Note: depiction of mental health issues and some strong language in this chapter.

———

At night, none of the three finalists can sleep — even with Michael and George having slept only an hour the night before. The three of them each have their own respective burdens that keep them awake. With the final two games imminent, all of them question to themselves who will win the next game; and who will win the entire thing overall.

"Just two more days," George mutters to himself, sitting up against his headboard on his bed. "Two more days until this all ends—" He glances to the side of the room; in the darkness he sees his two favourite men smiling at him. "—I'm doing it for you, and only you. I'll win this thing and keep going for you. I'll try my hardest. Just you see."

The two shadowy figures saunter over to his bed, taking a seat beside him. They place loving arms around George — he feels their touch; closing his eyes to savour it.

"We're so proud of you George," Elton whispers to him, giving his lover a sweet kiss on the temple. "You've done so well to reach the final three partygoers."

"I'm trying," George pleads. "I'm trying so hard. But I'm glad you came to see me again." Happy tears form in his closed eyes; once he opens them, they escape down his cheeks. He sees them, holding him close — he never wants them to let go.

"Of course we had to come and see you, Yog." Andrew slaps his friend upside the head, just like he used to. "We couldn't let you believe you were truly alone, could we?"

"I suppose not." George chuckles — the first time he's shown any happiness since the fourth game ended. "Cheeky bugger. Making me think you'd left me for good and yet here you are."

"Didn't you hear me knocking on the walls last night?" Andrew asks him. "I tried to do it extra loud so you couldn't sleep."

"I didn't hear a thing," George tells him, shaking his head in amusement. "But then, I barely remember what happened last night. Only that I missed you."

"Well, you don't need to miss us anymore," Elton reassures him. "We're here for you now, sweet."

"Stay with me while I sleep," George begs the pair. "I don't want to be alone again."

"We'll always be there by your side, you dumb fuck," Andrew laughs, giving one final hug to his friend; before he sits himself down on the floor where Michael sat the night before. "I'll stay right here by your side, mate."

"Rest now," Elton tells him, giving George's lips a drawn-out kiss. "We'll be here as long as you want us."

"I love you guys," George tells them both — so that they definitely know.

"We love you too, buddy." Andrew grins at his best friend.

"We do. We love you Georgios," Elton adds.

With joy in his heart, George's eyes finally begin to feel heavy. He quickly drifts off into a deep sleep — his exhaustion from the previous day finally catching up to him.

*

"George?" A distant voice brings him from his sleep, along with knocking at the door. "George? Come on — are you awake?"

His eyes open groggily; upon remembering that Andrew and Elton were in his room last night, he whips his entire body up, to find they've vanished. His brows furrow in a panic, "Elton? Andrew!" He jumps out of bed, searching under the bed frame to no avail. "Andrew? Elton? You said you wouldn't leave me!"

He hears the knocking on the door once again, so he dashes over to open it. On the other side, Michael is stood with a confused expression evident on his face. "George, who are you shouting at?"

"Andrew and Elton," he answers breathlessly. "They were here last night talking to me. I swear!"

"George ... " Michael frowns at his friend. "You do know that they didn't make it through the games, don't you?"

"I know they lost the games—I know that! But they were here!" He paces back into his room, allowing Michael in behind him. "Andrew was sat here by the bed; and Elton was right here beside me. They promised they'd stay with me as long as I wanted them to. I swear it Michael — I swear it." Tears form in the Greek man's eyes, as he desperately tries to convince Michael he's being serious. "B-But they aren't here now, and they didn't even say goodbye to me—they just went while I was sleeping. They said they wouldn't do that."

"Hey, don't worry about it." Michael pulls him harshly to his chest, to give him a tight hug to calm his nerves. "You know, they might come back some other time. If you saw them last night, you might see them again."

"I hope so." He puts his arms around Michael, welcoming the embrace he's being given.

*

Michael arrives into the main function room, finding Whitney is already stood in there awaiting the sixth game. He knows he wants to talk to her — to try and amend the friendship they once had — but he acknowledges how much he's hurt her. Regardless, he takes a breath to calm his nerves, before approaching her.

"Good morning, Whitney."

She turns around, seeing him standing there. "Hey."

"I-I was just checking on you. Making sure you're alright. But I figure I'm the last person you'll want to talk to."

She exhales sharply through her nostrils, finally giving in. "No ... you hurt me so bad Michael. But the fact is one of us — or both of us — will die in the next twenty-four hours. Life is too short to hold grudges."

"You really mean that?" Michael dares to move closer, so that the pair stand opposite one another. "You forgive me?"

"I know that you love me deeply — even if we've known each other only a few days. We've been forced together in a sick, and twisted circumstance." She looks up at him, still in love with his deep brown eyes and gentle demeanour. "But we've been together since the start, and to split apart at the last hurdle would be breaking that pact we made."

"And what about George?" Michael questions. "All three of us have gotten so close. For any of us to go today will be so difficult."

