Note: this chapter contains some strong language.

———

All three of the finalists reach their respective rooms, opening the boxes they've been given. Inside Michael's and George's, sits a black tuxedo with a matching black tie and a white shirt — with their player numbers on the front. In Whitney's box is a black dress, with 063 written on the left of the chest. The trio get changed into their outfits, with Michael and George arriving at the main function room before Whitney does.

"You look fantastic," Michael compliments George. "If only the others could see how sophisticated you look."

"Thank you," George responds, still overwhelmed with pain from losing those he loves. "You look great too, mate. Hopefully Whitney will think so, too."

"I don't even know if she wants anything to do with me again, George." Michael looks down sadly, realising he's been caught out. "Since she found out about Harper."

"It's hard ... I did my best to protect you," George assures him. "I even got Madonna killed to try and protect you. I'm sorry."

"I'm thankful for everything you've done ... Everything you've sacrificed the last two days." Michael looks up, to give a small smile to him. "I can't imagine what you're going through right now."

"A lot of pain ... I can't lie." George exhales a breath, before using his fingers to straighten his tie. "More pain than I'd wish on my worst enemy. But I need to keep going — I promised them I would."

"That's the spirit," Michael praises him. "That's how you gotta be. They'd want you to keep on going."

"It's a good job someone does. Because trust me, I don't want to myself."

Before anymore can be said, Whitney arrives through the door in her dress. The men observe her with matching expressions — complete awe. She gracefully and effortlessly makes her way to the centre of the main function room where the men are waiting; she glances at both of them in turn.

"Boys," she greets.

"You look fabulous Whitney," George gasps. "Stunning."

"You really do," Michael adds. "Like an angel."

"Thank you. You guys don't look too awful yourself," she chuckles. Despite her lighthearted remarks, she too is just as saddened at all the lives lost in the last few days. "So, are we ready for the banquet?"

"Well, it's been a few days since we had anything substantial," Michael comments. "So I'm quite ready for it."

"Mhm," Whitney acknowledges him — admittedly still unsure on how to approach him after what she's found out. "Well, it shouldn't be too much longer, should it?"

The three of them stand around, in the large function room which once held one-hundred players. Just knowing that ninety-seven of them are dead is enough to send shivers down anyone's spine.

*

"Please follow the team member to your banquet. Sit back; relax; enjoy the evening. You deserve it."

The three partygoers follow the masked team member to a large hall, with a grand table covered with various foods. The choice is simply too much even for those with bigger appetites — and yet only three people are expected to finish it.

They sit down at their places, scanning the table to see what's available. Once they've chosen a plateful each, they begin to eat.

Michael eats the fastest; this is the first proper meal he's been given since he arrived at the party. He isn't going to miss out on the opportunity to boost his energy levels.

Whitney eats a little slower than him. She makes the time to savour every mouthful she takes; knowing that they have all the time in the world to enjoy the food they've been served.

George is the slowest; he picks at the limited amount he's put onto his plate, with no appetite to start at all. His mind replays the final moments between him and Elton — the unexpectedness of his death is what hurts the most. The fact that George had his eyes closed for the final few moments Elton was really alive for, will always give him intense guilt. He's just glad he managed to say his goodbyes before he slipped away for good. That's the only sense of closure he has for either Andrew or Elton — he got to say his goodbyes; they got to hear what George thought of them in turn. But even knowing this, doesn't make it any easier.

As she eats, Whitney thinks about life outside of the games. The real world. The life she left behind in an attempt to try and win this thing. She remembers her old boss, at her old job — blaming that horrible man for her being at this party.

"You little slut! What gives you the right to think you can steal my shit and get away with it, huh?"

"I-I swear I didn't," Whitney pleads with him, tears forming in her eyes. "I didn't steal the company stock. I swear!"

"I don't want to hear it. I'm calling the police and you can tell it to them!"

"No please!" she cries, tugging at his shirt sleeve desperately. "Don't call the police! I didn't do anything!"

"Then leave me the fuck alone!" he demands. "Never try to come back again. You're fired!"

In defeat, she walks away — trying her hardest to think of a way to tell her parents she no longer has any form of income.

She scowls at the memory of her horrible, sexist boss and his power-hungry persona. She shakes her head, to rid the thoughts, before continuing her food. If only he could see her right now — on the verge of potentially winning millions. The first thing she'd do is expose his behaviour if she got out alive.

Meanwhile, Michael is grabbing second helpings. He thinks of his wife back home; wondering how she's doing without him. He simply evaluates that, if he is to make it out alive, he will have to tell her what happened and hope she doesn't leave him. He can't bare the idea of losing access to his little girl, or the life he has built for himself back home.

