the evil among us . event one

[cass]

C A T Y A

Catya Vasin watches, nose crinkled as the detainees walk one after the other into their new home. Peacekeeper’s prowled the outskirts of the building, told that they can shoot to kill if they catch any of these troublemakers trying to escape. She walks in behind them as the last one enters, the sounds of the heavy steel door locking behind her. The group of outlaws and lowlifes were marched to their cells.

The room was circular, with seven cells and a bathroom and showering block. At night it was cut off from the other parts of the detention centre by a metal door. There were no windows in this room, and the smell of sewage and mould filled her nose as she paused at the doorway. It was unpleasant. It was disgusting and all these children were here to clean it up and make it habitable.

A few of them were going to die as well, of course. The three teenagers she’d planted amongst them had been granted freedom on the condition that the other ten didn’t make it out alive. It was an experiment, a game of cunning, manipulation and murder and it made her heart sing. Catya sticks a piece of paper on the wall beside the bathroom, their cell allocations are listed in careful cursive.

”This is your new home for the next…” She trails off, eyes lingering over the anxious faces, how many of them would survive this? Catya smiles, “however long I say it is.”

She points to the piece of paper, a lazy drawl creeping from her lips as she speaks, “this is your room allocations. If you want to sleep on something other than a mouldy mattress or rat-infested blanket, this room will be cleaned before nightfall.”

Catya waves her hand at the help, and they drag in a bunch of cleaning supplies. A few blankets and pillows are tucked away in the truck at the entrance and if their effort pleases her she’ll have them handed out. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Two peacekeepers remain in the room as the heavy metal door closes behind Catya.

V A S I N

kaitlin

Hello all! Welcome to event one! This event will conclude in two weeks, during this time everyone needs to post at least once. This is a simple get to know your fellow detainees. The map of the detention centre can be found here and the cellmate list can be found here.

gamemaker kelsier tick 12a / calla mat arx!! fireflyz revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay marguerite harvard d2a (zori) k!ah [nyte] charade Lyn𝛿is ryan @fabulousraven napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

[mat]

V E R M I L L I O N

Your father's elegant cursive handwriting was read aloud to you by one of the Peacekeeper guards after you struggled to process the first few sentences. He said that it would be in your best interest to take the offer that Catya Vasin called upon you for. Your crimes, according to him, aren't acceptable when considering your standing with an elite family of District Six. When it is expunged, he wrote, we'll keep a close eye on you from that point on: and we can be a normal family again. Easy for him to say. To him, a Prince going off the rails is a stain on his legacy, but you know that people like him and your educators simply stopped building track for you to ride on. They can't detonate a bomb and then act shocked to hear of an explosion.

You take the deal, slowly signing your name on the dotted line, binding yourself to building back up a building around District Nine. Better to get kids to do it without pay than adults with, you think, but at least there's an opportunity to get out and explore the surrounding area. It's gotta be better than the concrete buildings that you call your own home.

The woman who gathers you and the rest of the delinquents (as they call you) is dressed nicely and has short hair. She looks down at her paper with a smirk on her face. You may be helping her out with her renovations, but you can already tell that your best interest lies on the dirty floor, not in her mind. She stamps the piece of paper up against the wall, and you squint to see what's on it. Writing, of course. {"This is your home for the next… however long I say it is."} Like her, you have a means to an end: get home so you can breathe air different from your small box of a home in the Detention Center. {"This is your room allocations. If you want to sleep on something other than a mouldy mattress or rat-infested blanket, this room will be cleaned before nightfall."} Okay, you might take back the last thing you said. Mouldy and rat-infested, just like your home for the past few months. {"I'll be back tonight."}

As the woman, who you assume to be Catya Vasin, leaves the room with only two Peacekeepers with the group. You twist at a strand of your hair with one hand and keep the other snug in your pocket as you walk over to the list.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath. It's the stupid cursive handwriting again, just like your father. Except worse. It's tall and intricate, elegant enough that you might think it was the President and his family coming to reside in the building for the next few days. In a way, it makes you feel a bit special that someone took the time out of their day to write so delicately for a group of criminals such as yourself.

