing him again. "Let's do this. But we'll keep it to ourselves, I don't want to become targets."

"Agreed," Quart replied. "You look hungry. Come back and have some lunch."

"No thanks, I'm going to finish unpacking. Keep an ear out for anything that could be useful to us when you're in there, okay?"

"Will do." Quart left the doorway, and Liz was alone again.

The unexpected offer had gears turning in her head. An early alliance was a strong one, and she had been the first person Quart had talked to after Allison. That meant if she played her cards right she could keep him loyal to the end. Or, if the situation called for it, he would be easy to throw under the bus to protect herself.

### Day 1: Victor

Wiping the sweat from his forehead onto his arm, Victor made his way along the thin corridor that connected the room where all of the supplies for challenges were stored to the control room. It had been designed to allow the crew to travel between the opposite sides of the bunker without using the main hallway the contestants had access to. Unfortunately, it lacked the spaciousness of the main hall, and the air was even stuffier than in the rest of the facility. He was looking forward to getting into the refreshingly air conditioned control room and taking a rest after dragging shelves and hauling boxes all afternoon in preparation for the next morning's challenge.

He arrived at the end of the hall and reached out to open that door, but paused when he heard a faint voice coming from the other side. Heather had gone to check on the contestants, so he realized that Brandon must still be going over the footage. He cracked the door open quietly, not wanting to disturb the busy man.

"...could all get along. I know it's unlikely, but I want to avoid all the drama these shows so often have. I need the money, but I want to enjoy this adventure," a female voice explained from the speakers.

Brandon was facing away from Victor, staring at the video from his interview with the polite young woman, Katrina. Brandon clicked the mouse, and the clip started to play again.

"I think this place looks wonderful, and I'd love it if we could all get along. I know it's unlikely, but I want to avoid all the drama these shows so often have. I need the money, but I want to enjoy this adventure," the recording of Katrina repeated.

Brandon clicked again, and it started over as he leaned forward.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Victor closed the door loudly. "Brandon," he called out. "How's it going?"

Brandon visibly jumped in surprise and hurriedly paused and minimized the video before turning around. "It's going well," he said. "Everything set up for the challenge?"

"Yeah," Victor replied, making his way to the fridge. "Listen, what you do is none of my business, but we both know that as crew we need to remain impartial."

"I don't..." Brandon stammered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just a friendly reminder," Victor said with a smile.

"I'll keep that in mind then," Brandon responded slowly, as if he was unsure of why Victor had given such a warning.

Victor grabbed a drink and made his way towards his room. He didn't want to give Brandon a lecture, but made a mental note to keep an eye on him. A biased cameraman could throw the whole show into chaos.

### Day 1: Suzanne

"I can hardly believe this," Marcus exclaimed, clearly giddy. "We're finally here."

"Keep it down," Suzanne hissed. "There are cameras and microphones everywhere. We need to look like we're just getting to know each other." She reached out and shook his hand friendlily.

"Sorry, I'm just excited."

Suzanne looked around the kitchen, trying to spot the cameras. They had left the light off to avoid drawing attention, but there were plenty of places a camera could be hidden.

"Now, since the other three didn't make it onto the show, that means if I can win this, we each get half a million. We can't go ahead with the main plan without any of the others, but we can still play up the alcoholism angle. So you just need to get that out there as soon as possible, then be the biggest jerk you can."

"Do you think there's anyone I should try to drag down with me?" Marcus asked with a grin.

"The big one, Cliff, seems like an idiot, but a charismatic idiot. If you can provoke him into a fight, that could help make you both look bad. I can swoop in to be maternal to you both, and win the hearts of everyone else. Allison, Quart, and Devin all seem like they'll start to feel the pressure of isolation quickly, so they should be turning to me for comfort before the week is over."

"That sounds about right. I was talking with Joey, he also seems like he could be an asset. He's outgoing and obnoxious, but if we play our cards right, he could become another 'villain', so to speak, and that will make your job even easier." Marcus had an eager look in his eyes. Suzanne could see he was itching to get to work.

"It's almost dinner time. You can get started then."

Suzanne opened the door and reentered the hallway, not wanting to seem to have any connection to Marcus. If the crew caught on, they would certainly be disqualified. But if she could keep her partner from letting anything slip, the entire bunker was in the palm of her hand.

### Day 1: Rachael

Rachael looked at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. She was starting to regret her decision not to pack any makeup. Her plan to play the game in a friendly and honest manner was still intact, but seeing how effective Allison's tight shirt was at getting attention from the male contestants put a bit of a damper on Rachael's mood. But that wasn't her, and she didn't want to get the wrong sort of reputation. Still, catching some more eyes wouldn't hurt.

She turned off the tap and started to dry her hands on a paper towel, feeling suddenly guilty. She was thinking about trying to look more attractive to gain more power over the men, but that wasn't who she was. Even though her husband had promised he wouldn't hold anything she did or said during the game against her, she knew she wasn't willing to go to any extremes. The guilt passed as quickly as it had arrived, as she resolved that it was a game, and she would do what she had to in order to win. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to make it sit exactly right.

"Rachael, isn't it?" a voice called out.

Rachael turned and saw the muscular young redneck, Cliff, emerging from one of the bathroom stalls. "That's right," she replied, ceasing her grooming.

"Must say, I'm not really used to sharing a restroom with the ladies," Cliff said as he came up beside her at the sinks. "Wonder why they decided to do it this way?"

"At least there's a divider between the two sets of showers," Rachael said with a forced attempt at a grin.

"Though I suppose if you're a doctor like I hear, you're used to seeing all sorts of folks without their clothes on."

"It's a bit different in a professional context," Rachael explained, "but yes, I guess I am."

"Well, if you ever see anything that doesn't look like it's healthy, you just let me know," Cliff said with a wink.

Rachael was reminded why she didn't try to be like Allison. "I'll keep that in mind." As she started to leave, an idea hit her. It would be useful to make friends and allies as soon as possible. "Say, Cliff, you seem like you've got a good chance of doing well in this game. How about you and me stick together? I want someone I can trust above anyone else, and you seem like a man of your word." She hoped playing up to his ego would endear her further, even if his last comment contradicted her observations.

"I would say that sounds like an excellent plan. A doctor like you is sure to be one of the smartest down here, and it doesn't look like you'll do bad at the physical challenges either. You've got a deal."

Before Rachael could reply, Heather's voice sounded from a speaker on the ceiling. "Dinner is about to be served in the dining room."

"I guess we'd better get there," Cliff said, heading for the door. "You want to keep our alliance secret?"

"I don't think we need to," Rachael replied. "I think we're two of the most powerful players in this game, it's fine if people know we're working together. Shows them that they can't try to take one us down without involving the other."

"I like that," Cliff nodded. "You and me, team to the end."

A couple of the other contestants were also on their way into the dining room. Rachael noticed Liz and Quart speaking quietly. Perhaps she wasn't the only one making alliances already. Just behind them, Allison was speaking with Devin. Her voice carried down the hall, and her motives were clear.

"I just love a smart man," Allison gushed. "Someone who always knows the answers. Scientists are just so sexy."

"I'm really just a student," Devin mumbled back, clearly uncomfortable. "And computer science is a bit different than more traditional disciplines."

"Of course, but it's all fascinating. What will you do with your degree?"

Rachael tuned out the conversation as she entered the dining room, where the crew and the rest of the contestants were already waiting. She picked an empty seat next to Katrina. Rachael saw a lot of similarities between the two of them. Katrina looked a bit younger, but both were looking to play the game honestly and not be hated by the viewers.

"Hi again," she greeted conversationally. "How are you finding it so far?"

"Okay," the small woman replied softly. "Everyone seems nice. I was worried this would be like some shows that are just constant arguments, but looks most of us will be willing to leave the game in the challenge room."

Rachael didn't respond. She doubted the peace would last.

### Day 1: Devin

"Can I have everyone's attention, please?" Heather asked loudly over the din of conversation. The words quickly petered out, and the contestants waited to hear what she had to say.

"As this first day comes to a close, you've no doubt already started to get to know your fellow contestants. That's good, and tomorrow you'll have a chance to face off against them in a challenge. There's no more specific filming that will happen today. In the future, you will each have a short interview with Brandon every evening to reflect on the day's events. Now, enjoy this dinner, because starting tomorrow you'll be on your own."

Heather led the crew out of the dining room, and the contestants continued with their meal. Devin turned back to Allison, struggling to think of an interesting topic. Her personality baffled him. Apparently she hadn't prepared for the competition at all, and thought she could just show up and win. He was looking forward to seeing her proved wrong. After all, he's spent the last two months studying and preparing for every possible challenge he could think of.

"I have something I'd like to say too," someone called out. Devin saw one of the contestants standing up. He was probably the oldest man in the bunker, excluding Victor, and looked to be only slightly more athletic than Devin himself.

"For those who haven't met me, my name is Marcus. I just want to clear this up right from the start. I'm an alcoholic."

Devin was immediately interested. That would make the already difficult game much harder on Marcus, which meant an easier time for him.

"I came here as a way of quitting cold turkey. I had my last drink two days ago, and plan to have no more from now on. I want to warn everyone that when I get the craving, I get into a foul mood. So I may yell at you, get angry, scare you a bit. Just wanted you all to know why." He sat back down, and took a long drink of his water, looking incredibly self-conscious.

The middle-aged woman, Suzanne, spoke up. "I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say good for you. We understand that you're going to be having a tough time, and I'm proud of you for making this effort."

A general murmur of consensus rose up from the crowd, and Devin joined in.

"He's so brave," Allison said quietly.

"Well, seems a bit silly to me for him to try to play this game while going through withdrawal," Devin observed. "He doesn't stand much chance of winning."

"Quitting is still a win for him though, don't you think?" she asked.

"I suppose so," Devin lied. He didn't know what world she lived in, but from his point of view, a million dollars was a much higher priority than getting sober. That money could pay for lots of rehab after they were out.

### Day 1: Katrina

When the dishes were cleared and the contestants started leaving the dining room, Katrina made her way over to Marcus.

"It must have taken a lot of courage to stand up and say that," she said, trying to look friendly. She was completely outside of her comfort zone, making so many new acquaintances in such a short amount of time.

"Had to do it," Marcus replied gruffly. "I expect I'll have more than a couple of outbursts before all's said and done. Want people to understand why."

"Well, if you need anyone to talk to about it, you know where to find me," Katrina forced herself to say. "I mean, not exactly where, but it's not hard to find anyone in a place like this." Such outgoingness was an effort for her, but she knew that it was her best method of winning. If she could form friendships with everyone, she could slip under the radar and grab the social vote in the end.

"I'll keep that in mind," Marcus answered. "Excuse me." He pushed past her and made his way towards the hall, clearly not any more talkative than she was.

Quite content with a short conversation, Katrina started to follow him to the doorway, but before she reached it she was approached by Quart.

"Hi there, Kat," he said as he stepped in front of her. "Do you mind if I call you Kat?"

"Uh... sure," she answered. She hated the nickname, but didn't want to make a big deal of it.

Quart lowered his voice as Cliff walked by. "I wanted to tell you, I've made an alliance with someone else. We're keeping it quiet, but I want to know if you want in too."

"Who's the other person?"

"I can't tell you unless you join. But the three of us together will be a great team, I'll say that much." Quart looked eager for her agreement.

"I don't know," Katrina said, trying to sound tactful. "Secret alliances are just a festering pot for drama. I'm really flattered that you'd offer, but I'm going to have to say no. I just can't be involved with something like that." She felt like she had been repeating herself endlessly all day, but it was the truth, and she wanted to make sure everyone knew it. She would play the game, but the less people got hurt, the happier she'd be.

"This is how a game like this is won," Quart insisted. "You're not going to do as well on your own."

"Thanks again, but I don't know. Can I have some time to think about it?" Katrina asked, with no intention to ever accept the offer.

"Sure, that's cool with me. If you decide to work with us, we'll be unstoppable. The sooner the better."

"I'll let you know." Katrina walked past him into the hall. The narrow grey passage stretched out in both directions, broken up only by intermittent doorways. She wished that there was more to the bunker, anything but grey on grey, so that the contestants would have a subject to talk about other than strategy. She had settled on her strategy before arriving, and had no plans to change it to accommodate everyone else.

### Day 1: Heather

Heather checked the screens again. All of the contestants had finally sorted out which bunks they'd be sleeping in. As expected, the men and women had each taken one of the two rooms. It looked like they were finally settled and falling asleep.

"I'm going to go now," she told Victor.

"Do you want me to come too?"

"No, wait here. Keep him away from the monitors," she indicated towards the door of the staff restroom, where the sound of running water told her Brandon was still in the shower. "If something really is wrong, I don't want him to panic. Don't know him well enough to say if he could keep it quiet."

"I'll do what I can," Victor assured her.

Not wanting to delay any longer, Heather nodded. In an effort to not be heard, she slipped her shoes off, then walked out of the room. The hallway was empty still. Good. The last thing she wanted was to interfere with the game. She hurried towards the elevator, her footsteps padded by her socks. The elevator door was halfway between the control room and the bunk rooms, so she was hopeful nobody would hear her.

When she reached the door, she pressed the elevator's call button. The door slid open immediately. Normally a bunker would have a more specialized entrance, but to save money they had purchased a standard building elevator, just setting it to require a numerical key to operate. Inside the elevator, she punched in the numbers, then hit the button to rise to the surface.

The elevator didn't move.

Worried, Heather took a deep breath. She entered the key again, ensuring she hadn't made any errors. The elevator still refused to move. Her mind jumped to the worst case scenarios. She had hoped to find reception for her phone on the surface so that she could call Pete, but it looked like the problem was more complicated than just a phone line being down. Why would the phone and elevator stop working on the same day? It couldn't be a coincidence.

She tried to calm herself. Whatever was going on, Pete would realize soon. They'd been speaking to each other a dozen times a day for the past few weeks, he'd wonder why she wasn't calling. Trying to figure out why the elevator wasn't working, a previously unimportant detail came to her. It had been cheaper and safer to power it from above ground, rather than on the generator that ran in the bunker. That was probably where the problem was. Maybe there had been a storm, and a power line was down somewhere. That was probably it.

Heather stepped out of the elevator, made sure the door closed, then headed back to the control room. It had probably knocked out the phone too. When she arrived back in the control room, Victor was still on the couch waiting, and Brandon was still running the shower.

"Nothing," she said. "Couldn't get the elevator to move."

"Shit," he breathed. "Are you saying we're stuck down here?"

"It's probably just a storm, took out the power and the phones. We don't need to worry yet."

"Maybe."

"Pete will sort it out before too long, I'm sure."

She heard the water turn off.

"Do you want to tell him?" Victor asked.

"I don't want to worry anyone. Let's give it a bit of time, go ahead like everything is normal, and see what happens. We're still going to be expected to turn in a full show at the end of the month."

Victor nodded in agreement just as Brandon emerged, wearing a bathrobe and leaving a few drops of water on the floor.

"Are you alright?" he asked, drying his hair with a towel. "You look worried."

"Just anxious about tomorrow," Heather claimed. "And tired. Thanks for stepping up and doing the interviews today."

"No problem. I'm going to be taking the confessionals every day anyhow, so it's good practice."

"Anything interesting happen during them?" Heather asked, glad to be changing the subject.

"Everyone fit in with their bio pretty well. One person did stand out, he could be a bit of a problem."

"Who was that?"

"Joey," Brandon said, joining Victor on the couch. "He said that he wants to get noticed on this show, that being remembered is more important than winning. Sounds like he's going to be a troublemaker."

"That might be just what the show needs," Victor observed.

"But it's a headache for us," Heather pointed out. She would have welcomed it under normal circumstances. Another source of drama and conflict would be great for TV, but she didn't need another concern on her mind. "Thanks for the warning. You think he's going to cause any serious problems?"

Brandon shook his head. "Not really. I think he just wants to be this show's crazy character. I'm sure he'll screw with people, but I doubt any real harm will come of it."

"Okay." Heather acknowledged. "I'm going to get some sleep. I'll see you guys bright and early to make sure we're ready for the challenge."

The two men said their goodnights, and Heather entered her room. She closed the door, and took a few sluggish steps. It felt like the thousands of pounds of earth above her were weighing down on her shoulders. She collapsed onto her bed, and pulled out her phone. For what must've been the hundredth time, she tried to call home. The screen lit the room with a picture of her children, but the speaker remained completely silent.

### Day 2: Quart

"God, it's hard to get a moment of privacy around here," Quart exclaimed as he slipped into the women's bunkroom.

"Then let's get this over with before anyone finds us," Liz insisted. "Did you talk to her?"

"Yeah, she said that she'd think about it."

"You do realize that's her polite way of saying no, right?"

"She might change her mind."

Liz shook her head. "No, Katrina's not going to be any help to us. She's too timid to make any big plays. If she does come to you and says she wants in, tell her she's missed her opportunity."

"They'll probably be done breakfast soon," Quart said, peeking into the hallway. "Are we going to be sneaking around like this for the whole game?"

"Unless you have any better ideas."

"Just tell them we're doing it, then they'll give us lots of privacy," Quart suggested in half seriousness. Liz was reasonably cute, but she looked to be at least thirty and wasn't really his type.

"I don't think so," Liz replied matter-of-factly. "That would make them think that we're certain to choose each other in the social vote, which will make them afraid to pick us."

"Fine then, but it's not every day you get the chance to pretend to sleep with me. A lot of girls would do anything to make that claim."

Liz shook her head. "Whatever you say. Let's just get through this first challenge and see how we do, then we can reassess everyone and decide if we want to bring someone else into the alliance."

Content with that answer, Quart began walking towards the hallway. "We'll go get first and second place then, show them what we can do."

"I don't know the exact point breakdown yet, but it might be worthwhile to avoid first place. Whoever wins the first challenge will be immediately seen as the most likely to win the game. I don't know if I want that sort of attention."

"Alright," Quart answered, turning away from her to head to the dining room. "I'll take first, you can have second. Fine by me." He chuckled as he walked away. Liz seemed to be stressing out over planning the perfect strategy, but he was confident in his plan. He'd want victory the most, and it would come to him, just like they always said. It had never failed him in the real world, why should it start now?

### Day 2: Marcus

The challenge room door unlocked with a click that was barely audible over the chattering of the eager contestants waiting in the hall. It swung open, silencing the conversations at once. Victor stood behind it, ushering them in.

Marcus trailed towards the back of the crowd. When he entered the room, he was surprised at how large it was. At least four times the size of the dining hall, it was filled with a row of empty metal shelving, and a line of crates along one wall. In the open space between the two features, Heather stood ready for them, with Brandon sweeping the camera from her to the contestants.

"And now, your first challenge begins," Heather announced to the gathering contestants. "This task is not complicated. You each have an assigned set of shelves labeled with specific items. You will take the crate with your name on it, unpack it, and place the contents on the shelves as indicated. These crates contain supplies that could be essential to life in this bunker, so be careful with them. Point tokens will be awarded based on order of completion. Get into your positions, and let's begin." She paused for a moment. "Alright Brandon, that should be enough. Okay, before we get started, does anyone have any questions about the rules?"

Marcus looked at his fellow competitors. Nobody seemed in a hurry to speak up. It was a simple enough undertaking. The difficulty would be in the execution.

"Good. Alright, you, come over here," Heather said, starting to direct contestants to their shelves.

As they made their way to their places, Marcus assessed the challenge. The boxes looked heavy, which would be advantageous for him. Not many of the competitors looked like they had much upper body strength. He would almost certainly be one of the top three, and could perhaps take first place. Not only would that give him plenty of points, but putting a target on himself would make Suzanne's attempts to increase support for herself easier.

"Alright, everyone ready?" Heather asked.

Marcus, along with most of the other contestants, confirmed that he was.

With a nod to Brandon, Heather immediately transitioned into her louder, more powerful hosting voice. "Now that you're all in your places, the game can begin in three, two, one!" As she finished speaking, she signaled for them to begin.

Marcus immediately sprinted towards the boxes, trying to avoid collisions. It was a short distance to travel, and everyone reached the crates so close together it was impossible to tell who was the fastest. Marcus grabbed onto one of them and tested the weight before trying to lift it entirely. It was heavy. Just as he'd hoped.

He adjusted his grip, and hoisted the box up. As he turned back to the shelves, he glanced at the competitors. Cliff was already carrying a box to the shelves, but everyone else was struggling. He was surprised that Allison seemed to be doing fairly well, though the same couldn't be said for Liz, Quart, Suzanne, and Katrina. It didn't look like there'd be much competition in this challenge.

### Day 2: Liz

Her arms burning, Liz let go of the crate. It was useless, there was no way she could carry it and still hope to have the strength left to unpack. She wasn't the only one struggling, but she had no interest in being in a fight for last. It was time to make a risky play.

Dodging around Cliff as he hauled his crate towards the shelves, she took off running towards the wall opposite the door they had entered from. As soon as they'd been let into the room, she'd noticed a dolly sitting off in the corner, probably neglected by the crew after they used it to set up the crates. She knew it might mean some sort of penalty, but it was worth a shot.

Out of the corner of her eye, Liz could see Brandon following her with the camera, realizing that she was up to something. The other competitors seemed too engrossed in their work to give her much attention. She grabbed the dolly and began wheeling it back as quickly as she could. Heather had come over to Victor, who was holding his boom microphone over the huddle of contestants trying to move boxes. The two of them were whispering to each other and looking directly at Liz. She ignored them and focused on the task at hand, arriving back at the boxes.

"What are you doing?" Rachael demanded, stumbling awkwardly towards the shelves with her crate.

Liz didn't respond, and, arriving at the crates, tipped hers on its side. She slid the dolly underneath, and was easily able to lift it. Without a pause, she began to push it towards the shelves, and almost immediately caught up with Rachael.

She couldn't resist a smug comment as she charged past. "Just playing the game."

Brandon was still following her closely, and Victor had joined him, clearly having decided that this was the most interesting action happening in the challenge at the moment. Heather stood back, watching, her face not displaying her opinions. It seemed Liz was going to be allowed to continue.

She reached the shelves with her name on them and pulled the lid off the box. Inside were dozens of cans of food. The top shelf was labeled "rations" and was then divided further by type. She set to work unloading immediately. The cans were sorted already within the crate, so it was a simple matter of paying attention while unloading.

Liz was on the end of the row, and by the time her only neighbor, Allison, showed up, she had a system sorted out. Allison scowled as she got to work, sweating heavily. Cliff and Marcus were also unloading, and Rachael, Devin, and Joey had all just arrived with their crates. That just left Quart, Suzanne, and Katrina struggling with the delivery. She felt a little sorry for Quart, seeing him struggle, but didn't feel too inclined to take the time to help him. She'd considered the idea of giving him the dolly once she was done with it. But that might reveal their alliance, which would be less than ideal. If he was clearly in last she could get away with it, since everyone would take it as her trying to win favour for the social vote.

"That was cheating!" Allison accused furiously once she was finished trying to figure out how to sort the cans.

Liz checked to make sure she was putting hers in the right place before responding. "We'll see what happens. If I were you, I'd focus on sorting and not arguing with me."

For a moment it looked like Allison was going to keep at it, but she seemed to realize Liz's suggestion was actually wise. Clearly fuming, she returned her focus to the task, but her hands were shaking with anger.

Liz allowed herself a small smile at the victory.

### Day 2: Joey

Finally, he had the chance to act. His shelf was more than half filled, putting him towards the head of the pack. To his left, Allison was starting to speed up after yelling at Liz. To his right, Marcus was pulling ahead, nearly three quarters done.

Joey felt a pang of guilt, but steadied himself. He would be looked down upon by his fellow cast members, to be sure, but this wasn't about winning the social vote, or even the game as a whole. Infamy was the surest way for him to be remembered by the viewers, and if he hoped to kick start his musical career with the reputation he earned in this bunker, he'd have to begin working on it early.

He assessed his targets. Allison was making a surprising amount of progress, but Marcus was still far ahead of both her and Joey. It would have to be him.

### Day 2: Allison

Allison could hardly believe that Liz hadn't been pulled out of the challenge already. She was so smug that she had gotten away with a blatant breach of the rules, and now it looked like she was going to be near the top of the challenge. Everyone else had carried their own boxes by hand, and Liz deserved to come in last if she couldn't manage that.

Her mental tirade was interrupted by a deafening crash. She flinched at the noise and looked towards it. Marcus's entire stack of shelves was lying on the ground, cans dented and rolling everywhere. He stood in front of it, staring stunned at Joey, who was holding his crate.

In an instant, shouting erupted. Marcus was tossing so much profanity towards Joey that when the show aired, the sound would be little more than constant beeps. Cliff, Suzanne, and Katrina had all run over and were trying to find out what was going on.

"The challenge is not over!" Heather shouted commandingly over the din.

Marcus and Joey didn't seem to notice.

"I just bumped into it, not my fault!" Joey shouted, gesturing at his crate.

"Like hell you did!" Marcus roared back. "You slammed that crate right into it!"

Allison had never seen someone so angry. Her head was spinning. First Liz's cheating, and now Joey seemed to have intentionally put Marcus out of the running. Would it be this cutthroat for the whole month?

"The challenge is not over!" Heather yelled again, louder. It was doubtful anyone didn't hear, but only Liz, Rachael, and Devin were still stocking shelves, while Quart was still trying to push his crate across the room.

"What the hell, Joey," Allison demanded, walking towards him. "Can't you compete like the rest of us?"

"I said, I just bumped into it. I was trying to take my crate around to the other side!"

"You practically charged at it!" Katrina shot back, louder than Allison had ever heard her speak. "I saw you eyeing it before you even picked up the crate." She stepped forward and put a hand on Marcus's shoulder. "Come on, you aren't out of it yet. Let's get back to work."

"I'll help with this," Cliff said, grabbing one side of the shelf, a gesture made only slightly less noble by the fact that Cliff's lead was so large he could afford to give up some time. Marcus gave one last disgusted look at Joey before moving to the other side. The two men stood the shelf up with ease.

Allison called Joey to get his attention. "You are one sad son of a bitch if this is the only way you can win."

"Sorry, what was that?" Joey asked dispassionately, turning fully to her. He stepped forward, forcing her back. "I couldn't quite hear over all that noise." As he finished speaking, he lunged over to her shelf and swept an arm along it, pushing dozens of cans to the floor.

### Day 2: Devin

Suzanne had just stepped up to Marcus and, along with Katrina and Cliff, was trying to calm him down when Allison let out a shriek of rage. While the other contests vocalized their disbelief at Joey's actions, Devin saw an opportunity. Surely the only reason the other three had abandoned their work was to gain favour by comforting Marcus, and now he could do the same. Rachael and Liz were the only ones still unloading, and Rachael wasn't making very quick work of it, so he probably had time to go say something to Allison and make it back in time to finish well.

"Joey!" Heather shouted, hurrying towards him. "You are out of this challenge. To the door, now!" It was clear she was trying to sound impartial, but her anger broke through. This was not how she had expected the challenge to play out.

"Okay, okay." Joey dropped his crate onto the concrete floor with a crash. "You win some you lose some, right Allison?"

"Go to Hell," she called after him.

"Are you okay?" Devin asked as he reached her. "That guy's a jerk."

Allison lunged towards him for a hug. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. He returned it timidly.

Behind his back, he could hear Cliff talking to Marcus. "You alright now, man? You're quick, just pick them up and you'll do fine."

"I don't need your condescension!" Marcus shouted.

"He's just trying to help," Katrina said gently.

"Why don't you just let me get back to work?"

"Marcus, don't take it out on them," Suzanne commanded firmly, like a mother trying to teach her child a lesson. "You said last night that you're going to have a tough time, and Joey just made it harder for you. Just take a deep breath and forget about him."

Miraculously, that seemed to do the trick. Marcus nodded, and seemed almost instantaneously more accepting. Devin could hardly believe it. Suzanne clearly knew how to get through to people. Perhaps he could be as helpful to Allison.

"Listen, let's just get back to work, okay?" His motivation was half calming her down, and half returning to his own shelf now that the other four were doing just that. It wouldn't be long before they started finishing.

"Thanks, Devin," Allison replied softly, not ending the embrace. "I just can't believe him."

"I know, it's awful," he sympathized anxiously.

"First Liz, now Joey. Is anyone in here a good person?"

Before Devin could respond, Cliff's voice rang out through the room. "Done!"

Heather rushed over to look at his shelf. "First place goes to Cliff!" she yelled in confirmation.

Allison loosened her grip. "You're right, we should get back to work."

Devin was glad to finally be free, and took off running to his shelf. He still had a lot of work to do before he was finished.

"Done!" Liz shouted. Once again Heather confirmed it. Devin was frantic now. He had at least a minute's work left to do.

"Quart, come take this," Liz called out. Devin looked, and saw Quart still trying to push his crate across the room, having given up on lifting it. At the offer of the dolly, he looked up, then began to drag himself lazily towards Liz. His energy was clearly well beyond spent. That meant Devin wouldn't be in last, if nothing else. He bent down at his box and started sorting.

### Day 2: Suzanne

"For first place, Cliff is awarded one hundred points," Heather explained to the gathered contestants.

Suzanne tried to keep her composure, but she felt ready to pass out. If all the challenges were this physical, she would stand little chance of winning, even with the social vote.

"Liz receives fifty, Rachael thirty, and Devin twenty five," Heather continued. "Twenty for Katrina, fifteen for Suzanne."

It was a start, at least.

"Allison has earned ten points, and Marcus five. Quart and Joey will receive no points."

Suzanne could see how devastated Quart was. He looked on the verge of tears, as if he'd never lost anything before. Given his upbringing, Suzanne wondered if that was actually the case. Perhaps she could leverage that. It looked like she would need more than just Marcus to build her reputation. The amount of support he'd received was troubling. She would have preferred people to see his anger as frightening and kept their distance. As nice as it was of Joey to provide an unexpected opportunity, it wasn't the debut of Marcus's rage that she had planned on arranging. But this would be a game of changing strategies, and the winner would be the one who could adapt the fastest. Suzanne was certain she could be that person.

"It's certainly been an eventful first challenge," Heather said. "The next one will occur the day after tomorrow, but you may not want to just rest. You are now on your own when it comes to food, cleaning, and any other operations of the bunker. This is your home, and how you run it is up to you."

Her speech concluded, Heather told them they were free to leave the challenge room, and turned to speak with Victor. As the crowd started to dissipate, Suzanne made a point of walking next to Quart.

"Sorry about how that turned out," she comforted, placing an arm over his shoulders. "You'll do better next time, I'm sure of it."

Quart had a hollow look in his eyes. "I just don't get it. No offence, but I'm probably less than half your age. I'm in the prime of my life, and I could barely even move the box."

"You remind me of one of my sons," Suzanne lied. "He gets upset when he does worse than his friends in school, but I always tell him that he can't compare himself to others. Besides, for all we know, our boxes might have been weighted differently. Lighter for us old folk, and heavier for the young people like yourself."

The idea made him perk up. "You're right, that makes sense." Quart seemed to be warming to her already. "It wouldn't be fair for me and you to carry the same weight. Mine was probably the heaviest one in there."

Suzanne didn't believe her own story, but the important thing was that Quart did. "Exactly. If you'd had a crate as light as mine, or even Devin's, you probably would have come in first place."

"Yeah, I could have." Quart's voice was stronger now, as his disappointment was replaced with indignation. He sounded happy to have a reason for his loss. "Thanks."

She patted him on the back and gave him a smile. "I'm here for you whenever you need me."

### Day 2: Victor

"That was a disaster," Heather moaned the instant the door to the control room was shut.

"Brandon will certainly be conducting some interesting interviews tonight," Victor agreed. He took a few more steps, then collapsed onto the couch. "I know this sort of drama will bring in the viewers, but this is just too much, too soon. How bad will it be by the end?"

Heather held the phone to her ear. "I don't know," she replied absentmindedly. "Still can't get through to Pete." She slammed it down, as if dramatically ending a conversation. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

"The only real option is to keep going forward. When the month is over, even if we haven't been able to talk to them, we're going to need to turn in a show that can be aired. The contestants can't find out."

"I know, it's just...." Heather paced back and forth, visibly anxious. "I can't shake this awful thought. What if they don't come? Maybe something's happened to Pete. Not a lot of people know exactly where to find us. Pete's the only real link between us and the surface."

The same thought had occurred to Victor, but he had been trying not to dwell on it. "Unless the elevator starts working, there's no way we're getting up. We need to just keep things going down here."

"Yeah, about that. What do we do with the Joey situation? Liz I can at least accept, we shouldn't have left the dolly out. But if Joey's going to be pulling this shit again, we'll have a serious problem."

"Brandon did warn us," Victor sighed. "He said Joey wanted to be noticed more than he wanted to win. Certainly off to a good start."

"I'll have a talk with him if it happens again. I don't want to influence events too much, but maybe his story can be about redemption, not just mayhem."

"Worth a shot, I guess."

Heather suddenly stopped pacing. "What about the elevator shaft?" she asked.

Confused, Victor sat up. "What do you mean?"

"To get out. Would it be possible for someone to climb up the elevator shaft?"

"I guess so," Victor replied. "It would be really dangerous. It's what, a few hundred feet? That's a lot of climbing to do on elevator cables."

"But if someone got to the top, they could open the door, right?" Heather was starting to sound excited.

"Yes, but it's a bit early—"

"I'm going to try it."

"Heather." Victor stood up quickly. "Don't. What if you fall? Do you want your kids to move in with their father?"

"I just want to see them again!" Heather snapped. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm sorry. This whole situation is just too much."

"I know, but look at it in perspective. We've been here for less than two days. I wouldn't start worrying for at least a couple of weeks. This is a bunker, we're completely safe down here, and there are more than enough supplies to last months. We may have to consider that option, but not yet."

Heather nodded, wiping away the tears that had started to form. "Alright." She tried to regain her composure. "Let's head out after lunch and tell them about spending their points. Then we should pack up the challenge room."

Victor voiced his agreement, then sat back down on the couch. The pressure was already starting to take its toll on them. Twenty-eight more days seemed like an eternity.

### Day 2: Cliff

"To the top three," Cliff said, clinking his glass against Rachael's.

"Cheers."

Cliff took a long drink of the champagne. Ten points well spent.

"You're certainly off to a good start," Rachael observed, lowering her voice as Devin entered the dining room.

"Still a lot of challenges left to win. But I think I can keep it up. You didn't do too bad yourself."

"Second place would've been better, but I guess this helps keep me off people's radar."

"Y'all would've been second if Liz hadn't cheated." Cliff wasn't nearly as upset by Liz's actions as the rest of the contestants seemed to be, though he knew that might be different if she had beaten him too.

Devin's voice cut into their conversation without warning. "I can't believe you actually spent points on that," he said, indicating the champagne. "You do realize that you need those to win, right? Why are you wasting them on something that won't even give you some advantage?"

"You know what, kid?" Rachael countered sharply. "He still has more points than you. Or anyone, for that matter."

"Just trying to help," Devin squeaked.

Cliff's mind raced as he tried to decide the best way to respond. As a tough redneck, he should laugh it off and tell Devin to get lost, but his instinct was to be kinder. He swallowed his doubts, resolving not to break his dedication to the character.

"Sure you are," he replied sarcastically. "Trying to suck up to the guy who you think will carry you through this game. Do I look like a damn horse to you?"

"I'm just—"

"I don't need to hear it," Cliff interrupted.

Devin clearly was in no mood to defend himself further, and began to walk away without another word. Cliff turned back to Rachael, trying to hide his guilt.

Rachael spoke before he could think of a new topic. "I'm going to check around, see if there's any work that needs to be done."

"Good plan," he agreed. "I want to take a look at the mechanical room, see what sort of machines we're working with."

They parted ways in the hall, with Rachael going into the kitchen. Cliff was glad to have a moment alone to regain his composure. This alpha male role he had given himself was proving to be difficult to maintain, but he wasn't going to give up on it. Devin would get over the rudeness.

Through the door to the mechanical room, Cliff could hear the muted roaring of machines. It housed the pumps, air filtering, water purifiers, generators, and sewage systems that kept the bunker functioning. He pushed open the door and the sound blasted out. The pump was running steadily, recycling the water used by the handful of contestants who had made a sweat covered beeline for the showers immediately after the challenge. The lights were already on, and he let the door close behind him.

After taking a few more steps, he realized he was not alone. Allison was sitting on the floor, legs pulled up to her chin and arms wrapped around them, like a child hiding from a storm. She was watching Cliff, but didn't make a sound. The redness of her eyes made it clear that she had been crying.

Cliff took a tentative step towards her. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

Allison nodded slightly. It looked like she was debating leaving it at that, but after a few seconds she spoke. "It's stupid." Her voice surprised him with its determination. She didn't sound nearly as distraught as she looked.

"What is?" He approached her slowly. Once again, impulse fought with planning, sensitivity with masculinity.

"These people. Cheating their way through this game," Allison complained.

Now that he was closer, Cliff realized that she was furious. She wasn't hiding because she was sad about losing; she was trying not to have a public outburst. That was an emotion he could work with more easily.

"Liz, Joey," Allison continued. "I wish they'd just get kicked out of the game. I want to win this thing. And I can hardly hope to do that when they don't even follow the rules."

"You want me to have a talk with them for you?" Perfect. Courtesy to a lady and a threat to the people bothering her. He couldn't have asked for a better chance to show off his personality.

"What good will that do? Liz will just do whatever she can to win, she doesn't care about the rest of us. And I doubt anyone could get through to Joey. You have to be more than a little disturbed to act like that."

Cliff reached out and put a hand on Allison's shoulder. "Well, if either of them do it again, I'm going to have some words for them. Don't you worry about that."

"Thanks." Allison broke into a flirtatiously coy smile. "I'm glad you're here to protect me."

"Happy to be of service, ma'am." Cliff nodded, wishing he had a hat to tip. This personality he was putting forward certainly had its upsides. "Say, if you're thirsty, I have some champagne in the dining room."

"That sounds like exactly what I need," Allison replied, climbing to her feet.

Cliff looked around the room as they walked out. He hadn't been able to check out the machines like he'd hoped, but the chance to build a stronger connection was too good to pass up.

### Day 2: Quart

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," Quart said as he dipped another bowl into the steaming water. "Why do people have such a problem with washing dishes?"

"If you had to do it every day, you'd get tried of it pretty soon I expect," Katrina explained. "How exactly have you never done this before?"

Quart shrugged. "Just never had to, I guess. I've got a dishwasher at home, and I eat out a lot. Back when I was younger, we had a maid to take care of all that."

"Lucky you." Katrina's voice carried no bitterness, which annoyed Quart a little. It made his own resentment over her rejection of an alliance feel petty. She seemed quite content drying dishes with him.

The kitchen's only other occupant, Devin, jumped into the conversation. "I didn't have much experience with it either, but when I heard that maintaining the bunker would be part of this game, I did a bit of practice."

"Practice washing dishes?" Quart could barely hold back a laugh. "Did you just pour things on them, clean it off, then do it again?"

"Looks like you're done your half," Devin answered, not acknowledging Quart's question. "Interested in a trade to do mine too?"

"What do you mean? The work's all divided up, we agreed to handle the dishes. Are you trying to get out of it?"

"Just a thought, but it would be good for both of us if I were to pay you a few points, say five, to do my part of the work. You get to move up from the bottom of the pile, and I get to save my energy."

Quart considered the idea briefly. "Is that even allowed?"

"I don't see why not," Devin said.

"Makes sense," Katrina chimed in. "If they're giving us these physical tokens, I assume we're free to do what we want with them."

"Alright then," Quart agreed. He was more than happy to move up from a tie for last place. Now he was at the same level as Marcus.

Devin grinned as he handed over the tokens. Quart thanked him, and realized that he might be able to use this relationship to his advantage. If he could get Devin to keep paying him to do work, he could build up his points faster than anyone else. Surely in the next challenge he'd do better, and if he kept the deal quiet, nobody would realize how well he was doing. The disappointment of that morning pushed aside, Quart felt once again like he had the capacity to win.

### Day 2: Brandon

The interview finished, Brandon began to unscrew the camera from its tripod.

"I think it's pretty gutsy," he commented.

"Well, thanks," Marcus replied. "Seemed like as good a way as any to quit. Can't give in to temptation if there's nothing to drink, can I?"

"Just stay away from the rewards you can purchase with points, then. There's a lot in there." Brandon walked towards the door, Marcus trailing behind. "Listen, I need to be impartial obviously, but regardless of what happens with the game, I'm glad to see you doing well."

"Thanks, man."

"Just a word of warning, I saw on some of the footage that you've been talking with Suzanne a lot."

Marcus seemed to freeze, as if he was surprised that Brandon checked the recordings, and was just realizing that his deception could be discovered. "Yeah, we get along pretty well," he said slowly.

"She seems more clever than she lets on. I get the feeling that under that motherly exterior, she's running all sorts of strategies."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Brandon opened the door and flicked off the lights. "Later," he finished simply, before starting towards the control room.

"Great talking with you."

Marcus sounded genuinely pleased to have had a nice conversation. Brandon suspected that the other contestants weren't warming up to him very quickly. He seemed almost hesitant to let them like him. Not that the reason was any mystery to Brandon. When he'd been reviewing the footage the night before, he'd seen Marcus and Suzanne plotting. Just as with Cliff's gun, he decided that it was best not to interfere. This plan was harmless on a larger scale, and could make the game far more interesting. Brandon might just be the cameraman, but he was wholly committed to making the most entertaining show possible. Still, he hadn't been able to resist the urge to poke the tiger a little bit and making Marcus worry that he'd been discovered. Nothing would be achieved by telling him, but putting him on edge could certainly make things more interesting.

Inside the control room, Heather and Victor were having what seemed to be a serious conversation, but they stopped speaking as soon as the door opened.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing important," Heather explained hastily. "We were just...."

"There's a bad microphone," Victor jumped in. "In the kitchen. We were just about to go and replace it, now that the contestants have cleared out."

"Need any help?"

"I think I can manage," Victor insisted. "Although Heather, if you want to come with me, we can check the other ones too."

"Sure, let's go do that," Heather agreed.

Brandon stood aside from the door to let them pass. Maybe Marcus and Suzanne weren't the only ones who were close. He'd known coming into the show that Heather and Victor were long-time friends, but he was starting to suspect there was more to it than that. They were obviously up to something they didn't want him to see. Not a problem, he rationalized. This gave him some time alone for something of his own that he'd been eager to do. Once they were out the door, he closed it behind them and quietly locked it.

