Meanwhile, behind the scenes...
Alistair didn't really consider himself a nerd or a geek, but he'd had the thought once or twice in the past that, yeah, sure, he could play Doongeons & Dragoons.
Yeah. No. Not anymore. Fuck this fantasy bullshit thing. There were people watching this bullshit and were dressing up -- "cosplaying" or whatever-- as their favorite character, which didn't really make sense to Alistair to begin with. Because... the contestants weren't really elves, or purple people, or devils. But he knew this was all to drive the damn engagement numbers up, and holy shit, was it working.
There was no warning from anyone on the island that the contestants were going to disappear to go to Island Hell 2.0 with a new body and new bullshit powers all in the name of having a trippy high-fantasy 3-part episode, but hey, it seemed like every weekend was worse and worse, so what was the worse that could happen?
He wished he never asked that question.
Naturally, all the visitors were left behind, but the main lobby area was decked out to a "Live Watching Party" where they get to see exactly what was being broadcasted to the public. Alistair noted that this wasn't live footage because events were supposed to be dense with drama, and broadcasting 3 days live would result in too much downtime. But... he had a feeling that wasn't the real reason.
They didn't want to show that what was really happening, didn't they? Because it was some horrific shit that they couldn't stream live to the public, especially so soon after the wendigo catastrophe?
He seriously felt like he was living in some kind of simulation. None of this felt real, and he wasn't even a contestant! He was here for Alan!
Wary of everything, Alistair joined Vik to watch the shitshow.
There was... a lot. Right away, Lyall and Alan nearly drowned. Drowned! Alistair could hardly believe his eyes; it was happening so fast, and he was speechless that it was like... they were ready to die together.
At the same time, he almost wanted to laugh from the absurdity of it all, because the editing and directing of this scene was comically bad, like straight from a telenovella-- especially because this was the introduction.
It definitely gained everyone's attention. While everyone else was more hooked or concerned, Alistair felt a drop in his stomach, not knowing if he could stomach the rest of the show.
There were good and bad parts. The event introduced Leilan, another heir of Aphirah, who was also a new contestant, since apparently the prize of "winning" this shitshow was to go home. Other groups were also doing fine, like James, Eve, Shane, and Hild, who were painted to be high fantasy bad asses. Arguably, Alistair would add Clanny to that list since she was also a nature spirit bad ass that controlled a lot of the monster population without anyone even knowing, but she hardly got any screen time, which he thought was unfair, but whatever.
This shit was not for him. He'd rather be playing Tetrisk rather than watch a too-long live-action fantasy movie with characters he actually knew. This shit was messed up and... ugh.
Alistair facepalmed from second-hand embarrassment when he painstakingly heard his brother blatantly flirt with Alexander in the dead of the night.
He loved Alan. He did. But god... sometimes, he was an idiot. And Alistair meant that in the most brotherly, lovingly way possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his mom by the bar area, who sat next to Alex's mom. They were chatting with big grins on their faces as their sons' conversation delved into the moms. But he also saw them blink and falter, because the scene just as quickly turned to them kissing and excusing themselves from the group.
"Oh my god," Alistair grumbled, groaning and looking away from the screen. He sighed, deciding now was a perfect time to get the hell out of here. "I'm going to go on a smoke break," he announced, getting on his feet. "I'll catch you later."
~ ~ ~
Nicotine: a blessing on this earth, given to him so he could calm the stresses in his body. Inhale, exhale. Breath. Cough one, sigh from relief. Satisfaction, really, especially as he reached the butt of the cigarette.
Tossing it in the bin next to the door, Alistair drank nearly a full bottle of the blue Krokerade, hoping that this dumb "arctic berry blast" flavor could conceal some of the smell from him. Though maybe he needed something to spray on him too. Whatever. Electrolytes could be good, especially since he was sweating a storm, stuck in this asshole of hell.
On second thought, what he could really use was a shower. But that required walking past the main lobby to go up the stairs, and based on the general quietness and stillness of the group, how could Alistair not stare at the dumpster fire?
Standing at the back of the room so he could be left by himself, Alistair leaned his side against the column, hands in his pockets as he dreaded what he was about to process on the big screen.
Holy shit.
