The Tower — Ch 9

(Access all available chapters in the publication The Tower Book)

The hall in the production tower had been completely changed overnight, the lavish decor removed, as had the theater-style seating. Instead the floor was tiered, tables with semi-circle benches around each one, giving everybody a view of the screen. A buffet table sat on the lowest level, the smell of assorted breakfast foods wafted through the space.

Vivienne pushed Sheryl to the buffet, and several other contestants stepped aside or pointed out what she couldn’t easily see. A few minutes later she held her own and Vivienne’s trays of food as they made their way up several tiers and to a level almost even with the screen.

They had just started eating when a voice came from Sheryl’s left.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” a deep voice asked, tone curling around the vowels.

Sheryl and Vivienne both turned to the newcomer. He was tall and slender with skin the color of coffee.

Vivienne smiled. “Go ahead.”

He smiled, white teeth a contrast against his dark complexion. He set his plate on the table then weaved his fingers together as he prayed. He finished with the sign of the cross then looked up at Vivienne and Sheryl.

“Vivienne Dubois,” Vivienne said, offering a hand.

“Siyabonga Naidoo,” he replied, accepting the shake. He turned to Sheryl.

“Sheryl Callaghan.”

“It’s lovely to meet you ladies.” He paused. “I don’t recall seeing either of you before. New arrivals?”

Sheryl nodded. “We came in several days ago.”

“So this would be your first observation?”

Vivienne nodded.

Siyabonga was silent. “It’s different here. I watched every week before, but it’s hard now. I’ve seen many people I met here die.”

“How long have you been on the island?” Sheryl asked.

“Four months,” he replied.

“When’s your run?” Vivienne asked.

“My trainers think next month, June.”

“So I can’t place your accent,” Sheryl said. “Where’s home?”

He smiled. “South Africa.”

The screen turned on, and they turned their attention to it. The theme song thundered through the hall.

Sheryl immediately felt a sense of cold dread through the room. Unlike the viewing parties she’d attended in the past, nobody clapped or cheered. This was one of their own, about to risk his life.

Clay Grayson stood next to Greene, slender microphone in his hand and wearing the gray suit that the public associated with run days.

“Tell us how you feel Mr. Greene,” Grayson requested jovially.

“I’m excited Clay! I’m about to make history!.”

“That’s right,” Grayson agreed. “Now, before we send you to your tower do you have anything you want to say?”

Greene nodded and walked over to a young woman, he knelt before her. “I love you Del. You made me the happiest man alive when you agreed to marry me, and again when we wed a few days ago. I’ll make it through here, and we’ll have the best honeymoon ever.”

A graphic popped up with her name Delilah Greene. She held one hand to her face, tears rolling down her face as she nodded. “You’ll be great, I just know it. I’ll see you soon.”

“Dad…” Greene said, standing and walking over to clasp the other man’s hand. “Thank you. You gave me the strength to be here today. I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

Another name popup, then David Greene pulled his son into his arms. “I’m already proud. Now go show the world just how amazing you are.”

Greene walked over to the final man, who seemed to have a scowl permanently etched onto his face. “Don’t worry coach, we’ll get training for next season as soon as this is over. I love biathlon and intend to keep doing it”

“You better not have gotten soft on me this past week,” replied Alex Johnson. “We’re making up for lost time after your honeymoon.”

“Yes coach!”

Greene returned to Grayson’s side.

“Any words for the audience?”

Greene grinned, struck a signature pose and declared. “I’m Anthony Greene, and I’m about to be the first contestant to ever make a tower run with no show sponsored training!”

“Fantastic!” Grayson replied. “Now head on over to the helicopter pad and the flight crew will take you to your tower.”

Greene waved in the dim morning light, spotlights harsh on his skin as he strode to the helicopter.

A narrator read information about Greene as the aircraft lifted off and headed toward the tower and the support team made their way inside a building.

Vivienne’s hand snuck under the table and grabbed Sheryl’s. She clasped it tightly.

“Vivi?” Sheryl asked softly.

“This is the part I’m most nervous about for him,” Vivienne murmured back. “Most escapees say entry training is the hardest and can take weeks.”

Siyabonga nodded from the other side of Vivienne. “Entry training is extremely difficult.”

“Maybe they gave him a door on the roof,” Sheryl suggested.

Vivienne gave a dry chuckle. “Not likely. Remember, he is a replacement contestant. They haven’t had enough time to customize a tower properly. He probably got whatever was ready for today, then some last minute changes to the psychological challenges.”