Sitting down in front of the computer, he checked the cameras. The contestants were all either in bed or chatting in the dining room. Heather and Victor were indeed entering the kitchen. He opened up the footage archive and started searching. It only took a few minutes to locate what he was looking for.

The high-resolution camera embedded in the bathroom wall showed Katrina entering early that morning, before any of the other contestants were awake. She checked around her, and once she was certain nobody was around, began to undress. As she pulled the shirt over her head, Brandon zoomed the camera in closer to focus on her. Her imperfect beauty was far more tantalizing than Allison's obviousness. She hung her shirt over the rack just outside the shower, then kicked off her shoes. Brandon held his breath as she gave one more nervous look that seemed to land everywhere but the camera. The undressing continued, impossible to look away from.

When she finally walked into the shower, Brandon switched to a different camera with a better angle. He glanced over at the live feed, and saw Katrina at that moment, sound asleep. He paused the recording for a moment to watch blankets slowly rise and fall as each breath came and went. Her face was blank, peaceful, and hypnotic. Looking back to the footage of her naked form, he took a deep breath. He resumed the footage and watched as the water began to fall onto her, each drop as clearly defined as the contours of her body.

### Day 4: Katrina

The third day passed just as Katrina hoped they all would. No conflicts or fights, and a rotation of duties was settled on. She was starting to get to know some of the other contestants, but had decided that before the second challenge she would gather the quieter ones like herself for a chance to get to know each other. Brandon had kindly offered to film it, but she insisted that they'd be more comfortable letting the built-in cameras handle the task.

Rachael, Liz, and Devin had agreed to join her in the dining room. In particular she hoped to get through to Liz, who seemed quite content to remain unhealthily isolated from everyone but Quart. The two of them seemed to be spending a lot of time together, and Katrina was starting to suspect they were more intimate than they let on.

"I guess I'll get us started," Katrina began with a smile, trying to figure out how to describe herself. "I just have a boring office job for, working for the city. It's not perfect, but it's a great stepladder to higher positions. I studied history in college, despite my better judgment, so that was of no help finding work. Rachael, you said you're a doctor?"

Rachael nodded. "Yeah, I just got a job at a practice a couple months ago. My husband—"

"You're married?" Liz interrupted.

Rachael raised an eyebrow. "Should I be offended that you're so surprised? Yes, my husband is a surgeon. And before you ask, no, I don't have any children. We don't have nearly enough time for them."

"I guess a million dollars would change that," Katrina observed.

"It certainly would."

"I'm a student," Devin spoke up, eager to get in on the conversation. "Have been for years, and still a lot more ahead. That money would certainly help pay off all those loans."

"Yeah, because med school is so cheap," Rachael shot back sarcastically. "I kid, of course," she quickly insisted, clearly not wanting to seem heartless.

"What about you, Liz?" Katrina prompted. The topic of money would only cause friction. They were all there because they wanted or needed it, but there was no point in arguing for whose need was greatest.

"Sure, I could use the money too," the stoic woman replied bluntly.

"But what do you do outside of the bunker?"

"Did you ever see _Lethal Weapon_?"

"You're a cop?" Devin asked, sounding impressed.

"No, it's just a good movie," she replied smugly.

Katrina sighed quietly. Despite her attempt to hide it, Liz obviously saw and suddenly her tone changed, as if she'd realized sharing would be beneficial.

"I spent a couple years in law school, but it wasn't working for me at all," she explained without hesitation. "I travelled a lot, and now I work in retail. Nothing exciting."

"I've always wanted to travel," Katrina said. "Where have you been?"

As Liz started to tell the story of a trip through South America with only a few hundred dollars to her name, Katrina sat back and smiled. If she could get Liz to open up, she was sure that she could help everyone in the bunker get along. There was a long way to go, as rivalries were already starting to form, but perhaps by the end of the month it was achievable. Plus, there was no denying encouraging harmony would help her in the social vote. With the next challenge fast approaching, she was finally starting to feel like she might have a chance.

### Day 4: Joey

"We're not going to have another problem, are we?" Marcus growled, stepping closer to Joey.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be more careful."

Marcus grunted and turned to leave the bathroom. He paused when he reached the hall. "Just stay the hell away from me this time," he muttered.

Joey watched as the hulking man stormed out. Finally alone, he let out the breath he'd been holding and resumed washing his hands. Despite the tenseness of the situation, he was glad it had occurred. Being highlighted in every episode would get him the publicity he was there for. It had taken some effort to get himself into the right mindset, but now he was locked into it. Everyone knew they were there to make entertainment, and he was happy to cast himself as the antagonist, even if they didn't want him to.

He dried his hands and entered the hall. To his right, at the far end, he could see all the contestants waiting out the last few minutes before the second challenge began. Time enough for a quick dose of villainy, he decided as he began to walk towards them. He wasn't planning to interfere with this challenge—he'd made his big introduction, now he had to leave the viewers wanting more—but he could still get up to something.

Ducking into the men's bedroom, he hurried over to the foot of Cliff's bed and opened his trunk. Technically he wasn't allowed to go through anyone else's possessions, but he doubted the cameras were being monitored with the challenge about to start. He didn't have to rummage at all to find what he was looking for. The top of the champagne bottle poked up from beside the piles of clothes. Joey grabbed it, pulled out the loosely placed cork, and took a long drink. He wasn't even fond of the taste, but the idea was too perfect to pass up. A chance to establish himself as a bad boy would help sell him to the record labels and the audience. He lowered the bottle, put the cork back in, and stuffed it into its spot.

When he returned to the hall and joined the crowd he could see Allison eyeing him angrily. Offering a mockingly polite smile, Joey turned towards the door, waiting for it to open. As if it was waiting for his attention, it immediately did. The contestants shuffled into the challenge room.

Heather stood ready, Brandon at her side. Victor held the doors open, and once everyone was in, sealed them again. The shelves from the last challenge were gone, and ten crates just like the ones they had transported were evenly spaced in a row.

"Welcome to your second challenge," Heather announced. "This will be a test for your mind rather than your body. Each of these crates contains a series of items that you will use to assemble a water filtration system much like the one used in this bunker. The first person to complete their system and send one entire bottle's worth of water through it without any leaks will win the challenge. Find your crate and we'll begin."

Joey calmly joined in the line of people searching for their boxes. He found his name between Rachael and Devin this time. He didn't have high hopes for victory, but he reminded himself that it didn't matter. There was no hope of him winning the game, at least not the way the others could. Success would come after it was over, when the show started to air. A month of work now could put him front and centre in the public consciousness for years to come.

### Day 4: Heather

"Go!"

The contestants scrambled to open their crates, while Victor and Brandon swooped around them. Heather stood back and watched, not letting the slight awkwardness she felt show. It had been decided that she would record her excited commentary after the fact, though it would be edited to sound like she was giving it now. That meant she could focus on the narrative arc of each challenge, rather than just calling out what she noticed. However, that had the side effect of her needing to stand and look attentive for whenever she was in the background of a shot, but not having any actual work to do.

Cliff was the first one to open his box, but as he saw the pieces his face fell. It was clear he was doubtful he could win two challenges in a row. The assembly itself was relatively straightforward; Heather and Victor had already put much of the pump together, so it was really just a simple puzzle of attaching a dozen pieces in the right places. Devin clearly understood that, because once the lid was off his crate he had a reaction completely opposite Cliff's. Quart, once again, seemed to be struggling with even the simple step of prying open his crate.

Heather felt a bit guilty as she watched how seriously they were all trying to compete. They were onto the fourth day, and there had still been no contact from the surface. The phones and elevator still didn't work. Rifts were starting to form between the contestants, particularly after Liz and Joey's actions at the first challenge, but it was also clear that Allison and Cliff were polarizing. Everyone seemed to be wary of Marcus, and Quart tried to be likable, but it was clear from his performance that he was out of his element. Really, only Katrina, Suzanne, Rachael, and Devin were universally accepted, and Katrina was clearly expending a lot of effort on that goal. Suzanne and Rachael seemed genuinely friendly, and Devin was just inoffensive enough to slip by unnoticed. Although if he was able to win this challenge, that could change.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of singing over the clatter of pipes being hooked together. She scanned the crowd for the source, and immediately saw Joey's neighbours staring at him as he belted out a song. He did have an excellent voice—she recalled that he was a musician, trying to go professional—and she wasn't familiar with the song. She wondered if it was one he had written. Despite his talent, the other competitors didn't seem happy about the distraction. Liz was focused intently on her filter, face scrunched up as if she was trying to block out all sound. Marcus looked to be in a state of barely contained rage. The other crew members were quite happy however, immediately running over to him to capture a close-up, and to record him on a better microphone. Whether Joey was trying to be disruptive again or not, he was certainly capable of making good TV.

### Day 4: Cliff

Joey's song loud in his ears, Cliff made an effort to just accept it as more background noise. It actually was pretty catchy, and once he decided not to let the sound annoy him, it was barely distracting. He was on the end of the row, with Katrina to his left. Judging by her progress, his filter was coming along quickly.

What concerned him, however, was Joey's attitude. He obviously wanted to be the centre of attention and the big tough villain. But every gimmick he tried to use detracted from the time for Cliff. The two of them were clearly direct competitors for screen time, being the attractive men that were a bit older than Devin and Quart. That meant if he wanted to maintain his status as one of the show's more compelling characters, he'd have to do something dramatic today to be sure it was in the same episode.

"Done!" a voice shouted from down the line. Craning his neck forward to look, Cliff saw Devin with his hand raised in the air. Heather hurried over to him, checked his filter, and nodded.

"Devin wins first place!" she called out.

Shocked, Cliff turned back to his work. Perhaps Devin was a greater threat than he'd expected. It only served to reaffirm his plan. Making a scene to show his dominance would help establish him as _Beneath the Blast_ 's alpha male. But he had to figure out some way to justify it.

"Done," Rachael called out. Cliff allowed himself a smile at that one. His alliance with her seemed wiser by the day. She was eager to win, and willing to play the game, but she realized that included a social aspect too.

He hooked on the last pipe, and poured the bottle of water into the system. It passed through agonizingly slowly, but without springing a leak. He was third.

"Do—" he began.

"Done!" Liz yelled.

Cliff looked to Heather, but she was already heading towards Liz. He seethed, trying to take comfort in the fact that it was only a five point difference. Still, the hope of a top three streak was over for him.

Heather called out that Liz had taken third place, then ran over to him. She picked up the filter, looked it over to confirm that nothing had leaked, then put it back down.

"Fourth place goes to Cliff," she announced, just as Marcus called out his completion.

Standing up to watch the others, he looked at their progress. Joey and Quart were both pouring their water, racing for sixth. Quart emptied his bottle first, but his face turned to a look of dismay as the floor beneath his filter started to flood. He let out a loud curse and began to frantically look for the problem just as Joey raised his hand and called for Heather. Cliff leaned against the wall next to Rachael.

"Congratulations on second."

"Thanks," she replied, not taking her eyes off the competitors. What do you think the odds are that Quart's going to come in last again?"

Cliff looked again and saw Quart dismantling his filter in an effort to fix it.

"Very high, I'd reckon," he answered absentmindedly as he planned how best to intimidate Devin.

### Day 4: Devin

Pleased beyond measure, Devin entered the dining room with Joey and Allison following close behind. His victory had put him in first place, edging out a tie with Cliff thanks to his wasting points on champagne. At one hundred and twenty points, he had a commanding lead over Liz and Rachael, who were at eighty. After that it dropped all the way to Katrina with thirty. If he could consistently play this well, the game was his to win. Such confidence was a new, but not unwelcome feeling.

"That was amazing," Allison proclaimed as Devin filled a cup from the water cooler.

"Thanks. I did a lot of research on the technology used in a bunker like this ahead of time, so I'm pretty familiar with it."

"Is there anything you didn't prepare for?"

Devin gave the question some thought.

"What about... me?" Allison continued, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

Devin almost spat out his water in surprise. The room was starting to fill with other contestants, and he was suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious.

"You son of a bitch!" Cliff's voice roared without warning as he stormed into the room. Allison withdrew her hand immediately and turned to see the rapidly approaching redneck.

Once again, Devin had no idea how to respond.

"Why did you do it?" Cliff shouted, stopping only a few feet short of Devin, then tossing a look at Allison that dripped with jealousy.

"I didn't," Devin stuttered. "She was the one—"

"Y'all stole my champagne, and you know it!" Cliff raised the nearly empty bottle.

Devin was taken aback. He'd assumed the outburst was just a result of Cliff and Allison's none-too-subtle flirtations. "I didn't touch it," he explained, holding back panic.

"You were in the room on your own just before the challenge!"

"True, but I didn't touch it. Joey was in there after me, anyway."

Cliff stepped forward aggressively. "When you were complaining the other day that I'd wasted my points, I knew you were just hankering for a drink," he snarled, raising his free hand into a threatening fist.

The instincts honed by years of encounters with similarly violent bullies reared up in Devin. He pushed Cliff away as hard as he could. The large man stumbled, but avoided falling while the gathered contestants reacted with shock. Allison screamed at them to stop, but Cliff clearly interpreted Devin's shove as an invitation. He put the champagne bottle on the table, then lunged forward.

### Day 4: Rachael

The sounds of shouting echoed out of the dining room as Rachael approached. Concerned, she broke into a run. She reached the doorway right as Devin was slammed into the wall with a painful thud. Her initial impulse was to stay out of the way, but she reminded herself that she was a doctor now. She should try to keep them from getting hurt.

"Get him, Devin," Joey shouted from the sidelines, a look of glee on his face. "Show him that you can steal whatever you want!"

"Stop!" Katrina cried at the combatants. "And you, shut up," she added angrily to Joey.

Devin lashed out at Cliff, punching him squarely in the gut. Undeterred, Cliff grabbed hold of Devin's shoulders and slammed him into the wall once again, this time more forcefully.

Knowing someone could be seriously injured, Rachael dashed towards the fighters. She grabbed onto Cliff's arm, but her ally wrenched himself free, then proceeded to slam that arm up against Devin's neck, pinning him against the wall.

"Break it up, you two," Rachael commanded.

Ignoring her, Devin slammed a foot into his attacker's leg. Cliff stumbled backwards, and Rachael took the opportunity to jump between them.

"Enough!"

Gasping for air, Devin stared at her. After a moment, he seemed to lose his urge to fight, and slipped away to the other side of the room. Allison quickly ran to follow him, and Katrina was already starting to give Joey a surprisingly angry reprimand about his encouraging them. Rachael hadn't thought the kind-hearted woman was even capable of such sternness.

Turning her attention to Cliff, she led him to a seat. "What happened?" she asked.

"Stupid kid stole most of the champagne." Cliff indicated the bottle on the table.

"And you attacked him over that?" Rachael was stunned that it took so little to turn Cliff violent. "Let me take a look at that leg."

As she bent down, she saw a brief flash of what might have been regret on Cliff's face, but the anger returned swiftly. "He attacked first. But he had it coming anyhow."

Rachael pushed up the leg of Cliff's jeans. She glanced towards where Devin had been, but both he and Allison had left. Turning back to the leg, she saw a large red spot were Devin's shoe had connected.

"Liz, grab some ice and a towel from the kitchen."

Liz looked like she wanted to object to the order, but she said nothing and walked into the hall.

"Is it bad?"

"No," Rachael reassured Cliff. "Might swell a little, but it shouldn't keep you off your feet for long."

"Can I help?" Katrina asked, walking away from Joey, who still looked pleased with himself.

"Go check on Devin, see if he has any problems that need attention," Rachael instructed. "Get him to lie down if his head's sore, I'll come by to see him in a minute." She turned back to Cliff. "Anything else hurt?"

"Nothing the rest of the champagne won't take care of."

Rachael lowered her voice once Katrina was out of earshot. "What the hell were you thinking? You're doing well in the challenges. We're both doing well. Why are you trying to stir up trouble?""

"He stole from me," Cliff replied dispassionately. "Just had to teach him that I wouldn't let it happen again."

Rachael shook her head, unable to understand Cliff's reasoning. Even with Devin winning the second challenge, he hardly seemed like a real threat to their game plan. If Cliff was going to be this unpredictable, she might have to end their alliance sooner than she thought. Being associated with a lunatic would only drag her down.

### Day 4: Liz

Quart's losing streak made him of little value in the challenges, but it would make it easier for Liz to control him, she reasoned. He was foolish, but every great strategist needed a pawn to do their dirty work.

Standing alone in the kitchen, Liz checked the fridge. The day's supplies were nearly all gone. With everyone else in bed, Heather and her crew were probably just waiting for Liz to leave before bringing out the next day's provisions. Not finding anything appetizing, she shut the fridge and started to pace. She needed this quiet time to think, to assess where she was in the game. Her performance in the challenges was acceptable, but it had to improve if she was going to win. The social vote was looking less and less likely to go her way. Other than Quart, nobody wanted much to do with her. She supposed she could try harder to be positive, but it wasn't in her nature. She was a planner, a silent observer.

Socializing could only win five hundred points. If the pattern of one challenge every other day held consistently, there were still thirteen challenges to win one hundred points for first. With second place only receiving half that amount, even if Cliff came in second every challenge _and_ won the vote, she would still have more points. The same went for Devin, but the idea of him doing that well was laughable. He had raw intelligence, but no sense of strategy. Allison was controlling him like a puppet, making allies the only way she knew how. Her attempts at seduction were hilarious to watch, but at least she was smart enough to use the advantages she had effectively.

Cliff, on the other hand, made no sense. He was clearly good in the challenges, but the fight earlier was the wrong move. Had he started this game putting on the face of a gentleman he could easily have charmed Suzanne and Katrina, not just Rachael. Instead he was driving away the two absurdly gentle players by trying to seem tough. Who was he trying to impress? The men would resent him for it. Marcus had been grumbling about him that evening, in his usual angry way. Liz had a suspicion that Marcus's claims of alcoholism were little more than a gimmick to give him an excuse to be rude, and it seemed to be working. Most of the outright anger in the bunker was aimed towards Joey, and Marcus was getting a surprising amount of sympathy from everyone.

Liz stretched her arms, trying to keep herself awake. She had to prioritize and figure out what to do with Quart. She wasn't willing to risk her own disqualification by sabotaging people the way Joey was, but if she could use Quart to throw the others off their game, that would aid her. Cliff was obviously the biggest threat, with Devin and Rachael close behind. Maybe Marcus. Katrina and Suzanne had no hope in any challenge but were a danger in the social vote, and Allison would be lucky if she even managed to beat Quart. If Joey's antics kept up, they'd get in the way of a victory, but if he calmed down she might need to watch out for him.

So how could Quart ensure that Cliff, Rachael, and Devin didn't win the next challenge? Nothing direct, it had to be subtle. Liz stifled a yawn, when inspiration suddenly hit her. That was it. Target their sleep. If Quart kept all the men up by talking the night before the challenge, their performance would suffer. Something else would have to be done to slow Rachael down, but it was a start. It was a straightforward plan that wouldn't be seen as suspicious, especially since Quart was easily annoying enough for it to be believable. A simple play using her pawn would ensure that she remained queen.

### Day 5: Marcus

"You need to be meaner," Suzanne hissed over the sound of machinery.

"I'm yelling and being rude at every chance I have!" Marcus insisted, annoyed. "It's not easy to do constantly."

"But that's why you're here. If you don't make enemies, I can't calm things down. If you aren't an asshole, I can't put you in your place."

Marcus could see Suzanne was fed up, but she didn't seem to understand. "I'm doing my best! With Joey and now Cliff making scenes, and Liz being so easy to hate, I guess everyone is more sympathetic to me than we expected."

"One-up them then," Suzanne commanded. "Go punch Katrina in the face or something."

"Katrina? What did she ever do?"

"Nothing, you idiot." Suzanne rolled her eyes. "Everybody loves Katrina. That's why next time she says a word to you, you take it the wrong way and your temper gets the better of you."

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. "I'm trying to be a jerk, not get arrested. And I like Katrina too, you know. I like most of these people."

"Are we here to win, or to make new pals?" Suzanne asked incredulously.

"We were here to make you win," Marcus stated. "But I'm starting to feel like if I was just myself, I'd have a better shot at it without you."

"You can't be serious!" Suzanne threw her arms up in exasperation. "We had a plan, you can't back out now. I'm going to win this game, and we split it. It's too late to change that without screwing us both over."

"I can't help it if you're not making as good an impression with your motherly love as I am with my anger. I guess I've just got a more magnetic personality," Marcus shot back, his voice rising. "If the plan isn't working, it's time to make a new plan. I think just playing the game the way it was intended is going to work out fine for me. And if it doesn't for you? One less competitor."

Suzanne's face crumpled with rage. In all the years they'd known each other, Marcus had never seen her so mad.

"Don't say anything, remember," he taunted. "Can't have anyone overhear us, we might be kicked out."

Without waiting for a response, he hurried towards the door. He hoped he hadn't spoken too loudly. If the machines didn't stop the microphones from picking up their conversation, he could already be in trouble. But it felt good to be out of Suzanne's grasp. She was a clever player, but he was tired to making himself look bad on television for her benefit. He could be a redemption story, overcoming his supposed alcoholism gracefully. And it might just win him a million dollars. That was worth losing a friend for.

### Day 5: Quart

Breakfast was a glum affair, and when Quart was finally done eating, he could barely drag himself to his feet. Coming into this game, the last thing he had expected was to finish last in every challenge. But after the first two, it was starting to feel like he stood no chance. The feeling of incompetence had been steadily building in his mind, and he didn't know how much longer he could handle it. No amount of money was worth putting himself through this hell. Steadying his resolve, he reached the hallway and turned towards the control room.

He passed Katrina, on her way back from the bathroom, but ignored her concerned inquiry. He didn't know if he could hold it together if he started to speak, and breaking down in front of the cameras would only make the situation worse. But the control room would be a reprieve from the constant filming, and there he could announce his decision.

The control room door was made of heavy steel, just like those on the interview, mechanical, and challenge rooms. While most of the bunker simply had open doorways, it was clear that the show's creators had chosen not to skimp on the authenticity of the few doors they did have. Quart raised a hand to knock. A brief moment of doubt assaulted him, insisting that he could still win if he stuck with it. He summoned up the hopelessness that came with two last place finishes, and pushed the doubts away. He knocked on the door.

There was no response. Quart waited anxiously, wondering if the whole crew was in the elsewhere in the bunker. _Maybe it's a sign_. As he started to turn away, the clicking of a lock emerged from the door, and it opened a few inches. Heather's face peeked out from the crack.

"Quart?" She sounded surprised. "Is something wrong?"

He nodded before answering quietly. "I want out."

Her eyes immediately widened, and she pulled the door open. "Come in," she insisted.

The control room looked much more welcoming than Quart had imagined. Plenty of screens showing the inside of the bunker, comfortable furniture, and even carpet. After five days in the drab, sterile environment that the contestants were allowed in, he felt like he had entered a different world. His heart started to beat more slowly as he relaxed, knowing that soon he would be back in a place where everything was this inviting.

Victor and Brandon were both in the room, looking at one of the screens. Quart caught a glimpse of Devin kneeling in front of his water pump during the previous day's challenge.

"What's going on?" Victor asked, giving Heather a quizzical glance. "The contestants aren't supposed to be in here."

"He wants to quit."

"I can't handle this," Quart explained, nervous to be expressing himself in front of this audience. "I just need to go home."

"Give it a few more days," she encouraged. "You don't want to regret—"

"I just need to go home," he repeated firmly. "I'm not changing my mind, and I'm not going back out there."

"One more—"

"No." There was no way he was going to let them change his mind.

Victor gave Heather another look, but Quart couldn't tell what he meant by it.

Heather sighed. "We have to tell him."

"Tell him what?" Brandon asked, surprised.

"Quart, why don't you sit down," Victor suggested, indicating towards the couch.

Quart obliged, watching Brandon closely. The cameraman had a look of absolute confusion on his face.

"I don't know if there's an easy way to say this." Heather's voice was soft, little more than a whisper. "Quart, I need you to promise to work with us and not mention what I'm about to say to any of the other contestants."

"But I won't be here any more, how could I?"

"Heather," Brandon prompted worriedly. "What the hell is going on?"

"We're stuck," Heather blurted out. "We haven't been able to contact anyone on the surface since we got down here, and the elevator isn't working. I'm sorry Quart, but you can't leave. None of us can."

Quart's mind was not equipped to handle the information. He could barely comprehend the words.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Brandon demanded.

Victor answered before Heather had a chance. "We hoped that it would all be cleared up quickly, and that we wouldn't have to distract you with it."

"You didn't think I was important enough to know?"

"What would it have changed?" Victor shot back. "We can't do anything but wait, so why put you through the agony of wondering what's happening up there?"

Quart found his voice, weakened and frail. "So I can't go home."

"I'm sorry," Heather answered earnestly.

"We've been going through this game for nothing, I guess?"

"No," she countered. "We're still filming it all, and once we do get out, I'm sure it will be aired just as planned. The production is a little different, but we're still going to make this show."

"And I can't quit."

"I'm sorry," Heather repeated. "I know this is a lot to hold in, but I need to ask you again not to tell anyone else. We don't know how people might react, and it would end any hope of salvaging a workable show."

Quart stood up abruptly. "I guess I'm still in the game, then." He started towards the door. "Excuse me." As he fumbled with the doorknob, he heard the sound of Heather beginning to speak, but she cut herself short. Victor said something quietly, but he couldn't focus enough to understand the words.

Quart pushed the door open and stumbled out of the room. He felt dizzy and nauseous, disoriented and light-headed. He trudged down the hallway with only one purpose in mind. He had to talk to Liz. She was the only person he could trust, the only one who didn't look down on him. Even Katrina, as nice as she acted, had been too proud to accept his alliance. Liz needed to know.

He checked the bathroom, the dining room, and the kitchen, but found no sign of her. Other contestants spoke to him as he looked, but he ignored them. She must be in the bedroom, then. He arrived at the doorway and saw her speaking with Rachael and Allison.

"Liz," he called out. "You need to come with me."

Allison scowled at him. "We're having a conversation. And you're not even supposed to be in here!"

"What is it, Quart?" Liz asked, sounding irritated.

"I need to tell you something."

"Excuse me," Liz said to the other women as she began to move towards Quart. As soon as her face was turned away from them, she gave Quart a look of annoyance.

Ignoring it, Quart grabbed her shoulder and steered her into the hall, down to the end that held the door to the challenge room.

"I had just about persuaded them to stop associating with Cliff," Liz told him. "I've been saying he's too big of a threat. Think about how much being an outcast could hurt his morale, and through that his performance in the challenges."

Quart barely felt the sting of Liz's unintentional description of his own experience in the bunker. "We're stuck," he whispered, using Heather's words to avoid the difficulty of choosing his own.

"Are you kidding me? I have lots of ideas left. I had a great idea last night, when everyone is trying to sleep, you need—"

"No, we're stuck down here," Quart hissed. "Underground."

Liz looked at him in disbelief.

"I just spoke with Heather, she said that the crew hasn't been able to contact anyone on the surface this whole time, and the elevator isn't working. We can't leave."

Liz's eyes narrowed. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

"What?"

"You're just putting yourself out of the running entirely. I'm the only ally you have, and you think you can trick me? You're dumber than I thought."

"I'm not lying!" Quart had to restrain himself from shouting. He couldn't fathom Liz's doubt.

"I know a trick when I see one," Liz stated. "It's a gutsy move, but you picked the wrong target. Try that one on Devin, he seems gullible."

"You know I'd never try to fool you."

Liz laughed, and the sound echoed down the hall. Quart looked back and saw that Suzanne and Joey both looking at them, and as he watched, Allison and Rachael came out of the bedroom to see what was going on.

"Of course you would," Liz continued, her tone a mixture of anger and amusement. "We're playing for a million dollars. Anyone in this bunker would say whatever they had to in order to win."

Quart couldn't believe it. He had been devoted to his alliance with Liz. "I thought we were going to get to the end together. Now you're saying you'd discard me just to put yourself ahead?"

"As if you wouldn't do that same! You act like you aren't trying to do it right now, to throw me off my game by worrying about your ridiculous claims."

The nausea was starting to get to Quart. He thought he might collapse. "You know what, Liz? You can go to Hell. I don't need you anymore." He lowered his voice enough that the crowd wouldn't hear him. Perhaps Heather had been right. "The game isn't real anymore. You're wasting your time and energy for nothing."

"Lie all you want," Liz whispered back. "I am going to win, with or without you."

Quart shook his head and turned away. His mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts. Without Liz, he didn't know who he could trust. Locked hundreds of feet beneath the surface of the Earth in a tight space with more than a dozen other people, he still felt alone.

### Day 5: Suzanne

As Quart stormed away, Suzanne realized she had to act immediately. The shouting had attracted the attention of the whole bunker, but everyone else was giving him lots of space.

"Are you alright?" Suzanne asked as she approached.

Quart stared blankly back at her in response.

"Let's get you something to drink." She put an arm over his shoulder and started to steer him towards the kitchen. He didn't respond, nor did he resist.

Once they were out of the hallway, she took him to a chair, then went to the sink to fill a glass.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" she asked soothingly.

"No."

"That's fine." It didn't matter why they fought, just that they had. "I've been wondering these past few days why you're spending so much time with someone like her."

"I thought we were friends," Quart replied flatly.

Suzanne put the glass down in front of him. "It's alright," she said, giving him a brief, friendly hug before sitting down beside him. "I'm here for you if you need someone to talk to. About anything."

"I just don't..." Quart began meekly. "I don't know what to do. I can't handle this game, I suck at it and I want to leave, but..."

"But you don't want to be a quitter, I get it," Suzanne sympathized. "This hasn't been the experience I thought it would be either. But we need to tough it out, and try to prevail regardless. There are still twenty-five days to change our positions in this game. That's a lot of time to turn it around."

Quart gave one slow nod. "I guess."

"I know you're disappointed that your friendship with Liz didn't work out, but I'll tell you what. You can count on me, whatever happens. We aren't as good at the challenges as some of the other players, but we still have a lot to offer, and we can hold more influence than they expect. What do you say?"

"Thanks. You're really...." Quart paused. "Thanks," he repeated, shifting his weight to lean against her as if he were too tired to support his own weight.

Suzanne wrapped an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. It was clear that more than anything else, Quart needed a nurturing mother figure, which she could easily provide. He wasn't Marcus, but he was the best replacement she could hope for. Controlling him would be much simpler.

### Day 5: Katrina

"I just hope everything calms down soon," Katrina explained.

Brandon nodded from behind the camera.

"Cliff and Devin could have seriously hurt each other," she continued. "And now Liz and Quart are clearly on the outs. It's crazy."

"Do you think it's going to get better?" Brandon asked in the quiet, neutral voice he always maintained during the interviews.

"I wish I could say yes, but I don't see how. The game can only get tougher and more intense. Being locked down here is like a pressure cooker for all of these emotions, and they're going to keep building until something bursts. When this was being planned, did you all realize how tough this aspect would be?"

"Katrina, you know I can't answer that sort of question."

"Sorry," she looked down from the camera. "It just seems like if anyone had known how hard this would be mentally, they would have changed the game a bit. Used a bigger cast and had eliminations so the weaker players got to leave, or something like that. I don't know if everyone can handle a whole month." She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

"Anyone in particular?"

Katrina didn't want to point fingers, but she didn't want to hold back either. "I don't know. I guess Quart seems like he's having a rough time, and I can't blame him. Allison seems upset with her performance too. And Marcus, with his problem, he—" she paused. It felt like a betrayal to be talking about the other contestants behind their back, even if they were certainly doing the same to her.

"It's okay," Brandon said, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. She flinched as he gripped it a bit more firmly than the gentle pat she'd anticipated, but he didn't remove it.

"I think he's brave coming on the show as a means to quit, but I'm worried it will just end up hurting him. He acts tough, but if he has that weighing down on him as well as the game, it could be too much." She paused, looking down to the floor. "It would be for me."

"You're doing really well," Brandon insisted. Katrina heard the camera beep, then felt his other hand on her chin, pushing her head back upwards. "You're not alone here." He put that hand onto her other shoulder and stared into her eyes. "You aren't alone," he repeated.

Katrina felt a little trapped by the arms on either side of her, but said nothing. It was comforting to have someone that wasn't her competition to confide in, and Brandon was clearly just trying to cheer her up.

"Thanks," she replied with a smile. "It's good to know I have someone I can rely on."

### Day 5: Victor

"Brandon showed you the footage of Quart and Liz, right?" Victor asked.

She responded with a slight nod.

"The game is wearing on these people faster than any of us guessed," he continued. "Pete said they probably wouldn't start to get stir-crazy for a couple weeks, at least."

"What are you saying?" Heather looked concerned. "We need to keep the show going as long as we can. Hopefully Liz's reaction will scare Quart off from telling anyone else. I should've lied, and just told him to go on with—"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Victor insisted, sitting down next to her on the control room's couch. "But Quart clearly won't be able to hold his tongue for the whole month, so word's going to get out sooner or later. Don't you think it's better they hear it from us, rather than letting it slip out?"

Heather leaned back, tilting her head to look at the ceiling and running her hands through her hair anxiously. "It is, but... we're still going to be expected to deliver the show. If we screw this up, we're putting the nail in the network's coffin and a lot of people will lose their jobs."

"I do have one idea," Victor ventured. "Back on the first day, you were talking about climbing the elevator cables, and I convinced you not to. But I've been giving it a lot of thought, and with the situation the way it is now, I feel like it's in everyone's best interest if I try it myself." He put on his best poker face, trying to hide his nervousness. It had to be done.

For a moment Heather didn't respond. When she finally did, her words were slow and deliberate. "I should be the one to do it."

"Why, because it's your idea? That's no reason. Think about it, if I get to the top and my phone still doesn't work, I've got a long walk to find anyone. If I'm not seen for a few days, the contestants won't think anything of it, you can just tell them I'm feeling under the weather if they ask. But you have to be here, because if the show is going to be usable once this is over, it's going to need a host."

"Victor...."

"And that's ignoring the fact that you have children to think of. They need you. I don't have anyone that's depending on me."

"You think I'd be where I am without your help for all these years?" Heather pleaded. "I depend on you."

Victor steeled his resolve. "Who else can do it? We need Brandon on the camera, and we can't tell the contestants what's going on. If you want to preserve the show, this is the only way."

Heather was quiet.

"I want to try tonight, once all the contestants are asleep. It shouldn't take too long if all goes well."

Victor stood up as soon as he was done speaking and walked towards his room, barely able to keep himself from shaking.

### Day 6: Heather

The hatch opened with a louder than expected metallic thump. Heather took one last look down the hallway before entering the elevator, but there was no sign of anyone else to hear it. All of the contestants had been asleep for hours.

"Help me up?" Victor asked quietly.

Heather obliged, aiding as he hauled himself onto the roof of the elevator. She heard a flashlight clicking on.

"What do you think?"

"It looks manageable," Victor's replied, his voice echoing up the towering void. "I think I can see the top."

Moving under the opening, Heather peered up. The light of Victor's flashlight illuminated a passage rising hundreds of feet and a series of thick cables. Seeing the distance above made the realization of just how far she was from home even more pronounced.

"It's not too late to change your mind," she suggested.

"I'm going." Victor put the flashlight between his teeth, then turned his attention to the cables. "I'll be fine," he insisted, his words sounding awkward and skewed.

"Good luck."

"Won't need it," he replied, sounding falsely overconfident.

Victor grabbed onto one of the cables and started climbing. Heather realized that even if he hadn't talked her out of attempting the climb herself, she would have lacked the strength to physically pull herself up. Victor, on the other hand, was at least in good physical shape and stood a chance. With the flashlight's beam pointed upwards, she could only see him in silhouette, but he seemed to be making good progress. He didn't speak, letting out only grunts of exertion as he climbed. She wanted to ask how he felt, if he thought he could make it the whole way, but she held back. He didn't need any distractions, or worse, to open his mouth and drop the flashlight.

She watched in silence for what felt like an hour, but logically must have been closer to ten minutes. Victor looked to be at least fifty feet up.

"What are you doing?"

Heather let out a noise somewhere between a shriek and a gasp, turning sharply to see where the unexpected voice was coming from. Allison was standing in the hall, looking perplexed.

Victor's voice sounded from the shaft, faintly asking if something was wrong. Heather glanced up, but was blinded by glare of his light as he looked back at her.

"It's nothing!" she hissed back as loudly as she dared.

"What's going on?" Allison asked, her eyes narrowing. "Is there someone up there?"

She stepped forward, trying to get into the elevator. Instinctually, Heather held out her hands and blocked the entrance.

"Don't worry about it," she said, trying to sound calm. "Just regular maintenance. You should—"

Her words were cut short by panicked grunting from above. She turned her gaze upwards just in time to see the light falling towards her, still firmly grasped by the plummeting, flailing form of Victor.

### Day 6: Allison

The deafening crash sounded like a gunshot as it filled the bunker. The whole elevator sank a few inches before bouncing back, knocking Heather from her feet. Allison jumped back in surprise, suddenly very glad not to have entered it.

"Heather?" Allison asked timidly. She wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Was it some sort of twist to the game?

"Victor!" Heather called, ignoring Allison and looking to the roof of the elevator. She repeated his name twice more, with no response, then turned to Allison. The look she wore made it clear that whatever was going on was not planned.

The sound of confused voices reached Allison, and she saw other contestants lethargically making their way out of the bedrooms.

"What was that noise?" Cliff asked, leading the pack.

Allison couldn't help but notice that he was wearing only what seemed to be a rather hastily thrown on pair of pants. At any other time she would have commented. Instead, she shrugged.

Without warning, Allison was pushed aside by Heather leaving the elevator. "Is Rachael awake?"

In almost perfect unison, the crowd of contestants turned to look at the people behind. Rachael was not one of them.

"Someone get her, now!" Heather ordered, returning to the elevator. "Allison, help me get up there!"

Still confused, Allison obeyed, entering the elevator and helping lift Heather as she pulled herself onto the roof. Cliff joined in seconds later, and the task became much easier. As soon as Heather's head passed the roof, she gasped Victor's name once more.

Cliff gave Allison a questioning look, but she had no answers for him.

"Where's Rachael?" Heather shouted, pulling herself up onto the roof. Her feet hung down, like a child on a too-large chair.

Allison checked down the hall, and saw Joey leading the doctor towards the elevator at a sprint. "She's here!"

"What's wrong?"

"It's Victor, he's... hurt," Heather choked out, her voice filled with concern.

"Come on," Cliff said, reaching out to hold Rachael.

Heather moved her legs out of the way as Cliff helped the newest arrival ascend. Allison tried to ignore the buzzing of questions from the crowd that had gathered outside. Everyone in the bunker had arrived, and even Brandon looked confused. She focused on the conversation taking place above her head.

"Is there anything you can do?" Heather asked.

"He doesn't have a pulse, I'm sorry."

"Do CPR then! You're supposed to know how to help him!"

"Look at his head, Heather. There's nothing that can be done," Rachael insisted. "Maybe at a hospital, but it's a long shot. We'll need to figure out how to get him down before we turn on the elevator. How did this happen, anyway?"

"We can't take the elevator up," Heather replied, her hollow voice cracking. "We're...." She paused. "I need to talk to everyone."

Heather's legs came through the hole again, quickly followed by the rest of her body as she dropped to the ground. Immediately the contestants started asking the same questions all at once. She held up her hands for quiet, but they did not stop. Rachael followed, and the sight of her did what Heather's gesture could not. A dark red smear stood out prominently on her shirt, and her hand was tinted the same shade.

"Listen, everyone," Heather began, light reflecting off the lines of silent tears on her face. "I don't think there's an easy way to break this to you. Somewhere, something has gone horribly wrong. We haven't been able to contact our colleagues on the surface since the first day down here, and the elevator does not seem to be functioning."

Allison's mouth dropped open in astonishment, and she could see surprise and anger growing in everyone else.

"And you didn't think we should know?" Rachael demanded.

"We decided it was for the best to run the show as planned and see if we could resolve the issue. Tonight, Victor...." She closed her eyes, swallowing anxiously. "...decided that he would try to climb the elevator's cables to get help. He must have lost his grip, and now he's... he...." She couldn't seem to say the word.

"He's dead," Rachael said bluntly, an expression of rage on her face. "And I'm sorry about that, Heather, but that doesn't excuse this deceit. We had a right to know!"

"We wanted to maintain the show, not have this all go to waste."

"And now Victor's dead, and I sure as hell doubt the show can keep going!"

Allison felt dizzy, suddenly overwhelmed with claustrophobia. The bunker somehow felt much smaller than it had when she'd fallen asleep. She stood beside Cliff as Heather and Rachael continued to argue and the crowd outside the elevator looked on. In that metal box within a concrete cavern deep underground, she felt completely, helplessly trapped.

### Day 6: Katrina

"We had to make a judgment call!" Heather insisted.

"And you made the wrong one," Rachael shot back bitterly.

Katrina's mind raced as she tried to sort all of her thoughts into something coherent. They were trapped in the bunker, and an attempt to get out had ended fatally. She could feel herself starting to panic, but tried to remember that it was really not that different from what she had signed up for. They had all expected to be living here for a month anyway, surely rescue wouldn't even take that long.

"So what are we going to do now?" Suzanne asked, interrupting the argument. "We can't be expected to keep playing this ridiculous game under these circumstances."

"Of course not," Heather said. She was trying to sound calming, but it was clear that she could barely hold herself together.

"What does that mean for the point tokens?" Devin asked.

Shocked at the question, Katrina turned to face him. He had a strangely blank expression, as if he was still partially asleep.

"You're still going to keep handing them out, right?" he continued. "There's still money to be won?"

"Seriously?" Rachael asked exasperatedly. "That's what you're worried about?"

"I'm winning," he stated simply.

Without warning, Marcus forced his way to the front of the crowd grabbed onto Devin's shoulders. Glaring down at his face, his voice came out like a growl. "What's wrong with you? Points are the least of our problems now." His grip on Devin visibly tightened, and he looked like he was about to shake him. "A man just died, and you're worried about goddamn tokens?"

"Let him go!" Katrina shouted, unable to watch another fight.

"We're stuck here, and you're still thinking about that shit?" Marcus continued, undeterred. "You heartless—"

"Hey!" Heather shouted, stepping forward. "Calm down."

Marcus gave Heather a sidelong glance. "And what gives you any authority anymore?"

"I'm still..." Heather faltered.

