In The Clear: Epilogue

CW: Descriptions of self-harm (the specific section this warning applies to is marked - will be summarized upon request).

2023, Undisclosed Location.

Six Minutes After Victory.

Their footsteps are too loud.

They're too loud.

Marcy presses herself even further into the space between the boxes and the wall. The concrete is cold against her cheek while the rest of her is drenched in sweat. She tries to force her hands over her ears but there's not enough room. Instead, Marcy cowers until she's even smaller. They're too loud. Yet, her breaths are somehow even louder.

One, two - she can't count how many. The steps clamour on top of each other until she can't tell where they're coming from. Marcy bites down hard on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to quiet herself. It's over. No part of her body seems to believe that. The announcement bearing her name feels like it never happened. They're not dead. They're still here. They're coming.

If that's true, Marcy hopes they find her. She hopes by the time she opens her eyes they're speckled with blood and her hands will still be trapped under her knees. She hopes there's nothing around for her fingers to find, nothing for them to use for protection.

And, most importantly, Marcy hopes it's over quickly.

She screams as a strong hand grips her shoulder. It slowly maneuvers her arm from the narrow space and presses it firmly against the wall. Marcy thrashes, whimpering as another hand holds her shoulder still. Her eyes fly open to a spidering of black fabric. Several arms grab for her and she screams again, but not a single limb reacts. When both arms are free from between the boxes, the guards pull her easily onto the open floor.

The first girl's body is already gone.

Marcy's breaths come quickly as she feels the warm air starts to overwhelm her. There aren't two guards but several more than that. The black uniforms are everywhere she looks and that only makes the room feel even hotter. Too many. Too loud. They're not speaking but it's as though their mere presence is deafening. She tries harder to escape from their grip, but not one gloved finger loosens from around her.

"Does anything hurt?"

Marcy screams as the voice seems to suddenly appear in front of her. She kicks out instinctively but the guards holding her pull her back enough to throw the movement off. She ducks her head until her hair is almost completely covering her face. Still, through the burnt away strands she can see a woman kneeling in front of her and she isn't wearing a faceless guard helmet.

Everything. That's not true, Marcy can't tell if anything hurts. She doesn't know the proper words to explain that it feels like her lungs have been ripped from her chest and her heart alongside them. Marcy doesn't think her tongue would free them even if she did. She squeezes her eyes shut. Her limbs still try fruitlessly to struggle free. She's not even certain the guards notice.

"I'm gonna give you some medicine," the woman tells her gently. A gentle thud forces Marcy's eyes back. The medic removes the kit that's slung over one shoulder and sets it on the ground between them. Marcy can't see any of the objects inside through the blurry layer coating her eyes. "It'll help you feel better."

She doesn't feel the needle prick, but she sees the empty syringe as it's dropped into a yellow container. The woman presses firmly on Marcy's outer arm. She doesn't pull away. She knows that she won't be able to. It'll help you feel better. Marcy shakes her head. Her cheeks are hot and damp from tears she didn't realize had fallen. It'll help-

"I've got her."

She sees the world turn from beneath half-closed eyelids. It looks no different - grey like smoke but far more easily broken. There's no pressure on her wrists, only on the top of her stomach. It feels like she's falling with every step she isn't taking. She's moving but her feet are too numb to be responsible for that. Her head hangs down too much to see where they're taking her.

"She's so light."

Yet, right now, Marcy feels heavier than she ever has.

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Five Hours After Victory.

Marcy wakes with the feeling of smoke in her lungs.

Her body pulls upwards but only rises a few inches from the soft surface below. She gasps, sucking down the air though it doesn't feel like nearly enough. Marcy tries to push herself more upright, but double pressure on her wrists prevents that. She looks to each side and finds blue wraps tied around each one. They're soft, but they don't give even the slightest bit.

A steady beep starts behind her as she thrashes against the restraints. Marcy pulls until the soft fabric feels like barbed wire, then she pulls even harder. They don't release her. She kicks her legs but finds the same pressure ties them to the cot as well. She doesn't know where she is. She can see white wraps covering both arms all the way down. The only skin she can see is the ends of a few lone fingers.

Marcy cries out when a light touch on her shoulder interrupts her gasping breaths. She turns quickly to find a man standing at her bedside, a stethoscope draped around his neck. She stares up at him with wide, terrified eyes. The beeping behind her only grows louder.

"It's okay," he says softly. His hand hasn't left her shoulder but Marcy isn't able to push it away. It feels hot on her tender skin, like his mere presence is enough to burn her. Her chest rises and falls quickly, but it feels like no air can move in her throat. No part of her frantic mind believes him. "You're in the hospital. You're safe. You don't need to be afraid."

Safe. Marcy doesn't know what that word means anymore.

She pulls up again on the restraints. The man's touch trails slowly to her wrists, where he runs a thumb along a sliver of exposed reddened skin. He pushes gently until her arm is touching the bed sheets. Marcy's hands still form tight fists, but she's too terrified to fight against him. He moves to do the same to her left wrist, but she drops it herself before he can.

"There," he smiles. "Better?"

Marcy doesn't respond. She doesn't know what he's talking about. Nothing's changed. Her eyes frantically scan the room, he called it a hospital but the word doesn't fit. The walls are white but there are open shelves dotted around them. There are picture frames and small knick knacks posed on each one. On the floor to Marcy's right, she can see a few inches of a pale blue rug. Yet, interlaid between the decorations are IV poles and the beeping monitor she can't see behind her.

"Marceline, my name's Dr. Liu." His voice is slightly too far in her periphery. Marcy tenses again despite the calm tone. She barely understands that he's speaking to her. "But you can call me Alan."

She stares straight ahead at the white wall beside the door. Marcy can feel her entire body trembling and it seems as though nothing in the world will be able to stop it. She starts to trace the wall starting from the ceiling, counting the imperfections - the spots where paint has peeled or a tack has been removed. One, two, three -

His hand squeezes her shoulder once more and she jumps against the restraints. She forces her eyes closed for a moment as pain tears across her wrists. His kind eyes come into view as Alan crouches beside her bed. "Congratulations, I mean it."

Marcy presses her head further against the pillow as his eyes seem to search hers. She's not sure what to do, what's expected, in fact she can't even bring herself to wonder. This room terrifies her. The fact that she can't move terrifies her. The man beside her also terrifies her. Marcy can't help but think that he must know that. More than likely, it's written all over her face.

"I'll let you get some rest, then." He nods gently and moves to the door at the front of the room. Alan gives one last smile before closing the door behind him. The space under it is dark, as is the hallway he disappears into. When he's gone, the room feels suddenly silent, as if he'd pressed pause on the background noise as he left. She can't say that she minds.

The all-encompassing nothing is far easier to understand than the man with the white coat.

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Two Days After Victory.

For the first time, Marcy is awake before he enters her room.

Her days have gone by like clockwork, she starts and ends each one with a visit from the doctor named Alan. In between, she stares at whatever catches her eye. She counts - marks on the wall, tiles on the ceiling, beeps from the monitor that are faster when he's around. When a new sound comes from the machinery Marcy can't see, it's always Alan that comes to check on her.

She doesn't eat, but she isn't hungry either. Her mouth is dry but she's gotten used to it. It's boring but she doesn't mind. It reminds Marcy of prison, one where maybe she's the only inmate, and that's become a sort of comfort.

Sometimes the tears come so fast it feels like she might drown in them. She never knows why, there could be so many reasons - faces that appear in the unintended paintbrush patterns, words that don't sound like her own, a shudder of a feeling that is familiar yet so far away. Marcy tries not to think about them. So far, with the slight haze of medication, it's worked.

Her dreams are not so kind. Thankfully, by the time her eyes open, Marcy can rarely remember what they were about.

"Good morning." She blinks as the door opens and the dark hallway produces the familiar shape. He waits several seconds for a response, but as usual she doesn't give one. Alan sighs gently and approaches the table behind her, also as usual.

Marcy sees very little of what's there. Sometimes Alan comes in with a kit or a plastic package; sometimes he leaves with a handful of trash. He spends several minutes behind her, with only the shadows of his movement to suggest what he's doing. He's her doctor, he told her that. He's making sure her medications are flowing well, checking that the equipment is functioning properly. Marcy's never asked.

His fingers run carefully down each wire, stopping just before the spot where it attaches to her. This one is monitoring your heart function. He unkinks a section of the IV tubing a few inches from her elbow. This one delivers medicine. Marcy still finds herself flinching every time his hands get too close.

Finally, he sits down beside her. "Are you in any pain?"

The same question. This always starts with the same question and Marcy answers with the same timid shake of her head. She doesn't think she's felt any pain since waking up here. She follows the gesture with a nod, remembering what question he always asks next.

May I change your dressings?

An amused grin crosses his lips as he raises an eyebrow. He chuckles softly and brings his tray of equipment down beside him. "We'll get started then."

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Three Days After Victory.

"I'm all done." Marcy's eyes open as he slides the equipment tray away. In place of the stack of packaged dressings is a pile of discarded ones. She doesn't allow herself to examine them too closely. It's why she closes her eyes during every dressing change. She doesn't want to see the evidence that her nightmares are anything but dreams. "You're healing well."

She looks at him and he smiles gently before sliding a chair into her view. The same chair. In fact, this is where the sameness ends each session. He'll ask her questions, talk while leaving enough room for her to fill with silence. He'll tell her about what will happen over the next few months. Sometimes, he tells Marcy about himself. He's been recounting a book he's reading during his time off. Marcy doesn't think she'd like this one, but he seems to.

As much as she's not ready to admit it, this break from the sameness is the only thing she has to look forward to. It always ends. It has to end because he can't stay here forever and Marcy doesn't want him to. The sameness is safe. It's predictable - the lights will stay at the same brightness just like there will always be forty-eight ceiling tiles to count.

It's keeping her here, where she knows, and away from everything else where she doesn't.

Alan places two gentle fingers on the blue strap around her wrist. "I think it's time to get rid of these."

Marcy furrows her brow as she looks from the restraint back to him. She can't remember him ever mentioning them. In fact, she figured that the doctor wasn't the one responsible for them at all.

"I trust you," he smiles as he holds her tense wrist in both hands. Alan starts to work the fabric out of the knot when an unfamiliar sound joins the break from sameness.

"Why?"

Alan flinches only slightly, as if he'd been able to stop himself halfway through the motion. He looks at her like he's trying hard not to look. His eyes go between the restraints that he's now fumbling with and Marcy's unchanged expression. She's not sure why; not until she realizes that the unfamiliar voice was her own.

She finds she doesn't particularly like the sound.

"You've given me no reason not to," Alan answers finally. "They're customary to keep you safe after all you've been through. I don't believe them to be necessary any longer, do you?"

He stares at her for what feels like several minutes. Marcy is only staring back for a fraction of that time. Instead, she looks at her sheets, at the ceiling, at the twenty-nine marks on the wall beside the door. Anywhere else.

Two stripes of pale blue catch her eye as Alan holds them up in front of her. Marcy moves her wrists only slightly, one then the other. It feels like they're still there. Her skin looks bare. Part of her believes he should put them back. Marcy's eyebrows scrunch further as she looks down at herself. Alan puts his hand out but she doesn't make any move to take it.

"Are you alright?" He asks. Marcy doesn't respond.

Alan sighs softly, but his expression isn't bothered when she looks up. Instead, he smiles kindly. "It's okay, you don't need to talk if you're not ready."

Marcy closes her eyes. There are no words on her tongue even if she wanted to use them. Her eyes well with tears, the same ones that burn when she wakes up each morning. She doesn't know why. Even nodding her head feels impossible.

Marcy looks up through the smell of burnt hair. The room around her is so thick with smoke that she can't find the walls let alone the door. It was me. Tears boil against her cheeks. I have to stop it. Marcy looks in every direction but she doesn't know where to go. Help. She can't find the word, that single word that's always felt like a burning stone between her teeth. Even the thought of using it scorches her tongue; it makes it impossible for her to speak. No one can help. They won't help. They can't help. It's up to Marcy but she doesn't know what to do. She can't find the door, the source, anything. She can't fix it and she can't escape it. This is all she's ever known. Words won't fix any of it.

She's shaking when the white walls finally reappear around her. Her heart beats slowly in her chest, unnaturally slow, and she brings a hand up to hold against it. She looks around but the room is empty, silent, the same.

Marcy curls up at the top of her cot, one hand around the opposite wrist as if it misses the blue stripes. The room looks different from the slightest change of angle. Marcy can turn and see the machines behind her, the cage around them that's held shut by a tiny lock. Wires still run from it to her, attaching at multiple sites along her skin.

Her eyes find the door, but it's closed with the same gap of darkness underneath. She stares at it, waiting until she realizes that the window behind her is dark too. Alan won't be back until it's light again.

The smallest pang of disappointment echoes through her body. Alone is safe. Alone is what Marcy's used to. Alone is what she's wanted every time the doctor's comes to meet with her.

Yet, tonight, alone just feels so lonely.

March 30, 2023

Dr. Alan Liu sinks down into his office chair until his head comes to rest on the desk below. He takes a moment just like this, ignoring the charting that he has yet to even open. This was his idea. He put this all on himself when all other years have had a team behind it. It felt like his only option.

He's trying so hard with her. Alan doesn't think he's tried so hard for anything since medical school. He keeps having to remind himself of how long the others took. Marceline isn't an exception, in fact she's as on target as he could have hoped. That fact doesn't make his days any less exhausting.

She spoke to him. That's got to be progress. It's excellent progress, in fact. Alan, ambitious as he is, was just hoping for more by now.

She'll get there, he promises silently. She'll get to exactly where I need her to be.

He has no doubts about that. Since childhood, Alan Liu has always been exceptional. He skipped two grades in elementary school, a third in high school. When he entered university for his bachelor, Alan made top grades in almost every course he registered for. He excelled in science, English, and mathematics to name but a few. The only class he ever received less than a ninety-nine percent in was one biomedical ethics course. Alan was even able to get that failing grade wiped entirely from his records years later.

By nearly every account, including his own, Alan Liu has no committed no failures. He produces excellence. He's published countless papers and studies within the fields of psychology, biochemistry, and sociology. He remains a pillar of the scientific community. Nothing will tarnish the reputation that he's earned through countless years of selfless dedication.

Nothing.

Alan sighs deeply and rises to his full posture as he stares back at his computer screen. It takes several minutes to fly through the security measures, but his mind is elsewhere. It's separating the charts he's yet to produce - one for himself and one for the entity looming over him. In his mind, it's perfectly understandable. Marceline has only been in the hospital for a half week. She is too fragile to be interviewed. Still, the United Nations keep prodding.

He scowls as he types quickly in the charting template. He is the only one involved in Marceline's care, the only one who can clear her for interviews or the like. She's not ready. Every word Alan types has to prove that. She isn't ready to be spoken to. She needs around the clock care for her injuries, both mental and physical. If her progress is rushed, it would be detrimental to her recovery.

Alan lets out a slow breath as he finishes with vital sign trends. His cursor pulls the numbers ever slightly - a raise in heart rate, a drop in blood pressure, just enough to prove her instability. He scans each box before copying it all into an email. They've requested daily reports. Despite his enthusiastic agreement to the terms, Alan can't help but frown as he sends it off.

Their only goal is to impede his work. Alan Liu's only goal has to be to protect it.

He won't let anyone ruin what he's worked so hard to accomplish.

It had all been falling into place mere weeks ago. The government team was able to pinpoint the location of the Protestor's hideout days before, but everything had to be perfectly ready. The broadcast was a wrench in the government's plan, sure, but it barely touched his own.

All Alan cared about was getting his Winners back. His special project was almost ready for its main phase. He got his wish when all but one was returned to Toronto General. Everyone but Zoe Sanford, who's been placed in custody somewhere that Alan doesn't care to ask about. She's been a pain in his side since her season. Brilliant, but that attitude. Alan would've liked to see his project do away with that, but her absence will not be missed.

It's easiest to blame her for the lies she told across the nation. She did it to herself, even admitted it live. Her little charade allowed the other Winners to be named blameless in the whole thing. They were captured by rebels following the murder of Elise Morton. They are now happily reunited with their care team and in the process of moving past all of this.

Alan clenches his fists atop his desk. At least, that's what was supposed to happen.

Instead, the United Nations pulled up within twenty-four hours of the Winners returning to Toronto. They demanded answers for what had been said on the broadcast, presented evidence of human rights violations. It should've been easy to brush them off. Alan believed so heavily in Alexis Lassiter and Guiliana Abelli. Neither had shown any rebellious tendencies; everything about the others' ties had been kept from them. Alan had even regretted threatening them before their UN interviews, it felt unnecessary.

Now, he only wishes that he'd been more graphic in his promises.

It snowballed after their interviews. Demands were made to produce the other Winners, demands that no one on the team had been able to deny. Government officials became involved, more worried about their image than in Alan's many scientific breakthroughs. Once the UN threatened to go public with their findings, the government tied his team's hands.

Alan had to listen to every single interview, listen to every subject that he'd grown to love like children talk about how afraid they were. They spoke of trauma where there was nothing more than research. Alan could do nothing to stop it. He wanted to call each of them liars after they left. He could've explained but the lawyers told him not to speak. As much as Alan doesn't want to admit it, that's likely the only reason he's been allowed to keep this job.

Now, he has only one subject. The others have been taken into protective custody by the United Nations. Alan can't think of anything more infuriating. His research, a decade strong, has just been stripped to its bones. It's only through sheer dedication that he's persevered. He refuses to let this all be for nothing. He will change the world whether they like it or not.

He still has Marceline. What the public relations committee decides to do about the new set of requirements that have been placed on the program are none of his concern. Alan will play ball if that's what he has to do. Still, nothing about his goals has changed.

He barely suppresses the flinch that comes with a loud knock on his office door. Alan straightens his coat before shouting for them to enter. It's still early, and the only part of his team that should be here now is his secretary. The others will be in to analyse the tapings in just over an hour.

Sure enough, Cecil opens the door slowly and the first thing that enters is his large frame glasses. He smiles quickly, as if uncertain whether a frown would be more acceptable. Alan watches his screen impassively to give the young man time to figure it out.

"I have someone here requesting to speak with you, doctor."

Alan raises an eyebrow. It's barely seven o'clock and the research wing of the hospital has hardly woken up yet. Still, he has important things to attend to before the rest of his team arrives. "Tell them I'm unavailable."

"I-I uh," Cecil starts, looking back into the reception area. "I don't think y-you want me to do that, doctor."

Alan lowers his brow, making the young secretary even more clearly uncomfortable. He's not sure what's gotten into Cecil, the man's never so much as uttered a sound against Alan's directions. Alan cocks his head to the side and Cecil looks about ready to faint. Before he can, he pulls the door ever so slightly open.

