Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Prologue
Ralph's legs trembled as he waited irritably outside the large door gloating over him like skyscraper buildings.
If things had been different. Ralph always found himself wondering. If the plane had never lost control and crashed onto the island, things would've been certainly different. Simon and Piggy would still be alive, him and Jack would've never broke apart, never ended up on opposite sides of the chessboard and he wouldn't have wasted three years of his life on that god forbidden island.
What troubled him most was the lives that were lost. Simon and Piggy had their own dreams and aspirations. He knew for a fact that Peter wanted to be a philosopher. And he recalled Simon saying that he wanted to be a Vet or a Wildlife biologist. Both of them would've surely made great lives for themselves and made a good impact on the world. But they were gone, unable to fulfil their dreams.
His mind wandered to Jack Merridew. What happened between them?
When the naval officer arrived on the island, the whole world stopped spinning. Ralph found himself unable to speak, so just cried. Cried because he'd been strong for too long, bottled up his emotions for the sake of his friends for too long. The officer who arrived was a guardian angel in his eyes, his white uniform shining with hope as he knelt besides him. His tears wouldn't stop, they poured down his face like a rainstorm as this officer tried to make sense of his blubbering words.
And in the background came the deafening ululations of the hunters, their heavy footsteps racing towards the shoreline until, suddenly, they stopped. And for once, the shrill sound of their call didn't bother him. He knew he was safe now. Dumbly, he peered behind him and saw the semi-circle of boys, clay face painted with sharp sticks in their hands.
He looked at Jack with a burning resentment, Jack's icy eyes faded into a deep blue. They were looking at each other now. Jack lowered his stick, his mouth parting as if he was trying to mouth something to him.
Ralph turned to the officer, "Nobody killed I hope?" his question felt rhetorical. But Ralph finally heard him.
"Only two, and they've gone."
He leaned in closer, "Two, dead?"
He nodded again. The boys slowly came forward in dead silence, but stopped almost immediately. The officer spoke to him again and he answered him as best as he could before the sobs took control again.
Jack was in the corner of his eye, standing silently. Normally, he would've been too scared to cry in front of Jack. In fact he never cried in front of any of the hunters because they would've surely called him weak or taken the mickey out of him. But this time he didn't care, the hunters had no power of him anymore.
He glanced up out of curiosity and Jack was staring at him, no spear in his hand and his brows lowered and knotted together, the inner corners angled upwards. Was he feeling remorse? Regret? Ralph couldn't decide. Maybe it was part of the game. He'd lost so now all he could do was feign innocence.
It wasn't the Jack he remembered. Not the Jack that mattered anyway. The Jack he once knew would read him bedtime stories during thunderstorms, would help him up when he fell down, would walk to school with him every morning, would hold his hand. But that Jack was gone. Consumed by savagery, lost behind that painted face.
The officer padded over to the other crew members, directing their attention to the plane. Jack was walking towards him and Ralph took it in all at once how he had changed. Jack's fiery red hair blazing out like unkempt flames, his pale face and body smeared in paint, blood and dirt. He could've just moved away from him. Jack hated him after all and pursued him many times on the island to kill him. But he didn't move. His body stiff and weak, he just stayed put.
Jack didn't say anything, but closed the gap, his head slightly bowed. Without warning Jack pulled him into a hug, hands gripped tightly around his back. Ralph couldn't register it enough to know how to respond. Jack Merridew: the arrogant, violent and power hungry hunter had suddenly pulled him in. Why is he doing this? the thought followed. He felt violated, disgusted by the stench of pig's blood and death that lingered in Jack's skin and hair. His head rested in the croon of his neck, his slender fingers digging into his back.
Ralph wanted to shove him off in anger. This was Merridew. Not a close friend or a loved one. A damned psychopath who hunted him down, tried to kill him. He tried to pry his hands off, feeling nervous.
"Ralph," his breath hitched. "Don't, please."
What was he asking him exactly? His best guess was to not let go or something. But Jack was as confusing as the string theory in algebra class. Why would Jack ask of him such a thing when he had been moments earlier trying to hunt him like a wild pig?
"Why should I," said Ralph spitefully.
"Because I won't let you go," Jack uttered. "Not this time."
Ralph didn't know how to reply, feeling his eyes prick with tears. Why was Jack acting like this? Like how he was before the island corrupted him. Truthfully, Jack had always been cocky, but it was amplified on the island. He became power hungry and selfish and violent and savage. That was enough to segregate them, to make Ralph realise that Jack was only looking out for himself, while others became dispensable tools. They eventually grew to despise each other.
Well, he never despised Jack. Even when Jack had turned to savagery and wanted to kill him, he still clung to the possibility of Jack giving himself up and coming back to him.
Ralph found his arm lacing around Jack, the tears trickling. "You were going to kill me," he got out.
"No Ralph—" he said nervously. "I promise I wasn't gonna—besides things will be OK now."
Ralph quickly retracted from the redhead in a hot flash, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with frustration. "You can't just do this Jack!" he spat dolefully. "You can't just pretend that things are—are OK when they're far from that."
Jack said nothing, his face expressionless.
"Nothing will ever be the same again," Ralph declared in defeat, his arms draping loosely beside him. As much as he wanted to brush things aside and let Jack in so easily, he knew couldn't. There was no going back. "You did terrible things—and now two of our friends are dead because of you!"