They... allowed blood to show? Like actual wounds, people... BLOOD?
Mouth agape, Alistair stood up straighter, unable to pry his widened eyes away from the outrageously grotesque open wound on Alex's leg. He barely caught wind that it was from a freak monkey, but that didn't matter. Black poison spider-webbed away from his shin, turning his purple skin a deeper hue of purple, almost black. Alex was in deep pain, even if he didn't voice it.
This was real.
Alistair slapped his hand over his mouth, still processing the implications.
It didn't matter that Shane was by his side, ready to heal him. It didn't matter that he was successful, and Alex was able to walk again, cured of death.
Just... what the hell was the DMV trying to do here? Were they trying to nearly kill everyone? Why? For what? Why?!
"Sor-ry," a voice sing-songed to his left, as someone sat in the seat next to him. "Don't mind me."
Alistair flinched, a bit startled by the sudden voice. He snapped his attention away from the horror show, eyes locked on a shade of blue.
It was Mireya, perched on a seat next to him, legs crossed as she smiled politely and pleasantly. She'd got herself a glass of wine, which she swirled absently. She seemed out of place and needlessly formal in comparison, wearing a sequined blue dress and high heels, and her gaze was bright with curious excitement.
How long had she...? You know what, it didn't matter.
"...Hey," he greeted, a half-mumble. He sighed through his nose, leaning against the column again as he distantly stared at the big screen. Idly, and out of instinct, Alistair turned his cap around so the bill was backwards, since it got in the way of his view of others.
"Hey," Mireya said cheerily. "How's the show treating you so far?"
Uncertainly, Alistair hesitated, shifting his eyes towards her a few times. He shifted his weight to his other foot, still leaning on the column. "It's... fine, I guess," he said stiffly, recalling that she had some kind of role on the show. "This isn't about me, though."
Mireya hummed knowingly. "Because you're not a contestant? You know, funnily enough, one of the visitors paid to get in on the fun. So it could be about you, I guess. But between you and me, that's a waste of a million dollars."
Hold on a damn minute.
Alistair quickly cross-referenced who he had noted on the floor and who wasn't there. It didn't take a brainiac to figure it out, considering the entrance fee was a million fucking dollars, like this was pocket change.
Casper Fucking Bridger.
Alistair knitted his brows together, staring at her. "Casper? Why does he want to go to fantasy island?"
"Oh, I'm so glad you asked," Mireya said eagerly, then leaned in to speak in a loud whisper, like she was imparting a secret. "He wants to win their prize and sell it to the highest bidder, and no one else even knows he's there yet. But!" She grinned widely. "He's not going to win, and we planned it so he'd have a dramatic fight with Cyrin and Lyall before he gets launched, missile-style, by Connie. So we just made a bunch of money, added some juicy drama to the show, and ruined an asshole's day."
Alistair stared at her, piecing this all together very quickly, but unable to accept the nonchalance that Mireya was displaying. "That's..." he began, waving an exasperated hand in front of him as he tried to think of something sane to say in comparison. He instead settled on a hushed but hissed, "That's psychotic!"
Mireya shrugged. "Well, so is he. Haven't you heard the stuff that leaves his mouth? Besides, it was his idea, and he's going to be fine."
What? No. No, Alistair was not going to explain that none of that mattered because these were real people they were talking about, not monkeys in a cage who may or may not deserve a treat.
Was... Mireya okay? Did she have empathy? Was she not unsettled by all of this? Did she not see the problem with this?
Something else was bugging him out. None of this happened yet. Which meant...
"How much... do you know will happen?" he asked cautiously, voice quieter. "Like, in general. Is everything planned? Everything?"
"Oh, some of it's a little loose and undefined," Mireya said, with a wave of her hand. "But the predictions have all held up."
Right. The DMV predictions. The all-knowing gods who controlled everyone like puppets because they knew everything that could or would happen.
"What about the..." He gestured loosely to the big screen, now showing James and Alan trekking through the desert. "The monkey bite from Alex. There was a scene of him really hurt. Did you know that would happen?"
Mireya nodded calmly. "Mmh-hmm. We took a look at the timelines and made it certain he would live. It was simple, really. All we had to do was give Shane the healing scroll, arrange the portal meetup, and then have them split up into those pre-determined groups. Really easy."