For the first time in his life, Alan Liu is positively speechless. He rises from his desk and leans forward, daring his eyes to betray him but the two boys don't disappear. Cecil allows the door to fall open slowly until Alan's certain that he isn't losing his mind.

His eyes shift to the guard behind the pair, their uniform having become more familiar in the past days. Still, his eyes return to the boys. Nothing in either one's expression reveals a lick of a reason why they're standing outside his office.

Matthew is the one who eventually speaks, his voice more certain that he's ever known the Winner to be. Beside him Vito looks just as different, standing at full posture that Alan didn't realize he had. "We have a proposition."

Alan searches for the appropriate response for what feels like far too long. He could deny them, have them removed from his office because what could they possibly want from him. They should be on a flight right now, at least that's what his government superiors told him. Alan has already rearranged his plans. He doesn't need them anymore; he's nowhere desperate enough to make deals with the very people who betrayed everything Alan tried to do for them.

He knows every bit of that is a lie. "I'm listening."

Ebbe Berland stands stiffly as the final boarding call plays through the secluded room. It's protocol - despite leaving on a commercial flight Ebbe, the Winners, and a small team of guards will have sole occupancy of the first class area. They will board last and exit first once they land. The flight crew are the only ones who will see them, and each one has been asked to sign a nondisclosure agreement.

The most important job Ebbe has right now is ensuring they arrive in safety and anonymity. She will escort them to the UN's office in Geneva, where they will be cared for until safe placement can be promised. She will resume her usual work in her own office as soon as the investigation is considered stable.

She can't help but notice that the quiet chattering in the room goes silent with the boarding call. Ebbe pulls the handle of her small suitcase towards the door, stiffly hoping that they'll follow. She knows without turning back that they haven't.

"Wait!" Guiliana Abelli jogs the few steps between them until she's standing right in front of her. "We're not all here. We can't leave yet."

Ebbe tries to offer a comforting smile. "We're still working on getting Miss Sanford. She wasn't brought to the same location with the rest of you. I assure you that she hasn't been forgotten, it just may be a little while before we bring her over."

Mina Coffman takes a step forward as if she's going to press further. Before she can, Guiliana continues. "Matt and Vito aren't here either."

Ebbe looks at the door as it opens. She breathes a sigh of relief that at least one of the boys will make it, but when a guard enters alone she can't help but stiffen. Each of the Winners was watched over by a guard to ensure their safety these past days. It was imperative that their whereabouts weren't known, so they hadn't been allowed to leave their hotel rooms until this morning. The guards were instructed to bring them here by nine o'clock.

Ebbe takes a slow breath as the guard approaches. His face is unreadable, but he hands Ebbe an envelope containing two smaller ones. She reads the names on the front and pulls one out before handing it to Guiliana. The young woman gives her an apprehensive glance before taking it back to the others. Ebbe swallows and folds the larger envelope as if it were empty and places it in her pocket.

It's silent as the Winners surround the letter and Ebbe can't help but glance at the clock on the wall. She will be able to hold the flight for a few minutes, but not longer. Still, she isn't sure what to make of the letter addressed to the Winners, nor the fact that there was a second one with her name on it.

"No." Guiliana steps away from the circle with her arms wrapped around her stomach. "We'll just wait for them. They said it'll only be a couple days, right?"

"May I ask?" Ebbe says with a guarded expression. In her mind, she's already starting to put the pieces together.

Rajan Bhau is holding the letter and he reluctantly steps forward to show her. Even as she reads, he doesn't let go of the top of the page. Ebbe scans it, knowing that whatever this is she'll have to deal with it quickly.

Our family,

Vito and I will not be able to make the flight this morning. My mom in BC needs me, and I know that you'll understand. I asked Vito to come with me and we're still with a UN guard. We'll get to you as soon as we can, I promise. Please get to safety.

Love, Matt (& Vito)

Ebbe nods when she's finished reading and Rajan scurries back to the others. "They'll be in good hands with our guards."

"We're not leaving without them." Mina stares her down so intently that Ebbe feels ridiculous arguing. Still, she has a job to do here. She needs to bring the Winners to a place where they'll be safe, not just for their own well-being but for the protection of this investigation. The United Nations needs them to continue to fight for the eradication of The Cut. They might be young, with far too much already on their shoulders, but they alone are the key.

"I understand your concern," Ebbe begins. "However, they made it clear that they want you to get on this flight. We're not leaving them behind. There is still a UN presence in this country dealing with this matter. The best thing you can do is get yourselves to safety."

"No," Guliana says softly, shaking her head.

Calvin Delinger puts a hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly though Guiliana doesn't even flinch. His gaze is trained solely on Ebbe. "You promise they'll be safe?"

"I promise that my organization will do everything we can to ensure their safety." She will not lie to them. Ebbe knows that they've seen more than enough broken promises. She won't add to it, but she does believe in her team. They want all of the Winners, and that includes Zoe, Matt, Vito, and eventually Marceline. No one's getting left behind if they can help it.

Calvin stares at her for several moments past her lips closing. It feels like he's examining her, no doubt trying to determine whether she can be trusted. Ebbe allows it despite the seconds building up. The flight can't wait forever. Yet, she knows how important it is that the Winners trust them. She will not take away their autonomy; they're not children. They deserve to make their own choices.

"Okay," Calvin says finally. He looks from Ebbe to each of the Winners in turn, stopping especially on both Mina and Guiliana. "We have to trust that they know what they're doing. We don't even know where to find them if we stayed. Every method of communication could be used to find us, to find them. We can't put them in more danger."

"We have to help them," Guiliana counters, tears already slipping down her cheeks. "We can't-"

"We're not abandoning them," Calvin interrupts. "If we're safe, the UN can focus on them if they need it." His eyes rise to Ebbe as if daring her expression to tell him otherwise. "They'll join us in a few days."

Guiliana shakes her head, but she doesn't say anything else. Calvin was the first Winner, and that seems to carry some weight in their group. Ebbe can't help but be thankful for that. She takes a slow breath. "I apologize, but we do need to go."

Calvin nods sharply, his eyes still just as intense as they follow her. It feels like an eternity, but eventually Ebbe hears enough footsteps behind her as they walk towards the boarding line. The group is silent as each of them take their seats at the front of the plane. The most important thing, however, is that they made it in time for takeoff.

Ebbe settles with relief into the seat just ahead of the first class curtain. She allows herself until the end of takeoff to rest her head against the seat. Whispers start to fill the aisles slowly, but it makes it easier for her to take a breath. In the seats diagonal from her, Alexis and Rajan scroll through movie offerings with excited eyes. It's hard not to notice how young it makes them appear.

Finally, Ebbe forces herself to take the envelope from her pocket. She swallows and looks around to ensure no one's watching before unfolding it. Inside the smaller envelope bearing her name, Ebbe finds another note.

Ebbe,

Please protect them.

If these letters reach you, it's because we're not getting on that flight.

You did everything you thought you could do, but it's not enough. We can't leave them behind. You might not have found evidence that they exist, but they do. They don't deserve this. We're going to offer the doctor a trade - us for them. We'll be okay. FFN needs us to be if they want to survive this.

If you have to, you can tell the others what happened. Just promise that you won't let them come back.

- Matt & Vito

Ebbe presses the letter silently to her chest as she closes her eyes. Instincts tell her to demand they land again so she can find them, but that's not an option. She failed them. Ebbe knew she was failing them as soon as she met with them a second time. The investigation had turned up no evidence of these other contestants being alive. The basement they spoke about was nothing but a storage point for old equipment. The vital signs from past seasons lined up with FFN's claims - every non-victorious contestant was dead.

It didn't matter if Ebbe believed them, the facts were the facts. She told both boys that they would keep digging, but that was all she could promise. They seemed disappointed, but she knew they would be. Whether there was any truth to their claims, they believed them. Her superiors were able to brush it off better than she was. The boys were the newest Winners, and their lives since being off the show have been anything but stable. It's possible their minds made it up to protect them from the reality of what had happened.

But what if we're wrong?

Does the fact that neither of them made the flight prove that the UN brushed them off too soon? Did the doctor take advantage of their unrealities in order to get some of their Winners back? A hundred thoughts race through Ebbe's mind but she doesn't know what is more likely. What she does know is that she needs to get in touch with her team, and soon.

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Six Days After Victory.

Marcy sits in the windowsill far after her hands have gone cold. She's not sure what month it is, but the frost on the window each morning says early spring or late fall. She's not sure which she would prefer. It likely doesn't matter, Marcy hasn't been outside of this room since she first woke up in it.

She spends most of the morning counting the bricks on the wing beside her. There's far more of those than ceiling tiles or marks on the wall. Sometimes, Marcy loses her place and has to start over. It's happened enough times that she doesn't think she's actually counted all of them yet.

Calm. It only comes when her mind is somewhere real, like the bricks or the tiles. When it wanders, Marcy doesn't know what she'll get. There are too many choices and none of them are very pleasant. It's best to keep them away. They don't feel so real if they're far enough. Marcy can still taste them at the back of her throat; she knows they're ready to lurch forward if she lets them. Every moment that she keeps them from her tongue is a victory.

Wisps of smoke twist in her nose as she stares down at the crumbled floors. Everything she looks at breaks, folds like a piece of paper in the wind. No matter where her gaze settles, that part of the room caves in further. If she stares too long, the floors look bruised; the walls tear open with bloody creases. Marcy closes her eyes and something grabs her by the front of her shirt-

Marcy gasps as her hands slap against the frigid window pane. She pants against it, watching her breath as it clouds the bricks and she loses her place once more. Her arms tremble as she pulls them around herself. She can hear the monitor beeping at a frantic pace as it tries to keep up with her racing heartbeat. Marcy sucks in a breath, tries to hold it but she lets go too soon. The next one is slower. It's the third one that finally stops tasting like smoke.

She turns back to the window, forcing herself to focus on the first brick again. It's blurry, but eventually she can move her gaze to the second then the third. Twenty-seven until the door to her room starts to open and Marcy spins to face him.

"I came to check on you," Alan says gently from the doorway. "Is everything alright?"

Marcy nods. She wonders if he can tell that she's lying. His expression doesn't change, but he does come inside. She finds that the beating in her chest gets just a little bit slower as he sits down on the chair by her bed.

She isn't bound to the cot any longer, but there isn't much of the room to explore. Marcy has to keep the door to the bathroom cracked open because of the wires but at least they reach that far. Otherwise, there's a closet of paper clothes like the one she wears now in various colours. The doctor brought more yesterday, only in the neutral tones she's been choosing. He still left the pastels and bright colours that Marcy hasn't touched.

"I brought you something." She looks at him curiously as he pulls a deck of cards from his pocket. He holds them out to her but she doesn't take them. Marcy doesn't even really consider it. "I thought we could try playing."

She stares at the pack of cards intently. Her papa keeps a deck in the second drawer of his desk at home. He loves card games, and taught Marcy most of his favourites. She remembers how excited he was to teach her something other than Pige Dans Le Lac! as she got older. Eventually, Marcy even learned some games to play by herself.

"Another time then," Alan says with a kind nod. Marcy looks up at him as he stands, but she doesn't stop him. She's not sure she remembers the rules to any of them. She's not sure she wants to think about where she learned them. It's been a long time; game nights feel like a different lifetime from right now.

What would Papa think?

Marcy curls further into the windowsill as the door shuts just as gently as it opened. The silence settles as it always does and that small pang of loneliness grows even larger. Part of her wonders if she called Alan back would he come? She's never tried.

Marcy's hand lifts ever slowly up towards the closed office door. She bites her lip, telling herself to knock but her knuckles don't feel like they can reach that far. Papa can help. Her opposite arm cradles her grade nine science textbook. He's a professor, he'll help and, more importantly, he won't be upset. Right?

Marcy stands and hides the deck of cards under several layers of books that Alan's brought her. She pushes the memory as far back as she can. It's a lifetime away, a different lifetime now. She doesn't want to think about Papa, about Maman. She hopes they're not thinking about her either. It's the greatest gift she could wish for them now.

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

One Week After Victory.

Marcy sits on the end of the bed closest to the door as she waits for him.

When it finally opens, Alan seems surprised to find her there. Nevertheless, he gives her a warm smile and closes the door behind him. "Good morning."

He gives a silent pause which she interprets as awaiting a response. To his credit, he doesn't seem disappointed not to get one. Instead, Marcy nods as he makes his way over to the machines. She watches from her spot on the cot as he prints out a long strip of data and rolls it into a tight cylinder. He does this every day. He presses a couple more buttons and seems neither pleased or displeased with what he finds.

When Alan turns to find her staring at his back, another gentle grin comes to his lips. "Are you in any pain?"

Marcy shakes her head. There are no longer dressings to change, and only a leftbehind tightness on her exposed skin to remind her that they were ever there. She's been trying very hard not to look too closely.

Alan glances at the shelves, which hold the same books with the deck of cards still tucked near the middle. Marcy can't quite see his expression, but she can feel it. She bows her head slightly as Alan eases down into the chair beside the cot - the same as every other day. She can feel his eyes on her and finally lifts them enough to meet his gaze. The warm smile is all she sees.

"Are there any books you would prefer me to bring?" He asks gently.

Marcy doesn't know how to answer, so she doesn't. She's hardly looked at more than the cover of each he's brought her. She recognized a few, and those are the ones she's hidden beneath the others. Marcy thinks they're the same titles from her shelf at home.

She feels a pang of sickness and her hands move to her stomach. He asks her if she's feeling ill and Marcy shakes her head before even considering the question. He doesn't seem to notice. "Very well, I brought you a few others in case they catch your interest."

Marcy keeps her gaze raised so that she won't be able to read the titles as they're placed on the cot beside her. Alan's expression changes to show a hint of concern but she shakes her head again. She doesn't want the books. She doesn't know why, but the idea of even opening them makes her pulse race. It's as if Marcy can feel the old memories crowding to get inside if only she reads the title.

When Alan leaves later that hour, he doesn't take them with him. Rather than place them with the others on the shelf, Marcy kicks them under her cot. She faces the door stiffly as if awaiting a scolding but it doesn't come. Still, she can practically feel his disappointment through the white walls.

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Two Weeks After Victory.

"You don't seem to have much interest in reading," Alan muses as he toys with the rolled paper in his pocket. "What do you enjoy?"

Marcy shrugs, dividing her gaze between the doctor and the window in front of her. She doesn't face him, though he's never far out of her periphery. To his credit, Alan doesn't seem to mind. As much as Marcy's grown used to seeing him, it seems the same can be said for the doctor. She's noticed that his posture has become less rigid over the past days.

That's not all that's changed. Speaking has started to feel less impossible, less like a ghost in her throat and more familiar again. She doesn't talk much, and Alan doesn't seem to mind that either. Still, Marcy can see the flicker of excitement in his eyes each time. She finds that she herself doesn't mind that.

"Past Winners have adopted passion projects," Alan tells her. "Mina is an excellent poet. She has a few collections already published. Alexis has had a lot of success in rowing and volleyball over the years. Matthew loves painting, I believe he has a few pieces in exhibit right now."

Marcy swallows as she looks out the window. She's listening, but only somewhat. She didn't know about these projects, but the idea of choosing one of her own makes her stomach turn. Marcy never really had any hobbies. Truthfully, she can't remember anything that she was actually good at.

"There's still plenty of time before your re-introduction ceremony," he assures her. "I just thought I might put the bug in your ear early so that you can think about it."

Marcy feels a pang of something else as she watches his reflection in the window. He's mentioned them a few times - the other Winners. She's thought about them a lot in the past days. It's hard not to wonder. Marcy hasn't left these four walls since leaving the prison. It's strange to imagine people like her out there, living lives and having passions. It feels so far away from what she's experiencing.

Alan sighs heavily behind her and she turns around. He looks at her regretfully and Marcy's eyebrows scrunch in question. He stands slowly and crouches beside her, resting his folded hands on the windowsill. They sit like that for almost a minute before he turns his face to her. "I've thought about it, you know, having you meet them."

Marcy doesn't move, just continuing to stare down at him. She knows who he's talking about, but she's not sure what to make of his somber tone. "It can be hard to feel like you're the only one. I know that. I'm just worried that they won't understand."

Right now, it's Marcy that doesn't understand. They went through the same thing, so what would be different?

"I don't want petty misunderstandings to impede your recovery, that's all." He sighs sadly and closes his eyes for a moment before continuing. "By nature of your season, you're the worst part of all of them. The worst of the worst, I believe they called your year. I'm afraid that the others won't be able to see anything else."

Her fingers start to shake as Marcy they tighten in her lap. The worst of the worst. She's never thought of herself as that, but is he right? The trials, the pairs - was Marcy not the worst part of her Winner? She doesn't know very much about Guiliana Abelli. Alan told her that she's an actress. Marcy wonders if she was responsible for even half as many deaths, half as much suffering.

She blinks and releases two tears onto her folded hands. Marcy closes her eyes. She doesn't want him to see. He doesn't mean what he's saying. He's only telling her the truth. He's putting her wonderings to rest before she wastes more time on them.

The worst of the worst.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." Marcy shakes her head. She means to tell him that he hasn't, but she can't force the words out. "You're nothing like what they might think. I'll work on them, okay? I promise."

She nods, but she still can't even bring herself to look at him. Alan says that he doesn't think about her like that, but why not? Isn't he right? Isn't she the worst of the worst? The memories - the fragments that wake her up and poke at the edge of her mind - if even a fraction are true then isn't she exactly what they think?

Isn't she?

April 11, 2023

Guiliana Abelli can't get herself to sit in the waiting room no matter how long she's been inside. An hour, two even, feels like nothing. She's been waiting for weeks to speak to Ebbe again, to speak to anyone really. Everyone she's been able to contact has said the same thing - we'll bring you in at the earliest possible time. Guiliana was starting to doubt that they were going to bring her back at all.

She hates how pessimistic she's become in the last year. She hates that she's let it change her so much.

Yet, when the office door finally opens, Guiliana knows that now's not the time to care about that. She walks as confidently as she can up to the familiar woman with a brief smile. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Of course," Ebbe nods. "Come on in."

The office doesn't look like what Guilian expected. Where everything else in the stiff building has an almost porcelain level of perfection, so much looks out of place. There are two chairs unevenly strewn in front of the desk. The desk itself is crooked, too far over to one side, and has several files-worth of paper scattered across it. There are no picture frames or trinkets like Guiliana would have assumed someone like Ebbe would keep. For as disorganized the space is, it also feels strangely bare.