"How is he?" She gives him a look of concern. "Have you seen him this morning?"

"I went to wake him up this morning. He didn't hear the tannoy alarm. And somehow didn't notice all the lights turn on." He rubs the back of his head, feeling sad at the person George has become. "I think he's sick, Whitney. He said they were in his room last night. Talking to him; sitting with him. He was in a bad way this morning."

"Bless his heart," she murmurs. "This is so hard for him. Part of me wants him to go in the next game so he isn't suffering anymore."

"Me too. I love that guy, but he's really lost his sparkle since Andrew died. I miss how happy and carefree he used to be." He heaves a sigh, knowing that his friend Player 025 will never be the same again. "He was the life of the party, only two days ago. Cracking jokes; full of smiles. He's broken, now."

Moments later, George emerges from the doorway, arriving into the room. He walks slowly over to the other two, not speaking at all. Michael and Whitney look to him, sympathetic expressions on their faces.

"Morning George," Whitney greets him softly.

"Hi," he replies. "Another day ... in paradise."

Michael remembers when George used to say such a phrase a few days ago; and he'd have a glint in his eyes; and a beam on his face — when Andrew would make snide remarks to annoy him; and they'd laugh together despite the situation they were in. He misses those times, even if they were only days ago. He misses the team spirit their group had; and the lives lost break his heart.

"Sure is." Michael nods, his eyes stuck to the floor to avoid eye contact. "And one of us will be gone today."

"It's heartbreaking," Whitney adds. She takes Michael's hand in her left hand; and George's in her right. "But we've made it this far together, and we're a team."

"A team," George agrees quietly. "We're here because the other 97 players couldn't be."

"The most depressing party I've ever been to," Michael remarks sarcastically. "Don't think I'll ever accept another invite in my life."

"That's if you get out of here," Whitney comments matter-of-factly. "Not that I don't think you could win. But any one of us could die today."

Michael nods in understanding, although not wanting to understand. "I know."

*

"Good morning partygoers. Welcome to the penultimate day of the party games. Once again we would like to congratulate each one of you — Player 025; Player 063; and Player 077 — for making it to the sixth game. Your hard work and determination is recognised by all of the team members. We wish each one of you the very best of luck as you enter your sixth game shortly. Please get yourselves ready to play, and follow the team member to get to the next game."

"Here goes nothing," Whitney says, starting to feel nervous by this point. "I guess soon we'll know who makes the final two players."

"Good luck you guys," Michael adds, taking a hold of both of the players' hands to keep them together. "We've got this."

"Good luck," George concludes, as the three of them approach the masked team member, who is stood in the centre of the main function room.

The team member leads them out of the room; through the same corridors that have become a symbol of doom by this point. The streamers and banners and balloons that adorn the walls are still just as sickening as they have been every day so far. The depressingly-short line of players is vastly different to just six days ago — when ninety-seven other partygoers followed them. The final three try their best not to dwell, otherwise it would drive them even further into insanity.

The masked team member arrives at a door; he halts outside of it, until the players have also stopped in their tracks. He slowly opens the door — inside the room is the largest space they've seen so far. There's every kind of obstacle you could imagine, from trees to houses; from artificial mountains to cars; from train stations to buses; and from haystacks to full-blown rainforests. This room has no bounds — it looks like a mini town, crammed into a single room. The sheer scale of it leaves the finalists in awe of what they are seeing.

"What is this?" Michael gasps. His thoughts are interrupted when he feels the masked team member placing a heavy vest over his body. The vest is black; with an LED covering over it. This LED covering has sensors on it, to detect physical touch. He's also given a pair of gloves — these are also black, but with fingertips made of the same material as the vest. Almost as if the finger tips are made to be sensed by the vest. Finally, he's given a helmet — this is also black; it has yet more LEDs and sensors across it.

George and Whitney are also given these accessories; each one of them looks at one another with puzzled faces. None of them can figure out what the game entails.

"Players! This is the sixth and penultimate game. This game is, Tag. You have all been given an LED vest, and helmet; as well as sensor gloves. One player will be assigned as 'It'. This player must chase the other two players in an attempt to tag them. A tag will be registered if the gloves touch upon the vest or the helmet. Whoever is still 'It' by the end of the time limit will be eliminated. To decide who is "It", players will choose an envelope which will reveal their role."

A team member walks over to the players, holding out three envelopes. Each one looks identical in size, shape and colour. The three players select their envelopes; Michael chooses the middle one; George chooses the left; Whitney is left with the right. They each open theirs to reveal their roles.

Michael looks at the card that is tucked in the envelope.

Not It

He breathes a sigh of relief at this.

Whitney checks hers.

Not It

She closes her eyes, knowing she's safe for now.

George looks down at his.

Tag, you're It

He drops the envelope to the ground, glancing nervously at the other two players.

He promised Andrew and Elton that he'd try and win for them, and that's exactly what he'll do.

~~

Chapter eighteen! Things are about to get intense!