Psychotic. This was psychotic. Holy shit, Mireya was psychotic.
Alistair didn't even know what to say to her. What the hell should he say to a psycho? Probably nothing, because honestly, he didn't want her looking at his fucking timelines and arrange his life like he was some kind of lab rat.
But this was not about him. This was much, much bigger than him.
This greatly affected Alan. And how much did he know? Knowing his brother... yeah, probably nothing. How was Alistair going to break the news? Get him to open his eyes? Help him understand the psycho behavior that was so normalized on the island?
Turned out, Alistair and Mireya didn't need to exchange another word, because the big screen went on to capture the next dramatic event.
With wide eyes, Alistair watched as a swam of freakingly giant bug-eyed scorpions crawled down the dusty canyon, about to barrel themselves on to James and Alan. And with even greater shock, Alistair watched as the two fought-- or, namely, James fought, but he was getting ambushed and would have gotten eaten alive if not for his armor. Blood streaked across the air with every beheaded scorpion, but then the cameras panned to Alan, and Alistair knew he was about to do something stupid.
He was stung by the tinest fucker in the battle. Of course he was. And did he lie and say he was okay? Of course he did!
With horror, Alistair watched as Eve and Lyall came to the rescue, regrouping and healing James. For a second, the open, raw, poisoned chunk of flesh under the armor was seen for the world to see, contorting under the open air to heal itself.
Okay. So it was more than a second. But Alistair couldn't stomach it, taking in a sharp breath as he shifted his eyes away, tightly pressing his crossed arms together. A pit of dread formed in his stomach as he watched his brother continue to downplay his injury to Lyall, saying he was fine.
"Mireya," Alistair called lowly, voice uncertain. "Is Alan going to be fine?"
Mireya slowly turned to him, scanning his face. Something-- something that wasn't nonchalance or giddy excitement-- passed over her face for a moment. For once, she looked serious.
"Yes," she said quietly after a moment, matching his tone. "He's gonna be fine."
Alistair didn't know what to make of the sudden shift in energy, but he decided to trust these words. It wasn't like he could do anything else, and even if she seemed a little unhinged, Mireya was still the director of the show. She had to know what happened. Right? She had no reason to lie.
And Alistair truly would like to believe that no one-- no one on the show, no one on staff, no one watching-- would actually want Alan dead. Or anyone else, for that matter. He was thinking of worst case scenarios right now, but that wasn't an option. Or rather, not a strong possibility. Or a possibility. None.
Still, watching the scene drag on, watching Alan go on with his life like everything was normal... it didn't sit well with Alistair. He didn't even care that Alan and Lyall were weirdly flirting again; that felt so unimportant compared to what he did know.
It was like he was watching a tragic story play out, in which he as the audience member knew a critical piece of information that no one else in the story knew. He had no choice but to sit there, unsettled by the burden of knowing, despairing as he continued to see the character-- in this case, his stupid brother-- continually make the wrong choice that would worsen the situation.
Alistair wasn't sure if he was relieved or more concerned when Alan was finally caught, and the others in his party pinned him down to finally heal him. But the revelation of not having any healing spells, and seeing the panic emanate from Lyall and Eve... well, it was fucking contagious.
"Are you sure?" Alistair asked thinly to Mireya, the uncertainty knocking his voice up a pitch.
"Yes," Mireya said quickly. "Just-- just watch."
And she was right, but the part about being "fine" was still debatable. With a rising heart rate, Alistair watched Lyall heal him, and Alan picked himself up, claiming he was fine again.
"There," Mireya reassured him.
But it wasn't about the physical state of being "fine." That was never his question.
Things were heating up, becoming tenser. It was clear that Alan was bothered by this, and whatever relationship he had with Lyall was becoming strained because of... he wasn't sure. Unsaid feelings and emotions?
Or maybe that was Alistair.
He felt his chest tighten up as a sudden pang of anxiety hit him all at once. What caused it, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was the blood from the monkey bite. Or the crawling raw flesh mending itself. Or his brother's infected chest with veins of poison eating away at him. Or... or maybe...