"I apologize," Ebbe says as she follows Guiliana inside. It's hard to be sure what the sentiment is referring to. "I've been rather occupied since we last saw each other."

Guiliana swallows and turns to face the woman. While once upon a time she might be inclined to continue the pleasantries, the last two weeks have thrown all that out the window. She needs answers. "Where are they?"

Tears start to settle in her eyes almost instantly. The worry that she's been fighting since they arrived in Geneva feels like it's going to spill out of every pore. Guiliana finally got word about her own family just days ago, but even that feels uncertain. They haven't arrived yet. There's no guarantee that something won't happen to them before they board the plane tomorrow. Until Guiliana can hug them again she's not sure she'll believe they're alright.

Yet, the question isn't referring to her family and Ebbe knows it.

"Please, sit," Ebbe says warmly, gesturing to the chairs. To her surprise, Ebbe takes a seat in one of the two in front of the desk. Despite the anxiety trembling in her legs, Guiliana forces herself to sit as well.

She examines the woman's face even as Ebbe turns to the files on her desk to hide it. Guiliana had a suspicion, but this already feels too much like confirmation. It's been two weeks and she hasn't heard anything about Zoe, Matt, or Vito. "They're not coming, are they?"

Guiliana intends for her voice to sound tough, if only to convince the woman that she can handle honesty. Instead, her words are as quiet as a soft breeze and just as fragile. Despite that and the tears already starting to fall, Guiliana doesn't break eye contact.

Ebbe swallows and leans forward, placing what should be a comforting hand on the arm of her chair. Instead, it might as well have burned her. Guiliana can see the answer in the woman's eyes before she says a single word. "We're doing everything we can for them here. Matthew and Vito felt that staying behind would help them accomplish something they deemed very important. As far as our sources can determine, they're both safe but they've gone against our negotiations. We don't think they plan on leaving Canada any time soon. Unfortunately, we still haven't been able to locate Zoe."

Guiliana's face crumples into her hands as a mixture of relief and dread wash over her. They're safe, followed immediately by the understanding that they can't be. No one knows where Zoe is, she hasn't been seen since Mina and the others left the rebel bunker. Matt and Vito have gone back to the very place they all just managed to escape from. Guiliana knows that Ebbe means well, she trusts that even though she only just met the woman. Still, at this point it just isn't enough. Her friends are in danger.

"Send me back."

Ebbe sits up straighter in her chair and the sharp inhale she takes is the only sound in the room. "We can't rush into anything right now."

"I said send me back," Guiliana says through tears that she can't seem to stop. She knows that she needs to look strong right now. She needs Ebbe to do what she's asking. She can't look like some terrified child even though that's exactly what she feels like. "You can't keep me here against my will."

"I'm not saying that we will," Ebbe says gently. "All I'm saying is that we need to think this through. We don't have as many eyes as we want to have in Canada right now. The investigation isn't finished but it's hit a stalling point. They're preventing us from interviewing Marceline, the newest Winner. They insist that they've made the necessary changes to their processes, but nothing can be proven until we speak to her ourselves. Matthew and Vito are still in Toronto, but we can't watch over them. We don't know what's happening inside because they've stated to our investigators that they went there willingly. Our hands are tied with the hospital right now. All available crew not caught in that deadlock are working on finding Zoe."

Ebbe closes her eyes for a moment before continuing. "We can't keep you safe there. We can't watch them and we won't be able to watch you. I'm not saying that FFN or its overseers would do anything to harm you. Rather, adding another variable into the equation right now will not help our cause. At best, you'll be someone else to negotiate for later. At worst, you could be in real danger. I highly recommend against what you're suggesting."

"The network won't hurt me." Even as the words leave Guiliana's lips, she knows that she can't promise anyone that. She spoke against them during her interview with the UN. She is a large part of the reason why the investigation is happening. The network might need her for their propaganda, but Guiliana also knows what they're capable of.

As much as she needs to be there, she also needs to make sure she's not inhibiting the process of getting the others out.

Reluctantly, Guiliana breaks her gaze away. She doesn't want to say it, but she knows that Ebbe might be right. Still, it feels like she's abandoning them all over again even if she never realized that's what she was doing. Her hands clasp the arms of the chair so tightly she can feel the plastic shift. Guiliana's been waiting for this meeting for two weeks. The last thing she wants to do is walk away empty-handed, but that feels like exactly what's about to happen.

"Please, give us more time," Ebbe says softly. "We haven't forgotten about them and we won't. I promise."

Matt stands stiffly as his clothes are handed back to him in a neatly folded pile. He doesn't meet the guard's eye who just finished searching him. Neither man says a word. Thankfully, the guard exits the room to allow him a hint of privacy to redress.

Once he's decent, Matt's led down another white-walled hallway in a different part of the hospital. There's no one else walking through this wing despite it looking like any normal hospital. Part of him expected to be brought back down to the basement, maybe even put back in the very room he was thrown in after attacking Dr. Liu. At every turn since Matt walked back through the doors of Toronto General Hospital, he's expected to be betrayed.

Instead, it feels like he's being handled like stained glass. Two guards are with him at all hours, even when he's supposed to be asleep. His room is searched every time he leaves and his body searched whenever they please. As much as Matt doesn't trust them, it seems like the feeling is mutual.

Yet, he doesn't care about any of it. All Matt cares about is what he's supposedly being brought to see.

The guard in front knocks on the door at the end of the hallway and it opens mere seconds later. Matt walks in behind them, his eyes searching as they always seem to now. He catches Vito's gaze and nods sharply. He returns the gesture. Matt hasn't seen him since they were in Dr. Liu's office. The Winner looks healthier than he did then, his cheeks just a little bit fuller. The straight, narrow lips, however, haven't changed.

Matt knows he bears the same expression. It's not a smile, neither of them want to be back here in the network's hands. They're no better than prisoners, in fact they have less freedom than Matt ever did in jail. Yet, it's also not a frown. They made the choice to come back. They both knew that they couldn't flee knowing who they would be leaving behind.

We'll be shutting down the program in the coming weeks. Matt closes his eyes tightly as desperate anger starts to surge through him again. He remembers those words leaving Dr. Liu's lips so casually, like the man couldn't give less of a shit. The doctor didn't say what would happen to the ex-contestants, to the people who could've been in Matt's position if things had turned out just a little bit differently. They aren't nothing. Their lives matter, even if the world doesn't know they continue.

Bronte, Eden, Lior - as much as the life they had in the basement was barely one at all, Matt wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if he left them to the network. It doesn't matter if they would've done the same for him. It doesn't even matter if they know who Matt is. Matt's life only went on because they supposedly died. He owes them something better than what the doctor planned.

That's why he's here, and Levan is why Vito's here. An equal trade - the network gets two of its Winners back and the ex-contestants will get some kind of life back. The two Winners couldn't have told the others, they wouldn't have believed them. None of them even knew about the ex-contestants.

Matt's eyes drop to the tile floor. Even when I told the UN about them, they didn't believe me.

He's not sure what he expected. Maybe some grand introduction to the moment he's been waiting days for. Maybe a gotcha statement where Dr. Liu laughs at Matt for ever believing he would uphold his end of the bargain. Instead, he looks up as the door swings open again and there she is.

Matt stands absolutely still as Bronte enters first, her brown eyes wide and examining as she steps into the room. It doesn't take long for them to lock onto Matt, the slightest hint of confusion pulling at her brows. Her hair, which was growing longer the last time he saw her through the window, has been shaved down again. There's still a bandage fixed to the side of her head where the implant had been.

There are two guards standing just behind her as well, a matching feature to the ones flanking the two Winners. Matt isn't sure what to do, what to say if there even is anything he can say. Her posture is so timid that he's worried he'll scare her if he even breathes.

"Matthew?"

Tears spring up immediately as the sound of his name threatens to bring him to his knees. The two of them didn't cross paths very much during their season. Still, there's a softness to the name that Matt can't remember hearing in some time.

"Are you alright?" He asks softly. Matt can't see anything beyond the tears but that doesn't scare him this time. Not even when he feels Vito's hand land on his shoulder.

"No," she answers, but there's not a note of hostility in the word. "I think maybe I will be, though."

Matt nods quickly, still squinting against his teary eyes. He wanted to see them again because he knows that this will be the last time. The three ex-contestants from his season have had their implants removed and are recovered. There's still a lot more for them to get through, but they're leaving the hospital tonight. Matt and Vito will get video updates weekly as proof that they're alive and being treated well. Beyond that, they won't be permitted to know anything about their whereabouts. It's all in the agreement.

"I hope so."

By the time he opens his eyes again, there's another familiar face where Bronte just stood. She doesn't look around like the other girl, but something in her eyes tells Matt that she's watching every inch of the room. Eden stands tall despite the pallor in her cheeks. She looks almost exactly like Matt remembers from years ago.

The difference is that, this time, he's not afraid. He nods at her solemnly and Eden responds with the same gesture a moment later. The way she stares at him, it feels like she already has him memorized. Matt finds himself trying to do the same. They don't speak, and that feels okay. It feels like her in a way that the crouched figure behind the window never did.

He swears she mouths thank you just before turning to leave the room with her own guards in tow. Matt smiles softly. He'll probably wonder forever if she really did. He finds that he doesn't exactly mind that thought.

Lior is scowling at the guards when he enters next. Unlike the girls, he walks straight up to Matt and only pauses half a meter away. Lior looks at him with crossed arms and Matt can't help but crack a smile. He looks just like himself even with a shaved head.

"I guess I'm supposed to thank you." Matt shakes his head, but Lior continues before he can answer. "I was going to get out on my own, you know."

"I believe it," Matt nods. "If anyone could, it was you."

Lior smiles and he swears it's the first time he's ever seen it. They didn't see much of each other during their season either, but this feels right. Matt eyes the bandage on the side of the boy's head and smiles back.

It looks like Lior's about to walk away when he throws his arms around Matt's shoulders. He lets out a surprised squeak, but his arms come around Lior easily before the guards pull them apart. Lior's smile looks even bigger as he's dragged back towards the door. "Don't worry, if I could kill him I wouldn't be in this mess."

Matt shakes his head with a silent laugh as the door is slammed behind him. There's still an emptiness behind each of their eyes, but there's also more than that. They feel human in a way that Matt isn't sure he's felt himself in a while.

When the door finally opens again, Matt sees the two guards first. It takes a moment for his gaze to drop to the wheelchair in front of them and the boy staring straight past him. Matt looks over to Vito, who stares blankly ahead at the visitor. It takes a gentle nudge from Matt before he steps forward to greet him.

It feels like all the air's been sucked from the room as the pair stares at each other. It's been awhile, Vito's been gone for some time and Matt was rarely involved with Levan. His window had been dark the last few times that Matt remembers looking through it.

There's a different kind of coating around Levan's expression as he stares back. As far as Matt knows, he was never given an implant at all. All Matt knows is what Dr. Liu told him, that Levan worked with the rebels and betrayed The Cut. Matt isn't even certain why he was kept in the basement all this time. Yet, the boy's demeanour tells Matt that it wasn't for anything pleasant.

Finally, Vito speaks. "I'm sorry I left."

Levan doesn't answer for a moment, instead his eyebrows gather ever slightly in uncertainty. If Matt isn't mistaken, his expression also seems to soften the tiniest bit. Levan looks back to him for a moment before returning to Vito.

"Your friends can't hurt you now," Vito whispers. This time it's Matt that feels confused. He doesn't know what friends Vito is referring to, nor why they were going to hurt Levan. Something tells Matt he's not referring to the network or the hospital. Does he mean the rebels? But if Levan was one of them, then why would they hurt him?

"You can't promise that." Levan's expression seems to harden again with each word.

Vito shakes his head. "They're broken. I don't think they'll have enough of anything to come looking for you for some time."

Now Matt is almost certain that he's referring to the rebels. From what Vito was able to tell him on their way back to Toronto General, the rebel base was destroyed and everyone left inside was killed besides the Winners.

"Good," Levan says finally. Matt is inclined to believe the slight curl of his lip might even be a smile. Nothing else is said, for the remainder of the time they just seem to stare at each other. When Levan is brought back out of the room and Vito returns to his side, Matt can see the relief in his posture.

"I've kept my word."

The Winners turn around to find Dr. Liu standing in the threshold of a door on the opposite side of the room. He eyes them uneasily, not coming a bit closer than he needs to to be heard. After a moment, Matt nods and he can see Vito do the same. The doctor has so far done what he's promised. He removed the implants and, if he's being truthful, all four of them will be transported out tonight.

"Thank you," Vito says and Matt nods again.

Dr. Liu smiles, though it doesn't reach anywhere close to his eyes. He looks like he's about to turn to leave when Vito takes a step towards him. "We will too for as long as you keep yours. The moment you don't-"

Vito lets the rest of the statement go unspoken. Still, Matt can see the distaste on the doctor's face. He can't imagine that the man's used to being threatened, nor that he particularly enjoys it. Still, he nods sharply before leaving. It's as close to an understanding as they're probably going to get. Thankfully, it's more than enough for all of them.

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Three Weeks After Victory.

Marcy can see every breath on her chest as she lays on her cot. The air feels colder, it has every time the screen above her turns on. She doesn't want to see it. She's spent her entire time in the hospital trying desperately to convince herself that it wasn't even real.

She flinches as she watches someone who looks just like her between walls that look just like her nightmares. Marcy bites down hard on her tongue as the screen captures the girl's tear-streaked expression. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hands are locked in tight fists that tuck against her chest. She's shaking from head to toe and it's hard to tell which girl Marcy is describing anymore.

She lets out a whimper as the one on screen pulls her hand away from Eris. Marcy squeezes her eyes shut, some part of her mind remembering where this goes even if she's fighting to keep forgetting. She turns her head to one side then the other, shaking her head against restraints that don't exist yet she swears she can still feel them. Marcy holds her wrists against the sheets. The cool fabric bites in just enough to keep them there. Sweat coats the skin behind them yet-

"Marceline?" She jumps when she feels a sudden pressure on her shoulder. Marcy's hand flies up to catch it, breaking through the invisible ties as her eyes flash open. The screen has gone dark again above her. Instead, she can see Alan's concerned expression has risen from his chair.

She can't force her lips to answer. Marcy stares at him until his hand releases her ever slightly. Alan furrows his brow and looks away, but she can't read the new expression. He places a small remote in his shirt pocket. "We'll end early today."

Marcy nods through tear-stocked eyes. She doesn't know what time it is nor what 'early' means in this situation. All she feels is relief that it's over, even just for now.

The other sessions haven't been as bad. She's cried in every one, felt her mind retreating to that lonely place in the back of her skull, but she's made it. Today, Marcy can't even seem to let the tears fall. Her whole body feels frozen, yet scorching hot at the same time. All she can manage is the smallest whisper in response. "Please."

He sighs with a gentle nod. "I promise, I'm working on a way to make this easier."

Marcy doesn't know how to respond, so she doesn't. How could this ever be easier? Alan explained why she has to see it all again. It's in preparation for when she'll be outside of the hospital once her treatment is finished. She needs to know what happened, because as Alan said rarely does anyone truly remember. She needs to know what the viewers saw so that she can know how to interact with questions and paparazzi. Marcy simply can't find it in her to want to know at all.

How could anything about this be easier?

"Do you want to be left alone?" He asks, though he's already stood from his seat. Every day he asks the same question, and every day Marcy gives the same answer. Today is no exception. Alan nods understandingly and leaves a small pill blister on the table beside her. He's gone without another word.

As soon as the door closes, the tears come all at once. Marcy buries her face in her hands and sits up just enough to rest her body against the headboard. Every breath comes out as a frantic gasp, every heartbeat feels like a punch to the gut. She doesn't know why she's crying, whether it's seeing Eris again, seeing herself, or knowing deep down what happens next. She never knows.

As soon as she can see again, Marcy reaches across the table for the blister pack. It takes less than a second to pop it open and swallow it dry. It's the next fifteen minutes of waiting for the tingling numbness that feels like an eternity.

Marcy gets to two hundred and ninety seven bricks before she loses count again.

She curls in tighter on the windowsill, looking out at the courtyard that's brightened only by lampposts. It feels like the nightscape hasn't moved since she sat down. Then again, Marcy half-remembers it being sunlit back then. She shakes her head; she's not sure if that memory's from today. She hasn't gotten used to that feeling yet.

Alan won't come back until the morning. She's supposed to be sleeping, but that's gotten harder lately. When she first got here, it was as if her body was exhausted at all hours. She could fall into nightmares so easily. Now, almost nothing feels more difficult.

Marcy stares at the blister pack beside her bed. It's labelled with a drug name she doesn't recognize, but Alan said it would help her sleep. The only problem is that she doesn't want it, and not wanting it makes her feel even worse. He's trying to help. He said I don't have to take it. Marcy still can't help but hang her head as her eyes shy away from the pill once more.

She doesn't want to see them.

She doesn't want to close her eyes and watch them stumble in that burning room.

She doesn't want to.

Marcy holds her arms around herself until the sensation of her own skin feels like it's burning her. She looks up towards the ceiling, finding no smoke but she gasps to get air in regardless. Her body is trembling but it's as if she's surrounded by the same flames. It's too hot. Marcy gulps down another breath of fevered air.

Her eyes go immediately to the door, but he's not coming. Tears burn in her eyes as she pulls herself away from the window. Her first thought is to try it, to see if it's locked because has she ever? It's too hot. Marcy makes it two steps before she runs the other way, throwing the bathroom door open in front of her.

Her hands grapple for the shower handle for what feels like hours before Marcy feels the first drops of cold water. She holds tight to the handle, worried that it won't be enough, worried that it'll dissolve into steam and she'll be trapped. Her breaths feel too hot. The inside of her chest feels like it's melting. It feels like the room she was never in, with the person she never met, and it's all her fault.

The next thing Marcy remembers, she's soaking wet and shivering on the shower floor. There are no flames. There's no smoke. Yet, every breath can still taste it.

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

One Month After Victory.

Everything he's brought her has formed its own dust print on Marcy's shelves.

She knows that he's trying. Alan said that all of the Winners take on a passion. It helps them to heal, to pour their energy into something that the world can call beautiful. He says it's just as much for her benefit as for the network's. He tells her how much the others have accomplished, but Marcy can't seem to make herself do any of it.

They all end up on the shelves. There are more books than she can count stacked unevenly across them. Somewhere is the deck of cards he brought. There's yarn, knitting needles, crochet hooks, the mesh fabric meant for cross stitch. There's a flute, calligraphy pens, and a half dozen pads of different types of paper. There are enough writing and drawing utensils to stock an art store. Marcy knows that's not even close to all.

