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Tarquin noted with some alarm how heavily he had to breathe while carrying Eirlys up the stairs, and after his arms nearly gave out and dropped her, he swapped with Connie. He wasn't exactly prone to exercise, and lugging that axe around for the past hour was taking its toll.

They headed through the ruined hall where they'd fought the ostrich. It looked like a construction site now, with the upturned barrel of formaldehyde, and the finely chiselled marble scattered around a gaping hole that used to lead to Tarquin's summerhouse. It was such a shame — he was going to miss it dearly.

"So this is chez-moi," Connie said when they got to her flat, backing through the doorway. "Not much, but hell, it's mine."

She was so busy trying to study Faust's expression she forgot to turn and bumped into the kitchen counter, promptly knocking the ExPressoMaker onto the floor where it shattered.

"Oh goodness, mind your feet," exclaimed Tarquin. He rushed to grab a dustpan and brush, prostrating himself as he scooped up the glass machine that was so expensive it came with a mortgage.

"Whoops," said Connie, nonchalantly, setting Eirlys down on the king-size bed. "Don't bother cleaning it, man, we can vote it back together later. For now... damn... I guess we'll just have to drink the bog standard stuff. Is that alright, Faust?"

Faust nodded, his face still matted over with hair like that Japanese horror film where the girl came out of the TV. The bandage over his eye had gone bloody. He was busy trying to force Eirlys to stay under the duvet. She kept wriggling back out of it until Faust hefted up a giant cuddly tiger and dropped it on her, whereupon she took to hugging it instead.

"Cute," said Faust, stroking an ear the size of his head. "What's its name?"

"Dunno." Connie lined four mugs up on the counter and tipped in the powder from a jar.

"You don't know?" asked Faust.

"No, it's called Dunno."

"Hardly an imaginative name, is it?" Tarquin poured the water. "Do either of you take milk or sugar?"

"I'll sort myself out, thanks," said Connie, as she tipped half a bag of sugar into a mug. "The tiger's name is the answer to the question 'Why the fuck did my ex buy me that?'"

Tarquin was the only one to laugh. Of course, he was just being polite, but if he hadn't laughed, it would have been awkward. The most important thing for them right now was to come together as a team. The other teams were fractured — if Team Shame could reach an understanding, they’d have a much stronger footing.

"Faust?" asked Tarquin.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The guy just shrugged, still stroking the fake tiger. It reminded Tarquin of how his son used to latch onto cuddly toys in gift shops and cry if they wouldn't buy it for him. There was something heartfelt in the attachment to an inanimate object. Obviously, he wasn't doing okay.

Tarquin made eye contact with Connie, pointing his head towards their teammate. She nodded.

"I hope you guys don't mind if I take a shower before the audience latches onto me," asked Connie. "I want to get that fucking stink off."

She sauntered over to a door and opened it, then had to stop herself from screaming as her foot fell out into empty air. Recovering, she closed the door and tiptoed back into the corner of the flat, putting a finger to her lips and motioning at Tarquin.

"Seriously?" he mouthed.

She shrugged and pulled a weird face, nothing if not committed.

Approaching Faust, Tarquin spotted a diamond-studded hairbrush sitting at a vanity. Why did Connie even need one? He took it with him and held it out.

"Looks like that hair of yours has got pretty matted since the fight, hasn't it?" said Tarquin. "Here."

Faust took it wordlessly and began brushing his hair in broad strokes, causing a cascade of horrible little clicks every time he broke open a knot. He kept one hand on the tiger. For the first time, Tarquin glimpsed his face, and on it, he saw an oddly torn-up melancholy.

Not to be perturbed, he said, "Hey, do you think Eirlys is going to be okay?"

Faust shrugged. "Might need CPR, but I know about as much as a toddler. Most people who come to the morgue with hypothermia also have cracked ribs and bruises around the throat."

"It’s possible they could have died equally from last-resort CPR attempts, isn’t it? Do you think it's best not to risk it?"

He shook his head.

Tarquin sat down and sank about a meter into Connie's bed. "Are you okay, Faust? I don't want to invade your personal space, but it seems to me you... well, you look quite upset."

"Just thinking," he mumbled, bringing his arms closer to his chest.

Tarquin said, "Here's your coffee. Go on, drink up, won't you? If there's anything you want to talk about, I'm here for you, you know? We're teammates, aren't we?"

That made Faust pause. With wobbly hands, he set the cup down on the bedside table and said, "I just... what makes us teammates?"

Around the corner, Connie furrowed her eyebrows and held out her hands in a questioning gesture.

"What do you mean?" said Tarquin. "I'm not sure what reasoning they used to assemble the members of 'Team Shame', but I reckon we've been working quite well together, don't you?"

"But why?" Faust buried his head in the tiger. "Back then, when I pushed the ostrich back with the barrel of formaldehyde. It got me good in the eye, and I fell down. I waited for my consciousness to cut out, to return to absolute zero, but when I looked up, you two were there. You grabbed the barrel and drove the bird straight into the summerhouse. Why? Why risk yourselves to save me? Why didn't the audience vote me dead? What the fuck is going on here? I don't deserve this... this hope. Cause when you hope that people stand by you, when you hope that people like you — that's when it gets crushed. I can't let that hope into my heart, Tarquin, I just can't."

"There, there," said Tarquin, patting him on the back. "Why did we help you? Well it's a silly question, isn't it? Because you needed help."

"I'm so fucking exhausted." He sobbed into Dunno. "I'm not worthy of being in this team."

"Look at me, Faust. Come on, get your head out of that tiger and look at me!"

"What?"

"Look into my eyes, right now! You see this determined gaze? You see my resolve? That ostrich would have got us if you hadn't acted so quickly in grabbing that barrel, in fact, it would have got us if you had been anybody except Faust the Undertaker. And that’s my teammate! You saved us, and we saved you. Agreed?"

Faust's brown eyes watered. "Okay."

"Now come here," said Tarquin, trapping the undertaker in a hug. "Feels better than a soft toy, doesn't it? You listen to me. I'm going to promise you right now. We're going to win this, and we'll do it as a team — Team Shame! Alright?"

"...Alright."

"Louder! Alright?"

"Alright!"

"Who's going to win this?"

"Team Shame."

“I want to hear you scream it! Open up those lungs! Who’s going to win?”

And together they shouted “TEAM SHAME!”