Note: this chapter contains some strong language, as well as depictions of grief and loss.

———

Michael, Whitney, Freddie, Madonna and Elton all stand together in the main function room, waiting to see whether George or Andrew made it through the game.

"Whoever comes back is going to be heartbroken," Freddie points out — having won his game with his partner. "They were so, so close."

"Poor guys," Michael sighs. "Both of them were the life of this party, really."

Madonna is silent, with resentment in her heart over Michael's behaviour in the games. For him to cheat on his spouse outside of the games, and then break Lisa's heart by being with Whitney instead, is incomprehensible to her. Lisa died having never known the real truth — she wanted to tell her about Michael being married, but never got the chance.

The main function room door opens, revealing a masked team member. Behind, George trudges into the room, with no emotion and no sound.

"Oh, George," Whitney gasps, realising just how painful the game will have been for him. "George, we're so sorry."

George doesn't answer with words; instead, he bursts into an uncontrollable fit of sobbing, falling to his knees in grief. He bows his head to the floor, using his arms to shield his face. The muffled hysterics are enough to bring tears to everyone's eyes. The group bend down by his side, offering hugs and verbal support — but to no avail. Nothing can bring back his best friend.

"I'm so sorry, George," Michael apologises, bringing George's balled-up body into his arms. "We've got you, man. We've all got you."

"I just watched my best friend in the whole fucking world be killed right before my eyes!" he cries, the image forever-etched into his mind. "Nothing is ever going to be the same again!"

"And Lisa didn't make it either," Madonna reminds them sadly, survivors' guilt creeping in as she processes the loss. "I had to play against her."

"That was the worst game so far," Freddie sniffles, wiping away his own tears, just as more well up in his eyes. "That was horrific."

"And it's only going to get worse," Whitney evaluates. "There's only three games left now. I think a lot of us are going to go in the next one."

"Fuck!" Michael shouts, at nobody in particular — more, at the situation itself. He pulls away from George to check how he is, using his facial expression to judge. "I wish we could get out of here."

"I don't care if I win or lose anymore," George comments, his voice shivering from the amount of crying he's been doing. "Fuck all of this shit. There's nothing left out there."

"At least we still have each other," Elton reassures him, despite knowing it doesn't make much difference to him anymore. "I know I'm not Andrew, but you're not alone in this place, okay?"

George gives the faintest smile to him, with red eyes and tear-stained skin. His lashes are darkened from the wetness they've been subjected to. "I know." He enters Elton's embrace for a heartfelt hug. "Thank you."

*

Later on, George is sat alone, his legs drawn to his chest. He has entered the numb stage of his grief over Andrew; he hasn't spoken to anybody in hours because he simply can't face it. The idea of eating or drinking makes him feel sick to his stomach; sleep sounds foreign to him. He just feels like an empty shell, purely existing rather than living. He was once a lively, bubbly character who brought joy to all the other players. Now, he has lost his sparkle.

"Hey."

He looks up with no facial expression, seeing Madonna stood over him. He says no words; instead, looking back down at the floor. She takes a seat by his side, before sliding an arm around him.

"He'd want you to keep going for him, you know," she informs him. "You need to keep going so you can make him proud."

"Nothing is worth it anymore Madonna," he finally speaks, his voice cracked from the dryness in his throat. "In three days, I'll never see any of you again anyway. I have nothing outside now Andrew is gone."

"How long were you guys friends for?"

"Try seventeen years." He can already feel himself beginning to tear up again, just thinking about it. "Since we were seven or eight years old."

"Ah, man." She gives a look of sympathy, not sure on how else to respond. "Lisa and I only met each other in here. It still hurts."

"It'll hurt to lose everyone eventually. But we've just got to accept it, haven't we?" There is no emphasis in his voice.

"We shouldn't have to, but ... yes," she agrees sadly. "None of us know who's next. It could be me, or you, or Elton, or—"

"If Elton dies next, I don't know what I'll do." He buries his head into his hands. "Losing Andrew was the killer blow. Losing Elton so soon after will finish me off."

"The fact is, only one of us is going to make it out." Madonna leans her head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "And whoever it is, regardless, is going to feel the blood of the other 99 players on their hands. The money won't even feel that important anymore."

"No," he acknowledges. "The guilt will be so intense for whoever makes it out."

"If Michael wins, he'll have double the guilt," she jibes, feeling that it's fitting to finally comment on what she heard. "What with being married outside and cheating with Whitney."

"He told you about that?" His voice finally carries some sort of tone, as he looks at her confused. "I didn't think he told anybody else."

"He didn't tell me. I overheard him telling you about it."

"What the fuck?" he gives her an expression of frustration. "He told me that in confidence. Don't be telling anybody else."

"I won't," she assures him. "Just so long as he dies in the next game."

