POV Seth
A prolonged silence followed Seth’s testimony. It was only natural that a reflective assessment of the situation should follow such a revelation. If Seth wasn’t crazy and he hadn’t imagined the whole nightmare, then the fact was that for the first time in the history of the games, whomever sanctioned the site for the Gaming Commission had failed in their inspection. How else could he explain Videl and the beast within?
The entire experience was surreal. He didn’t blame the G.C. or Doctor Yan for not believing him, but their doubt didn’t make the ordeal any less real. Their doubt, while reasonable if not desperate, would compromise the safety of the nation’s established Safe Zone.
It pained Seth to think that speaking to the Councilman at all was chance, especially if something had infiltrated the nation’s defenses. Had Sergeant Noland not been on duty that night, minutes from settling in for his dinner break, the threat within the games would have remained buried.
‘What if that was the plan?’ A knot twisted in his stomach at the thought.
Councilman Daamon stopped writing, pen poised to add a thought or two that never came. He stared at Seth for a long moment before setting his pen down and steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his padded chair. His sharp gray eyes focused on nothing in particular as he thought while tapping his index fingers together.
The headmaster and sergeant remained stoic and at attention during the testimony, answering questions only when asked. Seth admired their bravery, their fortitude. Even outside of Killing Fields, they hadn’t stopped being soldiers in their own way. They hadn’t stopped serving the nation's people.
“What time did you return from the game?” the Councilman asked. His cold stare hadn’t returned to judge Seth’s integrity, instead they remained focused on a distant point well into the past.
Seth wracked his brain for any time related information that the Councilman might find useful. “Saturday evening, pre-curfew, a little after nineteen hundred hours. We’d been in the game for a few hours.” Seth shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you how long exactly. It was the shortest run to date.” The accomplishment meant nothing to him. He felt cheated. Nothing about this game was normal, therefore breaking the victory record was meaningless.
They were unwitting prisoners who were released for reasons unknown. Well, not quite unknown. Seth tasted the bile in his throat, but held back his self-sabotaging urge to vomit in front of the man who would define his future.
“Your promise…” the Councilman let the words hang, omitting while implying the most dangerous words of all. “How are you certain that you will return to the same site next year?” The question felt loaded. There were so many variables that Seth had been so sure of at the moment. Now, when thinking about the future and everything needed to make his promise a reality, the promise felt impossible. For a shameful moment, he was relieved.
“It was something I said in the moment,” Seth said. “How could I know?”
“And now? Do you know now?” Councilman Daamon asked. The question was unusual, taking Seth by surprise. What difference did it make against the impossible reality ahead of him?
“No, sir. I don’t know,” he lied. His heart squeezed tight like a threat, warning him of the dangers ahead. Logically, there was no way to know that he would return in the coming year, if ever.
The Councilman arched a silver brow and made a note. “The solution to your promise is to drop the games, and at an extreme, your attendance at the Academy.”
Seth’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t want to diminish his odds of survival on the Killing Field. He could see dropping the games to avoid having to keep his word, but to leave the Academy! “That’s not an option, Sir! I won’t cower at what ifs! I will stay the course!”
The Councilman made another note.
“Videl’s statement,” Seth blurted. “Videl said he’d been performing the Trial like clockwork yearly. Someone is sending people to that site every year. If not Academy students, then there have to be other groups who are also using the site, maybe even for training.” He wasn’t opposed to the idea of a controlled infected area for military purposes.
The Councilman sat back in his chair and sighed. “It’s a possibility worth exploring.” The somber tone in which the old politician spoke suggested volumes of work ahead. He referred to his notes. “Regarding your previous championship games, is there anything that struck you as unusual? Anything that might tie in your experience this year with previous years?”
“No, sir, nothing comes to mind,” Seth replied. “In this game, I had dismissed a lot of the early signs that something was off. I blamed fatigue, tricks of the light, not paying attention, or inaccurately recalling details.
“In my first year, I was green. I was excited. Nervous. I was told that the last game of the year differed from the previous games. I focused on my captain’s orders and ignored everything else.
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“When I was promoted to captain, my only concern was victory and being a good leader. Each scenario was different. Each location was different. I had noticed nothing unusual. If this game hadn’t gone so…” Seth sighed. “Odds are I wouldn’t have noticed anything this year, either.”
“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Wright,” Dezmond said. “When you were escorted off-campus by the Gaming commission, which route did you take?”
“We exited through the main courtyard in the front of the Administration building. Beyond that, the transport had kept us contained with no external visual stimulus. I don’t know where we went after we boarded.” He thought that the transport not having windows was unusual, even now when he thought of it. He figured it was part of a distraction reduction system which allowed players the opportunity to rest and calm their pre-game nerves.
“When you returned to the campus, did you disembark at the same location?”
“Yes, sir.”
“At what point after your return, did you schedule your appointment with Doctor Margaret Yan?”