When it's a person's handwriting that you're unfamiliar with, you struggle to read everything properly. It's like you're dropped into a different district without a roadmap. You can't tell which way is up or which way is down, let alone know how to get to your destination.

You chuckle to yourself before taking a few steps back, hoping that one of the others might solve your problem for you. You're already thinking of excuses for why you couldn't find your name. They took your glasses away at the Center and didn't give them back. You just think you missed it. You're too lazy.

You can't find the courage to admit your problems to anyone else here, though. It's embarrassing for you to not do something that others describe as natural.

You look to the girl* beside you and tap at her with the backs of your fingers. "Hey, you see my name up there? Vermilion? V-e-r-m-- well, you get the rest."

* refers to Steele Cassidy

P R I N C E

kaitlin

[k!ah]

Eugene Hades Riot

He had thought they were joking when they told him that he was going to be locked away, transported to district Nine to carry out his time. He was a career, a boy who had played a prank that had gone too far, and now he had been sentenced to frolic with the termites: the peasants of district Nine. He hadn't meant to burn down the school, for the flames to eat away at the building until nothing but burning rubble remained. Apparently flirting the the judge didn't lower your sentence, but increased it. Not only was he to rot in Nine, but he was to participate in a new initiative, one ran by a Miss Catya Vasin.

Train door slammed shut, he sits on the plain bed in the corner, listening to the muted down of the nine as it takes off, the view of the ocean, of his home, causing his heart to squeeze. Burying his face into his hands he holds back the tears. He hadn't cried since that night, since the fire. He should explain, that the fire was more than it seemed, that he had not known about the two kids who had stayed back to study, locked away in a quiet class room as he lite the match, gleeful smile as he soaked the edge of the building with gasoline. His friends had dared him, to make a small ember that set off the alarm, the disturbed the district.

They had not expected the flame to grow into an inferno, one that spread at an alarming rate, that destroyed everything- and everyone- in its path.

They reach their destination too soon, the door to his compartment ripped open as two peacekeepers enter, commanding him to get up, to move, silently without a word. But Hades wasn't known for being silent. "So this is it then," he sighs to them, ignoring the glare and commas for him to shut his mouth. "This is district Nine, I've heard the rumours y'know, about the shit hole it really is. I'm not used to the smell of- ugh," he groans as they exit the train, and he gets his first look and smell of his new home. "Man, that smell is truly something else! Smell, kinda like, they just shit in the streets and move on," he looks around them, searching the ground beneath his feet for any stray shit.

"Shut up, before I shut you up," the man in the white uniform growls, angrily grabbing his elbow before shoving him into a new building. "Be gentle!" He complains, shooting a glare at the man, "I am Eugene Riot, Descendant to the tribute Daphne Riot, I will not be treated like-" He is cut off as a fist collides with his face, causing a burst of pain to rush through him, stars dancing in his vision. "Y- You hit me!" Offended her balls his fist, ready to strike back.

"I wouldn't if I were you," the peacekeeper growls, grabbing his thick arm. "Shut up, they are waiting for you in here."

*

”This is your new home for the next…” In the room for less than ten minutes and a tall boney woman enters, Catya he assumed, watching her with beady eyes as she speaks. He wasn't quite sure what it was about her, but he was pretty sure she had a stick stuck so far up he ass, that if you removed it her body would slump over, unsure what move to make next.

"This is your room allocations..." As she spoke his mind drifted, looking at the crowd around him. It was odd to be surrounded by those from different districts. Even though they had been forced to change into different uniforms he could tell from simple details such as hair or skin those who came from the more privileged district to those who smelt like a the bathroom after my mother used it after a meal of beans. "... I’ll be back tonight.”

Then she makes her exit, leaving us to our own. People begin moving and he looks around in confusion. His stomach growls loudly, "Hey, did the boney lady mention what time dinner was being served at?"

[fireflyz]

In the fleeting moments between the train and the detention center, Aurora pretended she was free, even though she couldn't see her fantasy through the sun's glare. A soft breeze stirred blood into her cheeks, and she cupped her free hand against her face. For once in what felt like forever, she was breathing in fresh air, not the bleach they used back in Five to scrub the floors that never seemed to get clean. If only she'd get to experience it for much longer.