She's lost track of how many apologies she's whispered when Alan comes in to see that she's discarded another one. She tries, she's forced herself to stare at the language learning books until tears blurred the pages. That was what he wanted her to choose, but she couldn't understand. It made no sense in her mind. None of this did.

Maybe I don't have a passion.

Marcy hangs her head as she stares at the open door. She can't bring herself to be excited at the prospect of leaving her hospital room for the first time. All she feels is disappointment; she suspects that's all Alan feels right now watching her. Marcy hasn't yet stepped to where she can see the hallway. She's not certain how to make herself.

"It's okay," Alan says gently. He stands in the threshold of the door, halfway between her room and the hallway. It feels like he's been there for hours. "You're going to like it there. I promise."

Marcy nods weakly. She believes him, or at least she tells herself that she does. He hasn't lied to her that she can remember. Alan tells her when things are going to be difficult, like watching the tapes. He looked excited when he came in this morning and said he had something special to show her.

Alan reaches a hand out and she only hesitates for a moment before taking it. He pulls her gently into the hallway and Marcy can't help but squeeze her eyes shut. She doesn't know what she's afraid of. There's never been any worrying sounds from out here, in fact Marcy can't recall ever taking much notice of the space under her door. Now, however, she can feel her legs shaking as she steps across the threshold.

When she finally opens her eyes, Alan still holds tight to her hand with a beaming smile. The hallway is empty, nothing but white walls and closed doors for as far as she can see. Yet, Marcy can't help but feel just a little bit proud.

"What do you think?" Marcy stands at yet another threshold, but this time it's not fear that causes her to pause - it's awe.

She's never seen anything quite so beautiful.

The room - though that doesn't feel anywhere close to the right word - feels like it's from a different world entirely. The first thing that hits her is cool, crisp air that blushes her cheeks. All around her are gardens overflowing with flowers of every colour and size. Ivy creeps up the brick that closes in the area, making the space appear to go on forever. The light concrete is spattered with the remnants of rainfall. As Marcy's eyes rise in search of the ceiling, all she finds above her are clouds.

She flinches when Alan places a gentle hand on her back, prodding her forward. She walks, but her eyes don't stare ahead. Instead, Marcy looks around her, above, behind, and everything she sees feels less and less real. Branches of floral bushes reach out to her as she passes. Stray leaves and petals blow underfoot on the otherwise pristine walkway. It feels open, but safe; wild, but contained. No one seems to care that the greenery isn't growing perfectly, it simply exists and Marcy can't imagine anything more beautiful.

"This is my favourite place in the hospital," Alan tells her as they ease down on a bench near the middle of the garden. "It's even lovelier after the rain."

Marcy nods. She's not sure how to respond and her eyes haven't stopped moving. After weeks in the same room, the garden feels almost overwhelming. Marcy used to believe the flowers in their Montreal home were the prettiest she's ever seen. Her maman took great pride in ensuring they were cared for; Marcy used to watch the gardener from her room as a child. Those flower beds seem like dandelions in comparison.

Maman would love it here. The thought comes and goes before Marcy can stop it. She's left with a bitter taste in her mouth that's even stronger than the sweet scent filling her nose.

"It's nice sometimes to get away from it all."

When she turns to him, Alan isn't watching her as he usually does. Instead, his eyes traverse the garden just as hers have been. It's not hard to believe him. The space doesn't feel like it's even in the same city as the hospital. Marcy can't imagine how difficult his job must be sometimes - a doctor in one of the busiest places in the country. It would be nice to have someplace like this to retreat to.

"It's lovely," she whispers.

Alan turns to her with a soft smile. "I thought you might enjoy helping me take care of it."

After her first visit to the garden, the pattern of Marcy's days changes once again.

She wakes up with the sun shining through her window most of the time. Alan comes in for breakfast, usually bringing something small for himself so they can eat together. He asks her how she slept and most often she tells him. Her sessions start after lunch. The two of them re-watch the portion of The Cut that they'd discussed the day before. When they start with new scenes, he pauses it every so often. He asks her questions, and she answers them. When the tears inevitably come, they sit in silence until she can see again.

And afterwards, she goes down to the garden. Sometimes Alan comes with her, but often it's just her and a gardener named Raisa. They only speak for the first several minutes while Raisa explains the proper way to weed or how much water each plant needs. Neither of them seem to mind the silence.

Vines grow, petals bloom and wither, and Marcy finds those metrics of time passing much easier to count.

"That's not-"

There are no tears so the scene continues on the screen above her. Still, Marcy finds the lump in her throat only grows with the passing seconds. She stares at the person on it, the girl with uneven bangs that still have soot on each strand. Her pupils take up all of her iris until her eyes look black. Everyday Marcy has to remind herself who the girl is. Today is the first time her mind's fought back so incessantly

The camera cuts from one girl to the next - one with charred, black eyes and one with shut eyelids. The second's arms are up around her head, she screams but each word is broken by another blow. They come in a fast pattern that feels like a heartbeat. The charcoal eyes don't blink. They stare down at the girl as chips of concrete break away from the weapon in her hand. The assault only stops when a robotic voice pulls her away. The girl with burnt eyes scrambles back but still she stares. The other eyes don't reopen, the bruises around her face won't let them.

Marcy turns her head quickly, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly that spots swim behind them. She shakes her head. Her voice tries to complete the statement but she can't. It didn't happen like that. The scene keeps replaying in her mind. No. Marcy's breaths feel like they're stopping at the top of her throat. Where is she? That can't be her. The features are all there, the ones Alan told her to look for. Marcy finds the hair colour, the uneven bangs, the number on the girl's chest - it's me. Except she didn't do that. Marcy knows she didn't do that.

In her dreams, it happens differently.

In her dreams, it's quieter.

In her dreams, the girl isn't dead when she scrambles away.

She looks at Alan, eyes wide and questioning because it's not right. That's not how it happened. Marcy heard what the girl said before the fight started and those words felt real, but this doesn't. I'll try to make it fast. The fear as those words hit her feels so familiar, like her body remembers. Except when the attack just kept going the balled up fists atop her sheets deflated into trembling numbness. I didn't do that. Yet, Marcy just watched herself kill the girl with her own eyes.

If I can't remember, then this must be real.

Except it can't be.

She remembers sitting atop a stack of boxes as both announcements came together. Marcy wasn't staring at the girl when she died. It didn't happen like that. She remembers waiting. She remembers a voice telling her to wait and I did. Marcy stares at Alan through the tears, begging him to agree but he just watches with eyes that look emptier than the burnt ones on screen.

"He said to wait," she whispers, but her tongue is incapable of more. Alan has to know, he has to believe her. He always believes me. The man's voice was real. It was real, right? Except Marcy realizes she hasn't heard it from the screen yet. Still, she holds onto the words she can't quite remember. "I didn't- I tried to-"

She doesn't know what she's trying to say. The final day of the competition is one so blurred over that Marcy's never been able to put it together. Even her nightmares of it are fractured, but they're not like this. They're always her waiting, waiting for him and the words she can't recall him saying. She knows he spoke to her, to all three of them. He asked her to wait.

I waited, I know I waited. Except what she just saw on screen negates that thought completely. That girl didn't wait. She took the opportunity and didn't stop until her competitor was dead. She didn't wait, didn't even hesitate. The girl was dead within a minute and her own charred eyes watched the whole thing.

"I know it's not easy to watch," Alan says gently.

Marcy shakes her head quickly. Tears fall so quickly that it's hard to find her breath between them, but still the words make it through. "It's wrong."

She can feel the shift in the room immediately when he stands. It's as if the warm air that held her hand is stripped away, leaving behind an empty coolness. Marcy blinks but the tears are so thick that she can only see the doctor's shape. Even then, it seems to loom over her.

"Sometimes it's hard to remember," he says, but the softness in his voice has been replaced by something careful and hollow. "I assure you, we wouldn't show you anything but the truth."

Marcy squints as her entire body breaks out in shivers. She isn't cold, the room hasn't changed except that it feels like it has. Her fingers interlace with the thin sheet. Every instinct tells her that he's telling her the truth, except she doesn't want to believe him. I waited…

"But," she whimpers.

"Do you like the view?" He interrupts. Marcy sits up slightly more against the bed, turning until she sees the doctor looking out the window. She doesn't know what this has to do with the finale, but she nods slowly. It's her favourite part of the room; before she was shown the garden it was her favourite part of the world.

He runs his hand calmly along the window frame. Marcy doesn't know what to do but watch. He's never acted so coldly towards her before. She grips the sheet more tightly until nails biting into her skin is all she feels. Finally, he turns back to face her. "Would you like another?"

Before she can even consider an answer, the brightness behind the glass changes to a vivid pink sunrise. Seconds later, Marcy is looking at a dark night sky with twinkling stars. Then, a dreary picture with splattered dots of rainfall against the windowpane. It's all the same backdrop, the same bricks she's spent weeks counting, and the same near-empty courtyard. Marcy realizes that, since the day she arrived, she's never seen anyone walking through it.

"Sometimes," he begins, turning back to the window. The weather changes until it's the same sunny day that she woke up to this morning. The doctor moves his hand from the frame and leans against the windowsill. "We don't know what's real. The wind blows the trees in the same pattern, the rain always falls in the same places, but you still thought it was real. The human mind is excellent at letting us see only what we wish to."

Marcy trembles silently on the cot. It wasn't real. She bites down hard on the inside of her lip but even that doesn't stop it from shaking. What else isn't real? She looks carefully to either side of her, but her room looks the same as it always has. Her gaze returns to the doctor, but the back of him hardly looks real. Alan's never looked away from her this long.

He sighs gently and, when he turns around, it looks like him again. The hollow coolness is gone from his eyes, the pitying warmth as sunken in them as his brown irises. Still, Marcy finds herself unable to loosen her posture. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy, but our minds want to protect us. They're not always ready for the truth, but I know you are, Marcy."

She swallows but doesn't know how to respond. Her head refuses to even nod. In a single moment, the most comforting part of her room has been reduced to another uncertainty. What she's been watching for weeks isn't even real. It feels like she's been lied to, yet she's not sure by who. If the trees ruffled and the rains fell in patterns, shouldn't Marcy have seen it? Is her mind really that fragile, trying to protect her from what should be an easy truth?

Is that what it's doing with The Cut?

Is Alan lying to her?

Am I lying to myself?

Marcy curls into her chest until she's taking up only the small space at the top of her bed. She doesn't want to believe that Alan is lying to her. Why would he? He's been here since she first left, he told her that he would help her through this. He seemed to care; he listened. He showed her the garden and brought her everything he thought might distract her. Marcy doesn't want to think that any of it was a lie, much less all of it. The Cut couldn't have created something that didn't happen. If she didn't murder those girls, then how did she end up here?

They edit you into whatever they want you to be.

Marcy gasps as the man's voice thunders inside her skull. She looks around and finds the room dark around her, the door shut and the same darkness beneath it. She looks around but even the screen above her cot is off. Alan's gone, but she doesn't remember seeing him leave.

Marcy scrambles from beneath her sheets and pulls open the curtains. The air outside is dark, and the sidewalks are speckled with remnants of rain. She doesn't remember seeing rain today. When she looks at the trees, there's only the slightest ruffle of wind running between the branches.

She stares out the window until the sun rises, but nothing feels out of place. The soft hues of morning look the same as she remembers. The shadows pull the same ways they always have. Except Marcy doesn't know if that's proof of anything at all.

And when Alan starts their session later that day, they rewatch her hours spent alone on the rooftop. When they get to the start of the fight between the one with charred eyes and the one who says they'll make it fast, Alan pauses the footage.

"Let me know if you need a break," he says gently but the words feel familiar. "The first time's always the hardest."

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Two Months After Victory.

She's had the same nightmare for the past several weeks.

Marcy wakes up gasping for air, the taste of smoke on her tongue even as her eyes fly open. She throws the sheets off her legs and runs to the window, pulling open the curtains with clenched fingers. Her breaths finally start to quiet as she stares out at the calm night. There's no fire. There's no billowing smoke pressed against her window. It was only a dream.

It feels harder to tell every time she wakes up.

Everything feels real yet at the same time nothing does. Every nightmare is the final day of The Cut and the two girls she murdered. It's always here, in the room she leaves just once a day. The fire is raging outside and the glass cracks as soon as dream-Marcy opens the curtains. Then, she turns around and sees Bridget and Dominique. They're always already dead, and when dream-Marcy looks down she sees a bloody hunk of concrete fall broken from her hand.

Marcy crumbles to her knees in front of the window. It's still dark, but there's nothing else. This isn't a nightmare or, if it is, it's at least a different one. It's not the finale. It's not the fire. There's no smoke in her lungs even though she feels every need to cough. There's no blood under her nails even though Marcy swears they still itch.

And, just like every other morning, she tells herself over and over again that she's safe. The Cut is over. If there's a fire, someone will come to put it out. If someone's hurt, a doctor will come to save them. Marcy isn't there and she'll never be there again.

Then why does none of this feel real?

Marcy doesn't know why, but the frantic confusion turns to angry tears in her eyes. She pulls herself up using the windowsill and slams the back end of her fist against the glass. That was a dream too. She hits it again, ignoring the pain at the base of her pinky. The outside is real. Both fists this time. It's real.

She catches herself on the cool glass as her tears turn to sobs against it. She doesn't know what to believe. Marcy's seen the finale over and over again, but it's never changed. They wouldn't make that up. They couldn't show her doing anything that she didn't do. It doesn't matter what Marcy thought happened. What she watched is what really happened. It's real. It's real even if she doesn't want it to be.

Warm hands grab hold of her shoulders and gently pull her from the window. Marcy grips his wrists for dear life as she allows Alan to lead her away. She knows before hitting the sheets where he'll take her. He doesn't always come, but when it's this bad he will. Usually, Marcy can get herself back in bed but the past few days have been harder. Today, she can't even pull the blanket back over herself.

"It'll be easier soon," he whispers as he sits down in the chair beside her. Even with the blanket she's shivering. There's no longer smoke on her tongue but the taste of salt. She can't even see through the blurry darkness. He's shut the curtains again. There's only the slightest crack of moonlight to see by, but Marcy's eyes are already closed again. "I promise."

May 18, 2023

"I've already spoken with Matthew."

Vito swallows as he realizes that Dr. Liu had been staring at him. His eyes move from the room's empty chairs to the man sitting behind his desk. The look in his eyes isn't a question, but a statement. Dr. Liu is confident that he was looking to see if Matt would be here too. Truthfully, Vito was looking to see if any of the Winners would be.

Matt's greatest fear before they arrived back at the hospital was that the others would come back as well. Vito, funny enough, shares the same fear but for an entirely different reason. He doesn't want to look them in the eye again, Mina and Guiliana especially. Vito knows they care about Matt. He's not certain he ever got to the level where they would see him as anything but another problem.

Vito was the one who ran away from the hospital, no doubt making life harder for the three who stayed. He was also the one who showed up at the rebel base unannounced. I wonder what they think of me now? Do they believe he's the reason Matt stayed behind? Aren't I? Vito knows it was both of their decisions, but he can't help it.

He still doesn't feel like he was ever really a part of them.

"Oh." It's all he can think to respond with. The doctor didn't give him a reason for this meeting, but Vito hadn't considered the fact that he might be having it alone. It makes the chill already present in the room feel just that little bit colder.

Dr. Liu gestures towards the chair in front of him and Vito reluctantly settles into it. Life at the hospital has been very different in the past several weeks. He still meets with therapists, just like he did last year. He spends a lot of time in the lab learning all the things Dr. Liu excitedly rambled about teaching him last year. Vito wonders if this is what life was like for Matt, Guiliana, and Alexis when they were living here. He hasn't seen Matt enough to consider asking.

Still, this life is no less lonely than the one he had with the Protestors. It feels like Vito's traded one for the other with no real change. The main difference is knowing that Lev and the others are far, far away from this place.

It's enough.

"I haven't had the chance to speak with you in some time," Dr. Liu begins. "First, I want to say that what you and Matthew have done is commendable. I've known your character since we crossed paths, I should've expected something like this."

Vito nods, unsure if he believes the doctor. From the moment he woke up in the ambulance that drove him away from The Cut, he's felt Dr. Liu's disdain for him. That only changed when he talked about Elise, or in the time they spent together in the doctor's lab. Still, it never felt like Dr. Liu wanted to spend time with Vito Zirensky. It just felt like, perhaps, his presence was a good enough replacement for someone else.

After Vito ran away, he assumed that even that wouldn't be an option. When he and Matt spoke with the doctor, it always felt like the man's eyes were more focused on Matt. Even when there's only three of them in the room, Vito was still clearly the outlier.

With only the two of them here now, Vito can't say he feels any differently.

"We're not so different, the three of us," Dr. Liu continues. "You didn't want them to suffer here. I never wanted that either, even if you might not believe me. My research, above all, is aimed towards a cure. The people above me want their own type of cure - to make an example of crime and show young people that it's not the path they want to take. However, in their own aim, they've created an isolated sphere of suffering for the ones that leave The Cut.

The original concept for the project wouldn't have left any survivors. But, that stripped away any hope for the children that saw themselves heading towards this path. Survivors are important, and it's even more important that you are successful. The Cut was crafted as a warning, but it also gave wonderful role models that showed life could be better than it is.

Except, the suffering doesn't just leave. You and the other Winners experienced horrible, traumatic things to get where you are now. Those take their toll and, as my research has shown over the past decade, it doesn't go away. Even our first subject still shows symptoms no matter the treatments we've employed. Even if they did fade after this, a decade is too long. I would argue that a year is too long."

He pauses as if he's expecting Vito to interject, but he has nothing to say. He understands but he can't say that he agrees. Dr. Liu speaks as if this was unavoidable but it wasn't. The Cut doesn't need to happen. Nothing he says will convince Vito otherwise.

Vito flinches as the doctor drops something onto the desk in front of him. It appears to be two tiny boxes held together with a short length of wire. He looks back to the doctor, who is quietly watching the device. Vito has never seen one out of the body, but it doesn't take long for him to remember.

"You want to put these in us?" Vito's words were too fast as his eyes traced the wire along Lior's shaved head.

"Not these ones. They have more side effects than we'd hoped but they're only prototypes after all. We've combined the best features of each into a new model. It's ready for a trial period that should be starting shortly, but we need to submit a bit more data first. The limbic block feature is the one we're currently the most interested in. It's able to keep memories intact while removing the subject's emotional ties to them-"

"The subjects completed the final trial run before they moved facilities. Minimal side effects, minimal invasiveness into other brain functions. This device can be easily installed with minor surgery and removed just as easily if any problems do arise." Dr. Liu nudges the device closer to Vito as if urging him to take a closer look. "I know things haven't been easy for you, not here and certainly not with the others. I can give you more information, but it's an option for both of you and for her. I won't force anything on any of you."