Devin made use of the distraction to wriggle free of Marcus's grasp and take a step back. "I don't care if you're giving up on the points, you couldn't have won anyway." He was trembling, a frenzied look in his eyes. "You were never a threat." With that, Devin forced his way past the other contestants and bolted towards the kitchen.

Katrina breathed a sigh of relief, hoping the situation would calm down.

"Marcus is right, you know," Rachael said thoughtfully. "If the game's over, why should you have any more say in anything than the rest of us?"

"You're all still my responsibility. I need you all to trust that I have some idea of what I'm doing, and even if I'm not in complete control anymore, respect that I am the most familiar with this bunker, it's contents, and that I have had some level of training for dealing with an emergency." Heather seemed to be regaining her composure. "If everyone can be calm and wait this out, we don't have to worry." She paused, obviously mulling over whether or not to say something more. "In addition, while I can make no promises, I expect the network will make sure everyone is equally compensated. So please, can we all cool our heads, catch our breath, and get back to bed?"

Relief filled Katrina as she saw the contestants agreeing with Heather. She didn't know how much more shouting she could take. But there was one more point that had to be addressed. She approached Heather. "Good job there."

"Thank you," Heather shook her head in disbelief. "It's all crazy."

Katrina tried to speak in the most sympathetic whisper she could muster. "I know it's the last subject you want to think about right now, but what do you want us to do with Victor? We can't just leave him there."

Heather stared at her vacantly. "You're right. I guess we should find somewhere out of the way to... put him."

Brandon, overhearing the conversation, leaned in. "What about the interview room? We'll hardly need it anymore."

Nodding, Heather opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't seem to get the words out.

"We can handle it," Katrina insisted. "It's clear you two were close."

"We'll be careful with him," Brandon assured her.

A voice cut into their conversation unexpectedly. "Can I have everyone's attention?" Joey asked, coming to the front of the crowd. "I have something to say."

### Day 6: Joey

All eyes suddenly focused on him, Joey readied himself for his admission. As soon as Heather had announced what was happening, he'd been trying to work up the courage to say something, and it seemed the crowd was getting ready to disperse. He'd decided to just bite the bullet and do it.

"I know you're all probably thinking I'm the last person you need to hear from to make this situation any worse, and an hour ago that's exactly the way I would have wanted it," he began, trying to give everyone at least a few seconds of eye contact. "I've been an asshole in this game, but I want you all to know that that isn't who I really am. You've got to understand, I didn't come on the show to win. I wanted to be the guy everyone was talking about after watching the episode, the infamous name that was remembered even more than the winner."

Joey undoubtedly had their full attention. Nobody spoke as he paused for breath.

"I've spent the last few years trying to get my music career off the ground, but nobody's interested in Joey the regular guy as a performer. They want someone with personality, and I needed a way to define that personality. So I decided to try out for this show, and to come on and just screw up as much as I possibly could. I'm not proud of it, but what's done is done. I'm telling you all this because I hope you can accept that I'm not going to be that person anymore. We're not making entertainment, we're trying to coexist and wait for rescue, and I don't want to make that any harder than it will already be."

He stopped talking, waiting for someone to respond. Nobody spoke. He looked from face to face, trying to prompt anyone else to speak. Suzanne, then Heather, then Quart said nothing. When his gaze landed on Allison, she shook her head in disbelief.

"You mean what you did to me in that first challenge was all for show?" she asked incredulously, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes, and I'm really sorry. You don't know how much I regretted it after, but I had to keep up—"

"Oh, you regretted it, did you?" Allison snapped back. "Well, I'm sorry it was so hard on you."

"I don't expect forgiveness," Joey explained earnestly. "Just understanding that none of you need to worry about me from this point on."

Allison looked at him with a sneer. "So you're going to be a reasonable human being? That's so sweet of you."

"Hey," Katrina cut in. "He's saying he's sorry, let's just accept that and move on."

"Fine," Allison replied, throwing her hands in the air. "Whatever you say. I'm going back to bed."

### Day 6: Marcus

Even after scrubbing his hands more thoroughly than he ever had in the past, Marcus still thought he could feel Victor's drying blood on them. He, Cliff, Rachael, and Katrina had managed to get the damaged body down from the roof of the elevator and into the interview room, but they'd made a mess of themselves and the hall in the process. Katrina had stayed to mop up and roped the still apologetic Joey into helping her, but Marcus couldn't handle it any more.

Lying in bed, a return to sleep seemed all but impossible. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing the broken man, always so animated and filled with life in the past, swaying rhythmically as he was hauled like an old rug. And in the back of his mind, keeping him awake just as much as that horrid image, was a feeling of dread. Not about being trapped, either. He was anxious, of course, but not fearful. What terrified him was that he had lost control of himself and snapped so violently at Devin. Even though the entire withdrawal excuse was an act, the stress of the bunker was agitating him more than he'd anticipated. The poor boy hadn't returned to the bedroom yet, and Marcus could hardly blame him. He'd have to keep check of himself more carefully from now on. There was already more than enough to worry about in the current situation without adding an uncontrollable temper to the mix.

With nothing but the sounds of Quart's light snoring and Cliff's slow breathing to keep him company, Marcus wondered what friends he might find in the bunker. Would it be possible to make up with Suzanne? He knew she wasn't one to forgive easily. But beyond her, he had intentionally made few contacts. His work to alienate the others and drive support to Suzanne would be hard to undo. Katrina seemed content to talk with anybody, she seemed like a natural first person to speak with. He knew he'd have to apologize to Devin, of course, and Heather too. Brandon, he realized, was someone he could imagine building a bond with. They always got on well in the interviews, and now that it wasn't a case of the cast being separate from the crew, maybe they could have an actual conversation.

Marcus rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes once more, knowing that he had to sleep eventually. Victor's mangled form greeted him in perfect clarity.

### Day 6: Liz

The morning of the sixth day was so completely different from all that had preceded it that to an outsider it would barely have seemed like the same group of people. As Liz made her way to the bathroom, she could feel a marked change in the atmosphere with each person she saw. The energy and excitement was gone. Some were sleeping in, others clearly had never returned to bed. Conversations were hushed and secretive not because of strategies and plans, but because there was a haze of uneasiness that no one dared penetrate.

Liz suspected that she was taking the adjustment easier than most. When they had first been awoken early that morning, she had been certain that it was all some elaborate twist in the game meant to ramp up tensions and drive wedges between them. As the situation had progressed, however, even her cynicism couldn't find any excuse for Heather's obvious distress. And now that she had accepted the fact, it was calming in a way. She could let her brain stop its ceaseless scheming and strategizing, and focus on making it through the situation at hand.

"Believe me now?" a voice demanded, cutting though Liz's thoughts.

She looked up and saw Quart emerging from the bathroom. "I was just looking for you," she admitted. It was half true, she had hoped to find him as soon as possible. Admitting that she had been wrong wasn't going to be easy, but it had to be done. "Listen, about yesterday...."

"You don't need to say it," Quart interrupted.

Relieved, Liz nodded in understanding.

"I know you regret burning this bridge, but don't claim you're sorry," Quart continued. "You said that you'd betray me in a heartbeat. I know what kind of person you are."

"That was part of the game—"

"Every action we take reveals the truth about us," Quart insisted. "I think that's a quote from Gandhi or something. Anyway, the point is that if you're a heartless liar in the game, you're going to be one out of the game too."

"Quart, we need to all try to stick together down here. Rivalries will only make it more unpleasant." Liz was fuming inside, but didn't want to let him see that and undermine her own point.

"I know who I can trust. People like Suzanne, they're honest and good. I don't know if you could ever understand," Quart concluded.

Liz was angry, offended, and hurt at the accusation, but didn't respond. Quart had obviously made up his mind. She didn't mind losing him as an ally in the game, that hadn't been a great loss. But the last thing she wanted was an enemy.

### Day 6: Brandon

"And what if they get more uneasy?" Heather asked, sipping her coffee. "I thought there'd be a riot last night." She was wearing a bathrobe over her nightclothes. All vestiges of professionalism in the control room had left with Victor.

Brandon had no suggestions for her. "We need to just see how it all plays out, and react well if anything does happen."

"You're a good listener, Brandon. Thank you."

"It's not a problem."

"I just can't shake this feeling," Heather explained. "Like I'm the bad guy to these people. That they think it's my fault."

Brandon considered the idea. "I'm sure, on an instinctual level, some of them do feel that. You brought this bad news to them, and you're the one they placed their trust in. But if they're reasonable and levelheaded, they'll come to their senses soon."

"I know, but its unbearable wondering if they're all out there cursing my name." Heather visibly shivered at the thought.

"Then don't let them," Brandon put forward. "Go out there and drink your coffee with them. Talk, socialize, let them get to know you. Once you step down off your pedestal and humanize yourself, they'll accept that none of this is your fault."

Before Brandon was even done speaking, Heather was on her feet. "You're right." She headed for the door. "Thanks again."

Brandon nodded in acknowledgment as she left the room. Once the door was closed and he was left alone with his thoughts, he turned to face the screens that had housed the feeds from the cameras, now blank. Heather had insisted that if the game was over, there was no need to keep invading everyone's privacy. But Brandon had a better idea.

After checking over his shoulder to make absolutely sure nobody had slipped into the room, he started up the cameras again and began recording. Maybe _Beneath the Blast_ would never make it to air, but that didn't mean he couldn't still make the best of the situation. As soon as their story got out into the world, they'd all be famous. Everyone would want to hear from the people who were trapped underground in a reality show gone tragically wrong. But hearing about it was nowhere near as good as seeing it. Brandon knew that if he was careful he could just keep the cameras rolling for as long as they were stuck, and it wouldn't be difficult to grab the hard drives when they were let out. The footage he recorded now could be worth far more than the prize the contestants had been vying for, perhaps even more than the entire show's production costs. A great treasure was sitting in plain sight, but Brandon was the only one smart enough to recognize it.

### Day 6: Cliff

Rachael paced back and forth in the kitchen, wringing her hands as she ranted. "I can't believe her. What gives her the right to hide all this from us?"

Cliff leaned back, completely neglecting the meal they were supposed to be preparing. "Doesn't make much sense," he agreed, trying to sound interested. In the past twelve hours, Rachael had been repeating the same point endlessly, and he had little left to add. But he had decided it was for the best to keep acting the way he had during the game, since coming clean after Joey already had would only serve to undermine the mood further. Redneck Cliff would have to remain.

"She's just some show-biz personality, not even anyone with real authority. It doesn't make sense for us to follow her every word, especially now that we know she wanted to keep the whole being trapped thing quiet. Who does that?"

"Must be crazy." He would be lying if he said he wasn't annoyed at Heather, but he couldn't muster the vitriolic fury Rachael seemed to be consumed with. It was as if the moment the cameras had stopped rolling, any semblance of pleasant respectfulness had left her. She was probably just still in shock, but Cliff was relieved that he had held off on bragging to her about sneaking his gun into the bunker. And now that the game was over, he could simply keep it tucked away and never mention it.

They were interrupted by lazy footsteps approaching, followed by Allison poking her head into the kitchen. "Rachael, your doctor skills are needed in the challenge room." She didn't look at all concerned.

"What happened?" Rachael asked, already starting towards the doorway. If nothing else, Cliff couldn't fault her willingness to help keep them all in good shape.

"Just Quart, he dropped something on his toe and is insisting it's broken."

"What are they doing in the challenge room?" Cliff asked as Rachael left without a word.

"I guess Brandon suggested cleaning up the stuff they'd put out for today's challenge, and leaving it unlocked just to give us all a bit more space," Allison explained. "It was some kind of obstacle course, so I'm not too torn up about missing out."

"How're you doing?" Cliff asked, genuinely concerned. Despite his very public flirtations with Allison, he didn't know if she was mature enough to handle the situation they were in now.

"Aw, thanks for asking. I'm doing okay," she insisted. "Got you here to keep me company."

Cliff forced a bashful smile. "That's awful kind of you. And I can see you're pretty close with Devin, too." He'd been playing up a bit of jealousy for the little geek that Allison seemed so interested in, so it would have been out of place to stop now.

"I don't know," Allison admitted. "I tried talking to him this morning, but he was acting strange. He's not taking this easily."

"Well then, all the more reason for you to stick with me." Cliff stood up. "Hey, y'all want to help me with lunch now that Rachael's bailed?"

"Sure," Allison agreed with a smile, walking towards the counter to join him. "What do we have to work with?"

### Day 6: Heather

Heather was still getting used to having contestants in the control room. Even after socializing with them for most of the day, when Liz had knocked on the door, she'd been hesitant to let her in. The control room continued to feel like it was her and Brandon's safe space, not another room for everyone to come and go from as they pleased.

"You need to start rationing the food," Liz explained calmly.

Heather was taken aback by the unprovoked suggestion. "There's plenty to go around. We were prepared to be in here for a month, and we made sure there was no risk of running out."

"Of course, but this isn't about getting the food to last. It's about keeping everyone peaceful."

"But they won't like being rationed," Heather pointed out. "How is it going to help?"

"They will be angry at you, it's true."

Heather realized she had never heard Liz sound this way, confident and clearly prepared, not keeping quiet and speaking only when necessary. It was similar to the tone she had in the recordings of secret conversations with Quart planning strategy, but those were always such shady exchanges that the duplicity was almost palpable.

"But in the long run, it will make things run smoother," Liz continued. "Putting aside the unlikely but possible scenario of us actually being trapped long enough that food is a concern, it gives everyone a firm reminder that, despite what's happened, you are still in charge."

"That's true, although I hardly think it's needed. I don't need to be in charge any more, it's not like there's a lot of administration to this place." On a certain level, Heather was looking forward to being just another person in the bunker like Brandon had suggested that morning. It would help relieve the pressure that had been crushing her.

Liz rubbed her chin, the expression she wore making it clear she was trying to decide how best to disagree. "That's a nice sentiment," she finally said. "But it's not how human nature works. There has to be an alpha in this pack, and at the moment, that's you. We all need someone to follow, and if that role is vacant, you're just encouraging trouble. A power vacuum now will just lead to these people trying to fight it out to establish who's the most dominant. It might have made for great TV before, but now we want to keep everything peaceful. And if you tell them that you're rationing the food, you're keep that strong foothold of leadership."

Heather considered the words. It made sense, the way Liz said it. But trying to assert her authority over everyone else? It wasn't in her nature. She wanted to just curl up in a ball and wait until it was time to see her children again. She wanted to mourn Victor, and to curse Pete for whatever negligence had left her in such a horrible mess.

"We need you to be strong if we're going to cope," Liz concluded.

It was hard to believe that this was the same Liz who had been so certain that Quart was lying to her the day before, who had made everyone dislike her for using a dolly in the first challenge. Heather was quickly realizing that Liz's strange, rule-bending method of thinking that had driven her strategy in the game could be a powerful asset to have on her side in the rough days that were certain to come.

### Day 6: Katrina

The challenge room was completely empty at last, and Katrina's footsteps echoed off its bare walls and high ceiling. The day had seemed a blur, and, finally alone, she had a chance to try to clear her head. She was tired, having not even attempted to find sleep after being awoken by the crash. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the expression of terror that had been frozen on Victor's pale face. The worst part of it was that he had died trying to help them all escape, and hadn't wanted them to worry about the situation. If he had been successful, the game would still be going on, and they'd be woefully ignorant of their predicament.

The echoing click of the door drew Katrina's attention, and she turned to see a familiar form coming towards her.

"Hey Brandon, what's going on?" she greeted.

"I was hoping to find you here."

"Oh?" Katrina asked, unsure of his motivations.

"You looked like you might need to talk earlier," Brandon explained, approaching her. "It's pretty clear that everything going on has shaken you up."

_Had it been that obvious_? She had hoped to hide her distress, not wanting to be the focus of anyone else's concern. Perhaps Brandon was just more attuned to sensing her emotions, having spent a lot of time with her during the interviews.

"That's sweet of you, but I'm alright," she answered.

Finally reaching her, Brandon shook his head. "You're not, but there's nothing wrong with that. I don't think anyone down here is alright."

"I'm just scared," Katrina conceded. "I know I shouldn't be worrying, someone above is going to realize what's wrong soon and we'll be let out. But it's just so strange to be stuck here. The last few days, I thought that if it all became too much for me, the option of leaving was there. Now that it isn't, I just...." She tried to figure out how to express her concerns. "I can't stop worrying."

Brandon grabbed her hands with reassuring firmness. "I'm in the same boat," he insisted. "I'm terrified, I had no idea we were stuck until everyone else did. I thought that if I wanted to go up and get some air for a couple hours, I could. And to learn that Heather and Victor, two people that I respected and trusted, would hide this from me, makes it all the worse."

Katrina was surprised by the revelation. "You didn't know?"

"It was obvious that I was the low man on the totem pole, those two have worked together for years and this was my first project with them. Guess I didn't realize just how low I was."

"I'm sorry, that must be difficult."

"But on the bright side," Brandon diverged, "I don't need to keep such distance from the contestants now. If the show's over, a bit of bias isn't a problem."

She hadn't considered that, and the idea lightened her mood a little. Brandon had always been easy to talk to, and Heather seemed like someone she could get along with very well. More friends would make the coming days a bit easier to bear. She nodded in agreement. "Good point."

"You know, you're an excellent listener. Thanks for helping me get this off my chest."

"Don't mention it!" Katrina insisted, more pleased by the compliment than she wanted to admit to herself. It was a skill she prided herself on. "I'm feeling better too."

Brandon smiled shyly, and she returned the gesture, only then realizing he was still holding her hands. Before she could register what was happening, he leaned towards her and placed a kiss on her lips. Katrina's mind went into overdrive, as if it were working to compensate for her body freezing. Brandon had clearly misinterpreted what she was saying. Yanking herself free of him, she shook her head, at a loss for words.

"I thought—" Brandon began.

Katrina took off, running past him towards the door. She mumbled a nervous apology, but wasn't sure he heard it. Without looking back, she charged into the hallway, an indecipherable tangle of emotions bombarding her as she went.

### Day 7: Rachael

"I thought the show ending meant I could at least sleep in," Rachael moaned, failing to keep her eyes open.

"Heather wants us all in the dining room," Suzanne explained apologetically. "Everyone else is already there, I figured you might appreciate it if I woke you."

"I also thought we didn't have to listen to her anymore," Rachael complained as she sat up. "It's ridiculous that anyone will even believe a word out of her mouth."

"I'm not one to talk about people behind their backs, but if I'm perfectly honest, I'm inclined to agree. Heather's no more important than anyone else is now."

The bedroom's concrete floor was frigid under Rachael's bare feet. "I'll get dressed and be over there in two minutes," she sighed, resigning herself to at least listen to whatever Heather had to say now, doubtlessly an effort to make sure they all remained calm. It seemed like overkill, since nobody was too panicked about their situation. Concerned, certainly, but they weren't children that needed constant reassurances. Well, perhaps a few of them; Quart, Allison, and Devin sprang to mind. But surely Heather had nothing to speak of beyond that. Any news from above wouldn't be relegated to a gathering and announcement, she'd be running down the halls shouting it out with glee.

Suzanne left without another word, and Rachael busied herself dressing. Her bitterness at Heather—strengthened slightly by her annoyance at being woken up—filled her mind as she finished and headed for the dining room. She was certain that whatever she was about to hear would only make it worse.

"Good, there she is," Heather said as soon as Rachael entered the room. Without waiting for Rachael to get settled, she launched right into her announcement. "After a lot of consideration, I've decided that it is for the best that I start rationing out the food on a person to person basis every day, and keep everything secure in the control room."

The uproar was immediate and overwhelming. Rachael doubted she even needed to add her voice, but did so regardless. "You have no authority to do that!" she shouted into the din.

Glancing around, she saw that almost everyone was objecting. Katrina looked more uncomfortable than angry, Liz was stone faced as ever, and Quart just looked confused. Even Devin, who had been so withdrawn for the last twenty-four hours, was voicing his objections.

Heather raised her hands for silence, her mouth moving as if to form words, but if any came out, Rachael couldn't hear them over the echoing shouts. A look of annoyance crossed her face. "Quiet!" she finally shouted, breaking through the wall of sound.

Grudgingly, the contestants complied.

"Thank you," Heather said without a hint of gratitude in her voice. "As I was saying, the food will need to be rationed. We have no way of knowing how long we'll be down here. It could be only a few more hours, but it could easily be longer than the month we'd initially intended, if there are any complications getting us out once they realize what's wrong. After the food that is currently stocked in the kitchen has been eaten, I'll be doling out a limited amount each day. We have plenty to go around, and I will make sure everyone has enough to keep them from going hungry. But if I continue just stocking the fridge, or allow unrestricted access, I worry that it will only lead to greater problems. Can everyone accept that?"

"Like hell we will," Rachael shot back without pause. "You don't control us, and this is not your decision to make. Maybe we wouldn't even be in this situation if it wasn't for you!"

"Don't you dare blame me for this, I had no more to do with it than any of you." The host's voice remained firm.

Cliff jumped into the argument, stepping towards Rachael but staring at Heather. "Ya'll are just trying to cover your ass from lawsuits, aren't you?"

"No, that has nothing—"

"Heather," Suzanne interjected, an acidity in her voice that seemed wholly divorced from her usual motherly tone, "you're still grieving over Victor, I get it, but you mustn't let that lead you to such poor decisions."

Rachael hadn't even considered that. "She's right. You're clearly in no state to be making choices, especially when they will affect us all. Why don't you give yourself a few days—"

"You don't know me, so don't try to convince me that I'm not in my right mind. Victor's...." She choked on the name. "What happened had nothing to do with this. The food will be rationed regardless of what you say, but I would appreciate everyone's support."

Rachael couldn't fathom Heather's insistence when her reasoning seemed so flimsy. Realizing she had nothing more to add, she turned and left the room, with Cliff following right behind.

"She's insane," Rachael seethed. "It's not like we're stuck on an island. There's a city, what, an hour's drive from here?"

"I think it was around that, yeah," Cliff agreed. "But I don't know if it's worth working ourselves into a fuss over, we could be out of here in a couple days."

"It certainly won't take long enough for rationing to be necessary. I swear, someone needs to teach Heather a thing or two about dealing with a crisis."

The anger Cliff had displayed in the dining room was gone, replaced with concern. "Don't do anything drastic, you hear? It's not worth getting worked up over."

"We'll see how this all shakes out. If we're out of here soon, no harm done. If it takes longer, some changes might be in order."

Cliff didn't answer, but Rachael was confident that if push came to shove, she'd have his support. After all, if Heather proved to be a problem, who else had both the sense and charisma to keep everything running smoothly?

### Day 7: Devin

Rationing. That would be helpful. Limits would create demand, and Devin could leverage that demand to his advantage. He just needed to wait for the right opportunity, and be ready to pounce when it arrived. What it would be wasn't even clear yet, but there was little doubt in Devin's mind that the rationing would be to his favour in the end.

Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed his towel and hurriedly wrapped it around his waist. Even with nobody else in the room, he still didn't feel comfortable with the bathroom's deficiencies when it came to privacy. He glanced up at the nearest camera. They didn't bother him, for some reason, even though he was under no illusion that they had been turned off as Heather claimed. He suspected it was just that the camera's cold impersonality didn't register in his mind as human on some level, even though he logically knew a human would eventually see the footage.

No sooner was the towel secured then he was glad for its presence, as Liz entered the room.

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were in here," she said, turning to give him privacy.

"On my way out," he mumbled, hurrying over to his clothes and grabbing the shirt.

Liz leaned on the nearest wall, facing away from him and averting her gaze from the mirrors. "While I've got a chance to talk in private, I've been meaning to check in and see how you're doing. Nobody's heard much from you since the other night."

"I'm fine," Devin insisted as he pulled up his pants under the towel. "I have a plan."

"What sort of plan?"

She was clever. He'd figured out quickly that Liz was his smartest competition, so there was no way he would share any information with her. In all likelihood, she had already decided to use the rationing to her advantage as well. Manipulation seemed to be a clear fit in the skill set she employed.

"A good one," he replied simply.

"I'm a little worried about you," Liz said. "You do realize that the game is over, right? You've been talking about points still, and I get that it's a lot to take in."

Immediately Devin knew she was trying to play him. Sure, Heather could claim that the game was over, they could stage Victor's death, but everyone was fully aware that this was all part of the experience. It made perfect sense. The show had seemed unoriginal and bland before, but instilling that little bit of uncertainty in everyone upped the stakes and made it a lot more unique.

"Of course I get that," he insisted, playing along. "The whole points thing, it's just a little hobby to keep me occupied while we wait. You know, to be rescued."

Finished dressing, he started towards the doorway, and at the sound of his footsteps, Liz turned to face him. She had surprisingly genuine look of concern in her eyes.

"If you need someone to talk to, there are people down here you can trust."

"Of course," Devin answered, not believing it for a moment. The game was still far from over, and there was no telling what was to come. Trusting the competition was a sure way to lose. "Listen, there's something I need to do."

Liz stepped aside to let him pass, and he could feel her eyes following him as he went. He began to walk down the hall back towards the bedrooms and dining room, but soon glanced back over his shoulder. Seeing that Liz was no longer watching, he turned back. He slipped past the bathroom's doorway quietly, and proceeded towards the control room. Knocking gently on the door, he waited for Heather. It only took a few moments.

"Devin?" she asked as the door was opened. "What do you need?"

"Can I come in?"

Heather stood aside and ushered him inside. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm feeling a bit down," Devin explained with a dramatic sigh. "The whole situation is starting to get to me. When you were talking about rationing this morning, it hit me just how real this whole thing is." More than anyone else, Heather had to believe he wasn't onto the deception. "I know you're going to be doling out the food, but I wonder if I take something to drink. It hardly makes sense to keep it all locked up for us to purchase, since the points are worthless now."

He could feel Heather's eyes piercing into him, examining him to sense any hint of suspicion. "I suppose, but please keep it quiet," she relented. "The last thing we need is a bunch of people getting drunk."

"I saw you had a bottle of whiskey, that sounds like it would really hit the spot."

"There are a couple, yeah. I'll get that for you." She headed towards one of the doors leading off of the room.

Devin breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The first step of his plan was certain to be the hardest. Now he just had to find the right time to sell, and the right buyer.

### Day 7: Allison

The thunderous noise of the machines did little to block the thoughts in Allison's mind, but if nothing else it would stop anyone who entered the room from hearing her cry. Curled up in a ball in the darkest corner she could find, she just wished there was some way she could change the situation. For the first time in her life, she felt like she had no control over the future. It was different from the last time she had been in the machine room, raging at Joey after the first challenge. That anger seemed insignificant, almost comical, compared to the more recent problems. Regardless of her actions, rescue would arrive whenever the people above realized what was wrong. Until then, she was trapped.

Putting on a brave face was easy enough when there were other people around. She didn't want to be the girl who cried when the situation got tough. That was fine when it was just a show, where she would be seen as the dumb blonde regardless of anything she did or said. She had known that would be the perception, and she had accepted it from the beginning. As a character on a show, playing into those low expectations was acceptable, perhaps even advantageous. But it was different now. The masks they all wore for television had to come off, and she needed it to be clear how resilient she was. As soon as they had learned that they were really stuck, it had become of the utmost importance that the people she would be forced to spend the coming days or weeks with knew who she really was.

And yet, maybe this was who she was. If she could only hold it together around other people and fell apart so quickly on her own, perhaps that was the mask. She could only blame the stress for so much before she needed to give up on the fight and admit that this was the real Allison. Whatever the case, she knew that so much deep introspection was certainly not normal for her.

Sitting upright, she dried her eyes and cleared her throat. So what if she couldn't speed up their rescue? Her skills were in being social, the life of the party, and a good friend to anyone that didn't piss her off. If they were going to be stuck for weeks, she would do what she could to ensure that it was as tolerable as possible.

The idea sat well in her mind. She'd leave all the coddling and comforting to Suzanne and Katrina. Quart was welcome to make himself sick with worry over how they'd get out. But her role was to remain optimistic, for her own sake. If that helped anyone else, even better, but her first responsibility was not allowing the prison she was trapped in get to her. And that was a goal she was certain she could achieve.

### Day 7: Brandon

"And it was Liz's idea you said?" Brandon asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah, she just came in here and said that it would be the best way to ensure that everyone still respected my authority."

"Interesting."

Heather took another bite of her supper. "And it seems like she was right. I managed to hold my ground against the people that disagreed, and I think they understand that I'm not going to be handing off the reigns now that the show is over."

"Liz is more clever than she lets on. And that's saying something." Brandon reclined in his seat and glanced at the monitors out of habit, but was greeted with a blank screen. He wondered what Katrina had been up to today. He'd been with Heather all afternoon, and hadn't a moment alone to check his recordings.

"She gets how people work," Heather mused. "You know, I think she had a good shot at winning the game."

"I would've put my money on Cliff."

Heather shook her head. "The whole tough guy thing is great for the physical challenges, but the mental ones would probably have tripped him up, and no way he'd win the social vote."

"Talking to him in the interviews, I got the sense that there was...." Brandon tried to decide how best to phrase it, as images played in his mind of Cliff showing off the gun. "...more depth to him that he let on."

Finished her meal, Heather stood up and carried the dish towards the door. "You might be right. I'm going to take this down to the kitchen, want to pass me yours?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll come with you," Brandon insisted, getting to his feet. "I want to get out there and be seen, so that the contestants don't think I'm a hermit hiding out in here now that I'm done working."

"It's weird, isn't it?" Heather asked as she reached for the door. "This transition, from treating them with professional distance, to trying to think of them as regular—oh, can I help you with something?"

As Brandon continued forward, he saw that Katrina was standing on the other side of the door. She looked surprised that it had opened, and a little nervous.

"Sorry, I was just about to knock," she explained. "I actually wanted to talk to Brandon."

As Heather turned to look at him questioningly, Brandon's heart leapt. He hadn't received even a passing glance from Katrina since their ill-fated kiss the night before.

"Sure," Heather replied, clearly taken aback. "I'll leave you to it."

Once Katrina and Heather had traded places and the door was closed, Brandon opened his mouth to speak, but her words got out first.

"Listen, I wanted to apologize for last night," she said, mimicking the phrase that had been on the tip of his tongue. He held back a smile at the remarkable similarities between them. They were so well suited for one another.

"I was just surprised, I guess," she continued. "I wasn't expecting you to... and then with everything that's going on, I freaked out."

"Don't beat yourself up about it," he said. "I probably shouldn't have sprung it on you like that."

She nodded supportively. "I don't want you to think I don't like you, you seem like a really nice guy. I hope we can keep getting along like we were and not let this get between us."

"Of course," Brandon insisted. How could he possibly hold it against her, when she was coming to him so apologetically, making it clear that she felt the same way he did?

"I'm so glad to hear that," Katrina said with a sigh of relief. "And I hate to leave again so soon, but I promised Quart I'd help him change the sheets on the beds. He's a little bit clueless when it comes to that sort of chore."

Only with the mention of laundry day did Brandon remember that it had been a whole week since they'd arrived in the bunker. He was a bit disappointed that the contestants were still sticking to the assigned schedule, it would hardly make compelling viewing when he sold the recordings later. But at the same time, he realized how amazing the week had been. He had only met Katrina seven days ago, and he was already completely and unquestionably in love.

### Day 8: Suzanne

"Good morning," Suzanne chirped as she entered the dining room.

Joey's head shot up in surprise. He clearly hadn't realized he was no longer alone as he scrawled in his notebook.

"Oh, hey."

"You're up awfully early," she commented, sitting down and stirring the sugar into her coffee.

"Couldn't sleep," Joey explained, closing his book. "It's strange, I'm in this crazy, horrifying situation, but the reason I can't sleep is still music ideas hitting me out of nowhere."

Suzanne could think of nothing she wanted to talk about less than artistic inspiration. "That's the sign of a great musician, they say."

"Well, thanks. How are you managing all this?"

"It's tough," she admitted with a dramatic sigh. "I miss my family of course, but I knew that would be part of the game, so I'm managing. To be honest, it's not when we'll be rescued that's my biggest concern down here."

Taking the bait, Joey looked curious. "What is?"

"It's some of the people. Perhaps it's just me getting sensitive in my old age, but I'm scared not everyone will be able to handle this as well as the two of us. In particular, I'm worried about Marcus."

"The alcoholism?"

"That's right. You saw how he was that night, how he treated Devin and Heather."

"That was scary," Joey admitted.

"I wonder if you could... no, never mind."

"What is it?"

"I know you're eager to prove to everyone that you're a rational person after what happened during the game," Suzanne explained. "So I was thinking maybe you could go have a chat with Marcus, simply to tell him to cool off, try to take it a bit easier. Let him know that outbursts like that affect everyone."

Joey considered the idea for a moment. "That's pretty smart, actually. The last thing I want is more chaos down here, I've caused enough of that already. I'll talk to him as soon as he's awake."

Suzanne knew that Marcus was not a morning person, and that it would almost certainly be the worst time to approach him. She kept her face stony as she internally celebrated her acquisition of a new tool. The game might be over, but that didn't mean she had to stop having fun.

### Day 8: Quart

Trailing behind Joey, Quart continued his reinforcement of the idea. "And like she said, if this goes on too long, he could be dangerous."

"I know, Quart. As soon as he's awake."

The annoyance in Joey's voice hinted that he was upset about Suzanne's decision to fill Quart in too. She had said that Marcus might not react well, and that it would be better to be for them both to go.

"Why don't we just go wake him up?"

"It's not that urgent, is it?" Joey asked. "He's hardly going to fly into a rage in his sleep."

Quart felt energized at the prospect of what was to come, and it was taking all of his concentration to contain it. Finally, a chance to show that he wasn't the lowest on the social ladder, and to prove to Suzanne that he appreciated her friendship. "Come on, let's just give it a go."

As they reached the entrance to the men's bedroom, Joey lowered his voice. "We'll just see if he's up yet."

Inside the room they saw Marcus lying in bed silently, but Cliff looked to have just gotten up and was pulling on a shirt.

"What's happening?"

"Just seeing if Marcus was awake," Joey explained. "Wanted to have a talk with him."

A questioning groan sounded from the bed.

Quart nodded encouragingly to Joey.

"We've been discussing the way you've been acting recently, Marcus, and decided we needed to bring that conversation to you."

Marcus sat up groggily and slung his feet over the side of the bed. "What do you mean?" he grunted.

"I know you're probably having a tougher time than the rest of us, what with the withdrawal and everything, but we're a bit concerned about your temper," Joey began diplomatically. "So if you can try to make an effort—"

"Not to be such a deranged lunatic," Quart finished, cutting Joey off.

"The hell are you talking about?" Marcus yawned.

"You looked like you were ready to rip Devin's head off the other night," Quart continued aggressively. "We can't have your problems impacting the rest of us."

Cliff stepped between them. "Hey, cut the guy a little slack. He's in a worse place than any of us."

"This isn't your fight," Quart snapped back, annoyed at the interruption. "He put himself in this situation, if it's a problem, it's his own fault!"

"I think what Quart means is that—" Joey began.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Marcus muttered, bringing himself to his feet. Quart suddenly felt very small next to him and Cliff. "I didn't know any better than the rest of you what was going to happen down here, so you're not going the pin the blame for that on me."

"Nobody's trying to say that it's your fault."

"I am," Quart declared. "The way you were shouting at Devin and Heather was entirely your fault. Suzanne even told me that she was terrified you might kill someone."

A stunned expression crossed Marcus's face. Seeing that he had gotten through, Quart pushed onward with his barrage. He was going to make sure his point was understood fully.

### Day 8: Marcus

The fight that Marcus suddenly found himself in now made sense. Suzanne had put them up to it. He seethed at the betrayal, that a week underground could turn a friend he'd known for over a decade against him. It had always been clear that she was petty and obstinate, but he'd never been on the receiving end of her anger before.

Quart had not stopped with his torrent of accusations. "You're out of control, and you need to get a handle on yourself if we're going to all stay down here."

Eyeing the pathetic little whelp, Marcus's head swirled with anger. "If you think for one moment you, or anyone else in here, can try to control me, you're dead wrong. I don't need to be controlled. I'm not some sort of crazed animal." He took a menacing step forward. "But you are just so shortsighted that you can't tell the difference between a temper and an actual threat. You're worried about your safety? We're in a goddamn bunker, and yeah, it's not fun, but it's only as dangerous as the people in it. And provoking them with shit like this is not going to make you any safer."

He wanted to say something about Suzanne, but even with his blood pumping, he knew better than to start dragging in more drama. How could he explain his knowledge of her without letting out the truth about them? It would require bringing to light that he wasn't really an alcoholic, and that would only serve to make everyone trust him less.

"Listen, we didn't mean to upset you," Joey said in a clear attempt to calm Marcus down.

"Y'all didn't do so good with that," remarked Cliff. "Just give the man a chance to wake up, alright?"

In the quiet that followed, the sound of hurried footsteps came from the doorway. Marcus scowled, not wanting any more attention.

"I heard shouting!" Allison cried, bursting into the room with Rachael right behind her.

Joey spoke first. "Just a misunderstanding."

With a sarcastic laugh, Marcus turned away. What had just occurred was clearly intentional, even if nobody else in the room realized it. Suzanne had provoked another outburst from him, and no matter what he said, word would continue to spread that he had an anger problem, that he was dangerous. She would make sure of that. If he wanted people to realize he was just as rational as anyone else, he'd have to prove it and keep himself in check. Suzanne couldn't keep making fires if he took away her fuel.

### Day 8: Devin

"That was quite the argument earlier," Devin observed, approaching Marcus as he broodingly ate his breakfast.

A few seconds of silence made it clear that no reply was forthcoming.

"It must be tough," he continued, "quitting drinking on top of everything else."

Marcus sighed, clearly realizing that ignoring Devin wouldn't make him leave. "'Course it is."

"Do you ever think that maybe it would be easier to handle it all if you just... had something to drink?" Devin chose his words carefully. Sending Marcus into another rage would ruin any chance of success.

"Listen kid, I know you're just trying to make conversation—"

"On the contrary! I managed to get my hands on an item that could be of interest to you." Raising a hand that had been kept tactically hidden, Devin showed off the bottle of whiskey.

Marcus's first expression was one of annoyance, but his demeanor quickly cooled as he exhaled slowly. "Well, that does look mighty tempting," he answered calmly. "But I take it this isn't a gift."

"Practically," Devin reassured him, sitting the bottle on the table. "I know it's silly, but I was thinking you could pay me in point tokens. They're worthless, of course, but a man needs something to keep him sane down here."

The expression turned to concern. "You do understand—"

"Of course! I don't need everyone telling me the game is over." The reminders were starting to bother Devin. Everyone was so keen to keep up the illusion, why did they think he wasn't just as dedicated? But that was the genius of his plan. If Marcus truly wanted to prove that he thought the game was over, he would have to give Devin the tokens.

"Well, in that case I don't see the harm. They're in the bedroom, I'll get them for you next time I'm in there."

Marcus reached for the bottle, but Devin's hand got there first.

"I think I'll hold onto this," he stated, tightening his grip. "Just until I get paid."

"Whatever you want," Marcus replied, unperturbed. "I'll get them once I'm done eating."

And with that, Devin was sure he had the game in the palm of his hand. If he kept his head down and continued to jump on these opportunities, there was no chance that anyone else could gather as many points as him.

### Day 8: Cliff

It was quickly becoming apparent to Cliff that he and Rachael had very different outlooks. The two of them had spent the last hour doing their assigned work, cleaning the bathroom. As they mopped the floor, the conversation had turned inevitably to the morning's argument.

"But you weren't there when it started," Cliff tried to explain. "They just burst in and launched into it as soon as they knew he was awake."

Rachael shrugged. "Okay, so maybe they didn't choose the best time, but you do agree with what I'm saying, right?"

"I get it, can't say that I agree with it."

"But why not?" Rachael sounded annoyed. "He's obviously a problem. I'm a doctor, I can tell when someone is unstable."

"You don't need to be a doctor to make that call. I've known alcoholics in my time, and I can tell you that Marcus is handling himself pretty damn well," Cliff insisted. It was hard to believe this was the same friendly Rachael he had made an alliance with on the first day. She clearly had been making an effort to be more personable. "I don't think y'all are in any real position to be making that sort of judgment."

As he spoke and subconsciously continued to force a strong accent and use the distinctive contraction, he remembered Rachael wasn't the only one putting on a bit of a character. Everyone was probably concealing some aspects of themselves, and that was to be expected. She just happened to be hiding something far uglier than he had anticipated.

"Oh yeah," she shot back sarcastically. "My years of training mean nothing compared to having spent a lot of time around drunks. Deepest apologies."

Cliff stuck his mop into the bucket and propped it against a wall. "I'm not saying Marcus will never be a problem, but ganging up on him certainly isn't going to make the situation better. What are you hoping to achieve? Are you going to lock him up?"

"Of course not. He just needs to understand that he has to control himself."

"You think he doesn't know that?" Cliff shouted, his own temper being worn away. "It's going to be all he can think about, you're just reinforcing the idea that he's a problem. It won't solve anything!"

"Are you saying he's _not_ a problem?" Rachael responded, matching his volume.

"That's right! He couldn't have known what was going to happen. None of us could!"

Just as with the argument that morning, Cliff heard the sound of people approaching. It was impossible to make noise without everyone in the bunker hearing it.

"We can't change what's already happened, but we can sure as hell stop the situation from getting worse," Rachael insisted.

Cliff agreed with her sentiment. That was exactly what he was trying to do, but people like her and Quart seemed to have a very different idea of how to go about it.

### Day 8: Heather

The bellowing had Heather on her feet and hurrying out of her bedroom even before someone began pounding on the door. Another fight already? The situation was spiraling out of control far too rapidly. She felt like she was going crazy. All she wanted to do was mourn her friend, but peace seemed impossible for these people.

Brandon entered the control room immediately after her, and gave her a questioning look, but she had no response to offer beyond a shrug as she arrived at the door.

Katrina, her eyes wide and panicked, began speaking as soon as Heather opened it. "We need you, quick! In the bathroom. It's Rachael and Cliff!"

"Brandon, come on," Heather urged. The shouting from the room just across the hall was increasing in volume, and she could hear quite clearly that it was a continuation of the morning's topic.

"We can't just sit around and wait," Rachael screeched. "We have to do something about him!"

Brandon waved for her to go. "I'll be with you in a minute."

Deciding not to waste time asking why, Heather followed Katrina without the backup she would have liked.

Cliff's booming voice roared through the hallway. "But what exactly? How do you think you can solve anything?"