Fuck. Shit! He couldn't control his breaths. Fuck!
With blurry vision and ragged breaths, Alistair dipped away, rushing to bee-line his way out the door. He dug his finger nails into his shirt on his chest, balling his fist to control the shaking.
He had to focus. One, two, three, breathe, focus. He was fine. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Fuck!
Alistair was barely aware that he basically had to headbutt his way out the door. A headache threatened his skull, but blinking up at the hot sun felt like a whole new pain altogether that dulled his senses.
"Fuck me," he muttered shakily, taking in a shuddered breath. Heaving in and out controlled breaths, Alistair steadied himself with his head hung low, hands on his thighs.
With his eyes pressed together tightly, he had to fight the urge to reach for another cigarette, instead opting to sink on the bench next to door. Head in his hands, Alistair breathed in the fresh air, feeling like he was no longer going to die from lack of oxygen in that godforsaken mansion.
He heard the soft click of heels getting closer, sounding like they were from someone moving in a hurry. Then a lowered voice spoke.
"Alistair? You okay?"
Mireya again.
Alistair rubbed his face, shaking his head, then realizing that was the wrong signal, so he quickly nodded instead, eyes still pinched shut. "Yeah. Just needed fresh air," he muttered.
There was silence for a moment.
"Can I sit with you?" she asked, softer.
Alistair took in a deep breath, rubbing his face and pushing his hair out of his forehead. Finally letting his hands fall to his lap, he only spared an upwards glance up at Mireya.
She actually looked... guilty.
So, maybe she wasn't psychotic after all.
"Sure," he murmured. "I just..." He sighed deeply, elbow on the armrest as he idly adjusted his cap, staring at the pink flowerbed next to the bench as he mumbled, "Sorry. I'm fine now. I just needed a moment."
"You're okay," Mireya said quietly as she sat down, smoothing her dress over her legs and folding her hands in her lap. "I, uh..."
She trailed off, and her brows pinched together as she dropped her gaze to the ground. For a moment, she almost looked confused.
"I'm sorry," she said at last. "I wasn't thinking about how that must have been scary for people in the room. You're not someone tuning in for shock value, you're watching family there."
Alistair sent a few hesitant glances her way, but found that he couldn't hold eye contact. Not that they were both even trying to look at each other. This whole interaction confused him, and he was a little weary of the whiplash between Mireya caring and not caring, though he had a feeling she wasn't even aware of this swing.
"These are real people," he said, trying not to mumble, but his words came out a little stiff. "This isn't a circus act. People are getting hurt. I can't just... be shocked or entertained. These are real people with their own histories and families. I don't know..." Alistair sighed, idly turning his cap back around so the bill could cover the sun on his face. "I just don't get it. It's sick."
Mireya didn't look up, wringing her hands out.
"I know they are," she said, a little hollowly. "It's just... this is reality TV. This is what happens."
"But..." Alistair felt his own voice crack from the exasperation he was trying to hold back. "They aren't actors. No one signed up for this. To suffer and get hurt."
"They did-- sign," Mireya said stiffly, like she was grasping at straws. "They had to sign an extensive contract about permissions, liabilities, waivers, all that. What you mean is they didn't know about this ahead of time. They weren't supposed to."
"But what-- does that even make a difference? Aren't they forced to be here?" Alistair went on, agonizing discomfort in his voice as he felt a little desperate himself.
Was she seriously trying to justify this behavior? Who was she trying to convince: him or herself?
"Don't you think all of this is just so..." He grimaced, tightening his jaw as he threw his hand in the air, grasping for an appropriate ending to that sentence. "...I don't know. Fucked?"
"I mean, it's questionable," Mireya said, looking up and making an explanatory gesture with her hands. "But it's just way better not to question. This isn't mindless torture, if that's what you're assuming. Everything here's got a purpose."
Alistair stared at her, feeling desperate for her. "Have you ever even talked to them? Do you know for sure that they'd say the same thing?"
"I've..." Mireya trailed off, but it sounded mostly out of confusion. "I mean, hardly? It's not part of my job to talk to them."
Mouth agape with astonishment, his head hung longer, waiting for her to continue. She did not. "You're..." A weak, anxious laugh slipped out of him as he readjusted himself on the bench from sinking too low. "You're only proving my point!"