The helicopter circled the building, and as Vivienne had seemed to think, there was no door on the roof. Instead the only apparent entrance was a round window on the side of the building. A lone rope dangled over the edge near it, swaying in the breeze.

Vivienne shook her head. “Well… at least he won’t have to deal with downdraft from the helicopter.”

Greene jumped out of the aircraft and landed on the roof. He took a moment to check a backpack. As he examined the contents sponsor ads for his initial equipment choices flashed across the screen.

“Knife… gun…” Vivienne narrated. “Good choices. Expansion bags, always a good pick. Why do people always waste valuable carry space with a first aid kit?”

“Huh?” Sheryl asked. “Isn’t that important?”

Vivienne rolled her eyes. “If it’s small enough for that kit it can be ignored. If a wound needs treatment bad enough then it’s worth the three minute wait for the emergency aid system to drop a proper kit. That little thing just wastes time and space. I’ve seen too many contestants try to make it work and waste more time rebandaging than moving. Just do it right the first time.”

Sheryl filed the information away as useful.

“Canteen, good choice. Didn’t waste room on rations. He better get moving, his entry timer is going. He’s only got fifteen minutes left to get inside. Ooooh, smart move, he grabbed one of those little emergency hammers. That’ll make entry easier, and probably serve him well inside the tower.”

Greene stood, pulled on a pair of gloves, secured the backpack, added the hammer to his webbing, then moved over to look at the rope. He gauged it for a minute, then pulled it up.

“What’s he doing?” Sheryl asked.

Greene made a loop in the rope and knotted it, leaving a secure spot for a hand or foot.

“He must not be comfortable without something to grab onto,” Vivienne said. “But he’ll still have to get down to it.”

He tossed the rope over the side again and grabbed on. He slid down until his feet found the knot. He worked one foot into the loop, then leaned over to where he could just reach the window. It took him three tries to break the glass, he cleared as much as he could, then secured the hammer again.

Greene held onto the rope tight with both hands as he started to swing. He added power to each direction until the arcs were big enough for him to fully grasp the window frame. He pulled himself up and over the threshold. He shimmied into a tiny holding area with five minutes of his entry timer left.

He used the loop around his foot to pull as much rope as possible into the crawl-space. He cut the rope and looped about twenty feet around his arm before securing it in his bag.

“Good thinking,” Vivienne said, nodding at the grabbing of a resource early on. “He’s short on time, but he should take a minute here and recover from the entry.”

The camera focused on Greene, sweat rolling down his temples. He took several deep breaths, then started to explore the dark space for the entrance.

“He’s running out of time,” Vivienne said, squeezing Sheryl’s hand.

Greene was frustrated, having already felt along the walls and the floor. It was with less than two minutes remaining that he started to feel along the ceiling of the space.

A trap-door opened above him, light flooding down. He blinked and waited a second.

“Move,” Vivienne hissed.

Green reached up and pulled himself from the crawl-space to the twenty-fourth story of his tower. A timer lit up on the screen: 8:00:00. The numbers immediately started counting down as a sigh of relief went through the room.

“That was too close,” Vivienne breathed as she slumped in her seat, half-eaten meal forgotten. “Granted, this is the season finale, so audiences probably loved it.”

“When was the last time a tower fell from entry expiration?” Sheryl asked, wondering if she’d missed one.

“Two years ago,” Vivienne replied.

The chatter of Greene and his support team poured from the sound system as he performed a communication check. He was in a blinding white room with no clear exit. Furniture, decor, everything in it was white, and lights at varying levels minimized shadows.

“And right into a color challenge,” Vivienne said. “He need to find contrast, fast.”

Greene took out his hammer and started smashing lights until the room was less blinding. A couple minutes later he’d stuffed several things into his backpack and had unlocked a door.

Chatter started through the hall as Greene appeared to have successfully managed both the entry and the first challenge.

“Siyabonga, right?” Sheryl asked as they resumed eating their almost cold food.

The man at the other end of the table nodded.

“What made you accept the invitation?”

He smiled. “For the pride of my country and my village. I’m the first man from my village to be selected.”

“And for South Africa?”

He nodded. “No South African has escaped in ten years. I intend to change that.”

“Tell us more about yourself?” Vivienne asked.