Heather broke out into a run, pushing her way past Katrina. The doorway into the bathroom was blocked by Allison, Devin, and Suzanne, who were all transfixed by the fight inside.

"We give him an ultimatum! No more food until he cleans up his act," the doctor's voice rang out.

Heather squeezed between Devin and the wall, hissing an impatient "excuse me" as she passed by. Inside the bathroom, the two arguing contestants stood a few feet apart, their body language making the anger between them even more apparent. Cliff towered over Rachael, drawn up to his impressive full height and with his shoulders tensed. She showed no signs of being intimidated, looking him straight in the eye, an accusatory finger leveled at him.

"If you think I'm going to let you starve a man for having a tough time," Cliff growled menacingly, "you are about to learn a very hard lesson."

"Break it up, you two," Heather called out, sounding far less commanding than she would have liked.

"We aren't finished," Cliff shouted. "I'm not going to ignore this bullshit and hope it goes away!"

"You don't have any power to tell us what to do anymore!" Rachael added, briefly forsaking her argument. "Go back to your safe little room and your imaginary throne like you always do."

Heather was speechless. On a normal day, operating at full capacity, she could've handled the blast of hostility, but the last week had drained her strength and resilience to a fraction of what they once were. She staggered back into the crowd as Cliff turned away and resumed verbally tearing into Rachael. Seeing the rage in their faces, Heather was more terrified than she had ever been before.

### Day 8: Brandon

Brandon charged out of the staff hallway into the storage area off of the challenge room. If he didn't act fast his window would close. As soon as he'd heard that Cliff was in another fight, he'd known it was time to act. All the drama and arguments of the day would make for good footage, but it would get boring without something to spice it up. And he knew just how to solve that problem.

Bursting through the door, he was relieved to see the challenge room uninhabited. It had become an all-purpose space of sorts for the contestants, just another room for them to try to pass the time in. He'd brought out a couple of items that had been intended for future challenges to keep them entertained, but the theme of running a bunker had lost much of its appeal once it had become a reality and there were no more points on the line.

He stopped to catch his breath when he reached the exit. If there were people in the hall and they did see him, he didn't want it to be obvious that he was in such a hurry. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and pulled the door open slightly. Listening, he could hear the sounds of shouting echoing from the far end of the hall, but nothing nearby. Cautiously, he drew it open further, and saw that the nearest people were Joey and Marcus, who had their backs to him as they headed towards the commotion. It looked like they had just left the men's bunkroom. Perfect timing.

As quickly as he could manage without looking suspicious, Brandon slipped out of the challenge room, darted down the hall a few feet, and ducked into the bunkroom. As expected, it was empty. He had done his research, checking the recordings to see who usually sleep in which bed, and immediately made a beeline for the footlocker at Cliff's. Popping the lid open, he found the expected pile of clothes on top. Taking care not to disturb them too much, he reached down beside them and felt around blindly.

It was only a matter of seconds before his fingers landed on the distinctive metal cylinder. He held onto the top of the pile of clothes to ensure stability as he slid it out from under a pair of jeans. Once he could see the weapon and feel its weight in his hand, he was sure he had made a wise choice. The petty infighting was reaching a tipping point, and this would be just the way to give it that much needed push.

### Day 8: Joey

The sound of fighting had reached Joey at almost the exact moment Marcus finished accepting his apology for the morning's events. The two of them immediately hurried up the hall, and as they were able to make out words and get a sense of what the argument was about, Joey began to feel sick to his stomach. He'd overreacted after Suzanne's suggestion, and it seemed to have lit a fire beneath the rest of the bunker. The other contestants were already at the bathroom, watching with disturbing fascination.

"... is only going to make the problem worse, you can't hold his share hostage!" Cliff's voice exclaimed.

"I'm sorry I got you into this," Joey told Marcus once more.

"Don't beat yourself up about it. Let's go shut this down."

Joey weighed the value of voicing his thoughts. He didn't want to offend Marcus.

"He's not rational," Rachael fired back as the two men reached the crowd. "It's the best way to get through to him!"

Realizing he had to say it, Joey turned to look Marcus in the eyes. "You should wait here. Seeing you will probably just make the situation worse."

It was clear from his expression that Marcus wasn't happy staying out of it, but he nodded in agreement. "You're probably right."

Joey stepped into the crowd, trying to navigate his way through with limited success. He quickly found himself face to face with Heather, who was wearing a look of disbelief. He wasn't sure why, but seeing the person who was ostensibly in charge appearing so powerless was jarring. But he didn't have time to speak with her now, he had to calm Cliff and Rachael down before the situation got any more out of hand.

"Shut up!" he shouted as he broke through the front of the crowd, interrupting Cliff mid-shout. "You two need to just drop it, okay? Marcus has said that he's trying to do what he can. Maybe it's not enough, and if he has another outburst, then we can discuss what to do. But can we just go the rest of the day without any more fighting, please?"

"What makes you think you can tell us—" Rachael began.

"Nothing!" Joey insisted. "I can't control you, I just want everyone to calm down. Regardless of what we do, we're stuck down here until we're rescued. It's going to be a lot more pleasant for everyone if we can just keep our heads cool and relax."

Cliff didn't reply, but his clenched teeth and heavy breathing spoke volumes.

"If Marcus does end up being a problem," Rachael began slowly, "don't say I didn't warn you." She stormed towards the doorway, and the crowd parted in anticipation of her exit.

Shaking his head, Cliff turned around and grabbed a mop that was leaning on the wall near him, ignoring everyone else.

An unexpected warmness radiated from Joey's shoulder as a hand was gently placed on it. "You've come a long way," Suzanne said quietly. "Not the attention seeker you were during the game anymore."

"That would be the worst thing I could do right now," he explained. "It was all just for publicity."

She nodded understandingly. "I'm glad to have met the real you."

Joey looked at her, an uneasy feeling building in his mind. As harmless and friendly as she seemed, he couldn't let himself fall into listening to her without question anymore. It had been her suggestion that had caused this whole mess. He was sure that it hadn't been her intention, but perhaps she wasn't as wise as she liked to think. Building friendships would be important if they were stuck much longer, but he had to remember to think for himself.

"Hey, can y'all listen for a minute?" Cliff called out unexpectedly to the dissipating crowd.

Joey turned and saw a grimly resolved look on his face.

"There's something I've got to say."

### Day 8: Allison

Her curiosity piqued, Allison stopped walking away. She wondered who Cliff was going to get into a fight with this time. It seemed like even before the game had ended, he was a polarizing person, and was drawn into every conflict whether he wanted to be or not.

"I've been lying to you all," Cliff continued. "And it's time for it to stop."

Allison's gut twisted in anticipation. She didn't know if she could handle Cliff driving a wedge between them the same way Devin's recent behavior had. At her side, Rachael had halted her retreat, and seemed to be ready to pounce again.

"I'm an actor," he explained simply, as if he were just making casual conversation.

The angry response arrived immediately and forcefully.

"I knew there was something wrong about you!" Quart shouted, a look of vindication sprawled across his face.

As Katrina shook her head incredulously, Rachael turned to face Heather. "This is what I've been saying," she shrieked. "You had a plant in as a contestant, and you didn't think to tell us? And you expect us to trust you?"

"I didn't..." Heather stuttered, clearly frightened by the anger Rachael was displaying.

"Heather had no idea," the actor claimed. "This was purely my idea, a chance to establish a persona and get some exposure.

"Sounds awfully familiar," Joey muttered sarcastically.

Cliff nodded. "That's why I didn't say anything sooner. After what you told us the night Victor..." he glanced at Heather briefly. "The night we found out that we were trapped, I thought if I came out too, it would just lead to more distrust. But it was the wrong choice, and for that I apologize."

Allison's head was spinning. How was it that she seemed to be the only one not hiding something? She had come in and been honest with everyone, but with each passing day more lies were coming to light. And Cliff had seemed completely genuine, perhaps more so than anyone else.

"So who are you?" Marcus asked quietly. Hearing this truth about his biggest defender had visibly put him on edge.

"My name really is Cliff," he insisted. "But I've never lived on a farm, or even been to some of the places I've talked about." As he spoke, the drawl dropped from his words and was replaced with an accent that sounded more Californian. "I'm really sorry I've let this go on so long. However, I do have a plan to make it up to you all. I'm going to climb the shaft."

The doubts were pushed aside for a moment and Allison was overwhelmed by a sense of dread. "Are you insane?"

A solitary laugh broke out before Cliff could respond. Apparently very amused, Devin began to clap slowly. "Brilliant!"

"Excuse me?"

"You're trying to impress us all with these insane claims and dramatic proclamations. Trying to get the social vote. Clever."

"Just shut up," Allison commanded, furious at the suggestion. Whatever damage the situation had done to Devin, it was not the time to deal with it. "The game is over. There is no vote!"

"This is why I have to do it," explained Cliff. "Because being down here for weeks is not going to get any easier, and you can all see what a toll it's taking."

As Devin's laughter continued, Allison nodded in agreement. whatever lies Cliff had told, he was going to try to save them all. She could hardly hold it against him.

### Day 8: Cliff

Relieved to finally be away from all the people demanding answers, Cliff entered the bunkroom. He still could hardly believe that he'd told everyone the truth. The decision had been made in the heat of the moment without taking the time to consider what it might mean for him. But his plan to climb had been brewing all day, and after seeing the reactions his revelation had received, he was fully committed.

It was only once he stopped moving that he realized how exhausted he was. His shirt's underarms were damp with sweat and sticking to his skin. Suddenly feeling very unpleasant, he pulled it off and tossed it onto the floor, then kneeled down in front of his footlocker. He popped it open and started shifting through the piles of clothes for a suitable replacement.

A sound of surprise and embarrassment came from behind him. "Sorry, I didn't realize..."

Turning, he saw Heather in the doorway, politely averting her eyes.

"It's fine," Cliff insisted as he stood up. "What can I help you with?" Speaking with his natural accent still felt strange.

"I just wanted to say I'm impressed with your courage."

As Heather looked towards him, Cliff couldn't help but feel a pang of pride as her gaze turned first to his exposed chest before quickly making eye contact. The months in the gym leading up to the show had clearly paid off.

"But you don't need to do this," she continued. "Trying to climb the cables is such a long shot, and if you can't manage it... I don't want to see that happen again."

"We can't just wait and do nothing," Cliff reasoned.

"I've been doing everything I can! It's not much, but I'm trying to call every number I can up above at all hours, hoping that one time, somehow, it will get through."

"And that's good, you should keep doing that if I don't make it all the way up."

"Our producer, Pete, is a pretty smart guy. He's going to already know something is wrong and be working tirelessly to fix it."

Cliff hated to break her hope, but couldn't imagine that being true. "If they knew we were trapped, we would have heard from them by now. I imagine it's not hard to get the door at the top of the elevator open, and with the right equipment coming down here would be a cinch. I'm sorry Heather, but there has to be more going on here."

She sighed. "You're probably right. I do realize what a long shot just waiting and calling is, and I want you to understand that I could never thank you enough for taking on this risk. If I can't talk you out of it, I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Thank you. We're a ways away from town, right?"

"Probably the better part of a day's walk from any civilization."

"I think I'll climb tomorrow. If you could pack some food and water that will be easy to eat after I'm up there, that would be fantastic," Cliff suggested as he reached down and grabbed a shirt out of the footlocker.

"Of course."

"And other than that, if we don't get a chance to talk in private again before I'm gone..."

Heather nodded slowly.

"Promise me you'll do your best to keep everyone else from hurting each other."

"It's my top priority," she answered somberly.

"And listen, about the whole lying situation," he added earnestly. "I know I shouldn't have cheated my way into the show by misrepresenting myself. I'm sorry."

"To be honest, you probably wouldn't have made it in if you'd told the truth. But in this situation, I'm pleased to have the real you instead."

### Day 8: Rachael

"I always knew there was something strange about him," Quart repeated. "Nobody's that stereotypical, with all those 'y'alls'. Had to be more to it than that."

"Can't believe that son of a bitch didn't tell me first," Rachael whispered. "We were supposed to be allies throughout the whole game, he was supposed to trust me."

Suzanne put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You can't take it personally. A liar like Cliff doesn't have any moral compass, he was just using you as a tool to get further ahead."

Sniffing back a tear, Rachael shook her head.

"I'm sorry to have to say it," Suzanne continued, "but that's exactly what happened. He's just like Liz, manipulating every aspect he can to ensure he gets what he wants. I can promise you, that's the nature of these people. Telling us this new story, if it's even true, is just another layer of that manipulation."

The three of them were the only remaining people in the bathroom after the crowd had dispersed. Rachael hadn't had a lot of interaction with Suzanne in the past, but was thankful to have someone on her side still, though she wasn't sure what Quart was there for.

"I know," she agreed. "Whatever scheme he was running, at least I'm out of it now."

"Precisely. You'll feel better with time."

"Not to mention if the asshole falls like Victor did," Quart chimed in.

Appalled, Rachael turned to Quart to reprimand him.

"Just a joke!" he clarified hastily.

"Quart, do you want to give us a minute?" Suzanne requested.

He obeyed dejectedly, leaving the two women to speak in private.

"Why do you put up with him?" Rachael asked. "He's so annoying and immature. I couldn't stand it."

Suzanne shrugged. "Maybe he reminds me of my children on some level. And I know he just does it because he's scared, just like the rest of us. His coping mechanism is to distance himself from the others, to dehumanize them. If they're just caricatures in his mind, he doesn't feel so anxious about being trapped with them, because it makes him feel special, and like he's the only one that's really scared."

"What you're saying is that he's encouraging himself to be self-centered to keep from being overwhelmed?" Rachael was impressed at Suzanne observational skills.

"Precisely," she answered with a smile. "Everyone deals with stress in their own way, as I'm sure your training taught you. I'm just trying to be the one person he can still relate to, even if he can't comprehend the feelings of others. A person who loses all empathy is a danger to everyone."

"What is it you do again?"

Suzanne laughed. "Nothing nearly as fancy as being a doctor, I assure you. Just a stay-at-home mom who read a book on psychology years ago. I guess it stuck with me."

"Well, it's good to know there's someone else down here with their head on straight," Rachael commented.

### Day 8: Marcus

"Can I have a quick word with you?" Brandon asked, grabbing lightly onto Marcus's arm.

"What is it?" He continued to carry his dishes towards the kitchen.

"Not here," the cameraman whispered. "Meet me in the interview room. I've got something for you, but it'll only cause problems if other people know."

Without waiting for a response, Brandon slipped away.

Marcus kept walking, but his pace slowed as he wondered what Brandon could possibly want with him. There had been a strange urgency about the secretive request, but he couldn't fathom what would cause it. If there was one thing in abundance in the bunker, it was time. Even more troubling was the location. As far as he was aware, nobody had been back into the interview room since they'd put Victor's body in it.

He said nothing as he left his dishes on the counter for Suzanne and Joey, who had cleaning duty that evening. It was good, he reflected, that the schedule made during the game was still holding strong. It kept some degree of predictability to life, but it was only a matter of time before it started to break down and people grew more selfish. For now, however, watching Suzanne clean up after him was a treat, and he allowed himself a small smile as he left.

In the hall, he saw Katrina approaching from the bedrooms, and made a point of taking his time so that he wouldn't have to double back to get into the interview room once she was passed.

"Evening," he said with a polite nod as she approached.

Katrina returned the greeting with a smile and kept walking.

Making sure nobody was looking, Marcus grabbed onto the interview room's doorknob and braced himself for what was inside. When he pulled the door open, he was surprised that there was no strong odour—it seemed that the stale air of the bunker was not ideal for decomposition. The room was dark, and if Brandon was inside, he was out of sight. Marcus slid inside quickly and closed the door before feeling around blindly for a light switch.

"Thanks for coming," Brandon's voice emerged from the darkness.

There was a click, and the illumination of a flashlight brightened the room. Brandon was sitting on the couch that had once been used by the contestants, looking rather calm given the room's other inhabitant. Victor's body lay by the wall across from him, just as it had been when Marcus helped put it there. They had placed him gently, his limbs comfortably straight, but the damage from his fall made it abundantly clear that he was not simply sleeping.

Unable to look away, Marcus forced himself to speak. "What was so important that I had to come back here?"

"I didn't know who else to trust with this," Brandon began. "I found out something I wasn't supposed to."

With those words, Victor was no longer the most interesting person in the room.

"What was it?" Marcus asked, approaching Brandon.

"I don't want to stir things up any more than they already are, so I won't tell you who," Brandon explained, "but I learned that someone brought this into the bunker."

He reached for something that was sitting on the couch beside him, out of the light, and brought it into view. The small object was instantly identifiable.

"What the hell..." Marcus breathed. "A gun?"

"I wasn't sure what to do. But I couldn't just leave it alone, with the state people here are in. Someone would end up getting seriously hurt, or maybe even killed." As he spoke, Brandon gave a sidelong glance to Victor. "We don't need this room to get any fuller."

Marcus was still reeling. Who in their right mind brought a weapon onto a reality show? "You said you didn't know who to trust? I assume you've talked to Heather already, right?"

"You're the first."

It didn't make any sense. "Why's that?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Brandon thought for a moment before replying. "You see what sort of state Heather's in, right?" he asked. "It's even worse when she's not trying to put on a brave face. Being trapped, seeing what happened to Victor, it's all taking a serious toll on her mental health. She's one of the last people I'd trust with this right now."

There was a strange look on his face, and Marcus knew that the cameraman was hiding something. Perhaps Heather's breakdown was really much more serious than it appeared. Unless, he realized she was the one that he took it from. It made sense. The crew had searched the contestant's bags, but she would have no problem sneaking it in. He couldn't begin to imagine for what purpose.

"But what made you decide to tell me?" Marcus asked cautiously. "Why not just hide it and keep quiet?"

Brandon's gaze turned downwards. "I'm scared. I don't know how long we'll be stuck here, but if Cliff can't make it up, it could be a long time. When the gun's owner realizes it's missing... it won't be a big stretch for them to guess it could've been me that took it."

That reinforced Marcus's Heather theory, if nothing else.

"I trust you," Brandon continued. "I don't know if I could keep it entirely quiet if they started asking questions. So I want you to take it, and keep it somewhere safe. Don't tell me where."

"Why me?"

"I know these people keep telling you that you're unpredictable, but I don't see it. I see a man who has great self-control to be as calm as you've been this far. There are a lot of people ready to fly off the handle here, but I think you're more rational than any of them."

Marcus nodded. It made sense. Who else could handle the responsibility? Devin, Quart, Allison, and Rachael were all obviously too deeply affected by the events to be trusted. Katrina certainly would never use it, but she might crack if asked where to find it. Cliff was going to try to escape, and if he failed someone would end up finding it eventually. Liz was too hard to read, and Joey had a ways to go before outliving his craziness during the game. That only left Marcus or Suzanne, and he was glad that Brandon had gone his way.

"I'll make sure nobody gets hurt," he promised, reaching out to take the gun.

"Thank you," Brandon said. "I knew I could count on you."

### Day 8: Liz

The fighting was only going to get worse. Liz had no doubt about it. If Cliff's attempt to get help failed, the day's arguments certainly would not be the last clashes the bunker's strong personalities had. Even hours after they had parted ways, there was a hostility in the air that had everyone she spoke with on edge. It seemed that the weight of the situation was finally starting to hit people, and Liz wanted nothing more than to get away from them all. But the kitchen and dining room were almost never empty, both bedrooms had people sleeping in them, and the challenge room had been claimed for the evening by a handful of contestants looking to burn off some energy with a ball Brandon had brought out.

Knowing that she didn't want to go into the interview room to be confronted with Victor's body, Liz had opted for a place only a little bit better, and certain to give her some peace. Heather had been agreeable to giving her the code to enter the elevator, provided she promised not to try to climb up herself. There were few things in the world that terrified Liz more, so it had been an easy guarantee to make.

When the door slid open, a putrid wave floated into the hall. Of course, no one had been in it since Victor's fall. A small rust-coloured stain had dried into the carpet under the hole in the ceiling. Stepping gingerly over it to peer upward, Liz saw an inverted abyss that made her stomach churn. Only a few hundred feet above, a distance that would be easy to cross horizontally, she knew the world existed as if nothing was wrong. But that space was so vast from her perspective, and there was no way for her to communicate with those people. Cliff's decision to climb was incomprehensible to her, but she was thankful for it. The least she could do was try to help him in some way.

When she grabbed onto the roof of the elevator, she felt a slight stickiness under her fingers. Trying not to think about what it was, she pulled herself up, a testament less to her strength and more to her small stature. She stood slowly, turning on the flashlight that Heather had loaned her.

What Liz saw was not nearly as gruesome as she had been preparing herself for. A lifetime of movies had made her expect an explosive spatter of blood drenching the walls. But all she found was the remains of a puddle little more than a foot across, like dried brownish paint. Somehow the subdued image was harder to take than a whole floor painted red. It sat there, completely harmless other than the odour, reminding her just how fragile human life was.

At least she had some peace and quiet.

Forcing her eyes away from the discolouration, she scanned the elevator shaft, looking for the best way to ascend. The cables seemed the most obvious choice, but as Victor had learned, the strength required to pull oneself up hundreds of feet of cable would be immense. She cringed at the thought of what they must have done to his hands. There had to be an easier way.

Her attention turned towards the walls. They were completely smooth, with nothing to use as a handhold. Without any other floors to stop at, they'd be the same all the way up. Just as Liz was about to turn her attention back to the cables, a thought struck her. She stepped closer to the wall, and knocked on it with the flashlight's metal shell. An almost wooden sound greeted her. Intrigued, she reached out to feel it. It wasn't concrete as she had initially assumed, but rather drywall, and even better, it sounded like there was some space behind it.

Suddenly inspired, Liz began to smash the heavy flashlight into the wall. The first hit made a deep dent, and with the second, the small section of paneling started to split open. Building momentum, she drove the butt of the flashlight into the wall again with a stabbing motion, and heard a quiet cracking sound. A few more hits were all it took for the flashlight to break through, moving a few inches before hitting something much harder. Turning it around to look behind the drywall, Liz saw the expected concrete. She ducked and shone the light upwards, but the hole was too small to get a good view.

Without delay, she stood back up and began to use the flashlight to pry the hole open wider. Her shoes were soon coated in white dust and small chunks of plaster, while more dust flew into the air and stuck to the sweat that was forming on her skin. Undeterred, she kept at it. If the wall really was like this the whole way up, she may have figured out a far better method of escape.

After a few more minutes of work, the hole was big enough for her head to fit through without any risk of getting stuck. Doing so, she pointed the beam of light up once more. It only travelled for three feet before hitting a metal brace attaching the two walls.

Coming back out, she systematically tapped the flashlight on the wall at increasing heights, and soon found the connector. Continuing on, the hollow echo returned after a few inches. Presumably there were more such braces, but otherwise the gap would continue all the way to the top. With the right tools, someone could probably climb the wall far more easily than the cables.

### Day 9: Heather

Cliff was going to die. Heather had known as soon as he'd said he would try to climb out. She'd had faith in Victor's abilities, she trusted him, and cared about him. But Cliff was just some contestant, apparently an actor, who thought he had what it took to complete the grueling task that had claimed her friend's life. If Victor couldn't manage, nobody in the bunker could. Liz's suggestion wouldn't help him. The attempt would be suicide regardless, but she couldn't say it out loud. She had to maintain a calm face for the contestants, be the strong person to keep them all confident that it would turn out well.

"You're shaking," Brandon said quietly.

Heather's mind snapped back to moment, where she found Brandon standing by the control room's couch, watching her apprehensively.

"It's nothing," she insisted, breaking eye contact to look at her coffee. Only then did she realize how jittery her hand was, as the steaming liquid almost spilled out of the mug.

"You don't need to be there."

"Of course I do!" she insisted. "I need to keep these people feeling safe."

"Look at what it's doing to you," Brandon commanded. "You're a mess, and it's only getting worse. You need to try to calm down."

Heather couldn't express how much she wanted to do just that. Did he think she chose to have a panic attack in the middle of her sleepless night at the mere thought of seeing Cliff meet the same fate as Victor? She would have loved to stay holed up in bed, waiting for rescue to arrive. But without her, the contestants wouldn't have anyone promising them that it'd be alright. The motherly urge to protect them was the only thing that consumed her more than fear, and she didn't want to imagine what she'd become if those instincts were reversed.

"They won't see this," she finally promised.

"Take some time and just breathe," Brandon suggested. "Maybe take a walk in the staff hallway, stretch your legs with some privacy. Word is, Cliff's going to be climbing within the hour."

"When he falls, what are—"

"If," Brandon said firmly. "If he falls."

"Fine," Heather conceded, "if he falls, what do you think happens next? This mood is only going to plummet further." She regretted using that word the moment she said it.

"We have to take it one step at a time. If Cliff doesn't manage to get help, we're just back to waiting. It won't be easy to see, but the situation won't change. Other than being rescued, our situation _can't_ change. Only we can."

"But this whole thing, it's already changing people. I don't know if I want to see them go any further."

Brandon shook his head. "Nobody changes this quickly. This tough spot is revealing who people really are, but no more than that. Humans aren't so mutable that a tough week can change their entire personality. What you're seeing now is just their true nature. We cast the show with people that would make drama, and that's what we're getting."

Heather recognized that he was right. "And that's why I have to be there. We collected people that would create or react poorly to tense situations. It would be pure chaos if the two of us weren't here to keep them rational."

"You can count on me to have your back, whatever happens," Brandon promised.

"I know."

### Day 9: Devin

"You're sure this is the best way?" Cliff asked, examining the screwdrivers.

"Not at all," Liz admitted with a shrug. "But it's better than tearing your hands open on the cables."

Cliff looked up the elevator shaft, and visibly swallowed in anticipation.

"Overacting," Devin whispered to nobody in particular. "Playing it up too much there. Tone it down a little."

"Sorry, did you say something?" Suzanne asked, looking back over her shoulder at him.

Inside the elevator, Cliff, Liz, and Heather continued their staged preparations, ignoring the gawking fixation of the contestants outside.

"He's trying too hard," Devin explained to her. "If he was as good an actor as he wants us to think, he'd know not to be so obvious. There's no subtlety to this charade."

Suzanne came towards him. "So you still don't believe any of this?"

"Please, it couldn't be more obvious. I know all about how these shows work, it's just their gimmicky hook to make the show stand out to the viewers. And Cliff and I are the only ones that seem to get it."

Suzanne seemed surprised. "You think he does too?"

"Sure," Devin continued, glad to finally speak with someone who didn't dismiss him outright. "He's climbing up to win the social vote. The game will keep going until we're 'rescued', and if he causes that to happen, the vote's a cinch, no doubt about it. It's probably for less points than they originally told us, though, because there aren't even five-hundred tokens in circulation at this point."

"I see where you're coming from."

"You don't believe me, do you?" Devin asked.

"Well," Suzanne replied diplomatically, "I don't know what to believe. Your theory certainly has its merits, however it all seems very real. But it could be that I'm just not as adept at separating reality from the game as you are."

A rush of pride filled Devin, just as Cliff pulled himself on top of the elevator.

"He's just taking a look," Devin overheard Liz explaining.

"You know," Suzanne continued, "I think I have an offer that might interest you."

Devin nodded attentively.

"You're a pretty small guy, and I'm hoping to make some deals. Inspired by your hiring Quart to do work for you, actually. What do you think about selling a share of your rations for some of my tokens?"

It only took a few seconds of consideration for Devin to make up his mind. "Absolutely," he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Excellent. I was thinking that—"

A thud from the elevator rose over the chatter as Cliff returned to its interior. "Okay everyone, hopefully this is goodbye for the time being," he said evenly.

"We can sort out the details later," Suzanne promised quietly.

Agreeing, Devin grinned as she turned away. He paid little attention to Cliff's parting words, far more pleased that his score was also climbing.

### Day 9: Cliff

The voices calling out encouragement seemed completely meaningless as soon as Cliff was atop the elevator by himself. Heather and Liz had wisely retreated into the hallway, which meant that nobody else would see the climb. Maybe that would take some of the pressure off and make it easier. He doubted it.

He flicked on the flashlight and tucked it into his belt, facing upwards. Another one of Liz's ideas, and certainly an improvement on holding it in his mouth like Victor had apparently done. Once he was certain it was secure and at the right angle, he bent down to pick up the screwdrivers. They were heavy-duty, to be sure, but he wasn't completely confident in their ability to hold his weight. He reminded himself once again that he had no better option if he wanted to climb. And waiting weeks for rescue was not an experience he wanted to go through.

Resolving to get it over with, Cliff plunged one of the screwdrivers into the wall as hard as he could. It tore through easily, travelling deep enough for the handle to make contact with the plaster. He tried pulling it back out, and found that also very manageable. Liz's suggestion seemed much more plausible now that he saw it in action.

Without giving himself any more time to think about it, he jumped a few inches into the air and stabbed a screwdriver as high as he could reach. It sunk in and held well enough to keep him from falling back to the ground. With a grunt of exertion, he pulled himself up slightly more, then drove the second one in just a little higher. His arms were already starting to ache, but he knew it was within his power to make it the whole way up.

Withdrawing the first screwdriver proved more challenging than it had been with his feet on the ground. He tried to brace his feet against the wall, but found that just made the position more awkward. With a bit of wiggling, he managed to pull it free and found himself dangling from one arm again, and once again he hoisted himself up slightly and drove it back in. Barely a foot off the ground, and he was already breaking a sweat. But he could do it, he reminded himself. He had spent months in the gym beefing up for the show, trying to look the part of a muscular redneck. This was within his power.

He knew that with each passing minute, the distance left to travel was shrinking, but the shaft seemed to stretch out endlessly, beyond the range of the flashlight. Progress was slow and steady, and as time went by the chatter from below grew quieter.

After what Cliff thought must have been at least twenty minutes, his resolve broke and he decided to look down. The small hole in the top of the elevator car glowed with light from within it, but it was impossible to judge the distance down. It had to be more than fifty feet, based on the size of the opening.

Once again, he drew the left screwdriver out, hoisted himself up a few inches, and stabbed back in. But this time, it did not penetrate the plaster nearly as deep, instead hitting something solid. The force slid his sweat drenched palm further down the handle of the screwdriver, and he only just managed to tighten his grip to avoid dropping the screwdriver altogether. He realized he must have hit one of the braces Liz had warned him about.

Trying to calm his breathing, he began tapping on the wall in an effort to find a spot above the obstruction. None seemed to be within easy reach. He paused for a moment to collect his energy, then quickly lifted himself up with one arm and continued tapping around. No luck. He let himself back down. His right arm was straining under the effort of holding his entire body's weight, but he knew he could handle at least another minute. Eager to try again, he hoisted himself up higher and tapped the wall as far up as he could. The hollow sound he needed greeted him like a triumphant cheer. He relaxed his right arm again and dropped back down, but an unsettling crack followed the action. As he felt himself suddenly tipping backwards, he realized immediately that while his arm was able to handle the stress of holding him up, the screwdriver was not. The fall was quick, with no opportunity for any great reflection on his life. Cliff only had time to look at the broken handle of the screwdriver in his right hand before he impacted with the roof of the elevator.

### Day 9: Suzanne

The awkward silence of waiting for Cliff finally came to its end in the way everyone feared, the deafening bang of a human body colliding with metal.

The more proactive people in the crowd rushed into the elevator to help, Joey first in line, with Allison right behind. Heather's hope almost visibly escaped her, and she sank to the floor without a sound. Devin had a creepy expression on his face, like glee with an undercurrent of fear. Marcus tried to follow the others into the elevator, but Liz got there first and held him back, saying not to crowd it. Brandon, Rachael, Katrina, and Quart all held back, either unwilling or unable to help.

As for Suzanne, she didn't know what to think as she stood still amidst the scramble of people. On one hand, of course escape would have been desirable. She had children and a husband she'd like to see again. But for her, the situation had never felt permanent. She knew they'd make it out eventually, then there'd be a few days to clear everything up, and then she'd be back to her normal life. Perhaps with a nice settlement, or preparing a lawsuit if that didn't work out, but on the whole unaffected by her vacation. It was clear to her that she was in the minority, but rescue was not a high priority for her. The longer it took, the more time she had away from her real life, in this place where she could be whoever she wanted to be. The weeks of being trapped would be traumatic for some, but it was a chance for her to play with her talent for manipulation that had so few opportunities to exercise itself in day-to-day life. And best of all, she could do whatever she wanted without consequences. Anything she said or did would just be added to the list of grievances caused by the horrible situation, and be more fodder for the legal action. It didn't matter if she made enemies of the contestants now; they'd all be on the same side once it was over. So she might as well enjoy herself.

"He's still breathing!" Joey called down.

Heather's head turned towards the door to the elevator slowly, as if she could barely understand.

Suzanne reached out and put an arm over Rachael's shoulder. "Listen, you should—" she began quietly.

"I'll go help him," Rachael said dispassionately

"You don't have to," Suzanne suggested, keeping her voice low enough that no one else would be able to hear. "He's been awful to you, you can just leave him. Nobody will blame you."

Rachael looked at her with confusion. "But I—"

"You're not obligated to do anything, he knew the risks, and he didn't think you were worth apologizing to before he tried to climb. Let him learn a lesson the hard way." She knew it sounded harsh, but it was clear Rachael agreed with her on some level. If someone else was going to be taken out of the picture, Cliff was certainly high on Suzanne's list. He wasn't one to play into her hand.

"They'll all hate me."

"Just run to the bedroom, I'll tell them it's all too much for you. Are you really willing to help Cliff after he turned on you so suddenly?"

Rachael shook her head. "You're right." In an instant she was running down the hall, away from the crowd.

"Where the hell is she going?" Liz asked, horrified, as she helped Marcus onto the roof.

"Poor girl doesn't think she can handle it," Suzanne explained. "You know how close the two of them were."

"But she's a doctor," Allison screeched. "She has to help him!"

"I tried to tell that to her," lied Suzanne with a shrug. "You're welcome to give it a go if you want to find her."

"Crazy bitch," Allison muttered, stepping towards Liz to head onto the roof too.

Suzanne hoped that Allison was referring to Rachael and not her. It was clear that her actions had brought about the intended effect. People were so much easier to control when their emotions were running high, and there was nothing like a death to get the blood pumping.

### Day 9: Allison

There would be time to deal with Rachael later. Cliff was Allison's first priority. With Liz below and Joey and Marcus above, reaching the roof was no problem, and once she had, all the anger was pushed aside by what she saw.

Cliff's eyes were alert and darting from face to face, his mouth opening and closing silently, as if he couldn't articulate how much pain he was in. A brief glance at his legs was all Allison could stomach, the awkward angles and pooling blood making the extent of his injuries immediately clear. A large bump in the knee of his jeans might have been the result of a jutting bone, but Allison had to look back to his face before she made herself sick.

"What's going on down there?" Joey asked frantically.

"Rachael's not helping," Allison explained hurriedly, pained by the confused expression that crossed Cliff's face as she spoke the words. "We need to make do without her."

"Goddamn it... okay, I know a bit of first aid," Marcus said. "We need to get a splint on his leg before we move him, then find somewhere with better light so that we can see how bad it is."

"Hey!" Liz called up from below. "Heather says we can put him in the staff room, there's a couch in there."

Marcus thought for a moment. "That should do. Does she have anything we could use as a splint?"

Allison saw Liz hurry out of the elevator to repeat the question. She turned her focus to Cliff and grabbed his hand, ignoring the commotion.

"It doesn't look too serious," she lied, keeping her eyes firmly locked on his. "You're going to be fine."

He reached over with his free hand. At first she thought he was attempting to grab onto hers, but a hard object impacted with her wrist. She turned her gaze towards it, and realized that he was trying to give her something. Taking it from him, she saw the handle of a screwdriver. As she looked at it, she was vaguely aware that Marcus was reaching down into the elevator, retrieving whatever had been brought to aid in transporting the injured man.

"Broke," Cliff explained weakly.

"I understand," she replied, nodding sympathetically. "Don't try to speak." She didn't know if talking would actually make a difference, but she'd seen enough TV to know that it might.

He let out a gasp of pain as Marcus started working, his eyelids fluttering open and shut.

"I know it's painful, but you're going to feel a lot better soon."

The pain written across Cliff's face was almost too much to bear. She clutched his hand tighter, hoping to distract from the situation.

"That's as good as I can do here," Marcus declared. "I'm coming down. Joey, you and Allison are going to need to lower him to us."

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and saw that Joey was waiting for her. "Ready?"

Once she had nodded and stood up, she stuck the screwdriver handle into her pocket and asked Joey what he needed her to do.

"We can't lift him by the legs, obviously. So we'll have to grab from the shoulders and lower him as far as we can. Liz and Marcus will grab him at the waist and hold him as best as they can until we're down there too."

"Alright," Allison said, hoping she could lift the mountain of a man. Joey wasn't exactly a huge guy either. As she stepped over Cliff, she tried to reassure him. "You're like a cat, huh? Managed to land on your feet, it probably saved you life."

A groan was the only response she got.

"Come on," Joey ordered.

Allison wrapped her hands around Cliff's well-muscled shoulders and, on Joey's mark, lifted him off the ground. A yelp of pain echoed through the elevator shaft, making her flinch. Feverish grunts told her that Cliff was trying to hold back from making too much noise, and she appreciated it. The two of them moved him as quickly and gently as they could to the hole, and carefully lowered his mangled legs through it. Unable to avoid looking at them any longer, Allison did her best to hold back the nausea, but her breakfast was threatening to make a reappearance. She lowered Cliff as smoothly as she could into Liz and Marcus's waiting hands.

As soon as it was safe to do so, she let go of Cliff and turned towards the wall, letting control of her stomach go. She absentmindedly thought that once things calmed down, someone needed to clean up here, but there was no way in hell that it would be her.

A thud told her that Joey was down, and she hastily followed. Liz and Marcus had Cliff by the waist, but it was clear that holding him off the ground without touching his legs was incredibly difficult. Allison grabbed a hold of his shoulder once more, and once Joey joined her, they were able to shift the weight to a more even distribution, bringing him into a partial recline.

"Out of the way!" Liz ordered the crowd as Devin eerily ogled the injured man from the elevator's door.

"Follow me," Heather instructed unnecessarily, turning towards the control room.

The four carriers obeyed without hesitation, taking the still moaning Cliff out of the elevator that had almost claimed his life and hurrying him down the hall.

### Day 9: Joey

"One second," Heather said urgently once they were through the door, rushing past the human ambulance towards the couch. "I'll clear it off."

As she tossed spare pillows away, Joey looked around the control room for the first time. It was much less interesting than he'd always imagined. No giant wall of monitors, just a desk with about half a dozen of them. It was a bit more inviting than the stark greyness of the rest of the bunker, but softer lighting and a rug could only do so much.

"Alright, lay him down gently," Marcus instructed. "Sorry man, this is going to hurt."

A weak, unintelligible response was enough to make them all eager to let him down and begin treating his injuries. Moving as swiftly as they could while still being gentle, the four of them carried Cliff over to the couch and lowered him onto it. As soon as his legs came in contact, he let out a hissing sound and bit his lip, clearly in an enormous amount of pain. Joey fought the instinct to raise him back up and stop hurting him, instead lowering him more quickly and taking his hands away as soon as possible.

"Heather, I assume there's a first aid kit around here, yes?" Marcus asked. Not waiting for a response, he looked towards Cliff's leg. "And I'll need a sharp knife to get these pants open."

"Be right back," she replied, hurrying towards one of the room's doors.

Allison crouched down next to Cliff, holding his hand. "You were up there for so long, I'm proud of you for making it that far. And that you managed to survive the fall is a miracle. I know you don't feel like it now, but you're lucky."

Liz leaned towards Joey. "She's going to be destroyed if he doesn't make it," she whispered. "Heather too, I think."

"Then we need to make sure that doesn't happen," Joey responded, not mentioning how strongly it would affect him. "Victor's death took the mood down far enough, but we all actually know Cliff. He's resilient though."

"He'd have a much better chance if our doctor was actually helping."

Joey didn't know what to say to that. Of course he would, but if Rachael really was overwhelmingly distraught, nobody could convince her to help if she didn't want to. "It's her decision, and she's going to have to live with it."

"I'm certain she'll be held accountable," Liz commented sourly.

Heather's return cut the conversation short. She rushed the supplies to Marcus, who immediately opened up the first aid kit and started taking inventory.

"Well, it's not a lot, but it'll do. No proper anesthetic, just some over-the-counter painkillers. Think you can get these down, Cliff?"

Eyeing the bottle of pills, Cliff nodded stiffly.

Heather muttered something about water and hurried off once more.

"They'll help after, but we can't wait for them to kick in to start," Marcus explained. "I'll say it again: sorry, but this is going to hurt."

He picked up the knife and started cutting a long slash into the jeans, opening up the wound to the air. When Joey saw the damage underneath, he thought he was going to pass out, and hurriedly tuned away, but not before seeing the look of concern on Marcus's face. It was far beyond the level of simple first aid training.

### Day 9: Quart

In the aftermath of Cliff's fall, the inhabitants of the bunker found themselves split into three groups. The control room housed those that rushed to Cliff's aid and were trying to help him; the dining room, those who were in shock and feeling useless; and in the challenge room, Quart and Suzanne, trying to calm down the distraught Rachael.

"You made a tough choice, but if it feels right, it probably was," Suzanne rationalized comfortingly.

Rachael swayed back and forth where she sat. "I don't know if it does though. He was trying to get us all out."

"Which he decided to do right after fighting with you," Quart pointed out. "It couldn't have been clearer that he wanted to get away from you, so you don't owe him anything."

Quart wasn't entirely sure why Suzanne had asked him to help back her up, but he was willing to go along with it. Rachael was obviously torn up about the decision, Suzanne probably just wanted to calm her down with a unified opinion on what had occurred.

"What's done is done," Suzanne insisted. "You can't keep obsessing over it. And I think we might have a bigger problem to contend with."

"Do we?" Quart had no idea what it might be.

"Heather," she explained. "Ever since she told us we were trapped, I've been getting this weird sense about her. She's slipping away, the pressure is just too much for her, but she isn't able to accept that. The rationing, keeping herself isolated, it all seems like a ploy to keep us under her thumb and I don't like it. Unity is important, but being unified behind the wrong person is clearly not going to end well."