The room feels like it's spinning even though he hasn't moved. Vito grips the sides of the chair with all his strength but it's not nearly enough to steady him. It's an option for both of you. The doctor can't be suggesting he'll install them in him and Matt. Flashes of memories of his first introduction to the subjects - to the people that Dr. Liu did this to - makes him feel sick to his stomach. They hardly looked alive let alone alright.

The doctor reaches across the table but Vito pulls his hands away first. He nods his understanding and continues as if all of Vito's concerns are written across his forehead. "It's safe. I wouldn't be offering this if it weren't, and like I said you won't be forced."

"You never had a problem with that before," Vito says quickly. Tears start to spring to his eyes and he has every instinct to get up and run. Except there's nowhere to go and both of them know it. Vito's had no contact with the UN since arriving here; it's part of their agreement. If he tries to run again, there's no telling what might happen to the ex-contestants. He's more trapped than he was when he first arrived here a year ago.

"I didn't craft The Cut," Dr. Liu says slowly. "I merely use it because it will be there with or without me. It's not up to me whether it continues, but if I can make the lives of those affected easier then I will."

Vito bites his lip to keep from saying anymore. If the doctor is being truthful and isn't willing to force him into this, then nothing will change. Vito can still live out this agreement in the hospital or wherever the network decides to place him. He'll be their show pony and parade around the country as a perfect example of what The Cut can accomplish.

But Vito won't lose his identity when he's only just started to find it again.

"Think about it," Dr. Liu says. "You're free to go back to your work, but the offer stands. You don't have to suffer like this anymore."

"Thank you, doctor." It's all Vito can bring himself to say. The last thing he wants to do is anger the man, but he doesn't want to agree. The memories of seeing the basement lab are still too fresh no matter how much the doctor believes in his prototype.

"You can call me Alan."

Vito swallows and turns back, finding a warm smile beaming back at him. No amount of reasoning can get him to return the expression. "I think I prefer doctor.

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Three Months After Victory.

This room is colder than the one she left this morning.

Marcy adjusts the hair net to cover another loose strand. Alan told her not to worry about it, but it's something else to focus on. It won't be long now, the clock over the door reads half past eight. She was told they would come get her at quarter to nine.

She swallows and looks around. While colder, the room is also smaller than her own. It has none of the untouched books and games scattered across shelves. There is no closet and the door to the bathroom is closed firmly while hers never is. Marcy can count a dozen differences in just a quick glance. She's glad that she won't be staying here.

"When it's over, you'll wake up in your own bed again," Alan told her a couple days ago. Things moved quickly once she agreed to the procedure. He first told Marcy about the implant almost a month ago. At the time she didn't want it. The idea of surgery, brain surgery nonetheless, was terrifying.

It still is.

Yet, in the days she's spent waiting for the procedure, Marcy's become more afraid that it isn't going to work at all.

She takes a deep breath and tries to blink back another round of tears. It's impossible to tell what they're from anymore; it feels like she spends all her time outside of the garden crying. Even while weeding, sometimes she'll catch a stray tear on her glove that she hadn't felt fall. The days have settled into a new routine but she hasn't. It all feels new again. Yet, at the same time, it feels like she's been trapped here forever.

Everywhere she turns she smells smoke. Every set of eyes she finds look as dead as the girls she murdered. Every dream is surrounded by flames that refuse to let Marcy even see what's beyond them.

The idea of an implant that can untangle her emotions and memories is terrifying. Marcy can't expect something like that to be safe even if Alan promises he'll take care of her. Yet, at this point, what does she have to lose?

None of it feels real.

Everything's burning.

She has nothing.

"Ready?" Marcy swallows as the doctor peers inside with a comforting smile on his face. Alan promised that he would be there the whole time to watch over her and she knows he will be. He's always been there. Everyday, he's her only constant in a world that's so unfamiliar. She trusts him more than she trusts herself, even if she's started to doubt that too.

Marcy nods. If he thinks this will help, then she's ready.

Hours later, when she wakes up in her hospital room, the world once alive with red, orange, and yellow has turned a tuneless shade of gray.

In only a few short days, Marcy finds herself back in the garden.

She places each weed carefully into the metal bucket before moving along the flowerbed. She's missed this place, or at least the quiet of it. She adjusts the base of her glove and starts to dig around the roots of the next one. Alan said it's been three days and Marcy believes him. It's gotten easier to remember the nights and days separately. They no longer blur together and Marcy can't recall how they ever did.

When she's finished with this section, she grabs the bucket and shakes the loose dirt from her gloves. It feels nice to be back. It smells like it must've rained in her absence, or perhaps Raisa just took the hose out again. Either way, it's pleasant. Today feels pleasant.

Pleasant or empty?

Marcy's not sure that the difference matters.

"Marcy, there you are." She looks up as Alan steps up the walkway towards her. There's someone else with him, but it takes her a moment to place him. She's only met him once and it was short if she's remembering correctly. He was painting in the garden when Alan brought her down for the afternoon. Matthew didn't stay long, the doctor said he had somewhere to be.

She nods a quick greeting to both of them. Marcy touches the side of her head as she notices Matthew staring. She wonders if the bandage is bleeding through, but her fingers come away dry. His eyes quickly tear away after that.

"You've met Matthew," he says. "I thought you might enjoy some company today."

Marcy stares blankly for a moment before nodding. She has no reason to refuse. Raisa still accompanies her in the garden sometimes. Marcy realizes that she's the only person she's been alone with beyond Alan.

She watches Matthew for a moment longer before continuing onto the next flower bed. She recalls having a conversation with Alan about the other Winners, that they might not accept her. Marcy lets the memory sit for the few seconds it takes to put the bucket back down on the walkway. Then, it's gone.

"Can I help?" Marcy turns, she'd almost forgotten that he was still here.

She nods and gestures to the flower bed. It will go faster with two of them, which means there'll be more time to sit and relax afterwards. Marcy wonders briefly how long he'll be staying. "Do you know how to weed?"

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Four Months After Victory.

Marcy folds her hands on the table in front of her.

She's never been in this room before, but Alan has prepared her well. He told her that there were some people who wished to meet with her to check her progress. He said there was nothing to worry about, so she's not. The room is the same white as the hospital, the fact that she's never seen it hardly matters.

It all looks the same.

She watches Alan and, when he notices her looking, he gives her a kind smile. The other people in the room have done similar. They've asked her many questions, some about The Cut and others about her stay in the hospital. Marcy answers honestly, for the most part. Alan said they were only curious, and that she could say what she felt.

The only thing he asked is that she not mention the implant. Marcy has been trying not to think about the reason behind it. She finds herself completely capable of that most of the time. If she doesn't want to think about something, she simply doesn't. Marcy feels more in control than she ever has, free to have and push away whatever thoughts she sees fit.

It's all the same shade of grey.

"Is there anything else you wish to ask?" Alan asks from his seat at the end of the table. Some of the others turn to look at one another, more than a few turn to look at Marcy. Many of them have tight frowns and knitted brows. The only one who looks any different is Alan, he still wears a comfortable smile. Marcy feels neither option on her own lips; there's simply nothing there but a straight line. "I would like to get her back to her routine, I think she's had enough disruption for today."

Disruption? Marcy turns the word over in her mind. She supposes today has been different. She wonders if she'll go back down to the garden after this. Perhaps Matthew or Vito will join her again.

One of them has been there everyday for the past couple of weeks. Marcy finds that she doesn't mind the company. Vito asks her every time he's there how she's doing. Matthew asks her twice. Otherwise, neither one says very much which Marcy is just fine with.

It's nice not to be alone.

Nice or hollow? She doesn't suppose there's much of a difference.

July 5, 2023

Ebbe closes her eyes as they finally decide to end the meeting for tonight. It feels like they've been talking in circles for the past several hours. The last thing she does when she finally stands from her seat is prepare to come in again tomorrow morning. Ebbe knows that she doesn't have much of a choice in the matter.

She had hoped for a different outcome, but it's becoming more and more clear that there's very little chance of one. On paper, the interviews with the three newest Winners have gone well. They all state that they're receiving appropriate treatment and doing well. Ebbe just can't shake the fear that they're not saying everything they want to.

She knows that the best interviews would have been conducted outside of the hospital. Ideally, the United Nations would've been able to get them away from all network and government representatives. According to the legal teams, this was not possible. Both parties had a right to be present for the interviews.

"Breathe." Ebbe spins around when she feels a hand land on her shoulder. She's not surprised to see one of her team members, Fadri, standing behind her. His expression is as serious as her own, but Ebbe still has every instinct to slap it from his face. "You're too tense."

"What else am I supposed to be?" She asks sharply. Ebbe knows that he means well. She knows that her entire team means well. They don't want this outcome anymore than she does, but it's hard not to feel like Ebbe is taking it the hardest.

What will I tell Guiliana? Mina? Any of them? That I can't help their friends when I promised to do everything I could?

"I'm sorry," she whispers a moment later.

"We're making progress on the new guidelines," Fadri reminds her. He's been in this role far longer than she has. He has more experience in how fickle the United Nations' power can be. Ebbe knows that they're limited in what they can demand. Still, it's one thing to know and another entirely to feel the constraints herself. "Don't forget our victories in favour of our shortcomings."

"Do you think it's enough?"

Fadri looks away for a moment before his eyes return to her. "For now, it'll have to be."

2023, Toronto General Hospital.

Five Months After Victory.

Matthew and Vito seem to hold her more gently than the garden's flowers.

For most of the days that they both spend with her, Marcy simply watches. They never turn their backs on her, but they don't seem to know what to do with her either. To each other, they smile and joke but with her they speak more softly. It's as if they believe that Marcy will shatter if their words are too loud. Sometimes Marcy wonders if she will.

The three of them sit around the bench in the middle, having finished their tasks for the day. Today is the hottest it's been all week, but the shade from the walls helps to keep her comfortable. Sweat has gathered on each of their foreheads, but none have bothered to wipe it away. Marcy can hardly say that she notices. It's not at all unpleasant.

"How're you doing?" Marcy looks up to find both boys watching her and she shrugs. Her answers have evolved from a smiling yes to this kind of inbetween. She feels fine, she supposes. Marcy's not certain what it would feel like anymore if she didn't. Every day feels the same afterall, the same shade of grey.

She touches the ponytail atop her head, but she's unable to find the implant beneath it. The swelling settled in a matter of weeks, leaving only the smallest bump behind. Still, she feels better knowing that they can't see it. They've never come in with bandages of their own. It's possible they did before she won, and Marcy can almost hope that's true.

It would mean that maybe, in a year or two, she might be able to smile like they do.

"Marcy, can I borrow you for a moment?" She flinches as the familiar voice calls her from the front of the garden. Marcy gets up to grab the bucket of weeds to bring with her. Before she can, Vito takes the handle with a nod.

"I've got it."

She furrows her brow for a moment before nodding. He knows where to take the pulled weeds and where to hang up the bucket when he's done. Marcy has no doubt that he'll take care of it, beside he has Matthew to help him.

Still, she pauses in front of him for a moment as if forgetting something. Marcy just can't think of what that something might be. She tells her mouth to smile before ducking back towards the door. It's easy to forget the interaction once she's no longer looking at him.

"I have a surprise for you," Alan tells her and she nods. Marcy follows him down a series of hallways, not bothering to try and guess where they're going. It never seems to matter until she gets there.

He opens a door that isn't white in a brighter wing of the hospital. Marcy can't recall ever being in this hallway, but she steps through the door as instructed. The room is small with two couches and three chairs scattered along the walls. It takes her a moment to recognize the people seated stiffly on one of the loveseats.

As her papa rises slowly from the seat with outstretched arms, Marcy can only stare. He looks older than the last time she saw him, with deeper wrinkles around his eyes and lips. He wears a sports coat that she remembers from several of his lectures. There's a scuff on the right tip of his shoe. His pale eyes burrow into her as if looking at her through a microscope. Before long, Marcy notes his arms wrapping tightly around her.

And yet, she can't honestly say that she feels anything at all.

"What happened to the other Winners?"

For a long moment, Marcy's only answer is the sound of two garden spades hitting the ground simultaneously. Vito and Matthew both turn to her with wide eyes and closed lips. Marcy realizes it's the most words she's ever strung together in their presence. Neither one seems to know what to say in response.

They look at one another, then back to Marcy. Finally, it's Matthew who breaks the uneasy silence. "They're not at the hospital anymore."

"I know."

He swallows and turns to Vito who just looks at the ground. The thought pops up that she's said something wrong, but it doesn't last. Alan hasn't told her very much about the other Winners. Marcy's watched all of their seasons now and many of their interviews afterwards. None of it has been from the past year. She's aware that they're not at the hospital for the simple reason that she's never seen them here. That doesn't answer her question.

"I'm not sure we're the best ones to answer that," Matthew says carefully. "Have you tried asking Dr.- have you asked Alan?"

She shakes her head. Marcy hasn't spoken to him very much in the past few days since her parents' visit. He's been there every morning as he always has been, but their conversations feel different. She hasn't been able to put her finger on why that is.

All Marcy knows is the creeping thoughts that she can't quite seem to turn away. They're there, she can't ignore them, but that's all. She doesn't know why she wonders about the other Winners. She's not certain why the look in her papa's eyes is still there when Marcy closes hers. She can't shake the impression that there should be something more.

Shouldn't I have been happy to see them?

Marcy remembers when her papa hugged her for the first time in months. She felt nothing. His skin was warm and his tears were cold as they wet her shoulder, but that's all she can discern. The hollowness just keeps getting bigger. There's nothing there, but there should be. She knows there should be.

She doesn't know how that circles back to the Winners, and maybe it doesn't. But Matthew and Vito are all she has beyond Alan. She hasn't tried to ask him and there's no reason to believe that he wouldn't tell her. She trusts him. She's told herself over and over again that she trusts him. He hasn't lied to her. There's no reason for Marcy to believe that he would now.

Except isn't he the one that did this?

She said yes. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have her permission and yet Marcy can't shake the memory of his smile away. In the interview with the UN, in her first encounters with Matthew and Vito, in her visit with her parents - the same proud smile was always there. These days, it's one of the most constant things in Marcy's life.

Is this what he wanted?

Is it what I wanted?

She's shaken from her thoughts by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. Her posture tightens quickly when Alan turns the corner towards the trio and approaches her with a rigid grin. "I'm afraid I have to cut your time here short today, I hope that's alright."

Marcy swallows and nods stiffly. She can feel both boys' eyes on her as she rises to her feet to follow him. She has no reason not to.

Even without paying much mind to their route through the hallways, Marcy knows where he's leading her. Her expression strains further as Alan opens the door to her hospital room and coaxes her inside. "I think you could use some more rest tonight."

He doesn't give her even the chance to reply before the door shuts firmly behind her.

Marcy's eyes burn as she lets the office door close stiffly at her back. She touches her fingertips beneath them, but is unsurprised to find the skin bone dry. It feels like everything in her is trying to cry, but Marcy only knows this by the increasing pressure behind her eyes.

"It's not working."

Alan looks up from behind his desk, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He shuffles a stack of papers to the other side and stands to greet her. Marcy hadn't waited for his secretary to let her back. She's not even sure if the man realizes she's not still waiting in the chair by his desk. Maybe she should've waited. She can't change that now.

"Marcy?" He asks as he steps around his desk. He started calling her by the nickname a few weeks ago. She hasn't had any reason to correct him. "What's going on?"

She shakes her head stiffly. "It's not working."

There's no roughness in her words, none of the imbalance she feels. They sound as even as always, as superficial as she's gotten used to them being. There's nothing. She sounds more like a recording than a person. Yet even that realization isn't enough to cross the emptiness spanning her mind.

"What's not working?"

Marcy swallows. "I want it out. I can't-" She doesn't know how to explain. It's not what she wanted. She thought this would be better than the pain but it isn't. There's just nothing there, nothing but the growing feeling that there should be. "I can't feel anything. I don't want it anymore."

Alan lays a gentle hand on her shoulder and looks down at her with concern. She stares back, begging him to understand because Marcy's not certain that even she does. It feels like it's all just collecting inside of her but she can't actually see any of it. The pressure feels like it's building and there's nothing she can do about it. This isn't what the implant was supposed to do.

Maybe I was already too broken for it to work.

"It's doing its job, Marcy," he explains gently. "It's complicated, but it's working. It'll take some time to get used to, everything in your mind is still quite intertwined with what you've experienced. You just need time."

She shakes her head and the burning behind her eyes gets even stronger. It makes sense. She understands but that doesn't change her mind. She can't deal with this emptiness. It's worse than the tears. "I want it out."

"Not yet," he says firmly. "You need to give it time, it's only been a few weeks."

Marcy shakes her head again but she bites her tongue. He might be right. It hasn't been very long and Alan said she was making good progress. The sessions she's had since getting the implant have gone well. She's even been able to rewatch certain parts of her own season. Marcy didn't cry once. Alan said that meant she was healing.

I also didn't hug my papa when he came. I didn't tell my maman how much I missed her even after she said it first.

The implant may have taken away the loneliness, the anger, the grief, but it's also taken away everything else. It's all grey, it's all the same. She doesn't cry but she doesn't smile either. Maybe there's not much to smile about right now, maybe there won't ever be, but looking inside and seeing nothing day after day is so much worse than feeling everything at once.

Afterall, what's the point in healing a person that barely exists?

August 14, 2023

"So that's it, then?"

Mina's own words echo far louder than she meant in the empty room. They're all still sitting, she doesn't think her feet would hold her if she tried right now. It's been almost five months and this is all the United Nations has to say?

"I know you're disappointed," Ebbe tells her. "I don't blame you, I am too. We only have so much bargaining power, and I think the strides we've made will help significantly. We're not-"

"You told us you would get them back," Mina cuts in.

The woman's lips tighten, but she doesn't berate her for interrupting. That's one thing about her that Mina can say she likes. Ebbe has never treated them like children. "I told you that I would do everything I could, and I have."

"It's not enough."

"I know."

Mina clenches her fists in her lap and closes her eyes. She should've never left Canada without Zoe. She should've never trusted the United Nations or anyone to help them. If they knew about The Cut for as long as they're claiming, then why haven't they done anything? At least Mina knows the answer to that now. It's because they can't.

All they've done is wasted time.

Mina feels a gentle hand on her shoulder but she's too tense to shove it away. She sees Guiliana as the younger girl steps up beside her. There are silent tears running down her cheeks that match almost everyone else in the room. "Send us back."

