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“Lucy. My name isLucy. If I’m no longer a Player, I’d like to be addressed by my name.”
There’s enough venom in her tone to make me contemplate my next words.
“Lucy, you’ve signed a contract. In that contract, it states you must remain here for the duration of the games in service of the manor.”
“I signed a consent form. An NDA, not a contract.”
“It was in all of those forms,” I inform her, as if it isn’t in the fine print and worded so that the women that come here don’t contemplate the specifics of what they are signing. They’re also only told it’s an NDA and consent form, which makes sense when they sign up. It’s the allotted time of servitude they are not aware they’re signing up for.
But the game has precautions in place for that.
“I didn’t fucking sign that form.”
“Well, you did,” I tell her, and open the folder that’s in front of me to show her the proof of the document she’s signed. I point to the fine print where it very inconspicuously states that she is contracted to remain on the island for the duration of the games and that upon disqualification, is to go through Player processing. On a page mixed within the stack is a brief description of the “processing” itself, which is almost always ignored by the Players. No one takes the time to read contracts when you’re offering the amount of money we do.
Lucy leans forward and reads pages. “Okay, so what does this mean. What do you want from me? Am I not free to go?”
“You are to reside on the island for the duration of the games and undergo processing.”
“Processing. Processing of what? Whatisthis processing?”
I breathe out through my nose, already disliking being a willing contributor to this part of the games. It was easier as a Gamemaker. I place her files back in the folder and slide it aside.
“I want to go home. I have people waiting for me. Siblings. A sick mother.” She chokes on the last words, tears lining her eyes.
Reigning in any urge I have to take this poor girl out of this room and send her off in one of the private helicopters in the hangar, I recall Terrence’s words.
We have blackmail on everybody, Vale. Everybody. Nobody is here by coincidence. You would do well to remember that.
“Two years ago, you were involved in a money laundering scheme that you were never caught for,” I begin, and watch as Lucy sits back in her chair, defeat already crushing any despair she might be feeling. “Your accomplice was never caught either, but from what I know, he means a great deal to you.”
Lucy’s accomplice is her boyfriend. Her blackmail file told me that she and her boyfriend began laundering money in order to pay for her mother’s surgeries from the cancer she suffered from. They put an end to their work when they had too many close calls, but they could still serve a significant amount of time for it.
“You have two options: stay on the island and serve your time here as one of our staff, or be sent home early only to have the feds show up at your door, ruining your entire life.”
“Why?” she whispered. “Why are you doing this at all?”
I debate not answering the question. It has the potential for a loaded answer, but it boils down to one thing. “Control.”
After providing more information to Lucy on what the next steps were going to look like for her, which was more generous than I’m sure others in my position granted, I left the room feeling far worse than when I walked in. The processing center is mostly underground and full of past Players. Most have neverleft, having to abandon their families because of the blackmail that Terrence has collected on them.
It’s the darker side of the games, as if they weren’t already dark. But if there’s one thing that people with money enjoy more than anything else, it’s exercising their power. This is a prime example of those exploits. Heading through the building, its main center is as big as a warehouse, with tall ceilings, doors that lead to the expired Player’s living quarters, and at the end, a long reception desk that functions as the center for any of the Advocates or audience members to come to for an expired Player to suit any of their needs.
It’s free labor, and aside from power, there’s nothing rich people love more than free labor from their workers. The work of the manor is supported off the backs of expired players.
All I can think about right now is getting back to Blue and protecting her from this level of exploitation, but also figuring out how to answer the questions I don’t doubt are coming.
The truth is bound to come out.
“Vale!”
I turn to find Carrick approaching me, and I resist the urge to ignore his presence and walk away, or at the very least, roll my eyes. He’s as much of a nuisance as any spoiled brat raised in riches can get, and I particularly dislike him for his intimate connection to Blue. I know he still wants her, and I caught word of Carrick planning to take her as his own Player the first chance he gets.
I won’t allow it. The idea of Blue having anyone else as her Advocate fills me with a dark swirling desire to do everything I can to prevent that from happening.
“Quite the game you had this morning,” he says, giving me a knowing look. He was in Blue’s audience, that much has been confirmed. I know it’s part of the games, but I can’t stand theidea of him watching her in that way. I clench my fists in my trouser pockets.
“Lose your bets?” I ask.