Siyabonga chewed his bottom lip before starting. “Before this I was an engineer. I was helping to design a new water capture system in the village center. I plan to use some of my winnings to expand the project and raise the overall quality of life there.”

“That’s a noble goal,” Sheryl replied.

He smiled softly. “We’re far from a major city and there are only a few thousand of us. There are a lot of conveniences we don’t have. I’d love to invest in some infrastructure projects for the village.”

“You hear so many people talking about the trips and items, it’s nice to hear somebody planning to do good,” Vivienne replied.

He smiled. “But if anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth — John chapter 3 verses seventeen and eighteen.” He paused. “I’d like to leave something other than money for my children and theirs. I tell them every day to live in a way that would please the Lord. What kind of man… what kind of father would I be if I didn’t heed my own words?”

“How old are they?” Sheryl asked.

“My son is ten, my daughter is eight,” he grinned, seeming to grow as he spoke about his family. “And even after twelve years of marriage my wife is still the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Sheryl smiled. “You seem proud of them.”

He nodded. “I watch them do good things every day, and I know that they’ll be people who the community can rely on.”

A cheer swept the room as Greene unlocked the door and moved to the twenty-third floor.

Siyabonga excused himself to get more food.

“Where does he put it?” Sheryl asked. “His first plate seemed pretty full.”

“It was, but it was all fairly low calorie,” Vivienne replied. “You’ll probably get to a point where you’re eating a lot more too. No matter what we’re called, every person here is in rigorous athletic training. We need to build ourselves to the point where we can be in intense and constant movement for a minimum of eight hours. Your dietitian meeting is this week, right?”

Sheryl nodded.

“You’ll be building muscle mass on top of just training, so they’ll probably have you on even more calories.”

“Oh.”

Vivienne laughed. “Don’t worry, they’ll probably change my diet too, and I’d already consulted with a dietitian for my work with Elevate. But this is different, our bodies have needs and the fastest way to fail is to ignore them.”

On the screen Greene ran into a puzzle that gave him a bit of difficulty and the tension in the room rose as the minutes ticked by. He figured it out and the easy banter resumed.

Siyabonga returned with his second plate of breakfast, then excused himself to mingle once his plate was clean.

Sheryl quickly learned that run observations were social events for contestants. She lost count of people and track of names as people of all ages and from across the globe stopped by the table to chat. She’d always known that the show gathered contestants from diverse backgrounds, but seeing them all assembled in one area really reinforced how far reaching the show’s influence was.

There was a young man who almost made her cry he made her think of Benny so much, he planned to use his winnings to go to college then open a wildlife refuge. Then there was the man in his early fifties who seemed shell-shocked to even be there, but his toned muscles indicated that he’d make a good run. He admitted that he hadn’t even thought of the money, too focused on surviving and knowing better than to get ahead of himself.

There was a petite woman with sharp eyes about Sheryl’s own age from Japan. She roamed the hall with another woman from Sweden, and both seemed to have a passion for fine art.

Tension started to infuse the room again. Four hours had passed and Greene had only descended as far as the fourteenth floor, two floors higher than the target for the remaining time. His support team urged him to look for timer extensions, even as he tried to argue that he could make up the lost time.

“He’s doing good on the physical and combat based challenges,” Vivienne observed, “but the puzzles are slowing him down. And he hasn’t even reached the real psychological challenges yet. He needs to listen to his team and look for extensions.”

A bang thundered from the speakers as Greene took a key, but triggered a cascade event that had him running.

Vivienne shook her head. “Has he ever even watched before? That weight trigger wasn’t even disguised.”

“He saw it,” Siyabonga said from their left. “I saw it in his eyes. He decided to risk the run and not waste time looking for something to switch.”

“That’s idiotic!” Vivienne cried.

The man shrugged and ran a hand over his short curly hair. “Perhaps, but listen to his support. They’re getting desperate on the time issue, and he’s making rash decisions.”

Vivienne stared and studied the screen. “He shouldn’t have brought his coach. The man knows how to push him to be faster, but he doesn’t know how to push him to be smarter.”

Siyabonga nodded. “Pacing is critical, and right now he has none.”

A scream echoed through the hall. Greene’s arm had been caught in the cascade, and hung limply at his side.

Vivienne hissed in a breath as Greene slumped outside the boundaries of the challenge and called for emergency aid. Three minutes later a large kit was lowered from the ceiling. Greene fumbled with the contents, squinting and gritting his teeth as he read the labels on the various syringes.