Rachael's breathing seemed to have calmed somewhat with the distraction. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Nothing radical," Suzanne quickly clarified. "At this point, her rations are fair, if a little small, but there's no need to disrupt that process. I just want to know that if the situation develops further, I have the two of you on my side."

"Of course," Quart promised without hesitation.

"What would you do differently?" asked Rachael.

"I can't say that anything would change. But having someone who isn't blinded by grief, or guilt, or whatever is wrong with Heather, to make the calls will keep everyone safer. I do have a bit of added incentive, too."

"Are you trying to bribe me?" Rachael asked cautiously.

"Of course not," Suzanne laughed. "Whatever you say, you're still welcome to it. I've managed to find a source for some extra rations, and I'd like to share them with the two of you. Purely as a gesture of friendship."

The idea of increased rations was more than enough to convince Quart. "Whenever you need me, I've got your back."

Rachael took a moment to consider it before nodding her agreement.

A beam spread across Suzanne's lips. "Excellent! One other small point, I think I'm going to be moving my bedding out of the women's bunkroom and into here."

"Why the challenge room?"

"Just want to get out of that environment. There are bigger divides down here now than just gender. Allison is so childishly petty, and I don't know if I can stand hearing Katrina's belabored sighs for one more night. At least Liz is quiet when she's moping about. The two of you are welcome to join me."

Getting away from Devin's strangeness and Marcus's snores was certainly an appealing idea to Quart. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Agreed," said Rachael.

"I'd suggest we wait until later to move out, we don't need people accusing us of sneaking off while they're distracted by Cliff."

Quart nodded. It seemed that now, days after the game had ended, he'd found exactly the sort of alliance he'd been trying to build during the game. But he had faith that Suzanne and Rachael wouldn't cast him aside the way Liz had. They were his real friends in the bunker.

### Day 9: Katrina

Walking through the empty hallway towards the control room was a chilling experience. Katrina had just left the dining room and the comforting words of Brandon behind, resolving to check on Cliff's condition. For the past two hours, her guilt about her inaction in the immediate aftermath could only be partially soothed by the cameraman's assurances that it was natural, that most people hadn't reacted. But she wasn't most people. She prided herself on always being willing to help out, and when that sort of responsiveness was needed, she had frozen.

When she reached the door, she heard voices on the other side, their words too muffled to be comprehensible. She knocked, and the voices quieted in response. When the door opened, Heather stood behind it.

"How's he doing?" Katrina asked before Heather had a chance to say anything.

"Come in."

Obliging, Katrina found herself the centre of attention for the group of people that had actually been quick in their response to Cliff's injuries. The man himself was lying on a couch, facing her as well. His legs were bandaged almost all over, the white material tinted red in spots. His eyes displayed a level of consciousness she had not expected, and as he stared at her, she felt like he was judging her for her inaction.

Marcus looked back at Cliff for a moment before answering Katrina's question. "He'll live, so long as it doesn't get infected. Can't predict much more than that, at this point."

"That's good news. I just wanted to come in and apologize for earlier."

The silence that followed made it seem even worse.

"What happened earlier?" Liz finally asked.

"I didn't even try to help, I should have done something."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up over it," Joey reassured. "The five of us managed alright."

"I just think I should have—"

"It's okay," Cliff grunted.

Everyone's attention immediately turned to him, and Allison, who was crouched at his side, nearly fell back in surprise. Clearly he had not been talkative since his fall.

Katrina tried to vocalize her appreciation for his forgiveness, but wasn't sure how. A simple thank you seemed insufficient, so she went with a slow, single nod.

"Besides, you're not the one who _should_ have been helping and didn't," Allison commented bitterly.

"You mean Rachael?"

"Damn right I do. You didn't have anything more than a pair of hands to offer, she actually could have made a serious difference."

"I can't imagine what went through her head," Katrina admitted. "She's trained specifically to deal with medical emergencies. She must be completely torn up about it."

"What's she been saying?" Joey asked.

"She wasn't in the dining room with Brandon, Devin, and me. Those other three all went off somewhere else."

A strange expression crossed Marcus's face. "Quart and Suzanne were with her?"

"I guess." Katrina had been too wrapped up in her own thoughts to wonder where they were. "Why do you ask?"

"Just saw something earlier that I should ask them about. Nothing important." There was an unusually evasive tone in his voice.

"I should talk to Rachael once everything's calmed down," Katrina resolved. "It's the least I can do."

"I'll come with you," Allison immediately volunteered.

"Maybe that's not the best idea," Joey suggested diplomatically. "We don't need to make another big scene, there've been enough of those already."

"It's not going to be a confrontation," Katrina promised. "I just want to get a sense for how she feels about what happened, and try to keep it calm and civil."

Allison laughed. "Doubt she knows what those words mean."

### Day 9: Rachael

Katrina entered the room just as Rachael was putting the last of her bedding into the footlocker. It was the first time she'd been alone with someone all day, and she wasn't looking forward to the questioning she knew was coming. She'd seen the sidelong glances Katrina had been directing at her during supper. Not nearly as biting as Allison's glare, but certainly pointed.

"Can I have a word?" the normally timid woman requested with an unexpected hint of severity.

Rachael continued packing. Suzanne was waiting for her in the challenge room.

"Have you been to see Cliff yet?"

There was no way the pillow was going to fit. It would have to sit on top.

"He's not doing well."

She slammed the lid shut and fastened the latches.

"Hey," Katrina prompted. "Ignoring me is one thing, but you ignored Cliff. He could have died."

"Well he didn't, did he?" Rachael snapped.

Katrina raised her hands up like a barrier. "I don't want to fight with you. All I want is to understand why you didn't help him."

"I don't need to explain myself to you." Rachael picked up the footlocker and started towards the hall.

"That's true. But if you plan to live in this bunker with the rest of us for God knows how long, you're going to have to start at least acting like a decent person, or you're going to find yourself on the outs really soon."

The way Katrina was acting was so unlike her that it was jarring. She'd never been anything close to mad before, just upset. The clear underlying anger to the conversation was the only thing that gave Rachael pause.

"Listen, I'm sorry," she explained calmingly. "Cliff and I have some differences. I don't want anything to do with him, and I know the feeling is mutual."

Katrina shook her head in disbelief. "Pretty sure the man with two shattered legs would want something to do with the only doctor he has any chance of seeing in the near future."

"What do you want me to say?" Rachael asked, honestly unsure. She knew her choice wasn't going to make people happy, but it was hers to make.

"Come see him! Treat him, do what you can!"

"I'm not changing my mind on this." If she started making compromises now, these people would expect more and more from her. She carried her own weight, and that's as much as they had the right to ask.

"I don't understand why you hate him so much."

Rachael didn't know how to respond.

"And where are you taking your stuff, anyway?"

### Day 9: Brandon

Closing the door to Heather's bedroom as quietly as he could, Brandon crept back towards the computers. She had finally fallen asleep, fully clothed and lying horizontally on her bed. Cliff was completely out of it too, the painkillers now in full effect. Brandon wanted to make sure he was as silent as possible. Privacy would be much harder to achieve now that the couch had become a makeshift bed. He planned to suggest moving Cliff to Victor's old bed soon, but Heather obviously wasn't in any shape to hear the suggestion that evening.

Once he had confirmed that the computer's sound would come out through his headphones and not the speakers, he turned it on. Heather had been spending more and more time in the control room, and that was making it far harder for him to keep up on the footage that was being recorded. He wanted to go over it all and make sure he hadn't missed anything important.

A quick look at the live feeds took all thoughts of Heather out of Brandon's mind. He saw Marcus, alone in the men's bunkroom, tucking something into his belt. Immediately zooming in, there was no uncertainty in Brandon's mind that the object was Cliff's gun. Whatever he was doing would certainly be worth watching.

Marcus draped his shirt over the gun and hurriedly walked into the hallway, immediately turning left. So not headed to the people sleeping in the women's room or the challenge room, then. A glance at the other cameras showed that there weren't many people left awake. Devin was in the dining room, scribbling in a notebook, and Liz was taking a shower. Brandon hid that camera's feed. Watching her made him uncomfortable, like he was betraying Katrina.

Movement captured by one of the other cameras caught his attention. He hadn't bothered to look at the machine room before. It was almost always empty. But now Suzanne was in there, pacing in plain view of his electronic eyes. Based on what he'd seen between them in the past, he suspected he knew where Marcus was headed.

Sure enough, the armed man walked straight past the dining room and Devin. His gait was rapid and determined, and thanks to the high resolution of the numerous cameras, Brandon could see his stone-faced expression in lifelike detail. He continued past the entrance to the bathroom. The only remaining options were the control room, or the machine room. Marcus chose the latter, pushing open the door with a look back over his shoulder. The two former allies approached one another. There was no sign of surprise on Suzanne's face.

"What is it that's so important?" she asked impatiently.

Brandon had to turn up the volume to ensure that he didn't lose any words to the roar of the generator.

"It was your idea, wasn't it?" Marcus demanded.

"What was?"

"Rachael leaving Cliff to die."

A sudden realization dawned on Brandon. He moved his hand towards the power button on the monitor. If the situation in the room next door ended the way he was starting to suspect, he'd have to turn it off before the gunshot brought Heather out of her room.

### Day 9: Marcus

Suzanne laughed the idea away. "Marcus, please. What makes you think I'd ever do something like that?"

"I saw you talking to her just after he fell," he accused, taking care to keep himself angled such that the bulge of the gun was out of sight. Hopefully he wouldn't need to use it to intimidate her, but he was wholly convinced that he was right, and she wasn't going to weasel out of it becoming public knowledge.

"That's true, but I was urging her to help him, not to leave," Suzanne insisted. "You know me, Marcus—"

She was using his name so much that he could tell she was trying to reinforce a sense of familiarity. She was worried.

"—I'd never wish harm to anyone."

"I used to think I knew you," Marcus retorted, trying to keep his voice level. "But the Suzanne I remember was a friendly mother with a tough competitive streak. Your actions since we arrived here have been far beyond that."

"You're just still bitter that our plan didn't work."

"Why the hell would I be bitter that people liked me too much? You're only digging yourself into a deeper hole here."

"If you're not going to be reasonable about this, I'm not going to listen to it anymore," Suzanne declared.

She took a step towards the door, but Marcus reached out and grabbed her arm firmly.

"We're not done."

"I believe we are." She tried to pull her arm away, but he maintained his grip.

"Not yet," Marcus proclaimed, pushing her back a few steps and letting go. He pulled up the side of his shirt to reveal the firearm Brandon had given him.

"How the—" Suzanne started.

"Not important," he said, holding his hand close enough to be threatening without actually touching it. He knew he could never bring himself to shoot someone, but letting her think otherwise would be to his benefit. "Did you convince Rachael not to help Cliff?"

"Marcus, listen to me." Suzanne's tone was suddenly very soft and calming as she all but pleaded, stepping towards him slowly. "I don't know what has made you so convinced of my guilt, but I promise you, I told her to help Cliff. How can I make you believe me?"

A flicker of doubt crossed Marcus's mind. Perhaps he was wildly off-base with his suspicions. But the pieces all fit together so neatly.

The instant Marcus took his focus off of Suzanne, she pounced, lunging towards the gun and grabbing it out of his belt before he could register what had happened. Stepping back once more, she raised it up and leveled it at his head.

"You think you have the right to threaten me with a gun?" she hissed, barely audible over the machines.

Fear started to wash over Marcus. "I just wanted you to confess, I never would have used it."

"Of course that's what you say now that the tables are turned. You have no forethought, do you? What did you think was going to happen, you were going to threaten me or even shoot me, and everyone else would just accept that? They love me, and think I'm as harmless as can be."

"You're manipulating them," Marcus observed, trying to play up to her ego and waiting for an opportunity to wrestle the gun back. "But I don't understand why."

"It's all about control," she explained, a thin smile spreading across her lips. "And you, my friend, have lost it."

"Like you said though, no one will forgive you if you shoot—"

A deafening blast and surge of pain cut Marcus's words short, the impact of the bullet knocking him off balance and to the floor. He gasped for air and his vision started to blur, but he could see clearly enough to make out Suzanne walking over to him.

"No one would forgive you." Her voice was distorted by the endless ringing in his ears. "I, on the other hand, am a far better actor. After all, it was just self-defence."

She raised the gun once more. Marcus tried to relax in preparation of the second shot, which would be more merciful than cruel. Instead, he saw her turn the gun towards her left leg, and without hesitation, fire another earsplitting shot. As the last remnants of control over his body faded, he watched Suzanne collapse to the floor beside him.

### Day 9: Devin

The booming sound that thundered through the bunker tore Devin's focus away from his notebook filled with plans, theories, and contingencies. It sounded like a gunshot, but he was certain that couldn't be the case. When another followed seconds later, he noticed it sounded like it was coming from the machine room. Standing hurriedly, he ran towards the noises. Something must have broken. The question now was just whether it was another challenge for the game that they'd be secretly scored on. He decided it was safest to assume it was, and to be proactive in fixing the problem.

The hallway was empty when he reached it. He'd lost track of how long he'd spent with his notebook, but it must have been at least a few hours. Everyone else was probably already asleep.

When he opened the door to the machine room, his assumptions were promptly dispelled. Two bodies lay on the floor, blood pooling around them. The larger of the two was motionless, but the smaller was rolling around, whimpering in agony. Devin realized that it was Marcus and Suzanne. He ran a few steps towards them, before reconsidering.

"Hello?" he asked cautiously. The question of what had happened to them was secondary in his mind to whether it was an accident or part of the game.

"Thank God," Suzanne cried at the sound of his voice, turning to face him. She was short of breath, and looked to be barely holding back tears as she clutched at a bloody leg wound. "It was Marcus, he..."

Devin took a hesitant step forward, and immediately noticed a gun lying beside Marcus. He shook his head, as if to dislodge the image. It didn't make sense.

"He shot me in the leg, I tried to wrestle the gun away from him before he could finish the job...." Her face contorted in pain. "It went off in the struggle. I think he's dead."

"That's not right," Devin muttered to himself. "Must be faked. Raising stakes. Building tension."

"What did you say?"

Devin ignored the injured woman's question. "But it looks real. And how many actors can they put in here? Too many weakens the competition."

"Please, bring someone else, I need help!" Suzanne begged.

"Oh," he looked at her, trying to analyze whether the pain she was portraying was authentic. "I can do that."

It made sense to follow her request. Whether or not it was a planned part of the game, coming off as a quick responder willing to help in an emergency would look good.

"Be right back," he said, turning and bolting for the door.

As he pushed it back open, he was saw Liz turning the corner out of the bathroom towards the door with an expression of worry on her face. The towel over her shoulders, her wet hair, and her lack of footwear told him that she had probably come from the shower.

"What's going on?" she asked. "I heard noises."

"Suzanne's hurt and Marcus is dead," he answered simply. "Come see."

Liz's eyes widened in horror, and she pushed past him into the room.

"Marcus!" she gasped, running over to him and grabbing his arm.

"It's too late for him," Suzanne said weakly.

"I don't feel a pulse."

Standing back, Devin tried to sort through the cavalcade of theories. There was no reason for Marcus to try to kill Suzanne, no plausible real world explanation he could think of. So it had to be part of the game. Just another ploy like their being trapped, and like Victor's "death." These two were more actors, using some convincing makeup to appear as they did. He wanted to applaud the bravery of the network for making such an unusual, formula breaking show. It made all of his research and guesswork less relevant, but he was up to the challenge.

"Maybe it's something wrong with the pump?" a man's voice suggested from the hallway behind Devin.

Looking for its source, he saw Heather leading Brandon into the room. She froze as soon as she saw Marcus lying on the floor. Devin smiled to himself. Of course, she was an actor too, and perhaps the most convincing of them all. He was eager to see her performance as she reacted to the most recent staged tragedy.

### Day 9: Heather

Another death was beyond comprehension. An unpleasant circumstance had turned into a nightmare beyond anything Heather could have imagined. Piecing together what Suzanne was saying made sense on a logical level, but she couldn't reconcile the story they were telling with the truth in front of her. Victor's death had been a terrible accident, but an attempted murder gone wrong?

"Suzanne's leg doesn't look too bad," Liz whispered to Heather. "Not like Cliff's, at least. Hopefully our _delightful_ doctor is willing to do something for her."

Brandon reentered the room with Rachael in tow. Trailing right behind was Quart, a look of sheer terror on his face.

"She was already up and on her way," Brandon explained.

"Suzanne!" Quart shouted once he saw her, breaking out into a run. "He said that Marcus did this?" He glanced at the corpse disdainfully before turning back to the injured woman. "That son of a bitch got what he deserved."

Flinching at the disrespect, whatever the circumstances, Heather took a few tentative steps towards the body, when without warning Rachael pushed her aside.

"Let me look at that," the doctor said, joining Quart at Suzanne's side.

Annoyed, Heather quickly regained her composure and increased her speed. She bent down and grabbed the gun off the floor. If the day got any worse, having it out of the way could prevent any more loss of life. She also hoped that it would show that she was in control of the situation, even if she felt powerless. The contestants would need an anchor to latch onto now more than ever.

"Rachael," she prompted.

There was no response, as Rachael examined the leg wound.

"Hey!" Heather snapped, tapping her on the shoulder. "You need to see if there's anything you can do for Marcus, maybe he can be resuscitated."

"She's hurt, this needs my attention."

"Marcus might not be dead!" Heather insisted. "Give him thirty seconds of your time, Cliff survived much worse than what Suzanne has without any help from you."

Silently, Rachael moved over to Marcus. Heather was relieved that she hadn't turned it into an argument about Cliff. Clearly Suzanne's wellbeing was enough of a concern that she didn't want to waste any time debating what she did and didn't have to do, or who was in charge.

### Day 9: Liz

As more of the contestants started to arrive, Liz felt less like she needed to be standing by, ready to help if needed, and allowed herself to fade to the back of the crowd. The mood of the people was markedly different than the last two incidents. When Victor had fallen, the grief was tempered by confusion and anger. With Cliff, there had been disappointment and chaos. But there were no disagreements about helping Suzanne, and it seemed any rivalries that existed were being pushed aside for the moment.

"There's nothing I can do," Rachael said, with no hint of emotion in her voice as she dropped Marcus's hand back to the ground and returned to Suzanne's side.

Liz felt her throat tightening as she watched the scene unfold. Something else was different this time. She couldn't pull herself away from the events mentally and maintain the detached attitude that made people think she was cold. This was an intentional act of violence, even if it didn't go as planned, and that was terrifying beyond words. She had already wanted to get out of the bunker, of course, but seeing Marcus lying dead with a gunshot wound made that freedom imperative.

As Rachael cut open Suzanne's pants to look at the wound underneath, just as Marcus had done for Cliff, Liz felt an overwhelming sense of isolation. She had barely known these people for more than a week, and they were constantly proving that she knew nothing about them. Marcus had seemed like he had issues, but she would never have expected him to bring a gun, much less to shoot someone when just that morning he was saving Cliff's life. But a little over twenty four hours earlier, she wouldn't have guessed that Cliff was an actor. Reading people never had been her strong suit, and being trapped in an enclosed space with strangers capable of such cruelty was a terror that no amount of detached pragmatism could push aside.

### Day 9: Suzanne

A wordless cry of pain was the most effective weapon Suzanne had at the moment. She fought to hold back the flood of curses that she wanted to scream. They would undermine her entire persona. It would hardly be motherly and endearing to say the words that she was thinking.

"He didn't hit anything too important," Rachael explained as she examined the wound. "I think you'll heal pretty quickly and with no lasting damage."

Relieved that her memory of anatomy had proven accurate, Suzanne nodded with clenched teeth.

"I don't know if he wanted to kill me," she explained. "He was barely coherent, fuming mad."

"Why did he do it?" Heather asked.

"No idea," Suzanne choked out as Rachael adjusted her leg's position.

"We need to get her somewhere more comfortable," the doctor insisted. "In the staff room with Cliff."

"Somewhere else," Heather said quickly. "No room in there."

Suzanne was starting to get annoyed at the host. She was clearly trying to take advantage of the situation and assert her authority.

"Just take me to my bed in the challenge room, I'll be fine there."

Being accommodating and easygoing was her best move. The more she made people think she asked very little, the more willing they'd be to listen when she did make a request. A small spark of uncertainty tugged at her thoughts. It still didn't seem real that Marcus was dead and that she had shot herself, and now she was taking more steps to enable future manipulations. The lack of guilt surprised her. She'd known Marcus for years, and yet pulling the trigger had been a simple thing. It scared her how little it bothered her.

"Alright, help me get her upright," Rachael commanded to the crowd of observers.

It was liberating too, Suzanne reflected. Maybe guilt would come later. But for now, she felt free to do whatever she desired. And if she was held accountable in the future, she'd deal with the consequences. But there were so many factors to blame for any behavior, she wasn't worried about the future. For now, she was focused on Heather. The host may have taken the gun for herself, but that didn't give her any more power over the contestants, and it was time they brought her down to their level, if not lower.

### Day 9: Quart

"On three," Brandon said. "One... two...."

When he finished the countdown, Quart lifted with all of his might. Marcus's limp form rose from the ground, but the two men could barely hold him up. Carrying him across the bunker wasn't plausible.

"We could just drag him," Quart suggested, dropping the corpse back onto the floor carelessly. The unsettling sound it emitted on impact reminded him that it was still made of flesh and bone.

"Yeah, let's maybe _not_ make a bigger mess," Allison snapped sarcastically as she and Devin continued to mop up the blood where Suzanne had been. Despite her acidic tone, Quart noticed her eyes were red from crying. He was surprised that she had even been willing to help clean.

"You two want to give us a hand?" Brandon asked.

Looking thoroughly uncomfortable at the idea, Allison nodded her agreement.

"Devin?"

He gave no sign that he heard the question. His face was blank, and he seemed mesmerized by the simple action of mopping.

"Hey," Allison said, tapping him on the shoulder.

Devin jumped at the touch and looked at her as if he hadn't realized she was there.

"Could you help us carry Marcus to the interview room?" Brandon requested once again.

"Okay."

In a matter of moments, Marcus was off the ground, a towel tied around his wound to stop it from leaving a trail of blood down the hallway. As Quart focused on the leg he was holding onto, not wanting to be the one to drop the body, he looked at the dead man. He had no sympathy for Marcus, and would not be mourning his death. Suzanne was his best friend in the bunker, perhaps the best friend he'd ever had. Why Marcus would try to kill her, he couldn't imagine. The withdrawal must have gotten to him. That would also explain how Suzanne, even with a gunshot wound in her leg, was able put up enough of a fight that there was a commotion for the gun to go off in.

Their short trip concluded when they reached the interview room. Without the need to discuss it, they carried Marcus to where Victor lay, and placed him down beside the sound technician.

"Two people dead," Allison remarked bitterly. "All because of a stupid show."

Brandon shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe it's only been..." he paused, "three days since Victor fell. You know, if the game was still going, tomorrow would've been a special challenge."

"In what way?" Quart asked, more interested in hearing about what might've been than reflecting on what was.

"First one to have teams. Two contestants would be picked at leaders, and they'd take turns choosing players like it was a gym class. I think the challenge had something to do with reacting to unexpected situations." He chuckled morbidly. "Guess we've been doing lots of that anyway."

"Of course," Devin mumbled. "Don't have any details on what it was."

"I just don't understand why Marcus would do this," Allison said, either not hearing or ignoring Devin.

Quart had no such doubts. "He was a drunk, an asshole, and a madman. He knew that Suzanne is the nicest, most caring person out of everyone, and he wanted to deprive us of her as punishment for not bending to his every wish."

"Maybe..."

"Trust me on this, there's no other reason he could want to hurt her."

"We might never know exactly what went through his mind," Brandon mused. "But I have a good feeling about the future. We're going to be out of here soon, and I think everyone is going to realize they need to calm down."

Quart nodded. Even if Heather seemed crippled by guilt over what was going on, at least one member of the crew had their priorities straight.

### Day 10: Cliff

Consciousness slowly pulled at Cliff, followed instantly by agonizing pain. He felt light-headed and groggy, and the indistinct rumble of out-of-focus voices filled his ears. He forced his eyes open and saw a concrete ceiling. He had woken up to a similar sight every morning in the bunker, but something was different this time. The memories slowly started to come back to him. The climb. The fall. As his head cleared, he realized he must still be in the control room. His legs felt like they were on fire, and his back seemed to scream with even the slightest movement. The sound of voices continued, and he shifted his attention to them, trying to make out the words.

"...he get it in here? We searched their bags," Heather's voice was asking.

"Hell if I know," Brandon responded. "He must have snuck it in somehow."

Cliff tried to sit up, but a wave of agony shot through his body, just as painful as the impact on the elevator had been. He must have let out some sound, because the conversation immediately stopped, and within seconds, Heather was leaning over him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Great," he answered sarcastically. "How long have I been out?"

"About twelve hours, I think."

Cliff realized just how much he missed windows and daylight. Only force of habit was keeping everyone on a day and night schedule.

"Guess I didn't miss too much then."

The expression that quickly spread across Heather's face spoke volumes.

"What happened now?" he grunted, hauling himself into a slightly more upright position so that she didn't have to stand directly beside him to make eye contact.

"I don't know how to explain... Marcus, he... him and Suzanne..." she trailed off.

A sense of dread started to build in Cliff's mind. Her inability to tell him was worse than any truth could be.

Brandon came to his boss's aid. "Marcus shot Suzanne in the leg, then was killed when she tried to take the gun from him."

Cliff realized that his previous thought had been completely inaccurate. Too many questions to process raced through his mind. Another death and another injury? At this rate, there'd be no one left when rescue did show up. "You said he had a gun?"

"Yeah," Heather said, turning away and walking towards the desk. "See?"

She held up an all too familiar weapon, and Cliff's heart sank. There was no question that it was his. Marcus must have found it in his footlocker. But he couldn't imagine the amount of anger that would be focused on him if he told the truth. Brandon already knew, of course, and had decided to spare him that trouble. Once it was all over he would confess, but he didn't think he had the strength to defend his terrible decision right then and there.

"Is Suzanne okay?"

"She'll live, it's not nearly as bad as what happened to you."

Cliff didn't say what he was thinking. He doubted he'd survive long without a hospital and proper treatment. Marcus's first aid could only do so much. As the thought crossed through his mind, he tried to reconcile the last image he had of the man, tending to his shattered legs when Rachael refused to, with the story he was being told. It didn't seem possible that it was the same person.

"Do we know why he did it?"

"No idea," Heather admitted. "That's going to be a question for later. In the short term, Brandon and I were trying to figure out what to do with the gun so that there aren't any more incidents."

"Like I said, just hold onto it. We don't know who else could snap, and that will keep people from getting any ideas about trying to steal more food than they're rationed."

"I can't hold it over them as a threat!" she insisted. "I wish there was some way to just get rid of it, but we can't exactly take it out of the bunker."

Hearing how much grief it was still causing just made Cliff feel guiltier, and more glad that Brandon had kept his secret. An idea came to his mind. Brandon could clearly keep tight-lipped about it. "If you don't want it, why doesn't he hide it somewhere and not tell you?" Cliff suggested. "That way he can retrieve it once the rescue comes or if, God forbid, it's needed, but it can be out of your mind."

"That works for me," Brandon answered nonchalantly.

"It's better than any of the other ideas. Alright." Heather handed him the revolver. "Don't put it anywhere the contestants will ever check."

"I know just the place."

Brandon turned and left, while Heather looked once more to Cliff.

"You're lucky to have slept through it all. It was like a nightmare."

"I can imagine," he replied unenthusiastically as he tried to make a slight move and a spike of pain shot up his back.

### Day 10: Rachael

"How do you feel this morning?" Rachael asked, crouching down beside Suzanne's bed.

"Much better, thank you."

"Could you try moving your leg a bit?"

Suzanne obliged, cringing as she did.

"I know it must be really painful right now, but I think it's going to heal pretty quickly and without any complications. Obviously we'll want someone with more specific expertise to look over it once we're out, but I wouldn't be too worried."

Her voice echoed in the expanse of the challenge room. Other than three mattresses, the giant room was completely empty.

"So what's going on out there?" Suzanne prompted.

"I think everyone's still pretty shaken up, they aren't really talking about anything. Not to me, at least. Haven't seen Heather yet today, so nobody knows how Cliff's doing." Rachael's curiosity about him came partially from guilt, but was mostly the product of a mind that hated being left in the dark.

"Figures."

She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"That Heather is still holed up in her room," Suzanne explained. "The crazier this all gets, the less I trust the woman."

"I don't like the way she's handling it all either," Rachael agreed, relieved that someone else was on the same wavelength as her.

"It's not just that. Have you noticed that whenever something does happen, it seems to give Heather a chance to reinforce her image and relatability? Claiming that we're stuck lets her step up as the leader to a greater extent than she could be as host. Victor falling gave her grief to overcome." The train of thought seemed to be pumping life into Suzanne. "It's the same pattern. Something unpleasant happens, like a fight, and she asserts her authority. Something tragic happens, a person gets hurt, and she shows off her sensitive side. It's almost too convenient."

Now that it was being pointed out, it made a lot of sense to Rachael. "What are you suggesting?"

Suzanne took a deep breath. "I know this makes me sound like Devin, but what if this was all planned? Not necessarily as a game, mind you. Maybe some sort of sick psychological experiment. Could have been the plan all along, or maybe Heather is deviating from a real show that this was supposed to be, and doing this all to us for God knows what reason. She's manipulating events to make us instinctively trust her, holding food over our heads to force any dissenters to obey anyway. Why though, I can't imagine."

A hole in Suzanne's logic suddenly become glaringly obvious, and Rachael couldn't ignore it. "What about Victor?" she asked. "If this was planned all along, no way they'd kill someone for it. Even if Heather's gone off the rails, those two seemed legitimately close."

"This is a bunker built by a TV production company," Suzanne explained slowly, as if she was just working her thoughts out for herself. "They could fake that, easily."

"I examined the body though, it was real."

"You'd be amazed at what these people can produce. It could have been a cadaver made to look like Victor, maybe. Or Victor was made to look like one. I don't know, it seems far-fetched, but this just sounds right to me on some level."

Rachael nodded. She still didn't know what might be going on, but it was clear that Heather was trying to control them for reasons beyond what she claimed.

### Day 10: Joey

"Can I have a quick word with you?" Joey asked as Allison walked by him in the hall.

"Sure."

She sounded uncertain. He didn't blame her for still being hesitant around him, he'd undeniably been a jerk to her during the game.

"You and Devin are pretty close, right?"

Allison scoffed at the question. "Not really."

"As close as anyone is to Devin, at least," Joey pushed.

"I suppose," she replied guardedly, clearly still on edge after the previous night's tragedy.

"Well, now that Marcus is gone, Cliff's hurt, and Quart's in the challenge room, I'm all alone with him in the men's bunk room."

Her poise lightened. "I'm sure he'd be flattered, but no, I didn't get the sense that he's—" she began jokingly.

"Not where I was going with this," he quickly cut her off. "I want to know if he was this...." He searched for the right word. "Insane, before everything started to go to hell. He's completely irrational, and I'm not all that comfortable being stuck in there with him."

Allison's returned to her closed off stance and lowered her voice. Her eyes darted to the side, and Joey followed them to see Devin making his way down the hall towards them, still out of earshot.

"He didn't seem to be," she whispered. "I thought he was a bit awkward and strange, but no worse than Liz. He always seemed rational, but now it's like he's lost his grasp on reality."

Joey nodded as Devin drew closer.

"What are you two talking about?" he asked.

"Just chatting," Joey deflected.

Devin raised an eyebrow. "Sure you are," he smirked. "I believe you." He continued on his way.

Once he was far enough away, Joey continued. "I'd bet you anything that he thinks we're planning some strategy for the game. It's ridiculous."

"Isn't much we can do about it though, is there?"

"I doubt it," he admitted. "That's not why I'm bringing it up though. Listen, I know this might be a bit awkward, but I wanted to know if it would be alright if I moved my stuff into the room with you, Katrina, and Liz."

"Lucky Devin, getting a whole room to himself! Maybe I should try being crazy," Allison joked.

"Is that a yes?"

She nodded. "I'm sure the other two won't have a problem with it, and there's plenty of space. You don't snore, do you?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Joey shrugged. "Not that I know of." He hadn't expected an immediate response, but he was quickly getting the sense that Allison wasn't one for long discussions and consulting with other people. Liz and Katrina were easy-going, though, she was probably right.

"Well, the possibility that you don't is still an improvement over Suzanne. Let's get your things moved in."

Joey agreed. Allison's quick mood changes, from closed to joking to light-hearted were a little bit worrying. She hardly seemed to be affected by the fact that two people had been shot less than twelve hours earlier. Maybe she was stronger than she seemed.

### Day 10: Allison

"You got it?" Joey asked.

"Yeah," Allison confirmed, tightening her grasp on the footlocker. In unison, the two of them lifted it off the ground. "This isn't too heavy."

He glanced over his shoulder as he backed towards the doorway. "Let's just take it slow, then. It's certainly heavy enough that I don't want to being dropped on my foot."

Allison laughed obligingly. She wished Joey had been this way since the start, she would likely have been close to him rather than Devin and Cliff. She'd be a lot less worried now if she had never grown attached to them. Though at least Cliff was safely out of the way now, and didn't have to be involved with aftermath of Marcus's insanity.

Joey was saying something, but she just smiled and nodded. The world seemed hazy, almost like she was drunk. That would've been a nice reprieve, though. She was trying to figure out what to make of everything that was going on, but it was beyond comprehension. Two weeks ago she'd never seen a dead body, had never lost anyone close to her, and now these new friends were falling to pieces, a threat to themselves or each other. Marcus had certainly had a temper, but she never would have suspected he'd be capable of murder any more than she would have guessed Suzanne could stop him. If he could do that, there was no telling what the surviving people in the bunker could do.

"This one looks good." Joey lowered his end of the box next to Rachael's old bed. "You're sure the others won't mind?"

"Nah, you'll be fine," she promised. They'd both understand wanting to get away from Devin. Whatever was wrong with him only seemed to be getting more extreme, and Allison could empathize with wanting to avoid him as much as possible. "Not like we signed up for this show expecting a lot of privacy anyway."

"Have to admit, it was a relief when they stopped filming and I could relax just a little bit. The possibility of solitude, and all that."

"Absolutely. If we weren't being filmed and weren't trapped, it'd almost be nice living down here."

"Depending on who all was still here," Joey quickly added. "If it was you, me, Katrina, and Cliff, that'd be great. If I was living with Devin, Rachael, and Liz, that might not be so much fun."

"God, I can imagine. Crazy, controlling, and cold, all together to torment you with their weirdness." Joking about them was one thing, but Allison felt sorry for Devin, and had come to terms with Liz's mentality. Rachael, on the other hand, was the last person she wanted to interact with after her abandonment of Cliff.

"You would've lumped me in that group a week ago, wouldn't you?" Joey asked, his tone making it clear he wouldn't be upset if she agreed.

"Not all!" she answered honestly. "A week ago I liked Devin and Rachael just fine. You'd be with Katrina, so timid she _must_ be hiding something, and Cliff with his overblown macho flirting."

Joey raised an eyebrow. "I thought you liked that version of Cliff."

"He was exactly the sort of guy I always fall for, and that was both a point for and against him. But he seemed like someone I could get on my side, and a romance on the show would likely have endeared me to the audience."

"Truth be told, I didn't think you had a strategy at all."

"It was no 'pretend to be insane', but I didn't come in here completely without a plan." Allison teased.

"Fair enough. You want to go get lunch? I'm starving."

"Sure," she agreed, glad that in the midst of all the madness she hadn't lost her ability to make friends.

### Day 10: Quart

What the clocks claimed to be late afternoon on the tenth day was the most sluggish Quart had yet experienced in the bunker. Everyone seemed hungover from the events of the prior day. They were going through the motions of keeping the bunker livable, just like they always had, but nobody said much, and the work was all being done lazily to pass the time. The bathroom floors probably didn't need another washing, but they were getting one. Devin had tried to talk about game strategy with Liz, but she'd managed to distract him with the task of more efficiently arranging the dishes in the kitchen. There was no important work to do. Their prison was built to sustain life with little upkeep, and it was managing the latter part much more effectively than the former.

Quart slowly opened the door to the challenge room, not wanting to disturb Suzanne if she was still sleeping. Her recovery was going surprisingly well. Rachael said it was because Marcus had shot her in a spot that did little to hamper her movement and had nothing major near it. Quart had laughed at the incompetence. The drunk fired at point blank and somehow still managed to do minimal damage.

"Suzanne?" he called quietly.

When there was no response, he crept into the room as silently as he could. Sleep was essential to the recovery, he'd been told. Suzanne was strong, and he was sure she'd be fine before too long if everyone let her be. He just needed to grab a towel for a shower.

He approached the row of mattresses on the floor and headed towards his footlocker, when he noticed something out of place. His blanket was crumpled near the top, not lying as smoothly flat as it had been after he'd made his bed that morning. It was one downside to sharing space with Rachael, she cared far more about that sort of thing than the men had.

Curious, he crept to the bed and pulled back the covers. He had to restrain himself from gasping out loud when he saw what was beneath. The gun that Marcus had used, sitting on top of a folded piece of paper. He looked towards Suzanne to ensure that she was still asleep, then grabbed the gun and examined it. It wasn't a particularly nice weapon, not like the ones his rich friends loved to show off. Placing it back on the bed, he picked up the paper and unfolded it. A brief note, hand-written in a style almost machinelike in its simplicity, awaited him.

I managed to take this from Heather's hiding place. She can't be trusted with it, nor can most people here. Quart, please keep this out of sight and to yourself. You're the only other rational person left, and she'd find it if I held onto it. Keep it hidden. — Brandon

Quart didn't know what to make of it. He was honoured that Brandon thought he was the best one to hold onto it, but he realized it made a lot of sense. Rachael and Katrina were the only two other reasonable, able-bodied options left, everyone else had shown themselves to be untrustworthy. And since Rachael had enemies, and Katrina was probably too weak willed to keep it secret, the duty had fallen to him. He wanted to wake up Suzanne and tell her, excited that he had been chosen, but decided against it. She was hurt, and knowing that even Brandon didn't trust Heather would only make her more anxious. Besides, he reasoned, there was no harm in keeping it to himself for a little while.

### Day 10: Katrina

"Hit me," Brandon said.

Liz slid another card to him.

He lifted up the edge. "Damn it, that's twenty-three."

"Should've played it safe," Heather taunted, pulling the pile of tokens out of the centre of the table.

"Devin would be salivating over all those," Katrina commented, passing her cards back to Liz. She was pleased to see her joke was worthy of a small smile.

"And that's why we didn't invite him," Brandon chuckled.

"Let's try to keep it down," Heather suggested, eyeing him. "We don't want to wake up Cliff."

"You think he's actually asleep yet?" Liz asked. "After the ordeal of moving him in there, I'd imagine he'd be wide awake."

Katrina glanced over at the closed door to the room that had once been Victor's. "It's been a few hours, I expect he's at least relaxed by now."

"All those painkillers probably are making that a bit easier," Liz observed before taking a sip from the bottle of beer Heather had brought out for her.

Katrina looked to her own bottle. It was generous of Heather to invite the two of them into the control room for the evening to get away from everything else, but she couldn't help wondering why them. She'd asked, of course, and Heather had simply explained that they were her favourites in a tone that left it ambiguous if she was being serious or not.

"He's had fewer today than needs," Heather replied. "I gave a couple to Suzanne earlier, and if Cliff kept going at the rate he was, we'd be running out way too quickly. These were meant to help if someone sprained an ankle, not for injuries this serious."

Liz nodded. "I know, it's not good. Hopefully there're no more problems, and we can just wait for rescue. How many times have we hoped that was the case, now?"

"More than I want to count," Brandon answered.

Katrina's mind was still on the previous part of the conversation. "You gave Suzanne painkillers?"

"Well, yeah. Wouldn't you?"

Liz finished shuffling and started passing out cards.

"I guess," Katrina admitted. "It just seems like she's so much better off than Cliff, he could use them much more."

"And she's got a doctor helping her," Liz interjected.

"I couldn't just ignore her."

Katrina tried to figure out how to explain her misgivings. "It's just that she seems to be barely hurt, all things considered. It's good that Marcus didn't hit her in the chest or something."

Brandon's eyes lingered on her unblinkingly.

"It's strange, he could have easily hurt her more if he was trying to," she continued, attempting to ignore it. "I just don't understand what happened last night."

Liz opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a moment, she spoke. "Remember what he said yesterday, when we were all talking about Rachael ignoring Cliff after his fall?"

"Right," she agreed, thinking about the conversation for the first time since it had occurred. "When I said that Suzanne, Rachael, and Quart were all together he seemed like he had an idea, and said he wanted to go talk to them."

"I got the sense he was hiding something," Liz explained.

An idea dawned on Katrina. "What if that's what he was doing? What if that was Marcus talking to her about whatever it was?"

"And you think he tried to kill her over it?" Heather asked.

Liz shook her head. "He didn't seem angry. Certainly not in a frenzy like Suzanne said he was when he attacked her."

"What if she was lying, though?" Katrina pondered aloud. She didn't want to stir up more trouble, but her mind was racing at the possibility, and she could hardly keep it quiet.

Brandon, his gaze still unmoved, seemed uncertain at the suggestion. "Why would she lie?"

"He had some idea that he thought was important enough to confront her about, and secret enough not to confide in us," she continued. "Maybe whatever it was, he was right. Suzanne's smart, I wouldn't put it past her to have secrets."

"In the game, for sure," Liz said. "But still? What does she have to gain?"

"No idea," Katrina admitted. "I think we should talk to her in the morning, though. Try to find something out."

"It's a good idea," Heather agreed. "Let me know when and I'll come with you."

Liz nodded. "Yeah, you might be right. If anything is going on, it needs to come to light as soon as possible."

"I'm sorry, this was supposed to be a relaxing night off from worrying," Katrina said. "Let's play another hand, I want to win some of those point tokens back."

Obliging, Liz started dealing the cards. While she waited, Katrina tried to push the suspicions out of her mind. She hoped they turned out to be incorrect, but the more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Suzanne was lying.

### Day 11: Brandon

A day of quiet anticipation had been a nice break for Brandon. Everyone could sense that more trouble was likely to come, but there had be to lulls in the action to keep them from doing anything too radical, and to ensure reasonable pacing for whatever he decided to do with the footage. He was leaning towards putting it together into a documentary style film. Regardless, the money would certainly come rolling in simply from selling the rights to news channels. But one day off was plenty, and it was time to up the intensity again. He knew a few well-placed words would set events in motion, and give him an opportunity to pursue his other project.