"Are you serious?" George stands up, pushing her arm from around him. "You can't be serious about that, Madonna."

"Deadly," she challenges. "I love you as a person George, but you can't support him cheating in here regardless of what happens to him in the games."

"It isn't my place to decide whether to ruin his marriage or not." He shakes his head, beginning to walk off. "And I won't let you blackmail me into keeping hush about wanting him dead. It doesn't even make sense! Why is it your business?"

"Because Lisa still loved him," she explains. "She died in his arms, and cried about her undying love for him as she took her final fucking breath. He broke her heart when they broke up outside; and he broke it again in here when he chose Whitney over her."

"That doesn't give you the right to try and get Michael killed in the next game though, does it?" George continues to walk away, furious that she could be so insensitive. "Let him be happy, even if it's not in the kindest way! And leave me alone so I can grieve my best fucking friend!"

With that, he storms off, leaving Madonna alone at the edge of the room.

*

"There's only eight of us left now."

Whitney and Michael are sitting together, discussing the previous game; as well as the games to come. She is leaning her back against his front, almost as if she's his own personal shield.

"I can't believe how intense the last game was," he comments in response. "And the fact I won against Prince. He was so confident I'd be dead. But he lost the very last game after we'd tied all the way through."

"It's insane. Isn't it?" Whitney's head falls back against his chest. "In three days, only one of us will be alive."

"Who do you think it'll be?" Michael quizzes. "That wins, I mean."

"I think it'll be ... George, or perhaps yourself. George is in a lot of pain right now, but it might be enough to push him to the final game." She sighs softly. "I'm amazed I've made it so far. I'm happy about it, but ... at the same time, I feel like I'll lose at the last moment."

"I think you could win this thing," Michael assures her. "You, or maybe ... I don't know. I think George is over it now. I don't think Madonna is strong enough to win either. So maybe you, Freddie or Elton."

"I guess we'll find out — once today is over."

"I can't help but feel so sad for George and Madonna though," Michael confesses. "They both lost their closest friends in here. We're lucky to have avoided it so far. George was hysterical."

"I know. It'll be even harder if Elton goes too — I think he might truly give up, then."

"Yeah ... it's hard to tell how he'd react." He gives her forehead a quick kiss. "But still, we haven't gotten to that stage yet. Thank god."

George suddenly arrives unannounced, taking the pair by surprise. "Michael!"

"Hey, how are you doing George?" Whitney intervenes, giving him a sweet smile. "Not seen you in hours."

"It doesn't matter — Michael, you need to stay clear of Madonna until she dies. I'm serious!" He pauses to catch his breath, holding his chest with his hand. "She's not happy with you at all. She wants you dead."

"What? What the fuck did I do?" Michael demands, his brows knitting together in fear. "What did I do that makes her want me dead?"

"She's angry — she's angry that Lisa died. A-And that you chose Whitney over her. It's dumb, I know! It's so, so stupid but you need to be careful!" He runs his hand through his greasy blonde hair — he hasn't washed it since he entered the party — "It's because Lisa still loved you and—and Madonna keeps saying you broke her heart! And now she wants you dead, Michael."

"What the fuck?" Whitney gasps. "I knew they had something going on years ago, but why would Madonna hate Michael for choosing me?"

"I don't know; they were super close in here. I think she just wants to avenge Lisa in some stupid way," George tells them. "So please, just keep away from her as much as you can. She wants you eliminated in game five."

"Well ... thanks for telling me," Michael responds graciously. "Even though — like, what the fuck is wrong with her? You know?"

George nods in understanding. "I don't get it either. But I had to tell you. I couldn't keep it quiet." He sits down beside the pair. "What a fucking day it's been. The worst day of my life."

"We know." Whitney rests a friendly hand on the sweet Greek-English man's shoulder. "But now we're all fighting for ourselves. Madonna has proven you really can't trust anybody in here. It's a scary place." She heaves a sigh. "I say the three of us — and Freddie and Elton — stick together. Seriously this time. Madonna has lost our trust. We can't risk having her on side anymore."

"I agree," Michael adds. "There's way too much at stake now. There's eight players left — the five of us, Madonna, and two others. We are the majority. She has no chance."

He puts his arm out, inviting Whitney and George to do the same. They do so, before raising their arms together and whispering, "Team."

From the other side of the main function room, Madonna enters; having spent some time in her own room. She sees the trio sat together, and immediately figures out that George must have divulged her wish for Michael to be dead. She plots to sabotage the next game, to ensure that she comes out victorious — while they all lose and get eliminated. She really cannot trust anybody in this game anymore.

"Fuck all of you," she murmurs to herself. "You'll see who wins the next game. You'll fucking see."

She chooses to go back to her own room, to spend the final part of her day alone.

~~

Ohhh damn, Madonna is holding a grudge! What will happen next?