“Remember your mnemonics,” Vivienne pleaded with the man who couldn’t hear her. “Blue for bone, green for general. You’re wasting time reading.”

A minute later Greene plunged the blue syringe into his forearm and pressed the plunger, wincing as he forced fast-acting nanos into his body.

“That took too long,” Vivienne murmured. “Even if he pushes, he’ll be in too much pain to do anything for at least ten minutes. He’s just lucky it wasn’t his leg.”

Nervous chatter filled the hall. Greene was already behind on time, then injured. He’d have to look for timer extensions and hope that he hadn’t missed the best ones on higher floors.

Greene stumbled to his feet, weaving and tripping over himself as he forced himself toward the next challenge.

“He needs to push through until the break room on twelve,” Vivienne mused, clenching her hand on the table.

“How much break time does he have?” Sheryl asked.

“Almost the full two hours,” Vivienne replied. “He’d only taken bathroom breaks and grabbed protein bars in upper levels, not bothering to rest. If he could give himself a half hour to recuperate and reevaluate his strategy he might be able to turn it around.”

Siyabonga shook his head, and both Sheryl and Vivienne turned for his opinion.

“If he finds an extension… maybe,” the soft-spoken man said. “But he’s too rattled now. I fear that even with a break to recover he’s not prepared for the psychological challenges.”

Sheryl turned back to the screen, and she could see what Siyabonga meant. Greene’s eyes were wild, cast about in desperation as he forced himself to move through the pain of a mending limb. By the time he made it to the break room on the twelfth floor he was visibly exhausted, and had yet to find an extension.

The contestants in the hall collectively eased when Greene asked his support team to wake him in an hour. By then lunch had arrived and the nervous chatter was replaced by the clinking of silverware.

Sheryl was amazed at the variety of food served for lunch, her eyes wandering over things she couldn’t pronounce and couldn’t readily identify.

“Why so much?” she asked.

“Oh, that’s right, you’ve not been to the cafeteria yet,” Vivienne laughed. “It’s a bit more extravagant today, but you’ve never seen so many regional foods all in one place in your life, even the class one meals. I asked my dietitian during my initial meeting, and he explained that it makes more sense to keep people on flavors and ingredients that are familiar. Anybody can try anything for their meal class or lower, but this prevents training delays due to bodies trying to adjust to a completely new diet.”

“Oh…” Sheryl replied, picking out something that smelled delicious from the Indian foods section.

They ate while recaps and sponsor ads filled the break period.

“So you mentioned mnemonics,” Sheryl said to Vivienne. “I don’t think I’m familiar with the ones for emergency aid.”

“Oh!” Vivienne laughed. Sheryl noticed that Siyabonga leaned in too. “They’re easy. Blue for bone, green for general… like if you think you have an internal injury, muscle tear, or multiple injuries. Pink for pain, red for blood, which I know doesn’t have the alliteration, but is easy to remember. It goes farther though, those are just the nano injections. In the pills we repeat pink for lower-level pain, amber for allergies… There are more, but those are the ones you’d likely encounter here.”

“Wow…” Sheryl said.

“Useful, yes?” Vivienne said. “It’s standardized globally so first responders can jump into an emergency anywhere they go and be able to act without wasting time trying to figure out what syringe does what. Also, pink and red work with the other colors. But you don’t want to mix blue and green, so pick appropriately.”

Sheryl nodded.

A buzzer sounded and Greene’s clock started again.

The cameras focused on him as he made his way to the first puzzle room. Circles lined under his eyes, he breathed in short gasps.

“He’s still in pain,” Vivienne observed. “It must have been a nasty break. He should have used the pink too.”

The shift from earlier floors was apparent. Instead of spending time looking for money vouchers and sponsor prizes, Greene desperately searched for timer extension buttons. The countdown timer in the corner of the screen indicated that he had three hours remaining to clear twelve floors.

Greene failed a physical challenge, and had to wait for it to reset. By the time he cleared the floor and moved onto the eleventh he’d spent a full half hour.

Siyabonga bowed his head in prayer, then stood from the table.

“You’re leaving?” Vivienne asked.

The dark-skinned man nodded. “I’m going to go to the church and say a prayer for him, but I’ve seen it before. I’d rather not watch another tower fall here. They announce time remaining and floor every half hour, then every five minutes the last hour. If there is an increase of a good timer extension I’ll come back.”