"Good morning, Rachael," he greeted cheerily, walking into the kitchen.

The doctor nodded curtly. "Are you finally here to bring us today's rations?"

"Oh," he feigned surprised. "I haven't had anything to do with those, I thought Heather was passing out a few days' worth at once."

"Nope. Every morning, at no fixed time."

"She's still asleep," Brandon explained, neglecting to mention that he could just as easily access the food. "I guess she thinks you'll all be fine waiting for her."

Rachael frowned. "Most of us are up, and I for one would have liked to eat an hour ago."

"What can I say? She doesn't seem too concerned about it. I'd bring it out for you, but she keeps it locked away and won't even let me at it."

Rachael chewed on her lower lip, obviously holding back what she wanted to say about Heather.

"Why don't I go wake her up?" he suggested.

"That would be appreciated."

"Should get your food within the next hour. She told me that she likes to eat before coming out to interact with the contestants. I don't know if calling you all that is still accurate, but I guess it works."

Rachael's scowl grew larger. "Yeah, why don't you tell her to hurry up with that." She stood up, brushing past him and out of the room, her steps heavy with anger.

Allowing himself a moment of self-appreciation, Brandon smiled. Rachael was so tightly wound that the slightest nudge had been enough to set her off, and create the chaos, and the distraction, that he needed.

### Day 11: Rachael

It took all of Rachael's restraint not to throw open the door to the challenge room in her haste to share the information. She pushed it gently, wide enough to see Suzanne lying motionlessly in her bed.

"Quart!" she hissed.

The young man rolled over to face her. He had been awake when she'd left, but didn't seem to be one to leap out of bed. Not that there was much reason to in the bunker.

"Get over here," she commanded once she had his attention.

Quart dragged himself out of bed. A frantic beckoning urged him to move faster, and soon he joined Rachael in the hall.

"You look mad," he observed.

Rachael tried to figure the easiest way to explain all of the problems with Heather's actions. The manipulation, the secrets, taking control of the food and now holding it back. It was despicable.

"Brandon told me that Heather's decided to sleep in, because I guess she thinks she's that much better than us. I can't handle it anymore."

"The rationing?"

"All of her bullshit! She wants to be in charge of us, but she's treating us like children, as if this is still some controlled environment for the show." Rachael took a deep breath. "I think we need to do something about her."

She didn't know what she was suggesting. Talking was clearly not going anywhere—every attempt to reason with Heather ended with her either stubbornly pulling rank, or retreating to the control room. Rachael had never thought of herself as a violent person, but she'd never been so intensely frustrated before. It wasn't rational, and it wasn't guaranteed to solve anything, but right at that moment, she could empathize with the level of emotion Marcus must have felt to shoot Suzanne.

Quart nodded simply. "I couldn't agree more."

Their airing of grievances had to happen immediately. No more of her putting off difficult encounters in an attempt to diffuse them. "Let's go see our 'leader', then."

"I'm going to grab something," Quart replied, opening the door the challenge room again. "Just in case we need it."

"What?"

He smiled evasively. "Some assurance that she'll be listening to our complaints."

### Day 11: Allison

"You really think Suzanne's capable of something like that?" Allison asked, taken aback.

"Maybe," Liz shrugged. "It's possible, at least. Once Katrina is awake, we were planning to go talk to her and see if we can find out more."

"If you're right, she isn't likely to tell you anything," Joey pointed out, resting his arms on the dining room's table. "All you're going to do is put her on the defensive. What if we could get her to slip up?"

Allison turned to him. "You think this could be true? You know her better than I do, but I just don't see it."

"It actually makes sense," he explained, his voice filling with energy. "She was the one that pushed me to hound Marcus about his alcoholism once the game was over. It could have been genuine concern, but maybe there was another motivation to do that. Maybe one of us was supposed to look bad. Could've been both."

Hurried footsteps in the hallway made Allison look towards the hall. Rachael and Quart stormed past.

"Someone's in a hurry," she commented. "But yeah, you might be on the right track. We should definitely look into this in one way or another."

"Man, when is Heather going to get the food out here?" Joey whined. "I'm starving."

"We were up pretty late last night, I wouldn't expect it soon," Liz said plainly. "Same with Katrina."

"Yeah, nice of you to invite us to your private game," Allison joked, only slightly bitter about being left out.

"Heather's game," Liz corrected. "And can you blame her? The two of you didn't make amazing first impressions. Not saying I did, but I think after my helping Cliff with the screwdrivers, she warmed up to me a bit."

"Fair point."

"Give her another half hour. If we don't see her by then we'll go knocking and see if we can get some food."

### Day 11: Devin

Pulling his mug out from under the tap once more, Devin brought it to his lips. The water was doing little to ease the discomfort of his hunger. He was certain the lateness of the rations was hitting him harder than anyone else. After all, he'd been living on half the food they were ever since Suzanne had offered to trade him tokens for it.

He took another long sip. Being uncomfortable for a few weeks would be well worth it if it gave him an unbeatable edge. A million dollars would change his life, he'd be able to do whatever he wanted. He didn't even know what that would be. Staying in university for years without needing to worry about money, or taking the time to work on the sort of projects he'd always dreamed of, or even just making some investments and living the easy life. A bit of hunger was a small price to pay for all that.

Without warning, a heavy knocking echoed throughout the bunker. It sounded like someone pounding on one of the doors. Devin shook his head. Probably another scared contestant running to the control room to ask if they were really stuck or not. They were so foolish to think anyone could be that incompetent, that a dozen people could be trapped in a place specifically designed for them and not have their absence noticed. They weren't waiting for rescue from some sort of _Lord of the Flies_ scenario, it was all clearly staged and planned from the beginning. The others' seeming inability to see that didn't bother him greatly. If they weren't trying to play the game, it just made his work a lot easier.

### Day 11: Heather

The knocking persisted as Heather pulled herself out of bed. The abrupt wakeup had put her on edge, though she was annoyed more for Cliff's sake than her own. He needed all the rest he could get, and whoever was causing all the noise clearly had no respect for that.

She quickly changed out of her nightclothes. The knocking was steady, not frantic. Someone wanted to talk, but it obviously wasn't an emergency. Glancing at her clock, she realized how late it was. Her sleep schedule had been sliding gradually ever since she'd stopped using an alarm. The complete lack of sunlight made is surprisingly difficult to judge the time after so many days underground. That was most likely what the knocking was about. They wanted their daily rations, which was certainly reasonable. The last thing Heather wanted was to make the situation any more difficult for anyone than it already was.

As soon as she was done dressing, Heather hurried out of her bedroom and towards the door to the hallway. The rhythmic pounding continued, growing heavier with time. She paused for a brief moment, preparing herself to talk down an irate, hungry contestant.

"Sorry for making you wait," she began as she pulled open the door. "I'll bring out the food—"

Without warning, Heather felt a hand grabbing onto her arm, violently dragging her into the hallway. She instinctively tried to pull away, letting out a confused and surprised screech, but the grip was too tight. Stumbling forward, she looked up to see her assailant. Rachael, her face twisted with rage, swung Heather's arm and sent her crashing into the wall. Quart was with her, standing back and watching quietly.

She wanted to ask what was going on, but the impact had knocked the air out of her. The tight grasp of Rachael's hand landed on the back of her neck, pressing her face against the wall. Breathing suddenly became a challenge.

"I'm sick of you," Rachael growled directly into Heather's ear. "You don't control me, or anyone in here. Why can't you admit that you aren't any better than the rest of us?"

Obviously not expecting a response, her fingers tightened into a firm grip. She pulled Heather's head back, then slammed it into the wall once more.

"I don't..." Heather tried to explain, dazed from the blow.

"You keep saying that, but your actions disagree."

A sudden blow to her side sent Heather tumbling to the floor. She looked up at her assailant, and over to Quart. His eerie smile was somehow more worrisome than Rachael's anger. He seemed hesitant to join in, but stood back and watched the beating without objection, hands in his pockets.

"You claim you want to help us all get along and make it out of here," Rachael's tirade continued. "Then you hold our food hostage!"

A sharp kick connected with Heather's stomach, knocking the wind out of her once again and replacing it with a throbbing pain.

"I don't know if this is all entertainment for you, but people are dying and you just keep bringing in these petty politics," Rachael shouted, having given up any attempt at keeping quiet. "I've had enough!"

Another kick, in the chest this time. Heather thought she felt a rib crack.

"Help!" she cried out hoarsely, raising her head and ignoring how much the expansion of her lungs ached.

"You think you have any friends in here?" Rachael taunted, leaning down. "They might not say it, but they're all just as fed up with you as I am."

This time her fist swung down, smacking Heather squarely in the temple and sending her head back to the ground. She followed it up immediately with a kick to the side, even harder than the last.

"Rachael, you want any help there?" Quart asked in a disgustingly ordinary tone.

The doctor turned to look at him. "Just keep an eye out and let me know if—"

Heather kicked at Rachael's leg with all of her strength, sending her attacker tumbling to the ground, then without hesitation she scrambled on her hands and knees for the door to the control room.

"Hey, we're not done," Quart said, stepping forward.

Clearly not seeing the need for more words, Rachael grabbed at Heather, but she wriggled away before a proper grip could be established. Back inside the room, she grabbed the doorknob and tugged the door shut. Before it closed all the way, Quart leapt for it and started trying to pull it open while Rachael began to stand back up.

"What the hell are you doing?" a shout came from down the hallway. It sounded like Joey.

Quart turned towards the voice, and that moment of inattention was all Heather needed. Pulling on the door with all of her might, she slammed it shut and immediately reached for the lock. Only once the door was secured did she to lower her defences.

Panting, Heather dragged herself along the floor towards the couch. It had still barely registered. This wasn't just another accident or even a threat gone wrong. Rachael and Quart had actively set out to do her harm. A threshold had been crossed, and she feared there was no going back.

### Day 11: Joey

Staring Rachael in the eye, Joey could see the intense anger that filled her. Heather had slipped away, and she was clearly blaming him for it. He tried not to let his confusion show as he and held back Allison, who was chomping at the bit to reach Rachael. Whatever had happened, boxing in the two culprits wouldn't improve their mood.

"What are you doing?" he asked once again.

"Are you trying to kill her?" Liz demanded incredulously.

"Course not," Quart was quick to reply. "Just wanted to convince her to take this situation seriously."

Joey was at a loss for words, but Allison had no such problem.

"You little piece of shit! What do you think she's been doing, laughing it off?"

Rachael, back on her feet and eyes still locked with Joey, nodded. "Something like that, yeah. She's not making an effort to do anything but stay in charge, and we're past the point where we should tolerate it."

"So you decide that a beating is the only way to solve that?" Allison continued, putting to words Joey's disgust. "You can't be serious."

"We tried talking, she didn't—"

"Then you didn't try hard enough!"

Liz pushed past Joey. "Or maybe," she began, her voice a stony counterpoint to Allison's shouting, "you're just wrong."

"What happened?" Devin asked, coming up from behind them.

"Just stay back," Joey warned. "Rachael, Quart, why don't you calm down and we'll go sit down and talk this through."

"Like hell we will!" Allison shouted. "We're going to sort this out here and now. This crazy bitch thinks she can do whatever she wants, leaving Cliff to die and attacking Heather... I'm not going to let her hurt a third person."

Joey decided not to argue the point. He certainly wasn't going to defend the actions that had been taken, and if Allison wanted to direct all of her anger at them, he knew there was nothing anyone could do to hold her back.

### Day 11: Brandon

Reaching the end of the staff hallway, Brandon quietly opened the door to the challenge room as soon as he heard the muffled shouting. He looked to the row of mattresses on the floor, and saw that Suzanne was still asleep. Perfect.

He crept across the room, taking care not to wake the woman. If he was spotted he'd have to give up on the whole plan, and he doubted he'd ever have as good of an opportunity as the one he had constructed. Luckily, Suzanne's injury seemed to necessitate a lot of sleep to recover. He had to admit, he was impressed that she had been willing to shoot herself in the leg just to frame Marcus. The first shot had alerted Heather and forced him to stop watching the camera feed, but he'd taken the time to review it later that night. He wouldn't have guessed her to be such a vicious manipulator, but he was certainly glad for it. Someone else stirring up trouble made his work a lot easier.

Having crossed the challenge room, he slid into the hallway. At the far end, he could see most of the contestants having a shouting match. Everyone who was awake was there, leaving only Suzanne, Heather, Cliff, and most importantly Katrina, as the only people not involved.

Moving quickly in an effort not to be spotted, he slipped into the women's bunkroom. She was there, just as he'd hoped, sound asleep after their late night of cards and drinking. The shouting from the hall was growing louder. He'd have plenty of time.

### Day 11: Allison

All of the fear and anger that had been building up within Allison in the last week burst out like a gunshot, laser-focused on Rachael and Quart, the two fools who seemed to think they were the only ones having a tough time. The ferocity with which she was tearing into them surprised even her, but it felt revitalizing to let it all out.

"... and you're a doctor, for God's sake! You should be one of the people keeping us all safe and alive!"

"I still don't get it," Devin said from behind her.

Ignoring him, Allison continued. "And Quart! What the hell happened, your famous parents never teach you how to deal with anything tougher than firing a butler? We're all in a tight spot, you don't see the rest of us turning into monsters!"

"I've dealt with tough—" he began to reply.

"Ooh, you've had trouble with things before?" she mocked condescendingly. "I'm so glad. Doesn't give you an excuse though, this sucks for everyone."

"They attacked her?" Devin asked. When Joey confirmed, he hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "Did they take the leftover tokens from her?"

That was enough. Allison was confronting two idiots already, she could take on a third and put a stop to his delusions. She turned to face him.

"And you, what is wrong with you?" she shouted, gesturing wildly with her hands so that nobody could see them shaking. "The game is over. No plainer way to say that. People have died, now they're attacking each other, and yet you're the only one who still thinks it's all some sort of twist. I'm not a psychologist, and the closest thing we have to one is almost as crazy as you are—" She shot a glance back at Rachael. "—but you're in denial, and it's got to stop here and now. The game is over," she finished firmly.

Devin looked her in the eyes, and nodded. "I know," he claimed, "it's just easier to hold onto it, like a comfort blanket. You understand, don't you?"

Allison didn't believe him for a second. He was just agreeing to get her to stop yelling at him. "You make claims like that, and then the next day you're right back to asking about tokens. How long before you decide to rob someone of their tokens, just like you thought these two were doing? Snap out of it, Devin, or you're going to find yourself mentally screwed up beyond repair."

"She's right," Liz agreed. "Nobody else is competing. Do you want all of my tokens? Because you can have them."

The offer clearly caught him by surprise. "I... well... if you don't want them, I'm still enjoying collecting them."

"And that's how we know not to believe you!" Allison exclaimed, considering her point fully made. "Go figure this out for yourself. We've got more immediate problems right now."

Rachael and Quart had taken the brief reprieve to regain their composure, and when Allison turned back to them, she could see Quart's teeth clenching in preparation for the coming onslaught. Good. He deserved a bit of fear.

### Day 11: Katrina

The restful sleep that had engulfed Katrina was unceremoniously ripped away by the sounds of shouting and arguing. She sat upright quickly, the blood rushing from her head as she opened her eyes. For a moment she was dizzy, as the world came into focus. A humanoid form started to take shape as her vision cleared, standing beside her lower-level bunk. She opened her mouth to ask who it was, but when he raised his head she recognized Brandon. He promptly stopped unbuttoning his shirt and reached over with hawk-like reflexes to cover her mouth, his other hand wrapping around behind her head and preventing her from pulling away.

Katrina's mind immediately shifted from confusion to panic. She grasped at his arms, trying to pry them off her, but they just tightened in response. Unable to turn to face him fully, she was trapped, looking towards the foot of her bed while he stood beside it. In her peripheral vision, she could see his expression. There was no open malice, just a thin smile that made her skin crawl.

"Don't thrash around like that, please," the cameraman commanded. "I'm going to let go now, and you are, I'm sure, aware that you don't want to attract anyone else's attention."

He slid his hands away, and Katrina gasped for air, trying to get past the surprise and figure out what to do. Brandon's staring at her the night before, his attempt to kiss her, everything he'd ever said, flashed through her mind, given new, horrifying context. Not daring to look away for even a second, she watched as he resumed work on his buttons.

"Get out of here," she ordered as stalwartly as she could muster.

Brandon glanced towards her and his smile grew wider. "You're so cute when you get mad," he teased. "But I know that deep down you love me just as much as I do you."

Katrina considered briefly trying to play along, to lull him into a false sense of security before attempting to break free, but even the thought of it made her nauseous.

"You're delusional."

She began to slide her legs towards the edge of the bed as subtly as she could, in hopes of being able to make a break for it at the first opportunity. His eyes immediately darted down to them, then narrowed.

"You must still be dreaming," Brandon suggested. "Not in your right state of mind. Here, let me get that for you."

He reached down and grabbed her blanket and swiftly pulled it off the bed, tossing it on the floor. Suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable, with her nightclothes the only remaining shield from his eyes, she reacted instantly, swiveling towards him and kicking at his stomach with both legs. The success of the heavy blow gave her strength, and as Brandon stumbled back in shock, she slid off the bed and stood up. Her legs wobbled slightly beneath her, shaking either from the force of the impact or the stress of the situation, but she stood regardless.

"That wasn't necessary," Brandon moaned, his emotions sounding more damaged than his body. "But I'll forgive you."

He lunged forward with unexpected speed. Katrina's body, still just waking up, couldn't move away before his hands clamped onto her arms, slightly below the shoulders.

"Now, we should get started before the others are done," he urged.

Katrina had tuned out the sounds, but the shouting was continuing in the hall. She didn't know what sort of fight they were having now, but it hardly mattered. They were out there, not far away.

Undeterred by her lack of response, Brandon's head moved towards hers, lips puckered up like a grotesque fish. His were eyes half closed, but still staring alertly though the slits.

Katrina went with her first instinct, knowing fully that she wouldn't be able to do any damage with her arms restrained. Looking right at the face that she knew she'd never be able to get out of her memory, she bent her neck down and slammed her head forward. She could feel his nose compressing, perhaps breaking. The blow rattled her teeth, but she knew that it would be much worse for him. His grip tightened, each finger now pressing deep into her flesh.

"Katrina," he coughed, his voice filled with regret and the slightest hint of pain. "You keep fighting, but there's nothing you can do. I control this bunker."

She raised her head up once more and saw the blood trickling from his nose, just reaching his no longer smiling lips. Never before had she felt such satisfaction at seeing someone hurt.

"If you tried to tell anyone what happened," Brandon continued, "they wouldn't believe it for a second. They'd say I'm always reliable, eager to help, quiet but friendly. They'll think you've snapped under the pressure and are making up stories. And do you know how powerful a bit of select footage can be? I can find every instance of you saying things that will make people hate you, and systematically destroy what friendships you've built. You'll be an outcast and a villain."

Maybe he was right, Katrina thought, but she wasn't going to let him intimidate her. Knowing she wouldn't be able to break free of his hold while he was still focused on her, she decided to employ the best method she knew of to distract him.

She raised her knee sharply, and it quickly found its mark between his legs. Brandon gasped in pain, and she took the opportunity to charge forward, pushing him along with her. They flew across the room, and she steered him towards the bed opposite hers. His head didn't hit the upper bunk as she'd hoped, but when his leg connected with the lower one he lost his balance. His hands loosened for an instant, and she took the chance to pull away.

"You're going to regret that," he growled as he stumbled back to his feet.

She didn't take the time to give him a response.

The hall was still filled with the angry voices that meant safety, and once she was in it she saw their source, a cluster of people at the far end. She picked up her pace, moving towards them and away from the monster Brandon had revealed himself to be. She didn't look back. She didn't have to. He couldn't follow right behind her without cleaning himself up first. The hallway was a safe place, for the time being.

It was only once she had almost reached the crowd that she paid attention to who was where. Rachael and Quart seemed to be cornered, the target of criticism from Liz, Joey, and most of all Allison. The former two had clearly seen Katrina approaching, but said nothing.

She took a deep breath, trying to force her mind to shift away from what had just happened and into the moment. Something had obviously gone wrong out here too.

The sound of her approach must have finally reached Joey. He turned and saw her, eyes widening.

"You look awful," he said as she approached. "I guess you must've already heard what happened then."

Shaking her head, Katrina tried to look concerned. Inside, a myriad of emotions mixed together, but relief was rising to the top, even though she knew it would be short-lived.

### Day 11: Quart

With Katrina joining in, Quart realized he and Rachael were outnumbered two-to-one, and it was becoming apparent that they were fighting a losing battle. Allison was not letting up with her yelling, and Rachael was returning plenty of her own, but he had little to add. Of course Heather deserved to be taught a lesson, but now that it was clear not everyone agreed, relenting that they may have gone too far would be smarter. These people weren't going to budge. Rachael was only making their position worse.

"I have an idea," Joey cut into the arguing as Allison tried to figure out what should be done with the two of them. His voice prompted Quart to start paying attention again. At least he seemed reasonable.

"We could cut off their rations. Why should the food that's keeping all of us alive go to people trying to hurt us?"

Quart immediately revised his opinion on Joey's level of reasonableness. He couldn't go without food, that was practically condemning them to a slow death. His grip tightened on the still-concealed firearm in his pocket.

"Alright," he conceded. "I'll tell you what happened."

"We pretty much know exactly—" Joey began, confused.

Liz interrupted. "Let's hear him say it." She sounded annoyingly smug, as was her way.

"It's true, we decided that Heather needed to be brought down to our level," Quart confessed. "But I never touched her, it was Rachael that got violent, that attacked her. All her idea too, she was ranting and raving about Heather's rationing, her being evasive when anyone had suggestions, and I guess I agreed with it to a certain extent and went along with her, but I didn't know it was going to turn into that."

He paused when he noticed two more people approaching from down the hallway. Brandon had been thoughtful enough to help Suzanne up and act as a crutch for her so that she could join them. Following Quart's gaze, the rest of the group turned to watch their approach. Katrina was respectful enough of Suzanne's injury to move away from them and allow plenty of space.

"Suzanne, I'm sorry," Quart said as soon as she was comfortable. "Rachael thought we should—"

"It was my idea, but you were just as gung-ho about it as I was!" Rachael shot back. "And it was her idea in the first place!" She pointed directly at Suzanne. "She's the one who suggested Heather was enjoying this whole crisis."

A sensation Quart was unfamiliar with swept him up. Rachael could try to weasel out of trouble, that was one thing, but to pin it on Suzanne, after all she'd already been through? That was going too far. Joey had the right idea. Rachael deserved to starve slowly if she was truly that selfish.

### Day 11: Liz

With the point of a finger, Rachael had confirmed all of Liz's suspicions. Suzanne was the puppet master behind the attack, and probably knew more than she was letting on about why Marcus had attacked her and why Rachael hadn't helped Cliff. Katrina had been correct.

"I said nothing of the sort," Suzanne insisted, her voice weak but resolute. "You've clearly misunderstood something, if you're not just trying to put words in my mouth."

A look of fury spread across Rachael's face. "You told me that you thought she was orchestrating everything that had happened! You were convinced that she was manipulating us!"

"As if you needed—" Allison began.

"Leave it," Liz whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Let them work through this, we'll hear more if you don't get involved."

Allison visibly bit down on her lower lip, but said no more.

"All I told you," Suzanne explained, "was that Heather has been taking on a leadership role in a situation that called for it. No judgment on her as a person. Perhaps you inferred that I shared your sentiments."

As Rachael responded with a string of profanities and insults and Quart jumped in to defend Suzanne, Liz took the opportunity to shuffle over to Katrina.

"You still thinking what we talked about last night is true?"

She nodded wordlessly. There was a haunted expression in her eyes, though Liz supposed it was to be expected. All the in-fighting was stressing her out, and being woken by it wasn't the way anyone would want their day to start. Confrontation had never been an area Katrina had seemed comfortable with, and the longer they were in the bunker, the more of it there seemed to be.

"We need to do something about Suzanne," she continued quietly, confident nobody else would hear over Rachael's yelling. "But not immediately, let's let things cool off before we talk to her. Sound good?"

Katrina nodded again.

"So now what?" Rachael demanded. "If none of you believe that she put me up to this, and even Quart, who's just as guilty as I am, is turning on me, where do we go from here?"

"You're going to lose your rations," Quart explained, as if the decision was up to him.

"No she's not," Liz said. "We're not going to damn her to starvation, I don't think Joey really would have gone through with that idea."

He shook his head. "It was a stupid idea."

Liz decided that with Heather out of the picture for the time being, she would take up the unenviable task of steering the sinking ship. "Rachael, you'll still get your food, if Heather will give us your share. But you're not one of us anymore. I think I speak for everyone when I say you're on your own."

There was a general murmur of agreement from the crowd.

"I'm sorry you misinterpreted me," Suzanne said. Trying to drum up sympathy for herself, Liz expected.

"Go to Hell," Rachael snapped, storming forward and pushing her way past Allison and Joey. "You just wait, you're going to tear each other apart before this is done, and all because nobody else had the guts to stand up to Heather."

Liz watched the doctor walk away, keeping tabs on Suzanne out of the corner of her eye. She was still using Brandon for support, but even if she physically needed his help, she clearly was comfortable with her position in the bunker, and didn't seem to expect anyone was onto her. Liz, Katrina, Allison, and Joey would have to make their plans sooner rather than later if they wanted to stop her from inciting any more chaos.

### Day 11: Cliff

"Take one," Cliff insisted, holding the troublingly light bottle of painkillers out to Heather.

"You need them more than I do."

He craned his neck to look at the host, as she leaned uncomfortably against the bedroom's doorframe, barely able to stand. "I wish I could get up and help you. If I can do anything from here...."

"No," Heather assured him, wincing as she spoke. "I just wanted to check on you before I went to lie down." The reflective lines on her face betrayed just how much pain she was in, likely both emotionally and physically.

"You shouldn't be alone. Come here." He strained to reach beside him and pat the bed, inviting her to join him.

"I don't know..."

"You don't need to stay long, but you shouldn't be alone right now. Not after that." If he couldn't see Heather for himself, he never would have believed what had just happened to her. Hearing the shouting, the cries for help, and then the slamming door had been gut-wrenching.

"Alright," she conceded, limping towards him and lying down carefully on top of Victor's old blankets. "How do you feel today?"

"Better," Cliff lied, not wanting to describe the pain writhing throughout his body. "I think I'm starting to heal."

"Good," she said absentmindedly. "God, how did it go this wrong? Two people are dead, one shot, one crippled, and one beaten. Not to mention two or three that have completely lost their grip on reality."

Cliff tried to guess which one of Rachael, Quart, and Devin was only possibly insane in Heather's eyes.

"I messed up," she continued. "It was my job to make sure everything ran smoothly, and look where we are now."

"Hey, don't talk like that. You're not to blame for us being trapped down here, or for other people's actions."

She sighed. "Aren't I? It was me and Pete, the show's producer, who hired the people to build this place, and now the elevator doesn't work. And we chose the whole cast, in a lot of cases specifically for the potential of clashing personalities. I guess we got that part right."

"What made you pick me?" Cliff asked, trying to pull her away from the self-pity.

"Seems like so long ago." Heather paused to think. "We wanted a good-looking guy that was a bit older than Joey, and someone strong enough to excel in the physical challenges."

"I'm flattered," he replied, only half jokingly.

"We hoped you'd clash with Joey and Marcus to be alpha male, and with Liz on her methodology, and that maybe there'd be chemistry between you and either Allison or Rachael. Ideally both, for maximum drama."

Cliff raised his eyebrows, then remembered that they were both lying on their backs. "You were pretty dead on with that. Didn't think I'd hit it off with Katrina, though?"

"It seemed like you were too brash and loud for her," Heather explained. "And to be fair, our predictions were accurate, but they were about a character you were playing. Just as much a compliment to your abilities as ours."

Trying to decide how best to respond to that, Cliff was silent for a moment.

"I'm not doing it anymore," Heather proclaimed angrily.

"What?" Cliff was surprised by the sudden change of tone.

"The rationing. I'm not taking them their food any more. I'm not leaving the control room until rescue arrives. Brandon can take it out from now on."

Clearly his questions had only distracted her mouth, and her mind was still dealing with the trauma. "That's probably the safest plan."

"No more bringing them in here either, even the good ones. I just can't handle it, I don't want to hear about their infighting."

"I'll be glad for the company," Cliff said reassuringly. He didn't know if seclusion was really the best solution for the bunker at large, but he could hardly blame Heather for the decision. Leaving the control room could mean putting her life in danger, and it wasn't as if the time would pass any faster on the outside. He was just glad to be locked in, rather than out.

### Day 11: Rachael

As the rest of the day passed, Rachael did her best to avoid everyone else, and they returned the favour. When Brandon finally brought out the food, he handed hers over with little more than a scowl. She got the sense that he blamed himself to some extent because he'd told her Heather was still sleeping that morning. But she made no effort to speak to him. She had no remaining desire to interact with any of the other prisoners.

However, conversation was forced upon her late in the day, when the less nocturnal contestants were making their way to bed. Quart was waiting for her outside one of the bathroom stalls.

"Evening," she said curtly, walking past him towards the sink.

"Suzanne sent me."

Not feeling the need to politely ask why, Rachael began washing her hands.

"You're not welcome in the challenge room anymore, by either of us," Quart explained, trying to sound threatening. "I'm about to go move your mattress out. If you don't want it dragged across the floor, come with me."

"Just do it," she muttered. Everything in the bunker was completely clean, it wasn't as if people could get mud on their shoes. And she didn't want to spend any more time around Quart than she had to after he'd tried to throw her under the bus. Suzanne was even worse, pushing her into action then denying it when the scrutiny became too much. They were both a waste of her time.

Quart left without another word, and Rachael stared at herself in the mirror. She looked awful. The difficulty sleeping, the stress of the situation, and all the fighting was starting to get to her. Brandon had told them that they wouldn't be seeing Heather anymore. Maybe their little dictator had the right idea. Seclusion didn't sound too bad compared to the people she was trapped with. Real isolation would be impossible, but she knew who to speak with to find the next best thing.

It didn't take long to track down Devin, alone in the dining room, eyes closed as he leaned back in a chair. The bunker's resident lunatic would have to be the source of her refuge. She couldn't stand him, but at least he agreed that Heather was lying to them, and he didn't seem to take nearly as much issue with the day's events as everyone else did.

"Devin," she prompted.

He opened his eyes suddenly, surprised. "What do you want?"

"I need to move out of the challenge room." She decided to play into his psychosis. Perhaps not the wisest move for his long-term mental health, but it wouldn't be the first action of the day unbefitting of a doctor. "My alliance has broken up, and I need somewhere to lie low and strategize."

"What's in it for me?"

_A simple yes would have been far too easy_. "I have some tokens. How about I pay rent, say, two a night."

"Five," he demanded.

"Deal. Quart will be bringing my things in soon."

"I'm glad to see you've stopped denying the truth like everyone else." Devin nodded approvingly. "Maybe we can work out a plan to further both of our strategies."

"Let's give it a few days and see how things develop," she suggested. She didn't want to hear his incessant scheming for a game that no longer existed, but she suspected it was inevitable. The bunkroom that had once simply been the men's now seemed to be the place for all the hated outcasts. She wondered how long it would be before there was another.

### Day 12: Suzanne

"I need to tell you something," Quart confessed anxiously.

"Of course," Suzanne urged, pausing her practise of walking unsupported. It was still painful to put much weight on her injured leg, but she was able to move short distances with a wall to brace against now.

"I shouldn't have kept this a secret from you," he continued. "I don't know what I was thinking."

She wanted to order him to just get on with it. "I'm sure you had a good reason, and you're telling me now, that's what's important."

"Night before last, when I was going to bed, I found this."

Quart reached into his footlocker and pulled out an all too familiar weapon. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"You just found it?" she asked, genuinely surprised. Surely Heather wouldn't have misplaced it.

"In my bed," he explained. "There was a note, from Brandon. He said that he didn't trust anyone else to hold onto it, that he'd taken it from Heather without her knowledge. I brought it with me when Rachael and I went to... talk to her yesterday, but I don't think anyone saw."

"He didn't trust anyone else with it?" More than anything, that part seemed strange to Suzanne. Quart was one of the least responsible people in the bunker. No one in their right mind would think he should have the gun.

"I'm sure he just doesn't know you well enough," Quart quickly clarified, taking her question as a sign of offence.

"He made a good choice," she assured him. "Why did you decide to tell me now?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't keep it to myself anymore. Ever since I found it, it's all I can think about, and when Rachael told me Heather was sleeping in, I had this overwhelming urge to use it. I'm scared of what it's doing to me."

Determined to appease him and still retrieve the desired information, Suzanne worded her response carefully. "You're stronger than many to have restrained yourself, and I know you're intelligent enough to know when it shouldn't—and when it should—be used. You said that Rachael knew Heather was sleeping in, yes? How did she know?"

"Brandon told her," he replied simply.

The pieces started to fit together. Perhaps she wasn't the only one trying to keep things interesting, but Brandon clearly lacked her subtle touch. Where she could play people against each other, he made brash moves and left a trail behind. Still, that meant he was probably the only other person with real power left. She had to admit, she hadn't considered him competition. After all, he was part of the crew. But if she was going to have everything go her way in the bunker, she had to get him under her thumb. And now that she had some leverage, it wouldn't be difficult.

"That was helpful of him," she smiled. "I'm going to try going for a bit of a walk, if you'll excuse me."

"I'll come with you."

"No thank you, I think I'll be fine," she insisted. Quart didn't need to see her power in use. Then he might realize just how much she held.

### Day 12: Brandon

"Here you go," Brandon said, handing Allison her rations for the day.

"Thanks," she replied, turning towards the kitchen's doorway. When she reached it, she nodded curtly in greeting to someone outside, but kept walking rather than making space to let them in.

Once Allison was out of the way, Suzanne entered the kitchen and gave Brandon a friendly smile.

"You're up on your own!" He acted surprised, but it was obvious that she'd been very precise in choosing where to shoot herself.

"I am. It's not comfortable, but it's getting better."

"Here for your rations?"

"Yes please, and I'll take Quart his too."

"Sure." Brandon began gathering the supplies. "The two of you seem pretty close."

Suzanne leaned against the wall, her injured leg raised off the floor. "He's a good guy. Reliable, if a bit short-sighted."

The last comment surprised Brandon. He'd never heard Suzanne say anything negative about her lapdog before. "Short-sighted?"

"That's right," she replied, shifting back onto her foot and taking a few slow steps towards him. When she spoke again, it was much quieter, and a strict seriousness had displaced her conversational tone. "You know all about that, of course."

If Suzanne expected Brandon to flinch, she was certainly underestimating him. Of course Quart told her that he had the gun. That was to be expected from the obedient whelp. And Suzanne would be the one to tell him to use it, because he would never muster up the courage on his own.

"I can't say I do," he claimed.

"No point in lying. You thought you could push him towards violence, just like you did Rachael. You aren't nearly as clever as you think."

He hadn't expected her to know about his steering Rachael towards Heather the previous morning, but it was still just a bump in the road. The fact that she was here told him that she wanted to control him. Suzanne seemed to thrive on subtlety and manipulation so much that she was blind to the situations that called for overt action.

Sighing, he handed her the rations. "Fine, you clearly know what you're talking about. What is it you want?"

"Aren't you helpful, saving me the trouble of making threats," Suzanne taunted. "You're going to start giving me extra rations every day. I have more plans for you, when the time is right. And I'm sure you'll oblige when I ask, if you don't want Heather to hear about what you've done."

"Of course."

With a smirk, Suzanne patted him on the shoulder. "Maybe in time, you could've been good at this, but you're simply not smart enough to outmaneuver me."

With that she turned and left, hobbling away with her arms full of food.

As soon as she was out of the room, Brandon sat down on the counter and started hatching his plan. She had made the foolish mistake of giving him time before making her demands. That gave him an opening to exploit, and he knew just the dagger to stab her with.

### Day 12: Liz

The situation was reaching a tipping point, of that Liz had no doubt. The escalating hostilities couldn't go on forever. Sooner or later, they'd either settle down, or the rabble-rousers would be exposed in the same way that Rachael had been. Liz's main concern was that nobody else innocent was hurt in the process.

She was sitting in the machine room with a notebook and a pen, trying to draw for the first time in years. There was so little to do to pass the time in the bunker other than interact with people, and she was starting to get sick of constantly socializing. The machine room was the only place other than the interview room that was ever empty for any length of time, and sharing space with noisy machines was preferable to silent corpses.

Her sketching was interrupted by Brandon entering the room, carrying a laptop. "Do you have a minute?" he asked, an underlying urgency in his voice.

Liz put her drawing aside. "More than I can count. What's happening?"

"I was thinking about what we were saying the other night, about Suzanne hiding something, so I decided to look at some of the footage from those first few days to see what I could dig up."

"And?"

"See for yourself. This was just a few hours into the game."

Brandon set down the laptop. On the screen was a paused video, showing the kitchen, with Suzanne and Marcus standing in it. Liz noticed that it seemed to have been shot from a camera around eye level. She'd never seen that one. Clearly there were more of them than were easily visible. She reached out and clicked the play button.

"I can hardly believe this. We're finally here," Marcus began. He sounded ecstatic.

"Keep it down," Suzanne hissed in response. "There are cameras and microphones everywhere. We need to look like we're just getting to know each other."

As the two people on screen shook hands, Liz's mind began connecting the dots. They had a prior connection. There must've been some bad blood between them stemming from that, and it led to the shooting.

"Sorry," Marcus's recording said, "I'm just excited."

Suzanne seemed to be examining the room as she spoke. "Now, since the other three didn't make it onto the show, that means if I can win this, we each get half a million. We can't go ahead with the main plan without any of the others, but we can still play up the alcoholism angle. So you just need to get that out there as soon as possible, then be the biggest jerk you can."

Liz looked at Brandon, mouth agape in disbelief. He nodded, as if to say he couldn't believe it either.

"Do you think there's anyone I should try to drag down with me?"

The two of them watched in silence as the video showed the plotters discussing strategy. Marcus's feud with Cliff had apparently been part of the plan, and Suzanne had foreseen that Quart would be coming to her. But she had also predicted Allison, Devin, and Joey would be, so she certainly wasn't infallible. When they finished planning and Suzanne left, Brandon stopped the video.

"I think that may be our answer," he said.

The more Liz thought about it, the more it made sense. It sounded like Marcus had never been an alcoholic, and it was all an act. There was no doubt that Suzanne was as manipulative as Katrina and she had theorized, and it was almost a certainty that the shootings had stemmed from their deception.

"Thanks for bringing this to me. What do you want to do with this information?"

Brandon shrugged. "I can't be the one to use it. After what happened to Heather, I think I need to try to stay out of any arguments so that I can keep handling the food. It just paints such a target on my back. I know that sounds cowardly—"

"No, that makes sense," Liz acknowledged. "I'll go talk to Katrina, then. We'll need to confront Suzanne, but we should go in with a strategy."

"Good plan." He picked up the laptop and closed it. "I won't keep you from it."

Liz stood, and with a final thanks to Brandon for showing her, hurried out of the room. Once she reached the hall, she resisted the urge to run, reminding herself that the she didn't want to draw attention, and there was no real rush. But she was bursting to share the information. It wasn't good news, but finally getting some answers was liberating.

She peeked into the dining room as she passed it, but saw no sign of Katrina. Probably still in bed. Hopefully she was awake. She'd seemed distant the day before, likely just from all the stress, but Liz wasn't sure she could hold the information in long enough to let Katrina wake up naturally.

When she reached the bedroom, her worry turned out to be unfounded. Katrina was lying on her back, eyes open and knees arched. Her eyes darted towards Liz when she entered the room, but she said nothing.

"I know what happened with Suzanne and Marcus," Liz whispered, quickly closing the space between them. "There's a video from the first day that explains it. Brandon showed me."

### Day 12: Katrina

Hearing Brandon's name aloud gave new strength to all the uncertainty Katrina had been struggling to push away. She didn't want to think about what had happened the day before, but she couldn't focus on anything else.

"Apparently they knew each other before the game, and were part of a group of people that all applied with intentions of rigging the game and splitting the prize. Marcus made up the whole withdrawal story so that Suzanne could show how caring she was."

The information should have shocked Katrina, but just following Liz's words was as much as she could muster.

"Are you okay?"

She considered shaking her head, or nodding, or maybe even answering. But she didn't know how she could explain what had happened, especially not with Brandon's threat still lingering in the air. Instead of responding, she took a slow, deep breath.

"Hey, what's wrong? You look really pale."

Katrina wanted to explain, but actually speaking the words seemed like an impossible challenge. She couldn't even look Liz in the eye, for fear that it would say too much.

"Do you want me to get you something? Some water?"

She managed to shake her head slightly.

"Okay. I'll let you rest," Liz said, walking over to her bed and sitting down on it. She pulled out a notepad a started working wordlessly.

Katrina returned to her struggle to force out the complicated emotions that were overwhelming her, but she took a small bit of solace in having Liz there to stand guard. For the first time that day, she allowed her eyes to close and remain shut.

### Day 12: Rachael

Grabbing some of the day's rations from her footlocker, Rachael ventured out of the outcasts' bedroom into the hallway. She'd spent all morning cooped up in there, alone, and couldn't stand it anymore, so she was going to join the other contestants for lunch in the dining room. The idea of anyone being exiled in such a small space was preposterous, and they'd have to get used to having her around still, even if they didn't agree with her actions.

When she turned the corner into the dining room, however, the response was more pronounced than she could ever have expected. At one end of the table, Allison and Joey were making small talk that suddenly ceased. At the other, Quart broke the morose staring contest with his food to look at her, scowling. Sitting in the middle, Devin watched her closely.

"I thought you weren't getting rations anymore," he asked curiously.

"No," Allison sighed, making her annoyance perfectly clear. "It was decided that we weren't going to stoop to her level."

Rachael continued to walk towards the table.

"You're not welcome here," Quart stated.

"He's got a point," Allison chimed in.

Taken aback, Rachael paused. "I'm just trying to—"

"You can eat in your room," Joey cut her off. "You ruined any chance of socializing again when you proved that you couldn't leave the talking to your words."

They were speaking to her as if she was a child being reprimanded, not a respected doctor with her life more together than any of theirs. But she didn't want to be drawn into another argument. It'd been proven repeatedly that she wasn't going to win.