The place was dingy. She hadn't expected it to be extravagant, but the smell made her pinch her nose almost immediately. "Gross," Aurora muttered under her breath.

"This is your new home for the next... however long I say it is."

She can't see the woman over the people standing in front of her, but she could picture Catya Vasin from the way she spoke. Refined. A cat-like grin, the one that wealthier residents of Five shared, except Vasin actually had power to speak of. What did Aurora Wells have? Nothing but the clothes on her back and a group of people that were likely as reluctant to be here as she was.

Aurora shuffled away from the gaggle of people, eying the stockpile of cleaning supplies. Back in Five, she probably would've refused to take part, resigning herself to her usual silent protest, but back in Five she had no idea when she'd get out. Here, she had a chance.

She swiped up a bucket, dunking a thick sponge into the suds. Behind her, someone asked about dinner, and she cast a skeptical glance over her shoulder.

"I don't think we're meant to know," Aurora said, her jaw clicking uncomfortably with each syllable. How long had it been since she'd last spoken?

She turned and began to scrub at a greenish-gray swath on the wall, dirty water streaking down the surface.

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

t o b i a s

Tobias would’ve done so much more if he’d known they were going to lock him away. It felt particularly cruel for a boy that did his best day in and day out to live as well as he could. He took care of his mother and sister in their little two-bedroom apartment in their sixth-floor walk-up. He woke early to make them breakfast before he set out on his mail route. He carried letters and packages across the district, careful to make sure everything got where it needed to go. A thankless job for someone that took great pains to deliver everything that passed between his fingertips.

But he’d found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

During the district nine riots, he’d gotten lost on his way back from carrying letters, only to wind up in a scuffle in the factory. He hadn’t meant to cause anyone any harm, but he’d had to fight back against the young men who threatened to kill him and the peacekeepers that descended on the place. It didn’t matter then, when the men in white finally got the upper hand and found him huddling in the corner behind a set of crates. He was just as bad as the rest of them, charged as a part of the riots.

His fate? Well – he’d wound up here, under the care of one Catya Vasin. He wasn’t sure what the make of her seeing as he’d been dragged to the cell and thrown against the wall. They were locked away together, for an indefinite amount of time. Were the others paying for crimes they had committed (or had not)? Was this another less popular game the capitol had devised for one of them to earn their freedom? Somehow, Tobias knew that he had best reserve judgment, and to take stock of who the rest of them were.

His cellmate seemed the type to do a lot of talking, already breaking the silence and pondering what was going on. Toby kept to the floor, knees to his chest, and watched as the rest of them milled about. Saying too much was a sure way to become a target and seeing that he didn’t know what any of this was just yet, he determined to stay quiet as could be.

With the exception of when the boy across from him asked if he knew when dinner was.

“No.” Tobias replied. Honest and straightforward.

elegant

[charade]

G a rd e n i a .


"We are all stars in the sky
We all shimmer then decay
So I wonder - did I burn out, make a mark
Or fade away"

District nine was a dirty hellhole compared to district one, but Gardenia found that she preferred what little she’d seen of it to where she’d come from. It was district one’s seedy underbelly but without the glitter and the glitz trying to pretty it up or make it look like something that it wasn’t. Her fellow inmates were the usual suspects. Street rats. Riff-raff. But a few had a certain air around them. Upper class or had been at some point. Like her.

Though Gardenia no longer remembered what it was like to be respectable.

She sighed and looked down at her jumpsuit.

It was better than her last outfit.

And the place was a chance to escape the life she’d been forced into.

It was still a prison. But a slightly better one? She was still working off a debt, just in a different way and to different people. The accommodations were sparse; a circular cell block with no windows. It looked and smelled as though it had been abandoned for some time. It probably had. But there was the promise of reward for cleaning. It was a better deal than some she’d made in the past; and she’d lost her sense of pride and self-respect a long time ago.

Cleaning? She could do that. The lady in charge was no-nonsense. Serious. Struck her as the type to severely punish the tiniest of infractions. Some people got off on playing with other people’s lives. It was all about power for those types. Gardenia made a mental note not to ever draw that woman’s attention to her. The goal was to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She’d had enough of standing out. So she grabbed a bucket and a mop and got to work.

elegant