There's a scattered murmuring of agreement. Mina glares up at Ebbe from her seat, unable to trust what might come out of her mouth. The United Nations can't force them to stay. They're not prisoners anymore. None of them are children.

"It's not safe."

Ebbe directs the statement at Guiliana, but Mina is on her feet before it's even complete. "It's not safe, so you've let three of us stay there anyway. You can only guess that Matt and Vito are okay because they aren't allowed anywhere without the network. You haven't even found Zoe yet. You haven't done anything."

"We have done more than we've been able to in a decade," Ebbe says sharply. "We have formal written agreement to new changes to The Cut. No one without a life sentence will be cast ever again. We'll have two check-ins with each new Winner over the course of their first year. The tracking devices will no longer be used for more than one week period post-victory. It might not be what we all hoped for, but it's not nothing."

The room goes silent as Mina continues to glare in the woman's direction. She didn't mean that Ebbe's done nothing. She meant that Ebbe's done nothing for them. It might be selfish but Mina doesn't care. Their interviews are what the United Nations needed. The eight of them risked their lives and yet three of them are still in danger. No one has seen a sign of Zoe in five months. Mina's not even sure that she's still alive.

She sucks in a slow breath, trying to calm the words before they leave her lips. "We appreciate what you've done, but I'm not staying here anymore. My friends need me, and you have no right to keep me here."

"I'm going too," Guiliana says, still holding onto Mina's arm. At this point it's impossible to know who needs the stability more. One by one, the other three Winners say some version of the same. Mina stares at the woman, daring her to tell them anything but yes. At this point Ebbe should know that they won't accept anything else.

They've fought before and they'll fight again.

This time, no one's getting left behind.

2023, Toronto ON

Six Months After Victory.

The apartment is larger than Marcy expected.

She steps inside carefully, immediately feeling unwelcome despite the key still in her hand. It's clean and smells somewhat like bleach, but otherwise looks nothing like her hospital room. The walls are a soft beige and the furniture is light wood with details of several bright colours. Most of the walls have paintings of flowers. Marcy feels somewhat proud that she can identify each one.

There are several doors, but only two open when she turns the knobs. The first is a white-walled bedroom with several wire flowers blooming from the headboard. The closet is full of regular clothes, all in neutrals just like in the hospital. However when Marcy touches the fabric they're far softer. At the bottom is a rack of shoes all in her size. One pair even has tiny embroidered daisies on the front.

Marcy sets the shoes back down. It's hard not to remind herself that, normally, they'd have made her smile. Before she steps away, she kicks them towards the back of the closet.

It'll get better. She closes her eyes and hopes for the hundredth time that Alan's right.

He wouldn't agree to take the implant out. He said it was because enough time hadn't passed, and that he didn't want her to bow out too early. Nevermind the possible side effects of removing it now that her brain's likely gotten used to the impulses. He also didn't think it appropriate to put her through surgery again, even after she reminded him that it was only a minor procedure. He had an answer to everything and that answer was to keep with it.

You need to give it time, it'll get better. Marcy wishes she'd asked how much time.

She lets out a soft sigh and moves onto the room beside it. Alan told her that she would be living here by herself now that she's been discharged. Marcy still doesn't think that that sentence feels real. Two days ago, Alan told her that she was ready. This morning was her re-introduction ceremony. She remembers him telling her how proud he was of her just before the hospital doors opened.

She wishes she remembered anything else about the ceremony. The first time Alan told her about the re-introduction ceremony, it'd sounded terrifying. She would be up on stage in front of who knows how many people. They would all be staring at her, remembering what she's done, wondering what if anything had changed.

Yet, Marcy got to see many recordings of the past years' ceremonies. In them, Alan spoke kindly about the Winner and their progress. He enthused about the wonderful contributions they were preparing to make. He told the world how excited he was to show them a new, productive citizen.

Part of her even started to look forward to it. Not the audience piece, but the hope. She wanted to know what he was going to say. She wanted to believe that it would be even half as kind as the past years. Marcy wanted to know what it would feel like to have him announce that she was worth this second chance.

And Marcy knows that it shouldn't have felt empty. Yet, that's all she really remembers from the ceremony - emptiness.

The second room has three bright yellow walls and a glass door overlooking a patio. Before Marcy even steps inside she can pick up the scent of damp dirt. The walls on either side of her are stacked with rows of mounted flower beds. There are more pots scattered around the floor and out on the patio. Marcy picks up a catalogue that's been placed on the edge of one of the beds. On top of it is a handwritten note that explains she's free to plant whatever she'd like here.

She sighs and brings the catalogue out to the kitchen, leaving it on the counter for later. It was kind of Alan to have this set up for her. Unfortunately, Marcy doesn't feel like doing much of anything right now.

She lays down on her bed without pulling back the blankets. It's still too early to sleep, but she's not sure what else to do. Alan said that she would have more freedom now. She's to come to the garden at least three times a week and will have virtual therapy every morning at nine. Otherwise this time is meant for her to adapt to living on her own.

You won't be here forever. Marcy remembers him smiling when he said it, as if his words weren't the most terrifying thing in the world.

Her fingers gloss over the bump on the side of her head. It's small now, barely noticeable except that Marcy's learned where to find it. What am I supposed to do now? The option of going back to live with her parents in a few months was brought up, but could she? Marcy only sees them every once in a while, but there's never anything to talk about. They don't even feel like her parents anymore. They're closer to strangers. None of them know what to do with one another.

She hasn't seen Vito or Matthew for the last week. The only person she regularly sees is Alan, but she doesn't know what to say to him either. He might as well be on a different continent, or perhaps Marcy's the one who's floated away.

It's just her. She's all she has.

And when has that ever been enough?

Marcy is almost finished getting ready when a knock at her door makes her jump.

She spits her toothpaste out into the sink and wipes her mouth before realizing she should answer it. Another louder knock comes when she's standing in front of it. That's what finally pushes Marcy to actually pry it an inch open.

"It's just me."

His voice makes her jump no matter how soft it comes through the cracked door. Marcy stares through it, recognizing each of his features before actually recognizing him. It's strange to see Vito outside of the garden.

"Hi," she replies quietly.

Vito gives her a half smile before gesturing at the door. Marcy's fingers are curled around it as if she's afraid it'll fly away on its own. "May I come in?"

She nods but it takes several seconds for her to step away from the entrance. Vito gently pulls the door open enough to let himself in. Marcy stares at him, unsure what she's supposed to do. In the past nine days she's lived here, no one has come to visit. When she looks down, she wonders if she should've changed out of her pajamas.

"I know it's been a while," Vito says quickly. If she didn't know better, Marcy would say he looks about as uncomfortable as she feels. He runs his thumb over a large envelope she only just realized he's been carrying. "But um, here."

He has to all but place the envelope in her hands, and even then it falls to the floor between them. Marcy swallows before bending down quickly to retrieve it. To his credit, Vito takes the opportunity to look at the apartment behind her.

"They're doing okay," he says finally, but Marcy isn't immediately sure what he's talking about. She glances down at the envelope, but there's nothing to hint at its contents. It doesn't even have her name on it. Marcy must've been staring at it too long because Vito lets out an awkward laugh. "Don't worry, this has been approved."

Marcy nods, but she hadn't been thinking about that. Honestly, she's still wondering why he's here. Even if Vito wanted to give her something, she's sure he could have gotten someone to mail it. She was told that she gets mail here, though Marcy hasn't taken the time to check. She's barely left the apartment, and even then it's just been to go back to the hospital.

Suddenly she remembers the first part of what Vito said. She lifts her gaze to him with a full question ready on her lips. However, only a single word makes it through. "Who?"

Vito's brow furrows for a moment before he understands. "They're letters from the other Winners. You asked about them a while ago. We're finally back in contact."

"Oh." It's all she can bring herself to say. Letters?

I don't want petty misunderstandings to impede your recovery, that's all. The memory of Alan's words feels as blurry as most of what happened to her in the hospital. Marcy remembers him crouched by the windowsill, back when she spent most of her day there. She's not sure how the other Winners even came up. You're the worst part of all of them. The worst of the worst, I believe they called your year. I'm afraid that the others won't be able to see anything else.

Marcy blinks and lowers the envelope to her side. She knows the memory hurts without feeling any of the pain that comes with it. She can feel the pressure behind her dry eyes, the new heaviness in her chest. It should hurt and yet it doesn't. She can still look at Vito without the blur of tears. Marcy feels no need to run back to her room.

She knows it's just because she's thinking about it, but she swears the implant starts to itch.

This is why she has it - so she can have these interactions without falling apart over and over again. She knows that Alan's right, it is working. If it weren't, Marcy wouldn't still be standing in front of him. She knows that.

Yet, that doesn't make her like the device any more. In fact, right now, Marcy finds she likes it far less than before.

Vito turns slightly to look at the half-open door. "You're doing okay?"

She nods. It's the truth, she supposes, even if Marcy considers a dozen other responses first. She is okay. The implant doesn't allow her to be anything else. As if to convince him further, Marcy nods a second time.

"Good," he replies. Vito pauses with his hand on the door and she wonders if there's something else he's here for. She wonders if she wants there to be something else. Instead, Vito takes another wide glance around the apartment. "Sorry, I lived here for a while last year. It's weird to see the walls a different colour."

Marcy tilts her head and the question comes out before she realizes that she wants to ask it. "Did you like it here?"

"I think so. There were more of us. I think I would've been lonely if it was just me," he says, then grimaces as if he's said something wrong. "Sorry."

"It is."

The words hang in the air and the pressure behind Marcy's eyes gets even more intense. She looks down at the floor and she can feel his eyes on her, but she's not sure what to do about it. She should've let him leave. The last thing she wants is pity from anyone, including him.

I'm afraid that the others won't be able to see anything else.

Marcy swallows. She wonders what Vito sees, if Alan was right even for him. She watched his season. She saw what he did. Marcy isn't sure which of them is worse, who meant it more or didn't. All she knows is that, out of all the other Winners, he might just be the one most capable of understanding.

"I'll see if I can come back," Vito begins but the statement seems to fade off of his tongue. She swallows and her throat feels dry, but water is the last thing she's thinking about. Marcy doesn't know what kind of permission Vito had to get to be here. She doesn't know how long he'll be permitted to stay.

All Marcy knows is that she doesn't want him to leave.

Yet, a few minutes and one regretful smile later, that's exactly what he does.

September 23, 2023

They've been back in Canada for almost three weeks, but things are finally starting to settle down.

Calvin pushes his empty duffel bag under the bed and collapses on top of it. It took him this long to feel comfortable unpacking in any sense, despite the fact that all he has are a few sets of clothes and his paperwork. Nothing about this place felt permanent, in fact it still doesn't, but they've been here for a little over two weeks now. That has to count for something.

He's still a little bit surprised at how easy it was to get on that flight. The United Nations and Ebbe put up their own fight, but they're not anyone's prisoners. Calvin didn't have any family to say goodbye to, not like Guiliana and Alexis. Once he made his decision to leave, that was it. He got on a plane and arrived back in Canada with no idea what was going to happen next.

To Calvin's surprise, the answer was very little.

They spent the first week in a hotel on the outskirts of Toronto. The five of them decided that they would call the network on the third day. Ultimately, it was Mina and him that dialed the phone. Calvin doesn't think a room could get more silent than that one was.

They were eventually put through to a woman named Alma who set up a meeting for the next morning. Calvin wanted to go alone, but Mina and Guiliana refused to allow it. In the end, all five of them walked through the doors of Toronto General Hospital. Looking back, Calvin's glad they did. He doesn't think he would've been able to remember more than the barest details of what was talked about.

They were willing to listen, and that's more than Calvin thought the network would be capable of. Ebbe was right about the changes to the show itself, but no one seems certain what to do with the Winners. Likely, no one thought they were ever going to come back. Now that they have, there's so much to be worked out. The five of them have had a couple more meetings since. It's moving painfully slowly, but it's moving.

For now, they've set up in an apartment block about an hour away from the city. It's quieter here, almost quiet enough to remind him of North Bay. He's staying with Rajan for now and the girls are staying in a separate apartment down the hall. For the most part, the doors stay open. They've spent enough time apart, it only felt right.

They're still trying to get Matt and Vito here. They're still trying every day to find Zoe.

Nothing's perfect, but they knew it wouldn't be. They don't have any of the UN's negotiation powers, only their own. They don't have a team that can search every database in the country. They don't have any sort of security beyond the apartments being rented anonymously. Still, the important thing is that they're back where they need to be. As terrifying as it is, Calvin knows they made the right choice.

He's terrified, but hopeful.

And one of those things is a lot less familiar.

- CW -

2023, Toronto ON.

Seven Months After Victory.

"Not yet." Marcy examined his expression through the computer screen. It had only been a day since she last spoke to the doctor, and he hadn't changed one bit. His eyes were kind, the same warm sepia that she learnt by heart months ago. She could probably draw them if she had any interest. But what Marcy focused on was his smile; the same proud grin that seemed to grow wider every day.

Even the memory of it makes her tongue turn sour. The pressure behind her eyes hasn't let up since their session ended. As soon as she closed the laptop, Marcy had collapsed into her bed. She wasn't tired, she still isn't. She can't even force herself to close her eyes.

All she can think about is his expression, his smile, his words. Not yet.

When? Marcy asked the question with the same hollowness in her voice. She sat in the office chair with the same numbness in her body that's been there since she awoke from surgery. Still, Alan either didn't see it or didn't care.

She's not sure which option is worse.

Not yet. An answer to her question that contained no answer at all. Not yet.

Marcy presses her palms against her eyelids, but they're as dry as the day before, as the month before. It doesn't change and neither does she. Nothing changes. It's all the same shades of grey. It tells her that everything's normal when even her blunted mind can understand that it's not.

There's no fear to talk her out of it.

In fact, even when she rises from bed and pries open the kitchen drawer, there's nothing at all.

Marcy knows she has to move fast. She doesn't bother to head for a mirror, she can find it by feel. Besides, no part of her wants to see this. All of these thoughts are so dull, so tuneless, so grey. It's as if they're only there to watch. They don't even try to stop her.

She moves fast, but the pain under the dull kitchen knife moves far faster.

There are no tears. Even when blood starts to drip down the side of her face, there's nothing behind her eyes. Her arms shake but her hands don't drop back to her sides. They keep going. It doesn't block pain. She knows that. She feels that but the grey doesn't care and neither does Marcy. It's the only way. Not yet. Now.

I can't. Alarm bells start to ring in her skull as her skin becomes drenched with cool moisture. She grips the small knife as hard as she can. Even the blood trickling from her chin feels dull. It all does. It still does.

I can't. I can't. I can't.

What am I doing?

Marcy gasps and throws the knife to the floor. She feels along her scalp but can't even find the cut beneath her slippery hair. Her nails dig into where it should be, but that only makes her head spin further. She can't find it. She can't feel it. What am I doing? I can't. Marcy ignores the voice. It slips away so easily even though she knows that it shouldn't.

I can't. I can't. I can't-

I can't keep going like this.

Her eyes blur with blood as she leans forward. I can't do it. Except she has to keep trying. She has to get it out. She can't wake up to the same shades of grey tomorrow morning. It's been months, months, and that's all she's seen, all she's felt. Grey. She doesn't care if this is what's making her better. If Alan won't take it out then she will.

Vito was right. It's so fucking lonely here.

Marcy knows they're watching. She knows the hospital has seen everything. She knows that she's running out of time. She drops to the floor and scrambles to find the knife again, but her fingers don't reach it. Marcy whimpers as she tries again to find the implant but her fingers are shaking too hard to even try.

She hears the door slam into the adjacent wall but Marcy can't see anything when she turns around. All she sees through squinted eyes is red. All she feels is her own blood as it burns her eyes. Marcy slams her head against whatever's in front of her - a cabinet, the fridge, anything. It has to be out. It has to be out. It has to be out.

"Don't touch her!" Alan. She knows his voice, she would recognize it anywhere.

Yet instead of looking for him, Marcy collapses in gasping sobs against her kitchen floor. I can't breathe. She cradles her head in her hands. It feels like her heartbeat is coming from inside it. Her fingers feel like knives against her scalp but she can't let go. Blood coats them, coats her cheeks until Marcy can't tell the difference between that and her tears.

She feels someone grab her then just as quickly let her fall again. "She needs help!"

Marcy knows this voice too. She saw him yesterday right here when he came to drop off the letters. She never opened them. She doesn't even remember where she put them.

"She needs my help!"

"Then help her!" Vito's voice is louder than she's ever heard it.

Marcy feels someone behind her and they pull her closer. She doesn't know if she's still on the floor. She can't feel it beneath her. Cold hands hold her head on either side, tilting it down until Marcy's chin is tucked into her chest. The fingers on either side of her temples are shaking too. Alan's voice feels so close, it might as well be coming from inside her skull. "I need an ambulance, now!"

As the door eases open, Marcy turns towards the wall beside her. There's a sheet and two flannel blankets tucked up to her chin, but the room is colder than she remembers. Still the last thing she wants to do is shiver; the last thing she wants to do is move.

"May I come in?"

She nods though she's unsure if he'll be able to see the gesture. When Marcy finally hears the door close behind him and his footsteps approach her cot, she can't help but close her eyes. She can already guess what he's going to say or, knowing the doctor, ask. Marcy doesn't have an answer for him. She doesn't even have one for herself.

What were you thinking?

"I'm sorry," she whispers as she hears the doctor ease down into his usual chair. After what happened in her apartment last night, Marcy was unsurprisingly brought back to Toronto General. She doesn't remember what they did, if they even told her. All she remembers is waking up about an hour ago and laying here absolutely motionless. Perhaps he wouldn't realize she'd woken up. Marcy had hoped it would delay the inevitable visit.

"We had to take your implant out," the doctor says solemnly. "Though I suspect that's exactly the outcome you were hoping for."

Marcy doesn't respond. It doesn't feel necessary. She turns slightly back until she can see Alan sitting beside her. His expression is as somber as his voice. He's not happy, but didn't she know he wouldn't be? He was the one that refused to take it out. He thought she didn't give the implant enough of a chance.

Maybe she didn't, but when Marcy woke up she felt the difference immediately.

The world was still a little bit grey, but instead of two shades it was hundreds. Instead of a concrete slab, it was a storm, and there was no question what she preferred. Even now, there are a dozen dim colours waiting in front of her - shades of guilt, anger, grief. She feels guilty that she's upset him. She feels angry that he didn't listen to her, that he forced her to try and accept something she no longer wanted. She feels grief for the last few months of her life that are little more than distant, hollow memories.