Without a word, she turned around and left. The lack of anger she felt surprised her. Maybe they did have a point. She had no doubt Heather was a far worse person than she, but that didn't alleviate the fact that she had done something that, two weeks ago, would have repulsed her. As that realization dawned on her, and she looked at what had happened from an outsider's perspective, she realized that maybe she had gone too far. Maybe she deserved to be ostracized from the little society of the bunker.

Guilt crept into Rachael's mind as she realized how she must appear to someone who didn't think Heather was in the wrong. In their position, she probably would have acted the same and silenced the disruptively dissenting voice. Perhaps exile would not only be of benefit to the others. An invitation to isolate herself would mean that she didn't have to deal with those accusing looks quite so much. Maybe it wasn't so bad.

### Day 12: Joey

"What did she expect to happen?" Allison asked disbelievingly. "Did she really think we'd all have forgiven her already?"

Joey shrugged as he washed off his plate. "Who knows what goes on in Rachael's mind."

"And God, Quart's weird. The way he said 'you're not welcome here' was so robotic and creepy. Don't get me started on Devin thinking we were going to let her starve."

After handing the dish to Allison, Joey grabbed the next one. "Can't argue with you there."

"Hey," Liz's voice sounded from the doorway. "I need to talk to the two of you."

"Where have you been all morning?" Joey asked. "We missed you at lunch."

"With Katrina," she explained, looking back out into the hallway for a moment then entering the room fully. "I think the stress has gotten to be too much, she's lying in bed not saying anything. I'm worried about her. She just finally fell asleep."

"It's been rough," Allison agreed. "Is that what you wanted to talk to us about?"

"No. I spoke to Brandon this morning, and he showed me a video from the first day." She paused, though whether it was to collect her thoughts or for dramatic effect, Joey wasn't certain. "Suzanne and Marcus knew each other before the game, and came in with a plan to skew it in her favour. Marcus lied about his alcoholism specifically to be a villain for her to calm down."

Joey couldn't believe it. When he'd heard Liz air the idea that Suzanne was up to more than she let on, he had thought it was possible, but this outright manipulation, the blatant cheating? It didn't make sense for the Suzanne he knew.

"Wait, something doesn't add up," he began. "It was after the game was over she convinced me that Marcus was a problem and pushed me to confront him. It would've made sense earlier, but why carry on dragging him through the mud once the truth was out?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Clearly their relationship soured, given the way it ended. Some sort of falling out."

Allison seemed energized by the revelation. "What are we waiting for? Let's go have her explain for herself."

"I have a better idea," Joey put forward. "Let's talk with Quart first. He's obviously her crony now, and if he's trying to defend her, it'll just escalate the situation. But if we can convince him that she's been lying she won't have any allies."

"That's a good idea," Liz agreed with a nod. "But I'm going to leave it to the two of you. I need to take care of something else."

"What?"

"Just an idea. If it's actually going to come to anything, you two will be the first to know."

Her secrecy worried Joey, but he had no doubts about her honesty. She had proven that she had a level head and good intentions. The more pressing question was if they could convince Quart to act similarly.

### Day 12: Quart

"She wouldn't!" Quart maintained fervently.

"It was caught by the cameras," Joey explained.

How could Suzanne have tried to play everyone like that? She seemed like such an honest person, in the game to win, of course, but not willing to compromise her sound morals to do it. The claims Joey and Allison were bringing to him were completely contradictory to that personality.

"That doesn't sound like her at all." He couldn't let them sway him.

Allison stepped forward and grabbed onto his hand reassuringly. The action surprised him, but he didn't pull away. "Doesn't it, though? You're following her around, doing whatever she says. Haven't you ever felt like she's manipulating you, just a little bit?"

Quart cast his mind back to the past few days. "No," he claimed, not entirely confident in his answer. "She's my friend, and she's smart. It's not that she makes me do things, she just... has a lot of good ideas."

The two of them shared an infuriatingly knowing glance.

"But it's just your claims against hers," Quart continued. "And I'm far more inclined to trust the person who's had my back this whole time."

Joey turned back to Quart, and began to speak as if to a child. "It isn't just a claim, there's video showing her and Marcus plotting."

"And you've seen it?"

"Not us, but—"

"Who?" Quart demanded, a theory already coming together.

"Brandon showed it to Liz."

Unable to hold in a laugh, Quart let all of his concern flow away. Of course it was Liz.

"You two are so stupid," he taunted. "You try to lecture me about being manipulated, and you listen to her? Trust me, as someone who worked with her during the game, she's playing you for her own purposes." The memory of the argument that had ended their alliance, when Liz had been certain Quart was lying to her, with the reasoning that she would've done the same, came to the forefront of his mind. That they believed her just proved that they were even more gullible than he had been.

Joey shook his head. "Liz may have taken some questionable actions during the game, but she wasn't the only one. Hell, I certainly did. You remember how furious Allison was at me after the way I acted in the first challenge? But once the game ended and I apologized, she accepted that the situation had changed, and look at us now. Liz is no different, can't you follow Allison's example?"

"I never got an apology," Quart fired back. "And I don't need one. When I told Liz that we were trapped down here, before anyone else knew, she didn't believe me. She isn't capable of trust, and she doesn't deserve any. You can go tell her that I won't have anything to do with her, and that none of her lies will make me turn on Suzanne."

Without hesitation, Quart turned and began to walk away from them.

"Suzanne's using you!" Allison called after him.

He refused to acknowledge her claims any more. Liz wasn't going to fool him twice.

### Day 12: Heather

"Are you still comfortable?" Heather asked, swiveling her chair to face Cliff.

"I'm fine," he assured her.

Brandon, with a little help from Heather, had moved him to the couch that morning. After so long in bed, he'd admitted that a change of scenery and position would be an improvement.

"Just let me know if you need anything."

Cliff raised his hands in protest. "You need rest just as much as I do."

She appreciated the sentiment, but other than what she suspected was a cracked rib, she didn't have much more than bruises to contend with. That Cliff was even able to speak coherently with his injuries was a testament to his resolve, and that he could be in a good mood was nothing short of miraculous.

"I'll try."

"So, I wanted to ask—"

Cliff's question was cut short by knocking at the door. The sound made Heather's muscles tense reactively as they recalled the damage done to them after the last time she'd heard that noise. But this was a soft thumping, not like Rachael's had been, though that didn't mean it was harmless.

She shot Cliff a worried glance, unsure whether or not she should risk answering.

"Don't open it," he advised quietly.

Swallowing her fear, Heather got to her feet and took a few tentative steps towards the door. "Who's there?"

"Liz."

Heather felt her pulse begin to slow. As far as contestants went, Liz was matched only by Katrina in trustworthiness, but it still wasn't enough to open the door for her. She could have been tricked, or even threatened, into luring Heather out.

"What do you need?" she asked, in no mood for a lengthy conversation.

"Oh." Liz sounded as if she had been thrown off by not being invited in. "Do you have any more screwdrivers in there?"

She didn't need to explain why. Heather's gut twisted in anxiety at the prospect of another climb. "Yeah," she admitted, hesitant to give them to her.

"For who?" Cliff cut in loudly, his voice almost panicked.

"Me."

"Don't try it," he begged. "You're not strong enough. The endurance you'd need to actually reach the top... I just don't think you have it."

"I need to," Liz replied resolutely. "I'm probably half your weight, don't forget. The screwdrivers should be able to hold me, if they got you that far."

"You don't _need_ to," Heather reminded. "It's been almost two weeks. They're going to realize what's wrong soon, if they haven't already."

"And how many more people are going to be attacked or hurt until then?" Liz fired back. "How many more feuds and fights need to happen before it becomes necessary? Does someone else need to die? Or should we wait until we have another Devin on our hands? Of all people, the two of you should know why I need to do this. You're safe in there, good for you, but the rest of us are all at risk of finding ourselves in the same state, maybe worse, and rescue has been coming 'soon' this whole time. I'm not going to let my inaction make me responsible any of that."

"You don't want to be responsible for that, but what if I give you the screwdrivers?" Heather responded without hesitation. "I'm the one who was actually supposed to keep everyone safe, and look at how badly I've messed that up. I had the idea of climbing, but I let Victor go instead of me, and he paid with his life. I gave Cliff the screwdrivers and the hope he could succeed, and now he can't walk and is in constant pain. I didn't keep everyone calm, and now they're fighting with each other, Suzanne was shot, Marcus is dead, and they attacked me, so I can't even help any more." She paused to catch her breath after the unexpected tirade. "So if I give you those screwdrivers, then I'm responsible for whatever happens to you as a result."

"I'm going with or without them," Liz stated. "All that you'd be responsible for is giving me the best chance I have. I'll find another way if I have to, but it won't be as good."

Realizing that she wasn't going to talk the headstrong woman out of it, Heather conceded. "I'll get them." She started to make her way towards the storage room.

Cliff began giving Liz advice on how best to make it to the top, but Heather suspected it was just so he didn't feel completely useless. In the end, it would come down to her strength, resolve, and luck. But if his words gave her any amount of increased confidence, they were worthwhile. It would be an arduous climb, and she'd need all the help she could get. Heather knew that this time, she wouldn't be waiting at the elevator. Even without the risks that leaving the control room entailed, she doubted she could handle the anticipation of that horrible crash a third time. Better not to know when it was happening, and only hear about it after the fact.

Once inside the storage room, she flicked on the light and saw the neatly organized supplies. Everything that wasn't meant for the challenges was in there, all the supplies to keep everyone comfortable and alive. The food was arranged neatly, labeled by which day it was to be doled out. In reality, her rationing had only involved handing out the day's food in even amounts, rather than putting it all in the kitchen. She looked to the shelf of maintenance equipment. Tools, spare wires, and a couple of extra keyboards were piled in methodical rows. The orderliness of the storage room was calming, like a small pocket of sanity in a world gone mad.

Heather grabbed the last two screwdrivers and left the sanctuary.

"One other thing you should know," she said as she approached the door, "is that you're not likely to find help the moment you get to the top. I know you were blindfolded, but you probably remember how long of a drive it was to get out here."

"Yes," Liz replied apprehensively.

"It was most cost-effective to buy land in the middle of nowhere. There's a road running past the entrance, but I don't think it gets much traffic. You'll want to follow it south—left out the door, I think—to get back to town."

"You didn't mention that to me," Cliff pointed out.

"I should have. I didn't want to worry everyone by letting them know just how isolated we were. If you'd made it up, I would have yelled up to you and said which way to go."

"In that case," Liz's voice asked through the door, "could I have some of my rations packed up to take with me?"

The niggling paranoia in Heather's mind flared up once more. She wanted to help, but was wary of any more tricks. "I'll do that, but you shouldn't try to carry them up with you. Take a rope, and once you reach the top we'll send it up. A phone, too, though odds are it won't get any reception even above ground."

"That's a good idea."

Returning once more to the storage room, Heather retrieved the rope and brought it to the door. She grabbed onto the handle and steeled herself, ready to slam it shut again if it really was a trick. She didn't think it would be on any conscious level, but the possibility would haunt her every time the door opened until she was free. She'd even demanded that Brandon use the challenge room hallway whenever he exited, in case there was anyone waiting outside. Perhaps it was overcautious, but the slight increase to her peace of mind was worth it.

She unlocked the door slowly, took a deep breath, then turned the knob and swung it open. Liz waited on the other side, alone, with a look of surprise at the unannounced action.

Heather extended her hand, offering the climbing tools that would either let them all out or lead to their recipient's death. Liz took them from her.

"Thanks."

A short nod was the only communication Heather felt inclined to give, not breaking the silence that allowed her to listen for footsteps approaching or the breathing of a hidden ambusher. Once the items were out of her hand, she pulled the arm back in and shut the door quickly. Her ability to breathe returned, and she closed her eyes, resting her weight against the door. The simple action should not have been so difficult. She knew that as rational as she felt, the mental toll of the bunker was hitting her just as hard as it was the contestants.

If Liz failed, she didn't know what would become of them.

### Day 12: Liz

With her plan having now been spoken aloud and the means to enact it in her hands, Liz's decision finally felt real to her. She was going to climb the elevator shaft, and her life would depend on the strength of her arms. As she walked down the hall, checking in the rooms for Allison and Joey, she tried to keep a positive attitude. She knew it had to be done, and she had at least as good of a shot at making it as anyone else. There were still ten other people alive in the bunker, and she knew that if she passed up the chance to make sure that number didn't shrink further, she would never be able to forgive herself. And after seeing the state Katrina was in, she realized that even if the numbers remained the same, the damage would continue to grow.

"Hey, there you are," Allison greeted as soon as Liz popped her head into the dining room. "We tried to talk to Quart, but it didn't go well."

Once she entered the room, she could see both of their eyes fixate on the items in her hand. "What did he say?" she asked.

"Hold on," Joey demanded. "You're not planning what it looks like you are, right?"

"I'm going to climb." She didn't break her stride towards them.

Their refusal was immediate.

"No, oh no you're not," he insisted. "Victor and Marcus were both big, strong guys and they couldn't make it, and I don't mean to judge, but..."

"Big is the key word there," Liz said calmly, taking a seat. She wasn't surprised that her strength was the first flaw everyone seemed to find in her plan. It had been her that resorted to using a dolly to move a box in the first challenge, after all. But she had done that to try to win first place, not because she had to, and climbing would require endurance and focus. Brute strength was only part of it.

"If you fall—" Allison began.

Liz didn't need to hear it. "I just had this conversation with Heather and Cliff. I'm going, and I'll make it to the top. And it's up to the two of you to keep the peace while I'm gone. So, what did Quart say?"

Joey flashed a look at Allison that made his unhappiness at the situation clear. "As soon as he heard that it was you who had seen the video he flipped out. I think it only ended up driving him closer to Suzanne."

"Damn," Liz scratched her head. "I guess she'll be hearing about this before you can get to her. If there aren't any more complications, maybe you can just let it lie, but the minute she starts trying to exert control, you need to make sure everyone knows her secret."

"The way you're talking, I take it you're leaving soon?" Joey asked.

"Soon as I'm ready."

Allison looked surprised by that. "You should at least rest first."

"As if I'd be able to get any sleep knowing what I was about to do. No, best to just get on with it, I think." Liz hoped that if she could fool everyone else into thinking she was confident, maybe she could start to fool herself.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Allison asked.

"Not with the preparations, I just need to pack a few of my things. All I want is to know that once I'm out of here, the two of you will have the situation under control. There's not a lot of people fit to keep order any more, and you two and Brandon are in the best shape to do so. Just give me your assurances that you'll both keep a cool head if it gets complicated."

"Of course," Joey promised, as Allison nodded in agreement.

Liz smiled tersely. "The last thing is that you should keep an eye on Katrina. Like I was saying earlier, I don't think she's handling this well, the attack on Heather seems to have put her out of commission. Don't bother her, just make sure she doesn't stay so quiet and out of the way that it goes unnoticed if she needs help."

"Absolutely."

"Then I should go pack." Liz got to her feet. "This is almost over," she promised, trying to reassure herself as much as them.

### Day 12: Cliff

"I think she can do it," Cliff speculated.

Heather, up and pacing as she had been for the past ten minutes, didn't reply.

"She's smart, and that should help. I let haste get the better of me and lost my balance. Liz won't make that mistake."

"But if she falls—" Heather began.

"Then she'll be hurt or killed, and she knows that's the risk." Ceaseless optimism wasn't what was needed in this situation. "But even if she does, that won't make it your fault. Like I said, she's smart. This isn't just an impulsive decision to do the 'noble thing' like it was when I tried to climb. And that wasn't your fault either."

"You can say that, but you haven't ever been responsible for these sort of injuries and even deaths. Their blood is on my hands, no matter how you look at it."

A secret that had been fighting to get out of Cliff couldn't be contained any longer. Not when it could help prevent Heather from having a breakdown. "It's more on mine than yours. I'm the one who brought the gun in here."

She stopped pacing. She was turned away from him, but he could imagine the shock on her face without needing to see it.

"Marcus must have been going through my stuff," he continued. "I didn't even know it was gone until the shootings. Trust me when I say that I know what guilt feels like."

Heather still didn't move. "Why?" she asked at a barely audible volume.

"That stupid character I was playing. I thought it would make a big splash if I had snuck a gun in, make me memorable. To be honest, I don't know why it seemed like a good idea."

Finally she looked at him, staring him in the eyes. "And you had to bring ammunition too?" she demanded, still quiet.

"Just six shots in it. It's a revolver, I knew people would be able to see if it wasn't loaded." He sighed, unable to express just how much he hated himself for the decision. "I'd give anything to have left it at home."

Burying her face in her hand, Heather shook her head. "I can't even muster the energy to be mad. You may have exacerbated the problem, but you've suffered more than anyone else left alive. I just don't know what to think any more. At least you told me."

Cliff could see that she was an emotional wreck. "Sit down, let's talk about something else. You have children, right?"

Nodding, Heather pulled out one of the desk chairs and slumped into it.

"What are their names? What are they like?" Maybe it hadn't been the right time to bring up the topic of the gun. She was already worried about what would happen with Liz, and feeling responsible for everything. Shifting blame only created more, it didn't lessen the load on her.

There was a long silence before Heather replied, as if it took some degree of effort to summon up the information. Finally she began to speak, spilling out information in the roundabout steam of consciousness manner of an unplanned speech, seemingly unable to stop talking once the floodgates were open. Cliff sat back and absorbed it all, not wanting to interrupt the hopefully cathartic stories. Helping Heather deal with her demons lessened his guilt for causing some, and that was more than he deserved.

### Day 12: Brandon

The crowd started to gather at the elevator just as they had for Cliff, but Brandon noted how much smaller their numbers were now. Liz hadn't arrived yet, so it was just him, Allison, Joey, and Devin. Rachael was about twenty feet down the hall, keeping an eye on the events but knowing better than to try to join them. He wondered if the possibility of social redemption would cause her to help if Liz fell, or if she'd leave her the same way she had Cliff.

Suzanne and Quart's failure to show up was to be expected. The fallout from the video seemed to be going as planned, driving a stronger wedge between contestants. That Quart was still holding a grudge about Liz's actions during the game made it all the better. If she fell, his reaction would make for great TV regardless of what it was. Realizing the error in his ways would make people feel sorry for him. Still hating her would cement him as the villain. And that was ignoring the drama inherent in Liz falling. Another injury would be less than ideal. It took a character out of play for the most part, but the final cut would still have to acknowledge her progression somewhat. No, he quietly hoped for another death, to really up the tension. Liz was developing into too much of a hero, partially by his guidance in showing her the video, and her demise would elevate his work from interesting TV to gripping TV. The third option, her actually making it out, had its merits too. The story needed to end somewhere, and better for one of them to bring about their rescue than for it to arrive unannounced. But ideally he'd get at least a few more days of good footage to really make the finished product perfect.

When Heather had informed Brandon that Liz intended to climb, she'd also told him that she wouldn't be watching, and obviously Cliff couldn't, which left the only unexpected absence as Katrina. Brandon couldn't deny his disappointment at the way things had ended between them. She didn't seem to appreciate just how strongly he cared for her. Perhaps empathy was a problem for her, if she couldn't even be bothered to see Liz off. He'd barely seen her for a minute since their private discussion. Perhaps she felt awkward about it and was just avoiding him. That wouldn't last forever, he assured himself. The bunker was small, and there were only so many places to pass the time.

The hall was quiet aside from Allison and Joey's nervous attempts to reassure each other that Liz would make it, and Devin's rhythmic tapping of a pencil on the wall as he waited, looking bored. The sound of a nervous cough echoed from near the entrance to the bedrooms, and Brandon turned his eyes towards it. Liz started making her final approach to the elevators, screwdrivers in hand, and Katrina at her side.

### Day 12: Rachael

Making sure to give Liz lots of space on what would possibly be her final trip down the bunker's hall, Rachael watched with mixed emotions. She'd never had much in common with the woman, but she was still a far sight more tolerable than the childish contestants like Allison. The idea of wishing Liz good luck crossed her mind, but she opted to remain silent, knowing that her words wouldn't be welcome. Just coming out to see what happened first hand was stretching her luck.

"You ready?" Joey asked once Liz was near.

"Yeah," she answered with clearly forced confidence. "And you all know what the plan is if I do make it to the top?"

Brandon spoke up. "I'll go get the food from Heather the moment you're out."

"Good." Liz started towards the elevator. "I guess now's as good a time as—"

"Wait," Devin spoke suddenly, revealing that his attention wasn't entirely somewhere else. Rachael was surprised to see him showing concern, she'd been sure that emotion was completely gone from him by now.

Liz paused, waiting for him to continue.

"Nobody's sure if you're going to survive and get out, or if you'll end up falling to your death," Devin explained, proving that his understanding of tact, if he'd ever had one, certainly was quite damaged. "But if you're not going to be around anymore one way or the other, could I have your point tokens like you promised yesterday?"

Apparently Rachael's diagnosis had been spot on, but even she could hardly believe the audacity of the request. Nobody with any grip on reality could be so insensitive.

"Listen, Devin," Liz answered with a level of calm that must have required massive amounts of self-restraint, "you're one of the reasons I know I need to do this. You seemed reasonable enough when we got in here, but this place has done something terrible to you. I hope you can get the treatment you need once we're all home."

Beside her, Allison was visibly seething at the request.

Devin waited expectantly for a moment, until it became clear Liz had nothing more to say. "Is that a no?"

"Correct."

From behind, Rachael could see his shoulder's tense up. "Fine, you greedy bitch," he shouted, taking off running towards the bathroom. "I look forward to you falling!"

### Day 12: Katrina

The words swirled around Katrina, but once Devin was gone she allowed her mind to fade away from them. Maintaining her focus on the goings on took more effort than she could spare, and being surrounded by people offset the discomfort of having to share the hall with Brandon. He could do nothing with them around. She had ensured that she stood on the other side of Liz, Joey, and Allison from him, building a defensive wall.

Once Devin's outburst had been sufficiently commented on, they spoke in encouraging tones, Liz promising that she'd make it out and help would be there soon, and them agreeing and letting her know she could do it. On a normal day—if any day in the bunker could be called normal—Katrina would have been at the forefront of the group, adding in her reassurances. But she couldn't commit herself to a lie. Maybe Liz would succeed where Victor and Cliff had failed, but Katrina just couldn't manage to get her hopes up. The idea of an end to their imprisonment was tantalizing, desirable beyond anything she'd ever wanted before. Resting her hopes on Liz's ability to climb, however, was just putting them out there to fall if she did.

A hand on her shoulder shook Katrina out of the thoughts. She pulled away reflexively before realizing it was Liz.

"Are you going to be okay?"

She nodded.

Liz looked at her for a moment, not attempting to hide her concern. "Alright," she finally said. "I'm going to go now."

She started to turn towards the elevator, but Katrina impulsively stepped forward and reached out her arms for an embrace. Doubts aside, she knew that Liz was putting her neck on the line in an attempt to save them all, and she couldn't begin to articulate how much she appreciated that. She felt Liz return the hug, and hoped that the gesture spoke loudly enough for her.

Once she sensed it was time to let go, Katrina stepped back to watch. Liz offered a short wave, then walked into the small metal box. Joey followed and helped her onto the roof, and suddenly there was one less person in the bunker. They could still hear her footsteps as she moved around on top of the elevator, and when that stopped, the crunching sound of screwdrivers being driven into walls took its place. Liz's climb had begun.

### Day 12: Allison

The agonizing waiting period had begun. Everyone remained silent, listening to the steadily quieting indicators of Liz's progress. Allison tried not to focus on it too much as the minutes dragged on. A person could go crazy counting each sound that came down the shaft, telling them that Liz was progressing.

After five minutes of anticipatory silence, she felt a sudden warmth on her hand. Looking, she saw that Joey had grabbed hold of it. Perhaps he thought she needed comforting, she rationalized. Or maybe he was the one who needed it. She clutched his hand in return, but she had confidence in Liz's abilities. Panicking and worrying wasn't going to do any good.

However, even with her firm belief in Liz, Joey's gesture was appreciated. He had grown into a surprisingly good friend, given how negative her early impressions of him had been. The situation they'd been placed in had a strange way of speeding up the progress of relationships of any sort. She'd never made friends and enemies so quickly, nor had people switch between the two so much. That almost half of them had come in lying certainly had been a part of that, but she suspected some of it simply came down to sharing such an intensely traumatic experience.

Allison could see Brandon eyeing her and Joey's interlocked hands with a knowing look. She allowed herself a slight feeling of smugness. He probably was taking it as a sign that they were a couple, but Allison had come to realize how ridiculous of her it had been to try to find romance in the bunker. Flirting with Devin as part of the game was one thing, but she honestly didn't know how far she would've been willing to go if it had helped her win. And Cliff's bad boy attitude, then his revelation and heroic climb had been enticing, but she'd come to realize that it wasn't the place or time. Just because connections could form so easily in the bunker didn't mean they'd work outside of it. At the moment they all shared a common goal, even Suzanne and Quart. But once they were out, there was no telling how any of them would feel about each other. Everyone was so focused on what was going on, barely a word had been said about their real lives since the first few days. Joey was a good ally in the bunker and seemed to have a mostly pleasant disposition, but there was no knowing how much of that was the side he showed in his normal life.

With all that in mind, Allison tried to remember that they weren't out yet. She could ruminate about the future all she wanted, but until Liz made it to the top of the elevator shaft, they were just as trapped as the day they had arrived, and she was quite content to accept any friendship that she was offered.

### Day 12: Suzanne

"Anything happening yet?" Suzanne asked, her back starting to ache from sitting on her mattress, propped against the wall.

"They're all still waiting," Quart reported, peeking through the slightly opened door. "Looks like they're getting a bit bored, actually."

"Not surprising." It had been close to half an hour. "But whatever happens, she should be finished soon."

"I'm inclined to agree with Devin," he said, not looking away from the hall. "As much as I want to get out of here, Liz falling wouldn't be a tragedy by any means."

The open hostility made Suzanne wince. Thinking such violent thoughts was beyond control, but saying them was completely different.

"We'll just have to wait and see."

In truth, she was of two minds about Liz succeeding. Naturally she wanted to be free of the bunker, to see her family again and be done with the whole experience. But at the same time, she was comfortable with her place in the social dynamic, and had no qualms about being given the opportunity to use it a bit more. Her mind returned to what Quart had told her about the video. It was troubling that Brandon had been able to see and hear what had been said, but for some reason he had chosen to show it only to Liz, and that was his mistake. Now that she was likely out of the picture one way or another, he'd have to either show the video to someone else, which he seemed reluctant to do, or it would all die down.

"Wait," Quart said slowly. "Something's going on."

The lack of excited cheers or a loud crashing noise meant that it probably wasn't important enough for Suzanne to pay it much heed. Her mind was still on the video. The conundrum before her was what to do with it. Obviously, if Liz fell and she continued to butt heads with Brandon, he would show someone else. Her first instinct was to try to destroy it, but she couldn't achieve that on her own, and Quart couldn't know there was any truth to the claims.

### Day 12: Liz

"I'm at the top!" Liz shouted again, waiting for a response from the void below. The words bounced down along the walls, which were filled with puncture wounds from her improvised climbing gear.

"I knew you could do it!" Allison's voice returned ecstatically. "What do you see?"

Liz glanced up, aiming the flashlight that she'd taped to the side of a hat. "Door's closed," she hollered. "I'll have to pry it open."

"Be careful!"

After hundreds of feet of climbing, Liz didn't need the reminder. She had an acute sense of just how vast the space beneath her was. Her arms were sore beyond belief, but she knew they wouldn't fail her now. Not when she was this close.

On the wall to her right, the doors that separated her from freedom waited. They were metal, a bit heavier than was normal for an elevator, but she didn't see any sign of a locking mechanism. Only one solution came to her mind. There was a tiny ledge, no more than four inches, between the doors and the abyss. She needed to get onto it if she was going to have enough leverage to pull them open.

As slowly and cautiously as she had climbed up, she began to move to the side. The transition onto the perpendicular wall went smoothly, and soon she was climbing again, only a short distance this time, until she was next to the door. One foot made its way to the ledge. Her leg didn't seem to remember the feeling of solid ground and wobbled a little, but she held firm to the screwdrivers until she was sure it was safe to put more weight on it. She shimmied it a bit further along the ledge, then apprehensively brought her further hand onto the nearer screwdriver.

She knew the awkward position wasn't sustainable, and trusting one tool with all of her weight was a huge risk, so she had to act fast. She brought her other foot onto the ledge, and allowed herself to stand, finally able to support herself with her legs again. The screwdriver was just keeping her balanced now, as she stood at a twisted, awkward angle. Her hands would be needed to open the door. Tentatively, she reached out with one and grabbed the corner of the door's alcove. It felt refreshingly solid. Reinvigorated by the sensation, she let go with her other hand and brought herself upright as quickly as possible. There was a slight quiver in her legs as they took on the full burden of her weight, but she steadied herself, finally independent of the screwdrivers.

"I'm going to try to open them now," she called down, more to alleviate the worry of those waiting below than for any real need to keep them informed.

Wedging her fingers into the small crack in the door was painful after all the strain they'd been under for however long she'd been climbing. Keeping track of time was impossible. It had felt like an eternity as she'd climbed, but now it was a blur of sweat and exertion. She tried to pull the doors apart, and with merciful ease they slid open. Her feet turned to face forward as the space afforded to them increased, and she stumbled out into an unlit concrete room.

It was only a few feet before there was another door, a real one this time. The room felt just like the bunker, cold and claustrophobic. She couldn't wait and report to Allison. She hurled herself at the door, hands grasping desperately for the handle. It didn't turn.

For a moment she panicked, but rational thought quickly returned to her. She looked at the handle, and realized there was a small lock. She turned it and tried again. The handle rotated easily. She pulled open the door, and the light of a setting sun poured in, blissfully blinding her and warming her skin. The gentle whistling of wind and the smell of fresh air washed over her. Dropping to her knees, Liz began to grin uncontrollably, breathing as deeply as her lungs would permit. She was out.

### Day 12: Joey

The waiting was unbearable. Joey's stomach churned as Allison glanced nervously towards him from within the elevator. It had been more than a minute since Liz had said anything, but obviously they'd know immediately if she fell. He tried to calm himself, thinking about how tricky it would be to open the doors at the top. But all that achieved was making him worry more about her chances. To fall from so high would certainly be fatal, and he couldn't help selfishly thinking about how it would crush their elevated hopes of escape.

Then the sound they were all waiting for arrived. A faint voice found its way down the shaft. From the hall, Joey couldn't even make out the words, but just hearing the calm tone made his tension melt away. Allison started beaming.

"She made it." It sounded like the news was still sinking in. "She made it!"

Relief flooded through Joey, happiness in an amount he had never experienced before. Regardless of what happened now, someone had made it out of the bunker, and help would certainly be arriving soon.

The revelry only lasted a few moments before Brandon began his retreat. "I'll get the supplies," he said excitedly, breaking into a jog.

"It's almost over," Allison exclaimed gleefully. She looked back up the shaft. "What do you see?" she called.

Joey joined her in the elevator so that he'd be able to hear the response, and Katrina followed close behind.

"A long road," Liz hollered back. "It looks like I'll be needing that water. But oh, the air!"

The stale, recycled atmosphere surrounding Joey suddenly seemed insufferably thick as he imagined what waited above. Unlikely as it was, he hoped Liz opening the door would allow a wave of it to reach them.

"I'm going to drop the rope down," Liz continued. "Watch out."

A light thump rang out from the roof as the end of the rope landed.

"It's a pity it wasn't someone like Cliff that made it up," Joey thought aloud. "He could probably have pulled us all out."

"I'll get to work!" Allison yelled back before lowering her volume to reply. "I don't even mind at this point. Waiting is going to be so much easier knowing that help is on the way."

"Agreed."

As they spoke, Brandon returned, carrying a bag filled with bottled water and canned food.

"Give me a lift," Allison ordered, moving directly under the hole in the roof.

Obliging, Joey and Brandon lifted her with ease. She clambered up, and soon the rope dropped down into the elevator. Joey immediately got to work securing it to the bag.

"Just tying it on now!" Allison shouted.

"Great! Listen, unless I get lucky and a car comes past, it could still be a while before help arrives. So just make sure everyone keeps calm and waits patiently, alright?"

There was an edge to Liz's voice, as if she was worried about what might occur in her absence. But Joey was confident that the fighting was behind them. If everyone could manage to just keep to themselves for another day, or however long it took, they'd be free and safe.

"That should hold," he said, testing the knot.

"We will," Allison told Liz. "The bag's ready, you can pull it up!"

The rope began to grow taut almost immediately, and soon the package was travelling on its way. Liz stayed quiet as it went, likely exhausted after the climb and needing all of her energy to pull. Joey watched as it passed out of sight, and suddenly realized how tired he was. The effort of stressing about the climb, and even about being stuck in the bunker, finally left him, and the exhaustion started to set in. Sleep sounded incredibly appealing. It would pass the hours until he could leave more quickly than anything else.

### Day 12: Brandon

"I just feel like people are judging me too harshly," Rachael explained, leaning forward on the table. "You know what I mean? Obviously I shouldn't have done what I did to Heather, but nobody's in their right mind down here. We're all going a bit stir-crazy, and I think they're forgetting that in regards to me."

"That's true," Brandon agreed, caring very little about what Rachael had to say. He had come to the dining room to be alone and think, but she had been on her way back to her room after a shower and seemed to believe that because they were the last ones awake, he'd want to talk to her.

"I don't even know what came over me. I was just so enraged yesterday morning, hungry, and angry that she wasn't bringing out the rations early enough."

The bunker had entered a strange waiting period, with Liz up above trying to contact help and the rest of them all still trapped inside. Their time in the bunker was coming to a close, and even though her absence was the only real change, the mood was completely different. Allison and Joey had been openly celebrating, and Heather and Cliff had been incredibly relieved at the news.

"So when I talked to Quart, and he agreed with me, I felt like I had to do something about it," Rachael continued, oblivious to Brandon's disinterest. "Like it was so urgent that waiting until she was awake and talking about it was the most pointless idea ever."

Rachael had grown remorseful. He suspected she had started to realize that her actions in the bunker would have consequences in the real world, and she wanted to make amends while she still could. Suzanne and Quart had shown no such emotion when he'd spoken to them briefly. They were relieved to be getting out soon, but in a tempered, restrained sort of way.

"And then once she opened that door, it was like I couldn't control myself. I was just so furious that attacking her seemed like the only option. I don't know what I hoped to achieve—I wasn't thinking clearly enough to have a real goal—but that felt like the way to achieve whatever it was."

And then there was Katrina. She had smiled a little, cheered a little, but her celebrations had been so subdued. He suspected it was guilt and regret, that she was torn up inside about turning him away. No doubt she was trying to figure out the best way to approach him and apologize. He would accept of course, but the sting of her rejection was still raw, so perhaps he'd let her grovel a bit first.

"When I started really hurting her, it was therapeutic. Heather was a personification of the bunker, and I was taking my revenge for everything that's happened. For every moment I'd felt hopeless or powerless, for the people that had been injured and killed. Every kick channeled all of that, it seemed like payback."

Brandon turned his focus back to Rachael once more and nodded in understanding. Even only half-focusing on her lamentations, he realized that the footage being captured by the still-running cameras would be valuable. She was confessing to the attack, and detailing her motives. But now he had that, maybe he could get her to leave so that he could have some time alone.

"If you want forgiveness, you need to ask for it," he commented sagely. "Tomorrow might be our last day in here. Use that to rebuild those bridges as much as you can. It might be the last chance you have."

"You're right."

Rachael immediately transitioned into wondering how best to go about that task, working through her thoughts aloud. Brandon wanted let out an obnoxious sigh, but knew that would accomplish nothing. Her incessant ruminations were making it difficult to form plans. And if they really were just about free from the bunker, he wanted to make sure that his footage ended not with a pathetic whimper, but with a climax befitting the drama that had led up to that point.

### Day 13: Heather

"The very first thing? I'll call my kids," Heather answered. "I've never gone this long without hearing their voices. How about you?"

"Painkillers, hopefully. Lots of painkillers."

Despite Cliff's joking tone, she could sense how much he hoped that was true. His legs were covered by the blankets on his bed, but the memory of the damage to them came readily to Heather's mind. She felt queasy at the thought of it.

A gentle knocking at the door tore her mind away from its gruesome thoughts. Before she had a chance to ponder how to answer, she heard Rachael's voice.

"Heather? I need to talk to you." Her tone was soft and inoffensive, which made it all the more threatening. At least when she was enraged her motives were clear.

"What are you thinking?" Cliff asked, concerned.

"Not so loud," Heather replied. "She can say what she has to, but I'm not engaging with her. I don't need another fight, especially when there's so little left to worry about."

"Hello?" Rachael called. When there was no response, she continued. "I'm here to apologize, for everything I did. And didn't do, in Cliff's case. I won't try to justify any of it—nothing can be said to make what happened right."

Heather could hear Rachael sniffing back tears. It elicited no sympathy from her.

"But I am sorry. I know that it was terrible, inhuman even, and I just want you to know that I'll never stop regretting it."

Each word felt like an insult to the pain Heather and Cliff were suffering. Rachael was all of a sudden incredibly remorseful because the guilt was making her uncomfortable. It was nothing compared to the physical harm she had inflicted, both through action and inaction. The sentiment was irrelevant, and far too late.

"You have to understand that I—"

"I don't have to understand anything," Heather shouted, unwilling to hear any more of it. "Just leave!"

"All I'm saying is that—"

"Go!" she roared so fiercely that her throat felt raw as soon as the word was out.

No further response came from Rachael. Heather's shoulders slumped, releasing their tension as her heart tried to slow down. She'd chosen to isolate herself to avoid dealing with situations like that, and she wasn't going to tolerate the person who had forced her to make the decision bothering her.

"That was... unexpected," Cliff observed. "It sounded heartfelt, at least."

"Great, her being genuinely sorry will make your legs heal much better," Heather retorted sarcastically.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive her?"

"I can't say if I'll ever be able to look at her again," Heather admitted. "But forgive her? I don't know how I could even begin."

### Day 13: Joey

After breakfast, Joey decided that he needed to check on Katrina. She hadn't left bed yet as far as he knew, and Liz's warning that something was bothering her stuck forefront in his mind. While everyone else's spirits had been raised by the prospect of the imminent freedom, she still seemed distant.

When he returned the bedroom that the two of them and Allison shared, Katrina was still lying on her side, facing away from the wall, eyes wide open. She looked exhausted. Every time he had woken in the night, she had still been awake. If this had been going on for a while, he could only imagine how tired she was.

"Good morning," he greeted softly, trying not to sound too coddling.

"Morning." The word was hollow and emotionless, but her eyes watched him closely.

"You look hungry, do you want me to bring you something?"

Katrina shook her head slightly.

"Brandon is in the kitchen with all the rations now, if you want to get your share," Joey prompted. A bit of movement would be good for her, it might wake her up a bit.

Another shake of her head was the only reply he received.

He realized he was going to have to drop all pretenses of casualness. "What can I do to help? You don't seem well."

"Just tired," she insisted.

"Get up," he encouraged gently, "have a drink, take a shower, walk around a bit. If you exert yourself you might find that you can sleep more easily when you come back."

With a look of begrudging resignation, Katrina nodded and started slowly climbing out of bed. Once she was sitting up, the lines of exhaustion on her face became even more pronounced.

"If there is something wrong, you know you can talk to me, right?" Joey asked, concerned. "Anything at all."

Katrina sighed as she stood. "We're all stuck in here with a lot of people and a lot of lies. There's no way to change that until Liz gets help."

The misery in her voice was staggering. From most of the contestants, Joey wouldn't have been fazed, but to hear the previously optimistic Katrina say those words chilled him. The spirit she had brought into the bunker had been destroyed.

### Day 13: Quart

"Don't let it get to you," Suzanne reassured him. "They were just trying to scare you away from me."

"I know that," Quart quickly clarified. He didn't want her to think he believed that the video existed even for a moment. "I just hate that they'd try to manipulate me like that. As if I was stupid."

Suzanne smiled knowingly. "It's only the truly foolish who underestimate the intelligence of others."

"How's it feel?" he asked, pointing towards her injured leg. "And you're right. I do think it must have come from Liz. She thought she was so clever, playing the game with her complicated strategies and still failing to hold onto any allies."

"Sore, but improving," Suzanne answered as she continued with her stretches. "Liz had a mind for planning, but no ability to execute one properly. She would've fallen to the wayside had the game continued, I suspect."

Even that little compliment to the woman made Quart's blood boil. "Anyone can have a mind for planning, she just had a talent for never talking about anything else on the rare occasions that she opened her mouth."

"A fair point. She built up that idea in all of our minds. It's hard to believe that anyone could be so focused on themselves that they'd only speak when it benefited them."

"There's nobody else in the world as selfish as Liz," he declared, angrily folding his clothes. He wanted to be packed and ready to go the moment rescue arrived.

"I'm sure there are some who could give her a run for her money," Suzanne chuckled. "But I'd agree she's up there. To be honest, I'm half worried...." She trailed off without finishing her thought.

"Worried about what?"

"It's probably nothing, but I wondered if she'd just run off and not tell anyone about us being down here. Let us wait even longer. It's not like she had friends down here, just people she used."

Used. That was how Quart had felt when he'd tried to tell her they were trapped in the first place. He had trusted her, and she had repaid his divulging of a secret with laughter. His heart started beating faster at the thought of it.

"I hate her," he muttered, more to himself than Suzanne.

"I know," she replied sympathetically. "But I guess there isn't much you can do about it any more. She's gone."

Quart quietly pondered just how true that was. Liz was out of the bunker, that was true, but there must be some way remaining that he could get back at her. He didn't know how just yet, but one day he would find a way to make her regret dismissing him so hastily.

### Day 13: Devin

If what everyone said could be trusted, the game was almost over. Devin certainly didn't trust anyone in the bunker, but that didn't mean they were wrong. It was getting harder to tell who was acting like the game was over in order to better play it, and who actually believed they were trapped. He was the only one with the guts to stick to his guns, however. When it was all over, nobody else would be able to say indisputably that they saw the twist coming the entire time. Even if he didn't win, nobody could take that away from him, and the audience would respect his commitment.