“As per protocol, we were held up for debriefing. Immediately after, I returned to my barrack, where I scheduled my appointment for the following day. I wouldn’t have had time for a session pre-curfew.” As an afterthought, Seth added, “The appointment was scheduled for o’ seven hundred hours, Sunday.”
“Headmaster LaRivière, is it customary for councilors to be available before traditional business hours?”
The headmaster replied, “we have trauma and crisis counselors on extended hours post game. Video and in-person sessions are available.”
“Are video sessions available post-curfew?”
“Yes, sir. A private room is available on all residential sites, including the barracks.”
Councilman Daamon tapped his pen on his notes, scribbled something down, then redirected his questions. “Mr. Wright, were you given the option of in-person or video sessions?”
“No, sir.”
“Were you given the option with regards to time slots’ availability?”
“Not explicitly, sir. For the first and second sessions, I never questioned it. There was a conflict with my exam with the third session and I asked for a later time, which they accommodated.”
“Did you report your experience in full to the Gaming Commission Inquisitor?”
“I did, sir.”
“And their response?”
Seth shook his head. “I couldn’t tell. Their uniform hides everything. I’m not sure I was speaking with a person.”
“They said nothing?”
Seth shrugged. “They didn’t acknowledge it. They took the report, same as always. Congratulated me on my victory and wished me a good night’s rest. There was nothing to read, no emotion, no body language, not even a handshake. Just words on the glass screen between us.” The first time he had a debriefing, the Inquisitor's silent presence had unnerved him, even as the words appeared between them.
“Headmaster LaRivière, did you receive a report from the Gaming Commission regarding the championship game after the debriefing?”
“No, Sir.”
There was something different this time. Seth interrupted, not wanting to miss his chance. Maybe it was nothing, but it was insignificant enough to matter. “Sir? Sorry, sir. In the debriefing, they were unusually focused on the missing console. It’s not unusual in that they want all equipment accounted for. I figured that was for inventory. This time, they wanted a reason for the disposal of the unit right down to exactly where I had dropped it. I couldn’t tell them exactly where it wasn’t possible. I was on the thirty-fifth floor, the thirteenth floor, or logically, the first floor. The room itself could have been on any of the external walls. There was no way I could have known the exact location. But they insisted I knew. It was… almost aggressive, which in of itself was unusual. To change subjects, I asked about Squad IX, but they always came back to the console. By the time they discharged me, most of my team had left the Academy for Summer break.”
Councilman Daamon’s stony gaze didn’t shift at the break in protocol. “What was their reaction to the news on Squad IX?”
Seth's face fell into his hand as he released a deep breath. He ran his hands through his disheveled hair and shook his head. “It was like they never existed. They didn’t acknowledge Squad IX in any capacity.” The exhaustion of the past week was getting to him. Tears were too near the surface. His frustration, his fears… He didn’t want to cry in front of these powerful men. His weakness recorded for future humiliation.
“We’ll look into it,” the Councilman said, his matter-of-fact tone breaking for a softer, paternal reassurance. “We just need all the facts. Take a breath, we’re almost done.”
Seth took in a deep breath as commanded and pushed his feelings as far down as he could.
When the Councilman spoke again, his voice had returned to the calculated politician in search of answers. “Did you meet with Doctor Margaret Yan at o’ seven-hundred hours for your first appointment?”
“Yes, sir, and for all the sessions thereafter.”
“Were you given an option with whom you were to seek counsel from?”
“No, sir.”
“Has any member of Squad VII sought counseling after the game?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. Most members were already on their way home. Finalists are exempt from taking exams, so we can board the first train out after the game if we so choose. There are a few of us who live in the capital. And we wouldn’t have had the option to leave until the following morning. That said, seeking help is stigmatized in very much the same way as forfeiting the game. No one’s stopping you. No one will say a word against you. It’s just not done.” Seth shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if no one else registered for help.”
Councilman Daamon’s brow furrowed as he made another note. The corner of his thin lips twitched as he suppressed a statement. “Did you share your experience in full with the therapist during that meeting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Headmaster LaRivière, were you informed either by Doctor Yan herself or by the Gaming Commission of the unusual events of the game at this point?”
“No, sir.”
Again, he made a note and set his pen down for the last time that night. His gaze lingered on his collection of scribbles before returning to the screen to take Seth in for the last time. “Thank you, Mr. Wright, for your patience and understanding during this most unusual situation. Your bravery in speaking your piece is noted. Is there anything else you would like to add?”
“No, sir.” Although, he’d like to leave his cell. He debated leaving for the capitol first thing in the morning, breaking his usual routine of staying behind until the last possible train home. His father wouldn’t be expecting him, so he might sneak into his room unaware for a few precious days.
“It is twenty-three hundred hours, Wednesday, June 14th, Incursion, year 116. Our interview is concluded.”
The screen blinked out.