And it's still so much better than nothing.

"You'll need around a month to recover before we can replace it." His eyes are fixed with hers, but it doesn't feel like Alan sees her at all. The proud smile is gone. The kind wrinkle on his forehead is too. His expression is as empty as she's felt the past months. "You'll stay here until then and likely for some time afterwards. Thankfully, you didn't do more damage. This could've all ended much worse."

"But, I don't-" Marcy starts, but he interrupts her almost immediately.

"You don't want to be happy?" She flinches as his voice booms between the narrow walls. Marcy's never heard him speak like this. Never. "You want to spend the next decade or more living with all of this when you don't have to. The research, the product I've created, can make all of it go away and you don't want it? Don't you understand, this is what's best for you? Your progress data has more than proved it. It's worked perfectly."

Every instinct tells Marcy to shrink in response. Tears spring to her eyes, tears that her body's wanted for months. This isn't about being better by whatever scientific metric he's using to measure her. Marcy knows what she's asking for won't make sense by his data. Explaining it to herself doesn't make sense either. She spent the last four months without a single negative emotion to speak of. Yet, the doctor got one thing right.

Marcy doesn't want to do that ever again.

The doctor stares at her, his cheeks flushed and lips tied in a tight line. She doesn't know how to explain the emptiness that the implant created in her. Yes, it did what it was supposed to, but it also took away everything. For these four months it may have appeared that she healed, but waking up now without it Marcy feels like she's right back where she started. It only stalled her progress, not enhanced it.

One shaking hand reaches across the cot towards him. Marcy half-expects him to pull away but he doesn't. She gently lowers her hand down on top of his, centimeter by centimeter. The doctor stares but he doesn't move. When his expression comes back to hers, some of the harsh edges have faded.

"But I wasn't happy," she says with a cracked whisper. More tears start to blur him but she blinks them away. She doesn't know if he'll understand. For almost a year, Alan's been all she has. Maybe it wasn't real, maybe it was just because of his job. Yet, Marcy does trust him. And right now, he's the only one who can help her. "It left me with nothing."

She sniffles as tears slip down her cheeks, but she doesn't look away. "The Cut did this to me and I don't know if anything can get rid of it. I know you wanted the implant to work. I know you thought it would help me. But I want to live." She pauses. "I don't think I have been."

Marcy realizes that the statement is true as it leaves her lips. She hasn't been living. She wasn't living in the hospital, in her new apartment. She didn't live in The Cut nor in prison. She didn't live in school nor in her own bedroom at home for more years than she can count. Marcy's heart's been beating and her legs have been moving but that isn't enough to live. Maybe deep down she's known this, it feels obvious. She's been disconnected from herself for so long, the implant only took it a step further. It showed Marcy exactly what she never wants to be.

And, in a way, it helped her to understand that she isn't ready to give up.

He's quiet for a moment, staring at her trembling hand atop his. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking or if he even heard her at all. Finally, his voice comes in a whisper even softer than her own. "Why would you want to feel what we did to you?"

We - what we did to you.

Marcy swallows. She doesn't know if she has an answer because truthfully she doesn't want to feel it. It's only been a few hours and the memories have already started to creep forward again. She's thought about the fire, about Ramsey and Casimir, about Eris and Riley, about her last moments on the show. All the things that the implant all but forbid her to think about. Marcy shouldn't want to think about them. Yet, isn't that exactly what she's asking for the right to do?

"I want the good, and the bad comes with it." She knows it's true, but she also knows it's so much more than that. Things won't be perfect, but when have they ever been? Those memories are sharp, but maybe someday they won't be. How many times did she see Matt smile as he cupped a flower in his hand? She remembers watching Vito laugh when he split the bucket of weeds on the walkway. Maybe even those small moments feel far away right now, but doesn't she deserve them?

Maybe this is Marcy telling herself that she does.

She swallows. "Shouldn't I get a choice?"

The doctor watches the ground for so long that Marcy has to wonder if he's alright. The hard line of his lips has softened and the gentle wrinkles in his forehead have started to grow again. His hand hasn't moved from beneath hers. It feels like hours pass like this before he finally looks up again, his eyes only reaching as far as her fingertips.

Alan stands slowly from the chair and heads for the door without a word. He pauses with one hand on the handle, his expression turned away though Marcy hears the deep breath that dulls his rigid posture. She is just coming to the conclusion that she isn't going to get an answer when his quiet words reach her. "I suppose you should."

Oftentimes, all we have are our own choices.

Alexis Lassiter adjusts the collar of her blazer for what feels like the dozenth time. It still doesn't feel like it's sitting right but, when the package is placed in front of her, she's reaching for a pen. Beside her, Rajan Bhau is already holding his.

The title is identical to the one they were sent via email earlier in the week. Still, Alexis reads it thrice more before flipping it open. I can't believe it. It feels like she's been repeating that same phrase to herself for the last month.

You're getting contracts. Alexis' lips curl when she remembers the Winners' lawyers coming back to say just that. It was a month-long wait for this final draft, but all of them have read it cover to cover multiple times. The lawyers are even here today while they each sign it to ensure everything goes smoothly. The fact that it's sitting in front of her now means it has.

It's been six years since Alexis was on the show, and even in her wildest dreams she never thought something like this would be possible. It's not perfect. More than likely it never will be perfect, but it's something. They have specific responsibilities each year and specific benefits that go along with them. It's not up to whim and punishment anymore.

She's going to have her own bank account. Alexis has a meeting later today to set one up. She's taking Ari for dinner afterwards, and she couldn't be more excited. There's still a lot for the two of them to catch up on. They've hardly seen each other for the last year, but things feel like they're heading in the right direction.

Alexis has more to look forward to than she ever thought possible. She flips through each page and does her best to read them, but her heart's pounding too hard to take much of it in. She's already read it and the lawyers have certified that this one is identical. This read through is more of a formality.

"Ready?" Alexis looks up to see Rajan watching her with an eager grin. He's starting on a study at the Royal Ontario Museum later this month. She hasn't seen him smile this much in the past four years of knowing him. It changes his face completely.

Alexis nods as she sports a similar grin. What can she say, it's contagious. This isn't what she thought would happen when they got back to Canada. None of them were certain about working with FFN at all, but this feels doable. For now, it feels right and that's all that matters. They're still taking it all day by day. "Ready when you are."

And even then some can feel like little more than illusions -

Rory shrinks on the bottom bunk as Val returns to their room. There are three other sets of beds, but all of the other occupants are out right now. It's a rarity to have any hint of solitude in the shelter, but today it's been hard to enjoy. Val was called in to talk to the shelter manager and she can't help but expect the worst.

It won't be the first time, Rory tells herself but that hasn't stopped her from worrying. They've been between shelters and safe houses for the past few months, even spending a fair amount of time on the downtown streets. They've been kicked out twice already, left once on their own when expulsion was imminent. It's always for the office wanting ID or other information that the two of them don't have anymore.

She sees the look on their face when they close the door behind them and immediately her heart sinks. "It's okay, we'll find somewhere else."

Rory has no idea how she's going to make good on that statement. They don't even have a phone to research or call 211 with. The pair has relied on good samaritans and luck since arriving in the city. The only consolation is that, in part due to their recent hair cuts, no one has recognized them.

And they're together. She won't forget to count that blessing.

Val shakes their head as they sit down on the bed beside her. She subconsciously straightens their collar and slides a piece of brown hair back into place. It's been months, but Rory still hasn't gotten used to them with short hair. She thinks the same about herself when she looks in the mirror.

"I-" Val starts, but just shakes their head again. Rather than explain, they place a plastic card on the sheets between them. It takes several seconds for Rory to recognize it.

"A credit card?" She asks. "Val we can't-"

"Debit card," they correct. "It was left for us at the front desk."

"What?" Rory says far louder than she means to. They flick the card closer and she flips it over. On the back, below the black stripe, is a note with hastily scrawled handwriting.

It's the least we can do. It's not signed and she doesn't recognize the printing.

"How much do you think is on it?" She asks.

Val swallows before a shaky grin grows across their lips. She can guess without asking that they went to an ATM and checked. That's probably why it took them almost half an hour to get back here. "Almost twenty thousand dollars."

- But we must continue to choose.

Nur finally finds him on the roof.

The open window should've been her first clue, but she's never known Niko to be fond of heights. He's more of a ground guy and, after what's happened in the last year, Nur can't blame him. If she never takes another helicopter ride in her life it'll still be too soon.

"I didn't think you had the balance for this," she says softly as she steps carefully along the shingles. As if karma itself were watching, Nur's foot slips ever slightly making her landing less than graceful. She shoots Niko a look before he can react. "If you know what's good for you, you won't say a fucking thing."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"What are you doing out here?" She asks after a pause. "It's freezing."

Niko smiles and gestures out at the surroundings. She rolls her eyes but, when she looks out over the forest, even she has to admit that it's absolutely beautiful. They've been camping at this abandoned property for the last few days but Nur has barely even looked at the outlying forest. After trekking through similar for weeks, she hasn't wanted to. She doesn't like the memories.

The past months have been all about trying to forget. That's what she and Niko said after they escaped the Protestors' bunker - they wanted to put it all behind them. The Protestors weren't what the pair thought they were. They weren't safe with them. She couldn't keep Niko safe there.

It turns out that life for the two of them isn't much brighter on the other side. Niko never came from much and Nur has burned every bridge from her old life. They have nothing between them. Maybe that's why, when they received word from Zach, the idea of going back wasn't so easy to toss in the trash. They already went into the city to pick up and deliver some card for him. It feels like they're already back in it and Nur won't lie that she's apprehensive.

"Are you gonna miss this?" Niko asks softly.

"Sleeping on an old horse blanket? Not a chance," she laughs. There's another pause and she can practically feel his nervousness projecting back at her. Perhaps she's not the only one with second thoughts. "We don't have to do it, you know."

He shakes his head. "Where else would we go?"

"We have tons of options. We could go anywhere we want."

"With what money?"

Nur cracks the tiniest grin. "You got me there."

The silence extends between them again. She knows that he's worried, she is too. There's about a dozen points at which one or both of them could've died in the past year alone. The Protestors didn't protect them. Nur isn't apt to think that's changed now that they're 'needed' again. Still, she knows that in the morning they'll leave for the city, get on a plane, and do it all over.

It's the best chance they've got.

We must continue to move towards what is right -

Even from the edge of the property, Calvin can smell the burnt remains of his home.

He stares at the collapsed structure. If he had to guess, no one's been here since the fire was put out except to grab the remaining animals. The frame looks wet from the storm a few nights ago, but otherwise untouched. It'll all certainly have to be replaced. If Calvin wanted to, he could probably map out the entire house just from the foundation alone. He suspects he'll have to replace that too.

It's going to take a lot of work to rebuild. The good thing is, now that the contracts are signed and enforceable, it looks like he's going to have a lot of time on his hands.

He's just about convinced himself to head back when a flying mass of fur knocks Calvin clean off his feet. He shouts in surprise as a slobbery tongue starts going to town on every exposed piece of skin he has. Calvin has to push the animal away before he can get anything close to a good look at it. The neighbours aren't very close up here, but he reckons several of them have farm dogs. His own animals used to attract a lot of them.

At least it's friendly. Calvin presses himself up to his feet as the dog circles him excitedly. For such a big animal, he's surprised he didn't hear it coming. He reaches down to pet it when he stops absolutely cold.

"Mak! Mak! C'mere boy!" Almost as soon as he hears the shouts, Calvin can see someone approach from his periphery. Still, he hasn't taken his eyes off the creature. It could easily be a coincidence, except the eyes staring up at him scream otherwise. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what's gotten into him. Don't worry, he's friendly."

"He seems it," Calvin says with a smile.

"Come on, Mak." The man can't be much older than him and has a mess of blonde hair atop his freckled face. He slaps his thighs to entice Mak to come to him, but in response the dog just sits down on Calvin's shoes. "I think he likes you."

"How long have you had him?" He asks.

The man shrugs. "About a year. He pawed at my door during a storm and refused to leave after. I couldn't even get him in the car to the shelter. Mak hasn't left my side since, well until now."

Calvin swallows. He might've already been sure, but the confirmation makes his throat go dry. No one had been able to give him any news about Odo - Elise's dog - since last year. Deep down Calvin had comforted himself by thinking he stayed with her like he always had. Mostly, he hadn't wanted to think about it. Elise loved this dog more than anyone, including Calvin.

"Wait," the man says as his eyes narrow slightly. "I remember you. You lived here, right?"

"Still do," Calvin says with a shrug. It's true that, while many of the others wanted to move elsewhere, he just wanted home. It's too bad it's going to take a hell of a while to get it back to what it was. He glances down at Odo - Mak - once more before shooing him back to his owner.

"Then I'll see you around?" He asks. "I'm Mick by the way."

"Calvin," he replies. "And yeah I think you will."

- Lest we become servants to the decisions of others.

It's a lot easier to think about almost anything else as Mina waits in the Grand Valley Institution for Women. Today, it's the image of Nugget sprawled on her bed like he couldn't give less of a shit that she was leaving again. Little does the cat know that she's the only reason he gets fed.

She sighs. There are no phones allowed even in the visitor's center, but passing the time has gotten easier. Mina's glad for that, because she's been here almost every day since she moved to Kitchener.

I know you're here, she thinks as if hoping that the thought will make it through the concrete walls. Every day Mina's been told the opposite, but she trusts her sources. The letter she received over a month ago told her that Zoe was being kept here. She might not know who it was from, but she has a suspicion. She recognized the printing.

You have to be.

"Miss Coffman?" Mina is up the second she hears her name. As always, they guards had told her twice that Zoe wasn't here. As always, Mina insisted that they check. Each day they give her the same answer afterwards, but she won't stop trying. She knows that whoever brought Zoe here doesn't want anyone knowing where she is. She also knows that it's only a matter of time before something slips.

Either that or she's just kidding herself. Mina's not certain which one it is anymore. When she made the plan to move to Kitchener for this, she was convinced it would just happen one day. Now, that thought feels as realistic as that prince recognizing Cinderella's feet.

Mina still manages to approach the booth with every ounce of hope she came in with. She's not sure what else she's supposed to do at this point. They have the contracts. The others have settled into something like normalcy. They still don't have Zoe. "That's me."

"I'm afraid there's no one here matching that name or the description you gave." The woman smiles with what others might think is regret. Mina still has the urge to slap her even if none of this is remotely her fault.

She manages to mumble a thank you before turning back to the door. This isn't going to stop her, she'll be shocked if anything does. Zoe deserves that much. "Wait!"

Mina turns so quickly she's convinced she's shocked she doesn't fall right over. The woman watches her with a placid grin and waves her forward. "Don't forget your ID."

"Oh," Mina says lamely and reaches forward to take it. "Of course, thanks."

She almost doesn't see the slip of folded beige paper tucked underneath it. Mina doesn't react and simply nods at the woman and stuffs it into her zippered pocket. She can't get off the prison grounds fast enough. Her heart feels like it's in her throat as she walks back towards her apartment. She knows that they're not supposed to be watching her anymore. That doesn't stop Mina from looking over her shoulder the entire way.

She doesn't take the note out of her pocket until she's shoved herself completely under her duvet, boots and all. She's lost count of how many times she told herself not to get her hopes up. It could be a receipt or record of her visit, something mundane like that. Except she's been going there everyday for a month and gotten nothing of sorts.

Mina is holding her breath when she finally feels safe enough to open it. She recognizes the printing, but if there was any doubt in her mind it's gone with the first sentence. Prison fucking sucks. Tears are already streaming down Mina's face, but her smile is bigger than she's ever felt it. It's her. The message is short, containing almost no information but it doesn't matter because it's her.

Prison fucking sucks.

Lady works the visitor center Mondays and Thursdays. She's cool. Don't get caught though, I don't need a cellmate.

There may not always be one right choice -

Levi and Zach walk through the cemetery with at least a meter between them. Levi knows where he's going, he's been here almost a dozen times since the headstone was placed. Today's the first day that Zach asked to come with him. Levi's still surprised that he agreed to use the money the Commander left behind to pay for it, let alone that he would want to see it.

"So this is it," Zach says, but there's no question in his tone. He looks uncomfortable to say the least. Levi has to wonder if that's only because he's outside of his office. Over the past months, that's one important thing Levi's learned - Zach doesn't stray more than ten meters from his computer.

Levi nods. "Yep."

Here lie those who wanted to change the world.

May we never forget.

It feels like this is the most silence the pair has had between them in ages. The last few months have been a whirlwind of activity. After the Tower was attacked, it was abandoned. It was too dangerous to go back even though Levi wanted to. By the time he worked up the courage, there would've been no one left to help. Everyone inside had either escaped, or not.

They're still finding members every few weeks, though the numbers have slowed. The other bunker that most of the members were sent to was attacked the same night. Fourteen, that's all he's been able to find. There could be more. There might very well be more that simply don't want to return to the Protestors. Levi wouldn't blame them. In fact, he was convinced that he was going to be one of them.

He found Aviva, that was the very first step for Levi. She was terrified and starving, but alive alongside two other members that'd escaped the other bunker. The four of them had walked all the way to the first city they could find. They talked about where they wanted to go and what they might do now. For the most part, it involved them finding whatever work they could.

One day, Levi checked his email by chance. He hadn't used it in months and there were hundreds of emails stacked up. However one stuck out, flagged from an address Levi didn't know. It'd changed everything.

The Commander was dead.

Truthfully, Levi has no way of proving this, nor will he likely ever, but it's the only outcome he can think of. The Commander had Zach help him to intercept the audio during The Cut's finale. He wanted to offer them an alternative, though his email didn't say what that would be. He told Levi that he was right, that he'd lost track of what was important. He said he needed to do this, even if Levi can't understand what he did or why.

The rest of the email was Zach's contact info and his own banking information. He said he was leaving it all to the two of them because they were the ones he trusted. There were no stipulations, no hope that the pair would take over the Protestors or anything else. It read more like an apology than a call to action.

Yet, here they are in the process of rebuilding something that's been deeply broken for years. It's probably the hardest thing Levi has ever done and he's barely scratched the surface. They don't know how to start or continue a movement. They don't know what they're doing at all. Interest has died down since The Cut announced some new changes. However, if Levi and Zach can agree on one thing, it's that one step in the right direction doesn't win a marathon. There's still more work to do.

Levi stares down at the headstone, reading the inscription once more before they head back. There are no bodies beneath it, because none of them will likely ever be recovered. Regardless, it felt important to give them a final resting place. It feels just as important to use it as a reminder.