The downside to refusing to play into the lie was that everybody else was quite content to do just that, and any attempt at social interaction ended in him be chastised for not being part of the herd, leaving him very few viable options. Acting delusional wasn't part of the contract for the show, however, and he saw no reason for it. The effect of playing the game in a completely different way than everyone else was that he had a lot of free time and no way to pass it.

He had started to taking brisk walks in the only space large enough now that the challenge room had been claimed: the hallway. Back and forth, dodging around anyone trying to get from one place to another he walked. It was good exercise, and helped him keep his mind sharper than sitting around all day would. When preparing for the show, he'd read a book about the effects of living in confined spaces, and learned that fatigue would start to set in if he followed the same sedentary routine every day for weeks on end.

His pacing was interrupted after only a few trips back and forth by a call from the bedroom that was formerly the women's.

"Devin, come here for a minute," Allison instructed.

He had a strong suspicion he knew what was coming. Another lecture. Allison was either so completely taken in by the show's gimmick or overacting to such a ridiculous degree that she couldn't shut up about how he needed to realize what was going on. He was growing tired of being unsure of which one it was, and he had a plan to force her hand one way or the other.

Entering the room, he saw Allison was alone, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed defensively. There was a serious expression on her face. The body language all pointed towards her gearing up for another argument. But he wouldn't give it to her so easily this time.

"Listen," she began, "with everything winding down, I thought I should try to talk to you one more time. I know it's hard to deal with the situation we're in, but I just want to clear up if you actually understand that this is real."

Devin kept his lips tightly sealed.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," he answered, failing to hold back a smile at his own cleverness. "But I'm not going to be saying anything more unless you give me all of your point tokens."

### Day 13: Allison

The request shouldn't have surprised Allison after everything Devin had done, but it somehow still took her off guard.

"Seriously?" she exclaimed. "Are you actually demanding tokens just to speak?"

Devin remained smugly quiet. What really bothered her was how pleased with himself he looked. He probably thought he was pulling some clever trick. She'd had enough of his denial.

"You know what? You can have them!" Allison shouted, stepping forward. "You can have every last goddamn token I won, all ten of them!"

She threw open her footlocker and started rummaging around. She didn't think she could stop the stream of words if she tried.

"You're pathetic, insufferable, insane...."

The small bag she had put the tokens in had fallen to the bottom. She grabbed it and brought it out, spinning around to face Devin.

"There are people beating each other, even shooting each other in here, and you're still obsessing over this worthless bullshit! You know, you might be even crazier than the ones doing those things!"

A slight waver of worry crossed his face, but he stood his ground. Allison pulled open the bag and grabbed most of its contents.

"You want these? Take them!" she screeched, tossing the tokens directly at his head. They were far too light to do any real damage, but they certainly broke his stoicism, as his arms flew up to protect his face. "Enjoy, hope this lets you win the game no one else is playing!" She snatched the last couple and threw them at him.

Devin seemed to take a moment to get past the shock, but as soon as he did he dropped to his knees and started scooping up the tokens as if there was someone racing him to take them. Allison could hardly believe how pathetic he looked. How could this be the same man who she had thought seemed a bit odd, but intelligent, well-read, and a good ally for her? She realized it wasn't the same Devin she'd met that first day. It was a twisted, damaged shell, all that remained of a mind that couldn't handle the pressure.

With all the tokens in hand, Devin stood up slowly. He dropped them into a pocket and looked to Allison. She said nothing, waiting for him to make the first move. Maybe he'd answer her question now.

He stepped forward and raised his arms up, coming in for a hug. "Thank you," he said as earnestly as she had ever heard someone speak. It scared her just how much the tokens meant to him.

"Get away," she commanded, shoving him back. He looked surprised, but didn't resist. "Just stay away from me from now on. I don't want _anything_ to do with you. Do you understand that, at least?"

Devin looked genuinely confused. "But I thought you—"

"You were wrong, just like you have been about everything," Allison told him bitterly. She was completely beyond trying to sugar coat it. "Just take the stupid tokens and go, enjoy the rest of your life once we're out, get some therapy, whatever. I am done trying to help you."

An objection would have been a good thing, a sign that he appreciated what she was doing, maybe even that he wanted to get better. But Devin did not object. He thanked her once more and walked calmly out of the room.

Allison had a strong feeling that he was going to take at least as long to recover from being in the bunker as Cliff. Cliff at least had the advantage of actually understanding what his wounds were.

### Day 13: Cliff

Only a few hours had passed after Rachael's begging before another soft knock sounded on the door to the control room. Heather responded without hesitation, and with a ferocity that took Cliff by surprise.

"Go to Hell, Rachael," she barked. "Just leave us alone."

"I..." a woman's voice replied meekly from the hallway, "this is Katrina, not Rachael."

Cliff hadn't heard from Katrina at all since the evening before Heather was attacked. He'd assumed she was busy helping Liz prepare. From the tone of her voice, he guessed that she was worried about how long it was taking for help to arrive and that her friend might have encountered some sort of difficulty.

"Sorry," Heather stammered, obviously embarrassed. "What's going on?"

The reply was quiet. In the bedroom, so far from the door, it was difficult to make out the words. "There's something I have to tell you. Can I come in?"

A look of uncertainty spread across Heather's face.

"She sounds worried," Cliff whispered. "What are you thinking?"

"I said I wasn't going to let anyone in here. I already opened the door once for Liz. What if Rachael or someone else knows that, and it's a trick?"

The line between caution and paranoia was difficult to judge at such a close distance. "I don't think Katrina would ever knowingly do anything like that, and she's smart enough to tell if she's being tricked. But ultimately, you're the one who would be opening the door. I can't make this decision for you."

She chewed on her lip pensively.

"Hello?" Katrina anxiously called.

"On my way," Heather announced, standing quickly and wincing at the pain, then slowing her movements down. "Wish me luck," she added quietly to Cliff as she left the room.

He heard her footsteps cross the room, the click of a lock disengaging, the whoosh of a door opening hurriedly, and a hushed invitation inside followed by a heavy slam. Katrina soon appeared in the doorway to Cliff's room, Heather right behind her. She looked far worse than she had three days prior. Obviously exhausted, she slumped down on the foot of the bed, mindful to sit as far from Cliff's legs as possible.

"Now, tell me what the problem is," Heather said, a hint of demanding in her tone, but a greater amount of concern.

Katrina took a deep breath and put her face in her hands. The amount of effort it was taking for her to speak about whatever was on her mind was worrying.

"It's about... Brandon."

Cliff hadn't had many ideas about what she was going to say, but that certainly was not one of them.

"What?" Heather asked. "What about him?"

"The morning you were attacked, I was still asleep and...."

It was clearly taking considerable effort to get the words out. Cliff could feel a pit in his stomach as he got a sense for the way her story was heading.

"The shouting woke me up and he was there, standing over my bed. I... well, he attacked me. He'd been a bit weird for a while, but he seemed to think that I was...."

The look of horror Heather was developing showed that she understood what Katrina was getting at. "You don't need to say—"

"I do," Katrina insisted with renewed vigour. "Brandon somehow decided that we were in love, and didn't understand that it wasn't the case. I managed to get away before anything happened, but he threatened that if I told anyone he'd say that it was a lie, and do everything he could to make my time left in here horrible. But I've come to realize that he's already done that by trying to make me stay quiet."

"I had no idea," Heather confessed, a pained look in her eyes. "This is all my fault, I'm so sorry. I should have realized. I was there when we hired him, I didn't think he would ever..."

There was enough guilt on her shoulders without adding another weight to the pile. "This is nobody's fault but his," Cliff promised. "He was good at hiding it, and he made the decision. All you did was hire a cameraman who was capable of the job you needed done."

She nodded, turning to Katrina once more. "Do you want us to confront him? We can go talk to him right now." A strong undercurrent of uncertainty infected Heather's voice.

"I just want to be safe. I can't keep seeing him around the bunker and pretending nothing's wrong. It's unbearable."

"Alright. It's probably wise not to antagonize him if he is dangerous anyway. Rescue can't be much more than twenty-four hours away by now, let's just lock him out of here and wait for it to arrive. Once we're free there'll be people far better equipped to deal with him. How does that sound?"

"That's good," Katrina confirmed, a bit of her old strength seeming to return. "I'm glad I came to you two."

"So am I." Heather stood up once more. "I'm going to go find something to jam the doors shut. None of us need to see his face again until we're free."

As the host left the room, Cliff tried to think of something to say to Katrina, to comfort her or congratulate her on having the courage to come forward. But all he could do was wonder if Brandon would have acted the same if the game had gone on as planned, or if it had been their predicament that had convinced him to give form to his twisted thoughts. He was beginning to realize that in one way or another, nobody would leave the bunker without some scars.

### Day 13: Katrina

"Is this working?" Katrina asked once again.

Cliff steadied himself and adjusted his arm's placement over the two women's shoulders. "Yeah," he replied. "I'm fine."

"Okay." She began walking slowly, supporting Cliff to the best of her ability. "Thanks again. You really didn't have to."

"I don't mind. I'm not going to make you sleep in his bed."

They passed through the doorway into Brandon's room. It was messier than Victor's, with a pile of dirty laundry in the corner and a spread of papers on the dresser, showing what looked like plans for the game written on them. More than anything else, it was a sign of just how short Victor's time in the bunker had been. He hadn't had a chance to make that room his own.

"Alright," Heather said once they'd reached the bed. "We'll lower you down to sit, then bring up your legs."

Once Cliff had confirmed the plan, they began gently placing him on the bed. The clicking noise of a door unlocking from the main room interrupted the action and made Katrina's heart miss a beat. Someone was trying to get in. The last few hours in the safety of the control room had allowed her to calm her nerves a little, but the knowledge that sooner or later Brandon would try to come back into the room was always there in the back of her mind.

"I'll deal with him," Heather promised.

They sped up Cliff's descent. Katrina ducked out from under his arm as soon as she was no longer needed.

"Heather?" Brandon called.

"He's not coming in," Heather vowed quietly as she left the room. "Yeah, what's wrong?" she asked loudly.

Katrina cautiously walked to the doorway and looked out into the main room. The doors would hold, she reassured herself. Heather had locked the latches on both of them, and they were far too heavy to break down. There were advantages to being stuck in a place designed to be secure.

"The door's stuck," Brandon complained. "It won't budge."

"Let me try from this side." Heather half-heartedly wiggled the doorknob. "Yeah, I can't get it either."

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll head around to the other one."

As the sounds of his footsteps outside the door faded, Heather smiled in unconvincing comfort. "He probably won't think too much of it. Even if he does, we're staying in here until help arrives, and then he won't be able to do anything more."

Katrina simply nodded. What else could be said? The situation was completely out of their hands.

After a minute of tense waiting, she heard Brandon approaching the door that apparently led into a staff hallway. She hadn't even realized that such a place existed, but it explained how the crew was able to get around without being seen.

Just as he had with the main door, Brandon tried unsuccessfully to open it.

"What the hell is wrong with this thing?" he asked, audibly annoyed.

Heather once more pretended to try to force the door open. "You know what I bet it is?" She filled her voice with a convincing imitation of anger. "Rachael or one of the other contestants probably broke or jammed it somehow. Trying to trap me in here so that I look like the bad guy for not bringing out any more food."

There was no immediate response from the other side. Katrina hoped he bought the far-fetched suggestion.

"Can you take the door off and let me in?" he finally asked, dodging the topic entirely.

"Probably," Heather said uncertainly. "But it wouldn't be an easy job with all of our screwdrivers gone. It's getting late, maybe you should just find somewhere else to sleep. This will probably be our last night down here anyway, and once help shows up they'll be able to open this up in seconds, I'm sure."

"I suppose," Brandon replied unhappily. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Goodnight."

No one inside the control room dared speak until they were certain Brandon was gone, and even then, when Katrina broke the silence she did so in hushed tones.

"Thank you."

"It's the least I could do, after all you've been through. Come on, let's get Cliff settled."

Following Heather back into the bedroom, Katrina allowed the tension to leave her body. Regardless of whether or not Heather was at fault for their being trapped underground, she was certainly doing her best to take care of the people in the bunker. For the first time in days, Katrina felt safe.

### Day 13: Brandon

Pushing open the door to the challenge room once more, Brandon waved apologetically to Suzanne.

"Sorry for barging through again."

He was too tied up in his own thoughts to register the words of her response. They sounded like an assurance that it wasn't a problem, that was good enough. He kept walking.

What had happened to the doors? Heather's claims that it was sabotage were doubtful, since as far as he could recall the door between the staff hallway and the challenge storage room had remained locked. On top of that, actually stopping the doors from opening without making any visible changes to them seemed like it would be difficult even for someone who knew what they were doing, doubly so for the possible suspects.

The alternative was both more likely and more troubling. Heather had realized or learned something that made her want him to stay out. Perhaps she'd discovered that the cameras were still recording, or even seen some of the footage. Maybe she'd seen him leaving the gun for Quart. That would have been enough to tip her off that he was up to more than he let on.

Out of the challenge room, Brandon peeked into the first bedroom. Rachael was already asleep in there, and Devin was sitting on his bed. They wouldn't be his first choice of roommates. He kept going towards the next one.

Perhaps it was just Heather's paranoia getting the better of her, he realized. There was no doubt that it was escalating. She'd locked herself in because she knew they could survive without food until rescue came, and didn't want to give anyone an opportunity to hurt her further. The idea calmed his concerns. In all likelihood, that was what had happened.

He looked into the second bedroom, and was surprised to find it empty. Katrina had barely left it in days. The understanding hit him without warning. He broke out into a run, needing to make sure. In the dining room he saw Joey and Allison. Nobody in the kitchen. He kept going. In the bathroom he saw Quart's feet in one of the stalls, but no sign of anybody else. The only place left was the machine room and the interview room-turned morgue. There was little chance Katrina would be in either of those, but he'd check regardless. His rage grew as he scanned the noisy, uninhabited room. She wouldn't have dared. But when he reached the interview room and found that its only occupants were lying as motionless as they had been for days, he realized there was no other explanation. Katrina had gone to Heather.

Dejected, he began to walk back towards the bathroom. If that was how she wanted to play, he'd have to punish her as promised. Katrina might be out of reach now, but her friends certainly were not.

### Day 14: Quart

The metal was starting to grow warm from being held for so long, and a thin layer of sweat had built up in the space between Quart's hand and the grip of the gun. He could feel the barrel intermittently tapping against his arched leg as his unchecked shaking jolted it around. With his eyes shut tight, he couldn't see the bunker, but no amount of trying would let him forget where he was. Sitting on his mattress, arms wrapped around his legs like a child rolled up in a ball, the gun was the only source of reassurance he had. So much control had been taken away from him. It was the one card that was still firmly in his hand. And after talking to Brandon the night before, he realized the time had come to play it.

He had waited too long to do anything about the worst of them all. Liz had escaped the bunker and was supposedly sending help. But after hearing Brandon's description of the way she had talked about him behind his back with her little entourage, the way they didn't respect him and thought he was a joke, he knew that he could hurt Liz even more by hurting them in her stead. She would forever be the one who left the others behind and got away. That cowardice would haunt her, and she'd come to regret ever underestimating Quart. The window of time to act was quickly closing, and if he was going to be a man and confront his enemies, he had to do it soon.

Brandon had told him that Heather had grown more paranoid and wouldn't even open the door for him, so there would be no more rations. And as he had spoken about making the tough announcement the next morning, Quart had realized that would be his chance. He asked Brandon not to say anything about it, to let everyone gather expectantly in the dining room and wait. The cameraman didn't know why, but just as he had proved by giving Quart the gun, he trusted him. Quart couldn't shake a feeling of guilt at his manipulations. Brandon would regret not seeing what was going on and might blame himself. But if that was the price that had to be paid to make a statement, so be it. If Liz ever did return, she'd know that she was wrong to underestimate Quart, to try to use him, to suspect him of lying when he had confided in her.

He cracked open his eyes and blinked away the sudden light and the small pools that were forming. They were just from the nerves, he assured himself. He was capable of anything he set his mind to. The other contestants would be gathered by now. It was time to act.

### Day 14: Suzanne

"Did she say anything was going to be different?" Suzanne asked, trying to mask her impatience as she stared at the man across the table. It had been over an hour already and she was starving.

"Not a word," Brandon told her. "I'll try knocking again in a little while. Her and Cliff must have been up awfully late."

She doubted that he was letting on the whole story. There had been no sign of Katrina all morning, and Joey and Allison hadn't said a word about her absence. They were just sitting tucked away at the corner of the table farthest from the doorway. Everyone except Quart and Rachael had been in the dining room for a while already, waiting for the day's rations, but Brandon seemed unusually hesitant to take action. And after he'd slept in the outcast's bedroom the night before on the flimsy excuse that he'd forgotten his key in the control and been locked out, she knew something was going on.

"Well, I'm starving," Devin announced from the head of the table. "I'm going to go talk to Heather if you won't." He started to stand up.

"Wait," Brandon commanded. "She's not going to open the door to you. No offence, but you don't exactly have a reputation for being calm and reasonable of late. I just tried ten minutes ago, let's give her another ten and then I'll start pounding hard enough to wake her up."

Devin sat back down with a grumble. "Why are you even continuing with the whole rationing thing anyway? If Liz really escaped and is going to rescue us all like you seem to think, we aren't going to need the food to last for weeks."

"Because..." Brandon began, "actually, that's a good point. When I do get back in there, I'll bring out plenty of everything. Our last few meals in here might as well—"

Heavy footsteps stopped Brandon mid-thought. Suzanne turned to her left and leaned forward, trying to see what had Brandon so put off. Quart was in the hallway just outside, with a scowl on his face and a slight redness around his eyes. But it wasn't until he stepped forward and raised his arm that she understood Brandon's silence.

### Day 14: Joey

Before Joey even fully realized what was happening, Quart's arm was up and there was a gun wavering between him and Allison. There was a crazed look in Quart's eyes, furious and terrifying. With the entire length of the table between them, Joey knew that there was no hope of disarming him.

"Quart..." he said softly, suppressing his instinct to shout obscenities in surprise. "What are you doing?"

Allison, it seemed, had no such inhibitions and spoke at the same time. "Holy shit, put that—"

"Shut up!" Quart commanded forcefully. "You don't get to talk anymore."

Joey risked a glance towards Suzanne. He didn't know whether to be pleased to see that she looked just as shocked as the rest of them, or terrified that Quart wasn't even acting under her instructions.

"What is it you want?" Joey asked diplomatically.

"I said shut up!" Quart yelled again, pointing the gun squarely at him. "You and her and Liz," he growled, speaking the final name with such hatred that his whole face seemed to twist at the word, "aren't going to toy with me any more. None of your tricks and whispers and goddamn lies. I've had enough."

"Okay, I think—"

"Shut up!" Quart screeched once more, his words followed immediately by an ear-splitting blast that assaulted Joey's ears even before the bullet ripped into his chest.

Joey fell back, out of his chair, and hit the ground hard. It wasn't like he'd always assumed being shot would be. There was no sudden hazy reality, no slowed time and dulled senses. Other than the ringing in his ears, he was acutely aware of everything, even the small tunnel that had been carved through his body. He felt a welling is his throat. It might've been blood, but maybe he was just having trouble breathing. The pain of the wound was overwhelming, but not quite enough for him to ignore the additional pain of smacking his head against a concrete floor.

His eyes darted around. Allison had stood up suddenly to his left. Far to the right, Brandon was on his feet. The table blocked his view of Suzanne, and Devin wasn't worth the effort of turning his entire head to see. They were yelling, or maybe screaming. He couldn't make out coherent words, and presumably neither could they. But nobody was moving. Allison looked down at him, eyes wide with horror, then quickly turned back towards Quart. He must've been signaling not to help. Joey could feel the warmth of the blood spreading under his back, soaking his shirt. He didn't know if it was even possible to help him now.

Slowly, the words started to come back into audible focus. Quart was ranting about Liz.

"... that we were trapped down here. And do you know what she did? Laughed. Said it was probably a trick, that she'd have lied to me about something like that. As if I would do that just to win this stupid game. All I ever..."

Joey tuned it out and focused on trying to even out his difficult breaths. The one advantage to dying would be that he wouldn't have to hear any more from Quart.

### Day 14: Rachael

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot stirred Rachael from her half-sleep, and within seconds she was on her feet. She didn't know who was shooting this time, but her curiosity was strong enough to overcome the urge to hide in the bedroom until she was certain it would be safe. In the hall, she could hear a man delivering an angry tirade. It sounded like Quart, or maybe Joey. She sped up, stopping short of actually running in order to stay quiet.

"... every time I tried to work with anyone but Suzanne, they just stabbed me in the back and lied, and I'm sick of you all looking at me as if I'm a child, as if you're better than me."

Definitely Quart, then.

"You never acknowledged that I was a serious contender to win the game, and once it was over you all still seemed to avoid me as if I was not just an unwanted ally, but an unwanted person. Did Liz really have that much sway with you?"

When Rachael reached the entrance to the dining room, she hazarded a peek inside. Quart was just a few feet into the room. From the angle she was at, the only other person she could see was Allison, standing right in Quart's line of fire. But by the way he'd been talking, there must have been more in the room. An educated guess would mean that Joey was probably the one who had been shot, if Quart had actually managed to hit anyone. A chance for some amount of redemption had arrived for Rachael.

"Did she really manage to convince you all so easily that I was such a terrible person, that I would lie about being trapped here?"

Rachael readied herself. The moment after Quart paused for breath and launched back into his rant, she acted. Running around the corner, she made a grab for his arm and swung it upwards. There was a second gunshot, the sound far more painful to Rachael than the first had been, but the bullet flew harmlessly into the ceiling.

Quart, recovered from the surprise, reached up with his other arm and tried to pry her hand off, but she didn't give up the advantage. Bringing her own left arm into play, she wrapped it around his neck and tried to hold him back, keeping him from even looking at anyone in the room.

"I could use some help!" she called out as the shooter tried to wriggle free from her grip. Now that she was able to see the whole room, she saw that Suzanne and Devin were close by, but they seemed paralyzed by shock. Brandon, on the other hand, was just across the table, and hopped over it to come to her aid.

She felt Quart swallow in anticipation as he paused his fight for a moment, then he began to try to break free with greater intensity, kicking blindly at her. All that achieved was putting him off balance. Rachael took the chance to twist his gun arm further, while Brandon reached out and grabbed onto the weapon. In a matter of seconds, the cameraman had relieved Quart of the gun, and he seemed to realize he was beaten and went limp in her arms. Surprised by the sudden weight, Rachael almost fell to the ground, but managed to drop him instead. Brandon quickly swooped in, aiming the gun at him to deter any attempts to stand again.

Rachael allowed herself a sigh of relief, but Allison's worried expression as she crouched down reminded her that there had been a first gunshot. Looking towards the corner, she saw that Quart had been blocking her view of a vivid red stain on the wall. Beneath it, Joey lay on the ground, breathing shallowly and twitching, eyes closed. She didn't know if there was anything she could do to save him, but she knew that this time she was going to at least try.

### Day 14: Heather

"Just go!" Cliff yelled, clearly exasperated at Heather checking with him first.

He didn't need to tell her twice. She couldn't imagine what was going through his head at that moment. She was terrified of what the two gunshots might mean. Last time, Marcus and Suzanne had been shot by the time she arrived. Who would it be this time? But for Cliff, there was the added guilt of knowing that he had brought the weapon into the bunker, and the feeling of uselessness that came with not being able to actually investigate for himself.

Heather unlocked the door and cracked it open slightly to check for anyone waiting outside. Seeing that it was clear, she pulled it the rest of the way and hurried into the hall with Katrina warily following behind. There was a feeling of dread building inside her, of both desperately wanting to know what was happening and being terrified of what she might learn. As she ran, it dawned on her that she had let Brandon take the gun. She hadn't given it any thought since hearing Katrina's story. So what had he done with it?

The scene before her once she reached the dining room was almost too much to take in. Brandon stood by the door, revolver in hand. It was aimed down at Quart, who was lying on the floor, shaking and crying. He didn't seem to be injured. Across the table, however, she saw a smear of blood on the wall, and Joey's form beneath it. Rachael was crouched beside him, treating the wound, with Allison across from her, watching intensely. Suzanne sat in silence at the table, and Devin stood near Brandon, a look of complete confusion painted across his face.

Brandon turned towards her, and she saw his eyes looking over her shoulder to Katrina.

"Quart came in here, ranting like mad, and shot Joey," he explained before she could even ask. "It looked like he was going to get Allison too, but Rachael was able to restrain him."

Heather nodded, unsure of what she could possibly say. Quart with a gun was a menace, that much was clear, but she was more scared now that Brandon had it. Hoping he hadn't yet realized that Katrina had told her the truth, she reached out her hand nonchalantly in a signal that he should give her the weapon. Maybe he'd do it to keep up appearances, if he thought he was safe. He wouldn't want to draw suspicion to himself.

Brandon ignored her hand and kept the gun squarely focused on Quart. He didn't need to give her a menacing look or say a word. She knew that he was telling her that he was in control now

### Day 14: Allison

Trying to calm herself down, Allison took long, deep breaths. Her head was spinning. She felt like she was going to be sick, but she couldn't allow herself to do that just yet. The rage at Quart building inside of her was overwhelming everything else. The deep breaths weren't helping. He had tried to kill her, and very well might have succeeded in killing Joey.

"He's in bad shape," Rachael reported frantically as she tried to stem the bleeding.

Unable to help, Allison decided to take the long overdue action. She turned away from the bleeding body of her friend and faced Suzanne across the table. The middle-aged woman had just stood up and was watching Joey emotionlessly.

Allison considered yelling, but the anger got the better of her. That would come after. She couldn't stand to watch Suzanne surveying the wound with those unsympathetic eyes for another moment. Without a word of warning, she made her way around the end of the table.

Suzanne watched with a hint of concern. "What are you do—"

Allison lunged forward, landing a punch firmly in the middle of Suzanne's face and knocking her to the ground. The impact stung her hand, but the catharsis of feeling Suzanne's nose break more than made up for it. The rage was ready to spill out, and Allison was done holding it back.

"You horrible old bitch!" she screeched at the top of her lungs. She wasn't in a mad rage despite the way it must look. It was a calculated fury, with the knowledge that any lower volume would be insufficient to get her point across. "This is all your fault! You've been egging Quart on this entire time, stirring up trouble with your bullshit and letting anyone else take that fall for you! Not this time. This time, everyone gets to know what you've done." The urge to deliver a solid kick was strong, but she knew that if she went too far she was no better than them.

Clutching at her bleeding nose, a look of shock on her face, Suzanne turned to look at her attacker. "I had nothing to do with this."

"Maybe you didn't tell Quart that it'd be a fun idea to come down here and start shooting people, and that's a big maybe," Allison accused, getting a strong flow of words going. It was exhilarating to release all of her pent up energy. "But nobody in here will to believe that you had nothing to do with driving Quart to this level. You've been using him and coddling him this entire time, controlling him far more than Liz ever did. I don't know what you've been telling him about her, but the moment the game ended, she had the wisdom to stop treating our situation like one. I don't think you ever stopped trying to cover your great deception."

"I don't know what—"

"Oh, we're playing dumb now? Let me explain then. Before Liz left, Brandon showed her a video of you and Marcus conspiring on the first day. Were the rest of you aware that those two knew each other before we even arrived in the bunker, that they were trying to pull off some stupid cheating scheme to win? Makes you wonder just what happened in the machine room that left him dead and her with what seems to be the most superficial gunshot wound in history."

Brandon simply nodded in confirmation.

Whether it was the knowledge that she'd been exposed or the blood loss, Suzanne's face quickly went pale. Allison finally began to feel calm.

### Day 14: Suzanne

The realization that she was beaten came rapidly to Suzanne. It wasn't a good feeling, knowing that no matter what she did or said from here on out, nothing would get the other inhabitants of the bunker to forgive her. There was plenty to say in her own defence, other people to try to drag down, but none of it would be any help in the moment. The most she could do was squeeze her nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"What do you plan to do with me now?" she asked, half tauntingly. "Are you going to kill me?" The question had sounded like a joke in her head, but as she spoke it the realization that it wasn't all that unlikely made her shudder.

"No," Allison replied smugly. "We're better than you, you see. No, we're going to make sure that you spend the rest of your life in jail for everything you've done. We owe Marcus that much at least. And Joey." She looked down to the ground.

Suzanne followed her gaze. From the floor, she could see that Rachael had wrapped strips of cloth from Joey's shirt around the wound, but they were darkening fast.

"... if Joey doesn't make it, I'm sure that any jury will agree you're at least partially responsible for him too."

The promise of court had its positives and negatives. Her name would be dragged through the mud, and it was true, there probably was enough evidence to lock her away. But she'd have a chance to defend herself, and not against an angry mob and with a broken nose. Her children would see her in as positive a light as she could manage. Her children—she realized that she had hardly thought of them in days. She'd missed them, of course, but she'd been so wrapped up in her schemes that they'd barely gotten a thought. The recklessness of her decisions suddenly seemed very pronounced. It had felt like she was in a bubble with no consequences, free to do whatever she desired. But as that was coming to close, it was suddenly apparent that the consequences would change her entire life.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Heather asked softly.

"What?" Brandon replied.

"The video. Why didn't you tell me about the video of her and Marcus?"

### Day 14: Devin

Brandon replied without delay. "I didn't find out until I was going over the footage one night after the game had ended. By that point you were stressed out about all the arguing, Victor's death was still incredibly recent, and I made a judgment call that you didn't need another layer of stress. I thought it didn't even matter anymore, I had no idea they were going to turn on each other."

Devin stood motionless as he tried to absorb everything that was going on. He had barely moved a muscle since Quart's arrival. The entire scene was baffling. It didn't make sense that Joey and Quart would both be actors placed in the bunker to make the show interesting, he'd already identified too many people in that role. Cliff had admitted to it, Marcus and Suzanne had to be. After the attack on Heather, he was pretty certain Rachael was too. But there couldn't be more actors than contestants. It didn't add up. The only two options that seemed valid were that this was all an elaborately planned facade in which he was the only one not in on the concept, or that it was as real as everyone claimed. Both ideas had their merits.

"But once they did, you acted as if you didn't know what might have gone wrong between them," Heather pointed out.

"What good would it have done at that point?" Brandon retorted. "Marcus was gone, and I didn't want you to blame yourself for not catching on before they were selected for the show."

Seeing Brandon and Heather's very convincing disagreement was the best argument Devin had been presented with that it was real. It served no purpose in fooling him. Except, he realized, being as convincing as it was. His head was starting to spin at the complexity of his cyclical theories.

"You act as if every decision regarding this was purely for my benefit."

Brandon shrugged. "It's the truth, I'm afraid there's no more to it than that."

"There's something else I need to know," Heather continued, "where did—"

Her question was cut short by a shrill ringing sound. It took Devin a moment to recognize it as a phone, the sound coming from out in the hallway somewhere. He wasn't sure why a phone would be ringing in the bunker, but everyone else seemed to freeze at the noise. Clearly it was significant in a way he was missing.

### Day 14: Heather

There was nothing in the world Heather wanted more than to go back to the control room to answer that phone. Finally, she had the chance to speak with someone on the outside. But she couldn't. Leaving Brandon and the gun alone with the contestants was too big of a risk. She was starting to see the depths he was capable of reaching, and she couldn't let herself be responsible for any more tragedies. If the phone line was working now, it would still be working once the standoff was over. It rang again, but she didn't take her eyes off Brandon.

### Day 14: Cliff

Intense pain shot through Cliff's body as he landed on the floor next to Brandon's bed. He wouldn't let it stop him. Everyone else was surely too busy dealing with the aftermath of those two gunshots to answer the phone, if they could even hear it. He propped himself up on his elbows and dragged forward. The pain of moving was nothing compared to the agony of waiting to hear whose death he was responsible for now.

By the time he had pulled himself into the main part of the control room, the phone had rung four times. He tried to speed up as much as he possibly could. How long would it keep going? Hopefully the person on the other end had some patience. He glanced back and saw that one of the wounds on his leg had come open and started to bleed again. Turning away, he focused on reaching the desk. Rescuers arriving would mean it could be properly treated.

Finally, with the seventh ring, he reached the desk. He blindly reached up and grabbed for the phone. When his hand landed on it, he lifted the receiver and brought it down to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Who am I speaking to?" asked an unfamiliar man's voice.

Cliff could barely contain his excitement. He was talking to someone that wasn't trapped in the bunker for the first time in weeks. "This is Cliff. I am—was—one of the contestants."

"Alright Cliff, I'm sitting by a hospital bed where your co-star Liz is recovering. There are people on the way to the bunker to get you as we speak, they should be there within the hour."

"Is she alright?" he asked quickly.

"She'll be fine," the man reassured him. "She was exhausted from walking all the way into town, but the doctors think she'll be out of here in a few days. You're the one who tried to climb up before her, right?"

"Correct."

"Don't worry, there's an ambulance coming too. You'll be in good hands in no time."

"Tell them that there might be more pressing injuries to deal with," Cliff instructed. "There were gunshots just a few minutes ago, I don't know what's going on. Heather's gone to investigate."

There was silence from the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Cliff prompted.

"I'll tell them to hurry," the man promised with no hint of emotion in his voice. "Have her call me as soon as possible. Tell her this is Jim."

"I'm not hanging this phone up until she's had a chance to talk to you. I'm not risking something going wrong." Cliff knew it might not be a rational fear, but he didn't care anymore. He had a line to the outside world, he wasn't going to sever it.

"Alright," Jim replied. "Is there anything else you need? I'm going to switch to my other line and make some calls."

"I don't think so."

Cliff looked to the open door as the phone clicked. There was no sign of Heather, and he couldn't hear any more noises from down the hall.

"That was someone from the outside!" he called at the top of his lungs, hoping that the news would settle down whatever was going on. "Liz did it. They're on their way!"

### Day 14: Katrina

Cliff's words brought an immeasurable sense of relief, and if not for the tense scene before Katrina, she might have let out a squeal of delight. Liz being alive and safe, and the knowledge that no matter what happened, they'd be above ground again soon gave her a bit more strength to stare down Brandon as he kept the gun pointed at Quart.

"Okay," Heather called back to Cliff, not letting any excitement seep into her voice or turning her head away from Brandon.

"Did you hear that, Joey?" Allison asked, leaving Suzanne and returning to him. "Liz made it back to the city, help is on the way. Just hang in there a bit longer."

An incoherent murmur was all that Joey had to say in response.

Katrina realized that only her, Heather, and Brandon knew there even was a standoff. To everyone else in the room, the danger had passed. Still, Rachael was hard at work on Joey, Suzanne continued scowling at Allison, and Devin looked dazed. Quart had stopped crying audibly, but the shaking of his shoulders still betrayed him.

"What were you going to ask?" Katrina prompted Heather.

"Right," she seemed to find her focus once more. "Brandon, where did Quart get the gun? You told me that you were going to hide it somewhere safe."

For a brief moment, a look of fear crossed Brandon's face. In that instant, Katrina knew they had him on the ropes, but that just meant he was getting more dangerous. Yet it was too late to turn away from confronting him. He knew they'd put together the pieces, so it would be safest if everyone saw who he really was. The expression was quickly pushed aside by an apologetic frown.

"I guess it wasn't as well hidden as I thought."

His eyes moved from Heather to Katrina. As he watched her, she could sense that he knew she had spoken out about his actions. Try as he might, he couldn't mask the underlying anger. She was done being afraid of it.

"And then there's the other matter," she said, stepping out from behind Heather. "That you assaulted me the other morning, while everyone else was distracted by Heather being attacked."

"He did what?" Allison demanded, standing upright suddenly.

Given strength by the affirmation of her anger, Katrina pressed on. "After your strange, twisted mind convinced you that I had feelings for you, and I turned you away, you tried to force yourself on me, then made threats if I told anyone what happened. You gave a confused, unhinged man-child a gun for God knows what reason, and I hate to think what else you might have been up to these last few weeks. Even when you're seeming to help, with that video, you kept it under wraps that long, and then you apparently only showed it to Liz. You could have come forward, or at least told Heather, but that wouldn't have served whatever your agenda was, would it?"

She caught her breath, relieved to have it all off her chest. But she didn't know what would come next. The room had gone quiet, and all eyes were on Brandon. Quart finally showed his face, and he watched the man pointing a gun at him with terror, clearly aware of the danger he was in. Even Suzanne looked surprised at the extent of his actions.

Then his gun arm started to move, rising upwards. Katrina's reflexes weren't fast enough to do anything but watch. Heather, on the other hand, leapt into action immediately, unceremoniously ramming into Katrina and pushing her away. As Katrina staggered into the hallway, she heard Brandon speak.

"True love is always so misunderstood."

There was a third gunshot.

### Day 14: Rachael

It wasn't the first time Rachael had seen someone die. It was a difficult reality of being a doctor that not every patient would survive. But she'd never seen anyone take their own life before. She'd looked up from treating Joey just in time to see Brandon place the gun against his temple and pull the trigger.

There were screams of surprise as his lifeless body crumpled to the floor, landing on top of Quart, but they were soon replaced by an eerie silence. Behind Heather, Katrina came back into view and gasped, covering her mouth. Quart had started sobbing again. He was such a wreck that even with the gun lying inches from his hand, ripe for the taking, it was obvious he was no longer a threat to anyone.

"Can you help me get some pressure on this?" Rachael asked, looking to Allison.

She seemed to snap out of her surprise and hurriedly crouched down beside Joey, doing as Rachael asked.

"I think he might pull through," Rachael ventured, not feeling the need to dwell on what had just occurred with Brandon. "If help gets here soon, he's got a fighting chance."

"Thank you," Allison said, almost inaudibly.

The rest of the room seemed to be slowly recovering from the surprise. Heather grabbed the gun out of Brandon's limp hand, and Katrina started to walk around the table towards Joey. She stepped over Suzanne carefully, but said nothing to comfort her. Devin stood oddly still, looking as useless as ever.

"I'm..." Heather began, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat and started again. "I'm going to go talk to whoever called. Devin, come with me, I'm going to give you some rope. You're going to come back here and tie Quart up, alright?"

He nodded uncertainly and followed her out of the room.

Rachael allowed herself one more sidelong glance at Brandon's corpse. She felt ill with the realization that he had goaded her into attacking Heather, and that it must have been an intentional distraction. He had been a sick, disturbed man, but the fault of that action still had to partially lie with her, and she'd carry that guilt for the rest of her life. All she could do now was try to mitigate the damage.

She turned her focus back to Joey and resumed her work.

### Day 14: Heather

"Hello, Jim? This is Heather."

The voice of the studio executive that had approved the show in the first place, her superior, responded. "It's good to hear you're alright. I heard there was another shooting? What the hell is happening down there?"

"I don't even know where to start," she admitted sourly. "Another contestant, Joey, is hurt badly. And Brandon, the cameraman, is dead."

"Shit," Jim breathed, clearly at unsure of how to respond. "Uh, so help is—"

Heather cut him off. "I know. And while I'm waiting, I'd rather not just relive everything that's happened, if that's okay with you," she snapped, in no mood to play games. "I want to know what's been going on up there."

"Oh." He sounded surprised. "You mean in general, or—"

Whether he was playing dumb or actually didn't understand the question, she didn't care. She wasn't waiting any longer for answers.

"Why did nobody come sooner? Why did it take someone physically climbing up the elevator shaft and walking to town for you to even realize something was wrong?"

"I'm really sorry, Heather," Jim insisted. "The network ran out of money, we had to shut all of our productions down. I guess somewhere in the process, the electricity for the elevator was shut off, and we just..." he was obviously struggling to justify the incompetence that had caused so much pain. "No one told my people that there was a problem, and we had our hands full. Everyone's out of a job now, you have to understand."

Heather bit her tongue, holding back the bitterness she wanted to throw his way. "What about Pete?" she asked.

"Oh God, of course, you don't know."

Her heart sunk at the words.

"Pete was involved in a crash the morning _Beneath the Blast_ started filming. He's been in a coma, but he's stable. I'm sure if he was awake he would've done whatever he could to help you."

_Beneath the Blast_. Just hearing the name seemed strange after so long. Heather was relieved by the knowledge that she hadn't lost another friend as she'd feared.

"Listen, you've got a little while to wait still before they all arrive, and there's one other subject I need to talk to you about before then," Jim continued.

"What is it?"

"I know it's been a rough time for everyone these last two weeks, and it sounds like there have been some really unfortunate outcomes for some of the people in there. This is going to make a lot of headlines as soon as the story breaks. Can you just ask everyone to stay quiet about it for the time being, at least until the lawyers have a chance to talk to them and offer a settlement? If nothing else, do it as a personal favour to me. I've already moved to a new job, and I'd hate for this whole—"

"You'd hate for the fact to get out that you and the rest of the network let thirteen people be forgotten hundreds of feet underground for two weeks and it ended up with five people shot, three dead, one crippled, and all of them damaged in one way or another? Yeah, I can imagine that sort of complete incompetence would make you look bad. I'm done trying to manage these people to help you, they'll do whatever they please, and I know when the lawsuits start flying, I'll be right there along with them."

"Heather, I—"

"I'm done talking to you, Jim. Plenty of time for that once I'm out, if there's anything more to say. I have something more important to do."

Heather slammed down the phone and took a deep breath, closing her eyes in an attempt to relax. After all that she had been through, she didn't feel an ounce of loyalty to her former employers, and the idea of trying to cover it all up was reprehensible. As far as Heather was concerned, she had completed her obligations.

She picked up the phone again and carefully dialed her home number. It was only once the ringing stopped and she heard a familiar small voice answer that she finally believed it was over.

### Acknowledgements:

Many people helped make this book a reality in one way or another, and for that, I thank them all.

However, three people contributed to such an extent that they deserve to be thanked individually for their assistance.

Scott, who was an invaluable sounding board during the planning stages and helped build the foundation for what this book became.

Geoff, who, in addition to being an invaluable proofreader, gave me the greatest compliment I've ever received. It was an unparalleled boost in motivation when I needed it most.

And finally, Lori, who read this book almost as many times as I did, and never once said she was bored. I couldn't begin to guess how much time we spent discussing it, and it was undeniably bettered by your involvement.

### About the Author

**Jeff Rorik** is a Canadian author, currently living in British Columbia amidst the many trees that infest the province. When he's not writing, he can usually be found herding chickens, fixing computers, or trying to find his next musical obsession. He also enjoys procrastinating, but rarely finds the time for it.

Please consider reviewing this book at your favourite retailer. If you'd like to see more from Jeff, you can find him online at www.jeffrorik.com.