Vivienne nodded, and Sheryl noticed several other people quietly leaving the hall, a collective look of pained resignation on their faces.

“It really is different here,” Sheryl murmured. “When I attended viewing parties before this is about the time most people would start paying attention and playing armchair quarterback.”

Vivienne nodded in agreement.

There was a cry of relief from the screen. Sheryl turned to see Greene hunched over and peering into a tiny space. Just visible was a timer extension button. He smashed it triumphantly.

“Timer extended: forty-eight seconds.” a computerized voice stated.

Greene let out a wail and forced himself toward the next challenge.

“He doesn’t see how useful that is…” Vivienne sighed. “That button was nearly white. All he needs to do now is find a button of a different color to determine which is hours and which is minutes. Finding a dark one of either will help.”

More people made their way from the hall, and a sense of dread settled over those who remained.

Sheryl was acutely aware that she was counting down the minutes until Anthony Greene died. It was all very real in a way that it never had been before.

She thought of the people in viewing parties, still cheering in their disconnected world.

“Do you want to leave?” Vivienne asked.

Sheryl blinked. “Do you?”

Vivienne reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Sheryl’s ear. “You’re pale, and you keep clenching and unclenching your hands.”

Sheryl released a ragged breath. “It’s just all too real now.”

Vivienne nodded. “I know what you mean. Do you want to go?”

Sheryl shook her head. “No. I’ll stay. I think I need this. But go if you need to, don’t stay for my sake.”

Vivienne sighed. “I need this too. I ran so many simulations that a part of me forgot that people die. Besides, he still might find a better button.”

Vivienne reached out and grabbed Sheryl’s hand. “But we’re not islands in this either.”

Sheryl nodded and squeezed.

Greene made up some time on the ninth floor, which was a single large puzzle room. But stalled again on the eighth. He found another button in the second challenge room on the seventh floor.

“Timer extension: thirty minutes.”

Greene cursed at having found a minutes button instead of hours, but a sigh of relief went through the hall.

“All he needs to do is find a button in the third color,” Vivienne breathed. “The lowest hour button is for a full hour. If he can get that and his head back in the game there’s still hope.”

Sheryl looked at the timer, even with the extension he had just under an hour and a half remaining to clear six and a half floors.

Greene seemed weighed down with every step, sweat rolled down his body. His black hair clung limply to his head, the green tips seeming more diseased than energetic. Exhaustion was written across his face, and even his support seemed to just keep pushing him forward.

“Come on,” Vivienne urged as he landed on the sixth floor with just over an hour left. “People have come back from farther behind than this. Push through, find a button. Odds are the biggest puzzles are behind you now. It’s become a test of endurance.”

Greene froze as he took in the scene: a schoolyard on a sunny day. Swings drifted lazily in a simulated breeze. To Sheryl it seemed an ordinary sight, but Greene trembled.

“Oh shit…” Vivienne muttered. “This must be a psychological challenge. Does he even have any reserve left to fight through it?”

Greene took a couple steps, and voices, barely audible at first, sounded from the speakers. The deeper Green walked into the room the louder they got.

“Fatso, fatso, Anthony’s a fatso,” they sing-songed.

Greene put his hands to his ears. “Make it stop.” He squeezed his eyes and crouched.

“Don’t listen to them Tony,” his father demanded. “You proved them wrong a long time ago.”

Greene took several shaking steps, and new voices joined the chorus.

“Anthony is too fat for sports.”

“Who could ever love a lardass like Anthony?”

“The only job Anthony will ever have is mall Santa, he won’t even need the fat suit.”

“Nooooo…” Greene wailed, holding his hands tight to his ears. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

“That’s right Tony,” the coach declared. “That’s not who you are. You’re a world-class athlete who just set a record for biathlon. You’re the first man to run a tower without sponsored training.”

Greene’s eyes were glassy as the voices got louder. He moved sluggishly, robotically looking for clues.

He uncovered a timer extension, hand hovering over it even as his support told him not to press it.

“Timer extension: forty-two seconds.”

“That was all his extensions,” Vivienne said, chewing her bottom lip. She looked at the timer. “He’s not going to make it. He’s only got half an hour left, and five floors still to go after this one. That’s unheard of even if he does manage to recover from this.”

Greene managed to find and unlock the door to the fifth floor.

“No…” his father’s voice carried through the hall like an omen.

Greene wailed with anguish at the shattered domestic scene. Glass littered carpet, red pools mimicked bloodstains.