All of them wanted to change the world - the Commander, the members, everyone who ever stepped foot in the Tower. Some lost their way along that path. So many lost their lives on that path. Levi and Zach will do everything they can to both protect their memory and make sure those same mistakes don't happen again. It's the promise they made to each other and every person who's joined them along the way.

Neither has any intention of letting them down.

- And things might not always end up the way we planned.

Eden stands on her balcony overlooking the garden. It's peaceful out there, and much easier to see from the common floor. However, she prefers to take in the view alone. Trees surround the yard in every direction until it's easy to believe she's the only person on the planet. Eden finds some comfort in that thought even if it feels empty at the same time.

She's stopped counting the days she spends here. Eden finds they pass too quickly when she does.

Each of them - the four that left the hospital many weeks ago - have their own accommodations here. Eden isn't quite sure where 'here' is, or at least she understands that she's not supposed to. However, she's narrowed it down to somewhere along the West coast. The trees and climate feel far different than home even if she can often smell the salt water. She still finds some comfort in it.

She settled far faster than the others, both at the hospital after her implant removal and here. Bronte, who lives in the accommodations beside her, still cries many nights a week. Their bedrooms share a wall, so often Eden hears the girl's nightmares. She, herself, doesn't dream often.

Lior she can hear shouting down the hall at all hours. It's decreased in the weeks they've spent here, but hasn't left entirely. He's decently agreeable in the common spaces, and most of his shouting is later in the evenings. Eden heard that he broke most of his furniture as well. She wasn't particularly surprised at that.

The person she's seen the least of is Levan. She doesn't hear him at night nor anytime else. He spends much of his free time away from the common areas. If Eden thought it important she might decide to ask about him, but that feels intrusive. He's not from her season. He hasn't been particularly kind nor rude to her or anyone else. If he'd rather keep to himself, that is his business alone.

Eden sinks down to rest her arms over the railing. She was informed today that she'll be free to leave this facility after a minimum of six months. Personally, she's been counting the days. Therapy is mandatory five days a week, with group optionals daily. Eden hasn't attended a single optional. They get all meals delivered or served in the common area. She has only been in contact with staff and the three others. The careful control has been comforting, but Eden is also eager to put this behind her.

She'll still be monitored for the rest of her life. She'll be given a new name and identity once she leaves. She hopes that, by then, perhaps she'll feel like a new person too. Perhaps she'll stop looking at every sunset, every treescape, every petal as if any part of those will fill in the piece of her that's missing. She knows none of it will.

She'll never find that something missing, even if now Eden remembers her by name. However difficult things have been and will be for her and the others, she is oddly thankful. To live in memory of both who she was and who she lost is a gift. Right now feels like waiting in the storage shed again, where Eden was ready to be terrifyingly far away from everything she'd ever known. Except, this time, no one will be able to stop her.

And for that, she can't wait.

Still, that doesn't mean we stop moving forward.

Guiliana stands in front of the international arrivals, in the very place that she's been for the past forty-five minutes. She's checked the flight information a dozen times even though it hasn't changed. They'll be here soon. Nothing's wrong, they'll be here soon.

There are eyes staring all around her, but Guiliana pretends not to notice. Security has been keeping a close eye for all of them, ensuring that no one approaches even though she told them it was alright. The Winners have been gone from the public eye for almost a year. Canada missed them even if they never knew what was happening. Their gazes feel more curious and excited than anything else.

"I think they're coming."

Guiliana nods eagerly as people start to stream through the sliding doors. The other Winners - everyone but Zoe and Marcy - have come too. They all wanted to thank her dad for everything he's been doing for them. Even from halfway across the world, he's a huge part of what's happened these past few months.

She just wants her family to be here already. It feels like Guiliana hasn't slept for days from excitement. She won't lie that there hasn't been fear as well, but she mostly just misses them. She barely saw them in Europe, and barely at all for nearly a year before that.

Things can finally go back to normal. Guiliana turns to look at her friends who are watching the doors with eager smiles. Hopefully even better than normal.

"Dad!" Guiliana can't stop herself when she finally spots him. She takes off running towards the ramp, but he's already slipping through the handrails to get to her. She is standing right there when he thankfully lands on his feet. "Careful."

He wraps her in a tight hug before she can say anything else. Guiliana returns it without a second of hesitation. "I'm so glad you're here."

It's hard to tell which of them says it first.

"Are you safe?" He whispers as the hug tightens further. Guiliana nods into his shoulder, unable to say the words because she feels so close to tears. Truthfully, the tears come regardless. "I'm so proud of you."

Guiliana clings to him for as long as she can. She missed her family so much, but especially her dad. He's been her rock forever, no matter the mistakes she made. He's always loved her even when he didn't know how to help her. To be in his arms again feels like the safest place in the world. She doesn't have to be strong or know what to do or anything. It's the first time in months that she feels like she can actually relax, even if just for a single moment.

It doesn't mean we stop choosing.

Vito sits half-frozen to the bus stop bench, his hands shoved so far into his pockets that he wonders if they'll ever come out again. This was a mistake. He quickly wipes the tears that start leaking down his cheeks with his shoulder before they can turn to ice. So why does part of me want to keep trying?

The truth is because he wanted it not to be a mistake. He got to see all the reunions, all the family members flying back home and embracing their children. Vito was far from the only one who didn't get that. Calvin, Mina, Rajan - truthfully most of the Winners didn't get tearful hellos. That didn't stop Vito from wondering. It didn't stop him from applying for permission for a trip back to Nova Scotia.

Now he's one bus away and he already knows that this was a waste of time.

Vito's phone pings in his hand and he races to open it anyways. Maybe this is them calling back or sending a text to say that they thought it through and they do want to meet after all. Instead, it's a text from Matt that he can't even bring himself to open.

He sinks down further on the bench. He knows he could call the network to arrange for a sooner flight back or use his own money. Vito just doesn't know how to get himself up again after realizing that everything he built up in his head isn't going to happen. He should've called before he flew here. He should've done any number of things that would've stopped this situation, but he didn't. His dad was clear; there's no place in their home for him.

Deep down, Vito knew that if he didn't take the plunge and fly here first, he wouldn't have. He told himself it was a surprise that his family would welcome after over a year. He convinced himself that enough time had passed. Except now he's taken the plunge and he's headed for a frozen waterfall.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Vito jumps and turns to see someone leaning on the wall of the bus stop. He ducks his head, embarrassed at the idea of someone having stumbled upon him. "I'm sorry?"

"You're right," the stranger says and the vaguest hint of a grin can be heard in his words. He's turned away, but Vito almost believes he recognizes the voice. "They've got to be worth at least a nickel."

"Thanks, but I'm not really in the mood to talk."

The stranger lets out a breathy laugh. "I see you don't remember me."

Now Vito's certain that he recognizes the voice. The man pulls his hood back ever slightly so that he's able to see their eyes. It's been a year, but Vito would remember them anywhere. Last time, he was just about desperate enough to get into any car that stopped. Now, Vito can't help but slide another inch away.

"I'm not with them anymore," Hakaru tells him. "You don't have to worry."

"Why are you out here?"

"I could ask you the same."

"I'm from here." Immediately, Vito worries that he's said too much. Still, the words continue despite it. "I just came to visit."

"Are you done visiting or just starting?"

Vito swallows and tears spring almost instantly to his eyes. Embarrassed, he drops his gaze to hide them. "I think I'm done."

"You need a lift?" Hakaru asks, motioning to a parked car nearby. "I'm heading that way anyway."

"What way?"

They shrug. "Whatever way you want."

Vito takes a slow breath before nodding. Hakaru's not with the Protestors anymore and neither is Vito. Even after all that's happened, nothing about his trust in the man has changed. He's always been honest. "Can you take me to the airport?"

And, one day, that simple choice to keep going might be the very thing holding us together -

The first thing Matt's mom did when he arrived home to Abbotsford was smack him upside the head so hard he saw stars. The second thing she did was hug him tighter than she's ever hugged him before.

It's been almost a week now, and she still does either or both almost every time she sees him. You scared the hell out of me. Would it have killed you to leave me a note? I didn't know if you were dead on the side of the road somewhere. Matt's given her his best try at an explanation, but she's told him she's not interested. She's also told him how relieved she is to have him back.

Matt missed it here. Truthfully, he never actually believed he'd see it again.

The contracts have been long signed and settled, but there were other things he had to do before returning home. One of those was another several conversations with Dr. Liu. There was nothing in writing about the ex-contestants, there couldn't be. Their lives hinged on staying a secret. It was safer for them and would be easier when they eventually move out on their own. Still, Matt had to make sure that their deal with Dr. Liu was still good.

After the first couple of talks, it felt like he would have to choose. Matt had agreed to basically what he won into - full control by the network. He would do all the media appearances they wanted and the ex-contestants would get out. If he signed the new contract, Dr. Liu didn't seem eager to uphold his end of the bargain.

Then, one morning, that changed. Dr. Liu agreed to an unwritten term for the contract. Matt and Vito would still get monthly updates and they would only have to fulfill the terms of the contract that the rest of them signed.

Matt isn't sure what happened nor did he want to ask. He's not sure if he believes this was some change of heart or something more callous. It still feels too good to be true, but here he is. Matt received the first of his updates this morning - a video of the four of them sitting in what looks to be a cafeteria. Each one of them has more colour in their cheeks than he remembers, even Levan. The video corrupted after a single watch, but Matt still has it memorized.

"Matt! Matty!" He flinches as the frantic knocking starts on his bedroom door. "Matty! There's someone here."

He shakes his head and makes his way over, opening the door quickly enough that his little sister almost falls through it entirely. Bri grins up at him after catching her balance with excitement beaming in her eyes. It's hard to believe she'll be turning double digits in just a few months. "There's someone here!"

"Are you the one who was with him in Toronto?" Matt is following his sister down the stairs when he hears his mom talking to whoever it is. It's not until the front door is in eyesight that Matt realizes who it is.

"Yes ma'am, I was."

"Vito?" He asks. "What are you doing here?"

His mom turns to him with eyes that immediately tell him to apologize. Matt knows better than to do anything else. "Sorry. Come on in."

"Is that any way to talk to a guest?" She says, rolling her eyes at him before turning to Vito with her signature bright smile. "You'll stay for dinner, yes? Should I make up the guest room?"

Vito looks at him with what Matt can only describe as unease. The last Matt heard, Vito was going to be en route to the East coast to visit some family. He's only been gone for about a day. Matt's own expression falls as he starts to put the pieces together. He quickly pulls Bri back to make room for Vito to come inside. After just one step off the front porch, his mom scoops Vito into a tight hug.

"I'll make up the bed. The sheets are in the linen closet, right?" Matt's attempt at a distraction is met with disregard. He gives Vito a sheepish grin as if to apologize. She's a hugger, always has been. However, Vito isn't even looking at him. Something about the way his head relaxes into her shoulder tells him that Vito needed this.

It's all the confirmation Matt needs. He can stay with them for as long as he wants, no one here is going to mind.

- Because, little did we know -

His office has long stretched dark with shadows, but Dr. Alan Liu has yet to even pack up his belongings.

Late nights aren't exactly taboo in this field. He's certain that if he ventured down enough hallways he'd find several more dedicated researchers working into the late evening alongside him. However, he would bet that none of them are spending this time undoing years of their own hard work.

He's not sure what's gotten into him.

Alan sighs and presses his hands against his eyes. He's worked for almost a decade to develop something that would change the world. His work with FFN and The Cut started with his experience in psychology. It allowed him to build the very environment that the network wanted that would encourage violence and distrust subconsciously. Without him, none of this would have been possible. The show would've failed in its first airing if it couldn't show the true character of these teenage criminals.

Except he's not a cruel man. He suspects that many people would say otherwise, and maybe he himself would many months ago as well. It was research, that's all it was. He was given this contract so that he could build the field of psychology even further, so that he could make his mark. The implants were supposed to make up for all of that; all of the things that he'd inflicted on people to force them into a box that had never truly fit them.

The implants were his way out of the hole he'd dug himself, and yet here he is archiving years worth of data that proves they do exactly what he intended.

He can't get the young girl's words out of his mind. Shouldn't I get a choice?

He bows his head and the screen's brightness shines against his closed eyelids. Since before Marceline even won The Cut, Alan knew what his plan would be. The other Winners never trusted him the way he wished they would have. They always had someone else to latch onto other than the scary doctor that did this to them. Alan's role had always been more clinical, more analysing. For Marceline, that changed. He was going to do everything he could to make her feel safe around him. She would trust him, and thus she would listen.

Dr. Alan Liu never for a moment believed that the opposite might ring true as well.

He got to know Marcy, her parents whom he was in high contact with, and everything surrounding the small family. Her father asked Alan to watch over her. Marcy clung to him when her nightmares were too overwhelming to sleep. In the process of gaining her trust, he came to understand her more than any of his other subjects.

In his eyes, she became more than a subject. She became a person.

And how could anyone deny another person, especially one who's been through as much as she has, the right to choose?

The implants aren't his way out anymore. Alan doesn't have this project to save his image in his own mind. He's come in some ways to terms with this. Maybe he is a cruel man, because he will not give up this position even now. He will continue to work for The Cut through these changes. The opportunity is still too good to give up.

But it would be wrong to say that Dr. Alan Liu hasn't changed, if only a little bit.

- It's always been our greatest strength.

Marcy gasps awake as warm arms wrap around her. She tries for a moment to struggle free as they tighten, but his gentle whisper brings her back from the nightmare. "It's okay, mon coeur. I'm here."

As soon as the relief of being in her own bed settles, the tears start to fall again. Marcy didn't mean to wake him. She's not certain how she did, but she feels guilty just the same. This isn't even the first time this week. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," he whispers. "I'm thankful to be awake with you."

Marcy sinks further against his shoulder. She's still trembling, and she suspects he can feel it through the blankets. It was the same nightmare, the one where her house is on fire and none of the windows open. This time it was her parents lying dead in the living room with blood splattered around their head.

She's had a version of the same one every night for the entire month she's been here. Sometimes, she wakes up whimpering but alone. More and more often, Marcy has woken up to her papa coming into her room. She hates that this is affecting him too. She can't imagine he's gotten much sleep and tomorrow his course starts at eight.

"I shouldn't have come back til I was better." Her voice is so soft she's not certain he'll hear it. The apartment was just so lonely, but she could have stayed. Alan was clear that she was welcome to live there as long as she needed.

He shakes his head. "If I wanted perfect, I would have asked your maman to give me a statue. I don't need perfect, I'm simply thankful."

Marcy nods and closes her eyes against his chest. He's said the same thing almost every day since she moved back in. He signed every email with the same statement. I'm thankful. She's never known him to say that before now. He told her it's something new he picked up, to remind him to look around at what he has. Marcy's still adjusting to how different things have become here.

Different in a good way.

She still has nightmares. She is still taking medication to slow her anxiety. She still rarely leaves the house. It's only been a few months since her implant was removed and Alan kept his word - she wasn't required to get a new one. Marcy started with a new therapy team since moving home. She still speaks to the doctor now and again. They mostly talk about gardening now.

She supposes she's thankful too.

"Are you tired?" He asks and she shakes her head. "Good."

Marcy raises an eyebrow. "Good?"

"Yes, I'd like to show you something."

"It's not even four o'clock, papa. You need to sleep."

"I will," he says with a smile. "After I show you."

They creep through the house on tiptoes, being careful not to wake her maman though Marcy suspects she's awake as well. This house isn't the same as the one she grew up in, but it already feels more like home than the one in Vancouver. Both bedrooms are in the same wing. There's a room for her maman's piano and another that serves as an office for her papa. Their front patio is far enough from the street that Marcy can sit out there most mornings.

"Come," he says as he flips on the outside light and slides open the back door. Marcy still isn't sure what he wishes to show her. Their backyard is large but came hugely overgrown. Her papa said it will be ready to enjoy by the summer months.

As they move further through the yard, Marcy starts to realize that that was a lie. Her papa flips another switch on the ground and the entire space brightens with fairy lights and solar torches. Almost every inch of fence is concealed by large trees and bushes with beds of flowers underneath them. Even in the dim night, Marcy can see every colour of the rainbow in their petals.

"It's beautiful," she whispers. Everywhere she turns, there's more to see. The beginnings of a pond with a rippling fountain sits at the center. Statues scatter the lawn as if unsure where to lay. Some of the flower beds are empty, some have bags of mulch laid out in front of them. It's clear that it's still being worked on but she means it. It is beautiful.

Marcy steps along the edge of the nearest garden until she sees it. She crouches down and runs her hand over the finished stone. The soft lights make the painted words easy to read. We're here for you, for whatever you need. Marcy swallows and moves to the next stone. You don't have to be alone. Tears prevent her from reading the next one, but she doesn't have to.

"The letters," she breathes. It took months of building up the courage to read even one of them, and more than a bit of encouragement from Matt and Vito. Now, not a day goes by where she doesn't flip through them.

She's only met some of them so far, but the Winners are already becoming like her second family. She went to one of Guiliana's shows with the boys when she was still in Toronto. She's been invited to go up to North Bay this summer to meet Calvin and see his farm. Rajan has offered her all the tickets to the ROM that she could ever want.

Mina said that Marcy came in at a good time, that things were starting to change for them. Matt told her that Marcy was part of the reason why, though Marcy isn't sure where he got that from. She's just glad they want to meet her. Even after Vito and Matt told her they would, she hadn't been sure.

Inch by inch, it feels like Marcy's island is getting a little less lonely.

"You left them out," he says, sheepishly appearing behind her as Marcy gets back up. "I hope you can forgive me for snooping."

She wraps him in a tight hug in response. "Thank you. I love it."

"I was going to wait until it was done," he whispers. "It's only a start, but I promise it'll be perfect by the summer."

"I don't need perfect," Marcy replies softly, lowering her head against his shoulder. "If I wanted perfect, I'd ask for stone."

End.

A/N: And that's all she wrote.

I would say I apologize for the length, but I do not. The journey deserves an end and if this trilogy wasn't a journey I'm not sure what else to call it. Rb, I hope you're proud of your girl because I certainly am. I'm also miserable but that's probably unrelated.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me through this trilogy. It's been a wild project and one that I never thought I would love as much as I have. Whether you joined me for one story or all three, this was only possible because of all of you. The characters I've written here have been some of the most creative, interesting, and heartbreaking ones I've ever had the honour to write. My submitters have been my greatest motivation through these last three years. I truly mean it when I say I couldn't have done it without you.

As I said at the beginning of this story, this is the final SYOC in my verse trilogy. That being said, I have many more projects incoming over the next few months and years. Unfortunately, fanfiction cannot get rid of me that easily. I'll be here til the dinosaurs return.

~ Olive