"Your point?" Mireya asked worriedly, throwing up her hands helplessly. "What's that supposed to be?"
"Do you even know about the damage you're doing?" Alistair blurted out, finally feeling the threatening headache gnaw at him. He sighed in defeat, sinking on the bench again. "I know I'm just some random guy, but... my brother is in there. And you're just..." He scrunched his face, circling his hand in the air. "Messing with him, just because. All because it's entertaining. It's like a really fucked up zoo, and they don't even know it. I can't stomach watching."
Mireya pressed her lips together, looking upset as she straightened and crossed one knee over the other. She didn't immediately leap to her own defense, though. Instead, her expression only got more conflicted.
"I don't like that part," she said finally. "I have a job, though. I'm very good at it. And I can't be good at it if I don't do what's asked of me."
There was so much flaw with her logic. And had Alistair been more emotional, maybe he would have thrown all her logic out the window. The most heinous acts were done by people who were good at hurting others-- but that didn't make it right or justify their acts.
"If you don't like your job, why are you even here?" he asked instead, though he felt like he already knew the answer.
Mireya shrugged. "It's the best-paying job I've had, ever. By a lot. People do worse for much less."
Oh my god, Alistair thought, staring at her, dumfounded. Mireya is brainwashed.
Okay. So not a psychopath. Just... led astray. By money. Of course she was; greed ran this stupid world. But at least there was... hope? She didn't seem totally lost. Maybe she just needed to be told a little...
Common sense?
"So you'd ignore your morals to get a bigger paycheck?" he challenged casually.
"I mean, only to a certain extent," Mireya said, now sounding uncomfortable. "This is about within my limits. No one's actually getting hurt."
"I don't know about that. I saw some nasty gore," Alistair muttered, deciding to gloss over the claim that no one got hurt when he had also explained that people were suffering.
"It's-- it goes away," Mireya said hurriedly. "We wouldn't be running a show where they were just stuck with terrible injuries, damn. That's not the point."
He gave her a questionable side-eye. "Didn't some guy die last week?"
Mireya winced. "That wasn't according to plan. That was a contestant, not us, anyway."
"So what you're saying is that other people could die, also not according to plan," Alistair said flatly.
"I--" Mireya inhaled sharply. "That's always true, on this island or not. Believe it or not, we don't want death happening."
Alistair huffed in indignance. "Well, prove it," he challenged.
"Prove? How do I prove that?" Mireya exclaimed. "That's not the kind of thing you can submit evidence for."
"I don't know!" Alistair said just as loudly back, exasperated. "You can think for yourself. It doesn't take a genius to do the right thing. A-K-A, not accidentally kill anyone even though you know every timeline of things happening."
Mireya pressed her hands to her face. "Everyone lives," she said firmly. "If the morals won't convince you, maybe the practicalities will. Can you even imagine the uproar there would be if a contestant died under our watch? We're already getting sued for someone today, I think, and he didn't even die. We don't really like having to pay lawsuits, and we definitely wouldn't like criminal homicide charges."
Oh-kay. There was a lot to unpack here, but Alistair was beginning to realize that they were already talking in circles. But considering the layers of bullshit that Mireya was spoonfed, this was no surprise.
These things took time. And god, he would shock himself if he managed to change her mind on anything. This was way above his pay-grade, and he doubted Mireya would listen to some random guy like him.
But while he had her attention, it didn't hurt to just... draw attention to this bullshit. Especially since she seemed receptive to listening. Sort of.
"Just... think about it. If you have time," Alistair said, again trying not to mumble. "I'm not trying to get you to change your mind on anything. Just... you know." He shrugged weakly. "Think for yourself. That's all."
Mireya blinked, staring at him confusedly.
"Okay," she said uncertainly. "Uh, sure."
Alistair sighed, feeling the dull headache grab a hold of his skull. It wasn't a nicotine withdrawl headache, but it very well may be. This conversation felt like it aged him a few years. Or a decade. Something.
Normally, he was much more mannered and would not smoke in front of people, but something about Mireya's greedy motivations and her too-fancy getup made him not care. She still deserved being treated like a decent human being, of course, but...