After all the time that has gone by, George still hasn't eaten much — if anything at all. He reminisces about the days before he got stuck in this hellhole; of the times he had with Andrew; and of the not-so-pleasant times where his life was essentially controlled by his parents and their views on everything.

"You want to form a band?" George's mother scoffs. "Don't be so ridiculous. You haven't got the means or the money to even think about such a crazy scheme."

"You're wrong, mum," George tries to convince her. "We already have some name ideas — and we already have a few song concepts. I really think if we're given the chance, we could make this work."

"Hey, let him have his silly dream," his father pipes up. "Maybe if he actually makes this work, he'll finally get some attention from the ladies and bring one home. The only person he ever brings back is ... Andrew. Hardly marriage material."

George frowns at the comments. "I'll prove it to you one day. I will. I'm not some kid anymore; I've grown up and become my own person. And I believe this can work! I just need you to believe in me." He pleads at his parents with all his might, but to no avail.

"Go and get changed, Georgios. We're going to church soon. You can't go looking like that." His father's face contorts at the perfectly-acceptable outfit George is wearing. "The Lord would never forgive you for an outfit like that."

"Maybe I don't want the Lord's forgiveness. Maybe I just want my life to be my own." With that, he storms out the room with Andrew; and up to his room to change into anything to shut his parents up.

George sighs, questioning whether to feel resentment towards his parents; or whether he just misses them. Perhaps, a bit of both. He finally takes a mouthful of his meal, as he remembers that he needs to go on for Elton and Andrew. They are the reason he is still alive. They both gave their lives so that he could go on. He must avenge them — even if it means winning against two people who have become best friends to him.

George takes a hold of the champagne glass that is sat in front of him. He pours some champagne into it, watching the glass gradually fill up. He sets the bottle down, before reaching for the glass.

"I'd like to raise a toast," he announces, catching the attention of Whitney and Michael. They too raise their glasses. "To those who didn't make it this far. To the final three players. To Whitney; to Michael; and to me. And here's to Freddie. And to my favourite people to ever grace the earth. The only ones who ever loved me and made me feel like myself — my Andrew, and my Elton." He swallows, feeling his throat becoming dry due to his rising emotions. "To us, and to them."

"To us, and to them," Michael and Whitney repeat in unison, before taking a quiet sip of their drinks.

*

Once the meal is over, the trio return to the main function room. The party music that was once bellowing from the speakers is now a soft, classical tune. The atmosphere is drastically different now, to what it was only a few days ago.

"Whitney ... " Michael calls over to her, eventually catching up to her in the function room. "Can we please talk?"

"I'm not sure what you want to say, Michael." She avoids eye contact with him, feeling too awkward to do so. "You broke my heart, but that isn't even the worst part. You know what is?"

He shakes his head. "No, I don't ... "

"The worst part is—" She begins to cry, a look of shame spreading across her face. "—The worst part is that I just feel so stupid, Michael. You made me believe you were in love with me. You said I made you happy, and that's all you wanted for the final few days. You slept with me; you made love to me; and made me feel just as valued as the girl you've probably known outside for years. And that — that — is what the worst part is."

"I'm sorry Whitney," he apologises, at a loss for what else to say. "You mean so much to me, and the thought of losing you terrifies me each day."

"Does it? Or does the thought of winning and having to face your wife back home terrify you?" She turns away from him, to hide her upset. "I was so foolish to ever think a guy like you, could ever want a woman like me."

"What do you mean by that?" he presses.

"Well you have it all — the charm; the confidence; the sensitivity; the kindness. What do I have? I'm nice, sure. But what else? I've been accused of being a thief by most of my town. I lost my career and my life because somebody wanted to pin that on me. And I really thought — I really, stupidly thought — you didn't care about that; because all you saw was ... me." She shakes her head. "But you didn't. You saw a vulnerable woman ... a stupid woman ... and took advantage of her while your wife and your unborn child wait at home."

"It doesn't change how I feel about you as a person," Michael assures her, attempting to touch her.

She slaps him away. "Well it should change everything! You—are—married! You took vows to this woman and promised her you'd love her and cherish her for the rest of your lives — yet here you are, kissing me; whispering sweet nothings into my ear; making love to me as if I've been your one and only all this time."

"I'm sorry ... " is all he manages to get out, before she walks away. "I'm sorry Whitney ... "

Knowing that nothing he says can change the outcome of the situation, he puts his head in his hands out of frustration of his own stupid decisions.

~~

Ahhh chapter seventeen! What will happen next?