“Push past Tony,” his father ordered. “This isn’t now. This happened a long time ago.”

“Mama…” Greene breathed, sliding down a wall. “Maddie…”

“Keep moving baby,” Greene’s wife urged. “Come on, you can still get out.”

“Shake it off Tony,” his coach demanded.

A chyron explained that Greene had returned home after practice one day to find his birth mother and baby sister murdered after a robbery gone wrong. They had been shot with his own rifle, which he’d forgotten that day.

“No… no, no, no…” Greene muttered, holding his head, eyes glassy as he stared at the recreated scene.

“Listen to me Tony.”

Greene’s head came up at the sound of his wife’s voice.

“I love you. I know you can still get out. Push through baby. We still have a honeymoon to go on. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us.”

“I can’t do it…” Greene whimpered. “I’ve got less than half an hour left.”

“You don’t know until you try,” she begged. “If anybody can do it, you can. Come on baby, don’t give in now.”

Greene nodded and stumbled to his feet. He found the door, and noted the puzzle. He only had to flip switches in a couple of room.

He stumbled through the ransacked house recreation. At one point he found a timer extension button, but it did nothing when he pressed it.

“That was hours…” Vivienne sighed. “If only he hadn’t hit the one on the sixth floor.”

Greene stumbled through the door to the fourth floor with ten minutes remaining on the clock. Booming music sounded through the space, and neon lighting reflected off the stairs, but when the camera panned to the floor it was a large shooting gallery. He only needed to hit the bullseye on five targets to proceed.

“You got this Tony!” the coach shouted.

Greene nodded, but quickly showed signs of distraction at the volume of music and the dance lighting. He took three shots at the first target, and four at the second.

“Come on Tony! Don’t waste the time reloading again. Just hit the marks with the next three shots.”

“Yes Coach,” he replied on instinct.

He missed the next target, and hit it on the second shot. He hit the fourth on the first try, but then had to reload.

“One minute remaining.”

Greene dropped the magazine at the announcement and fumbled for it in the dim lighting.

“Thirty seconds remaining.”

“I love you Tony,” his wife said.

He looked up, and dropped the weapon. “I’m sorry Delilah. I can’t take you on that honeymoon. I love you so much.”

“It’s ok. Thank you for making me your wife. You made me happy every day.” She was barely restraining her sobs. “I love you.”

He took a breath. “Dad, Coach. Thank you. Thank you for being here today, and for being such great role models.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out son,” his dad replied.

“Thank you for being a great student,” his coach said.

“Five.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Four.”

“Thank you.”

“Three.”

“I love you all.”

“Two.”

“Goodbye.”

“One.”

The camera cut to the outside of the tower as a rumble started. The upper floors collapsed first, debris raining down the sides as walls failed. Within a minute it had fallen into its own footprint, a lingering cloud of dust ringing the area.

There was a pregnant pause as they waited for a life-signs report from Greene’s implants.

A photo of Anthony Greene filled the screen, the destruction of his tower behind him. Underneath the photo the date and the word deceased were written.

There was a wail of grief from Greene’s wife before her microphone was cut.

The camera cut to Clay Grayson, wearing a somber charcoal suit. “It was a good run, and a daring choice to run without sponsored training. Unfortunately, Anthony Greene ran out of time and perished on the fourth floor. To all his family and friends, we are sorry for your loss.”

He waited for a moment before continuing. “This ends the one-hundred and twenty-fourth season of The Tower. Join us next week as we celebrate the start of the one-hundred and twenty-fifth. Good night.”

There was pain in Sheryl’s hand. She looked down to see Vivienne’s hand wrapped around it, knuckles white.

“He… god…” Vivienne said. “He had a seventy-five percent chance of survival. He was a pompous ass, but…”

Sheryl leaned over and hugged her friend. “I know…”

Both women were crying softly as other contestants started to file out of the hall.

“It doesn’t get any easier,” one said, pausing as he walked past. “But even still, a sort of apathy eventually settles in. Around the world people who bet against him are collecting their winnings, while somewhere on this island a widow grieves.

“The hall is still pretty full… probably because nobody here had interacted with him.”

“We came in on the transport with him,” Vivienne whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, shaking his head. He moved on.

They sat there in shocked silence for several minutes before Sheryl finally sighed. “We should go.”

Vivienne nodded. “Yeah…”

They were among the last to leave the hall, joining those with shocked and pained expressions.