Alistair pulled out his packet of smokes from his pocket, lifting a cigarette to his mouth. After lighting it, he took in the pleasant first breath, feeling his headache soften.
A little uncertainly, Alistair glanced at Mireya. She looked almost awkward, like she wasn't sure what she was doing here, even though she was the one who chose to be here. She took a glance back at the door, but didn't move.
Alistair felt his mind and mouth move at different speeds.
No. No, don't be dumb, don't--
"Do you want one?" he asked anyways, offering the packet of smokes for her to take. He had to bite back a groan from his own idiocy.
Mireya's gaze flicked down to the packet. She seemed to be having a mental conflict of her own, but a moment later, she did accept one of the cigarettes.
"Thank you," she said, a little sheepishly.
"Mhm," Alistair hummed, pulling out his lighter again.
He was just about to toss it to her, but instead he caught her just in time to snap her fingers. A small burst of electric sparks danced over her hand as an outdoor light flickered briefly, as it had lost power for a moment there. She held the tip of the cigarette to the sparks, and it caught quickly, starting to glow in her hand.
Lighter and cigarette in hand, Alistair stared dumbfoundedly between the light and the cigarette. "What the fuck?" he muttered, slowly coming to the realization that, shit, Mireya was one of the magical folks.
"Ah," Mireya said understandingly, as if she had just come to some realization. "Right, I never mentioned. I can control electric current and draw power from it. I can't create my own energy, though, so." She shrugged. "Nothing crazy."
Alistair inhaled another hit of the cigarette, exhaling in time for him to put the pieces together along with her explanation.
Namely, that empathy would be easier to explain to her, considering that she was a mage herself. But that was a thought to explore some other time.
"Damn. If I had electric or fire powers, I'd probably be a chainsmoker," he idly commented instead.
Mireya huffed a faint laugh. "I can say it's definitely saved me money on lighters."
"Not on cigarettes, though." He sighed. "Shit's expensive."
"Gotta love the economy." She took her first puff, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
Alistair settled his gaze on her, deciding that, yep, this was what they were doing now. Talking.
"So," he began, broadly gesturing to her with his free hand, "do you normally dress like this?" He paused, cringing at his own words, realizing that sounded so bad, so he quickly added, "Just, you dressed nice for a random day of the week. As in... like, fancy. You know?"
Yeah, okay. He should stop talking now.
Alistair casually looked off to the other side, pretending to take a great interest in the tulips nearby. But really, he was trying to play it cool, since he felt the heat of embarrassment from messing up a normal conversation right off the bat.
It sounded like Mireya was cracking a faint grin, which did not help with his embarrassment. "This is pretty normal. I'd be hard-pressed to find something in my wardrobe that wasn't a blue dress, actually."
"Oh. Okay," Alistair felt, feeling like he should just die on the spot right there.
He thought maybe she'd say there was a fancy event or something. You know, something. Not fashion statements, which he didn't really know much about. But he felt dumb for only saying "yes, cool, okay," so he said the first thing that popped in his head.
"Yeah, I wear a lot of black," he casually said stupidly, again playing it cool with a well-timed puff of the cigarette.
"I figured," Mireya said. "You look cool, by the way."
Alistair gave her a hesitant glance. "Um, thanks." A pause. "So do you. As in cool, because blue."
She smiled faintly in what looked like appreciation, but it started to slip as she looked more distracted. They each took a few more puffs in silence before she lowered her hand from her face and spoke up again.
"I know the watchparty was called a 'mandatory event' for you all today," she said. "But you can stay out here for the rest of it. No one's gonna bother you." She paused, checking her phone for the time. "Or at least, if you do go back in, wait out here for the next ten minutes. Shane and Lyall will be..." She trailed off, like she didn't want to finish her sentence. "You just don't want to see anymore of that. So don't watch it."
In any other circumstance, Alistair may have been embarrassed that a girl was basically babying him, coaxing him out of seeing in what was essentially a horror movie, because she didn't think he could handle it.
But, well. She wasn't wrong. Though Alistair wasn't going to openly admit that.
"Yeah... thanks," he murmured, but he did truly appreciate the heads up. He lifted the cigarette higher. "I'll take my time with this, then."
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