He quickly plateaued off, feeling guilty. Jack did terrible things but he wasn't solely responsible for Piggy and Simon's deaths. That didn't make him any less angry. Jack still usurped him and ruled over the island like a ruthless dictator.
"At least I'm aware of it," Jack said. "But are you, Ralph? Weren't you also present when we ripped Simon to pieces?"
The words spiralled into a myriad of brutal recollections—terrifying images of the spears thrusting into Simon over and over. Ralph tried to shake them off; they were too disturbing.
I didn't join in, did I?
No... I was there but I just—just watched.
"I didn't turn to savagery like you did," he hissed. "I didn't paint my face and run around chanting with a stick in my hand."
"Maybe not. But you are just as responsible for Simon's death as all of us," he said. "We're in this together now... whether you like it all not we all did him in. And so we got to stick together," Jack seized his shoulders.
Ralph pushed his hands off. "This isn't something we can just forget about," he noted. "This isn't just something I can forget about. For god's sake Jack five minutes ago you wanted my head on a stick and now you want me to forget about it all?" he raised his voice.
"I told you I—I wouldn't have really—" he was cut short when the same officer from before appeared beside them.
"Boys, is it alright if I ask you a few questions about the mortalities?" he asked lightly, but his face was stern and rigid. "It's jus' we need to know exactly what happened here on this island. If I might ask, how did the others die?"
Ralph turned to Jack who was silent. "It was an accident," Ralph found himself saying. And in that moment he heard Piggy's voice in his own. It was an accident. That's what it was, an accident. Piggy had said this the morning after Simon's death and he always wondered why. Why did he refuse to admit that he was murdered? But now that he was doing the same thing, he realised it wasn't a matter of lying. It was a matter of not wanting to admit the dark truth.
"Tell me exactly what happened," the officer instructed.
He didn't see Jack after that. It was for the best really. He had just lied to the officer about the deaths being accidents and a part of that reason was sure enough to do with Jack. He couldn't figure out what, but something was stopping him from blatantly dobbing him in.
When he arrived back in England, he tried to keep up appearances and keep up the façade of being alright. He didn't want to bother people, didn't want to cause a scene. Especially with the guilt he was harbouring. What if someone found out the truth about what happened on the island? They'd all be done for then. And he knew if anyone would crack, it'd be him because he was the only one who clung to civilisation for the entire time on the island and was probably the only one who felt remorse and guilt.
He kept up the act for a while, but the mask was hard to keep on his face; it kept slipping off every so often or cracking right down the centre. Eventually, it shattered like the conch and the effects of the island were showing themselves.
Instead of starting his first year of sixth form, his parents unlisted him from school and hired a private tutor. And on Wednesday's and Monday's, he was enlisted in one to one therapy sessions to help him recover from the events of the island.
In the beginning, he wasn't too thrilled about the idea of discussing his trauma with some old croon. But the sleepless nights and the vivid nightmares were raging on fiercely and he wanted them to stop.
It was Wednesday once again. Ralph took a deep breath as he knocked firmly on his therapist, Dr Jones' door. He had been seeing his therapist for about six months now. The sessions were definitely better than expected; Dr Jones was kind and understanding and he was never forced to say anything he didn't want to. That said, the nightmares were just as horrifying as they were six months ago and a countless number of issues arose every so often. Difficulties to sleep, to communicate, to socialise, to control his anxiety levels. He didn't tell his therapist of the new problems he'd been having. He didn't want to be too much of a burden.
The door opened with a squeak and Dr Jones appeared on the other side, smiling warmly. "Mr Castus, come in come in," he shuffled aside, directing him inside.
"You can call me Ralph, remember?" he reminded the tall, bearded man.
"Ah of course, of course," said the doctor. "Ralph."
Ralph crossed the room and perched himself in the blue spongy chair at the far side, across from the doctor's chair. Whilst Dr Jones made himself comfortable, Ralph scanned the room. It was the same as last time: small but cosy, cream curtains shut tightly, room smelling potently of musk and the ceiling light dimmed down to leave an amber glow. And the windows were shut; there was AC instead.
He supposed the room was kept like this because it's much easier to concentrate and relax in a dimly lit room than a room beaming with sunlight with a hundred odd noises of the outside wading in and out.
Dr Jones sat opposite him, grabbing from instead his brief case a notebook and pen. "So, Ralph," he began. "How have you been this past week?"
"Alright."
"And how have the nightmares been?" he quizzed. "I believe I set you some tasks to help you sleep, how did you get on with those?"
He hadn't done them for a while He wanted to carry on, but he couldn't. Writing his dreams down in a dream journal was nothing short of haunting. Dreams of the island, but with different endings such as where the naval officer never showed up and Jack did him in with his stick. And in this other dream, Jack and him were fighting. Spears clashing and colliding mercilessly until he plunged his stick through Jack in anger.
He always felt this intense shock as Jack staggered ungainly, hands clasping the spear that began to drip violently with blood. Sometimes Jack would say things to him, but he could never make them out. Jack would collapse onto the silver sands of the beach and Ralph would always find himself left with a maddening horror clinging to him. That was the worst iteration of the dream. Not just because he turned to savagery, but because he would never hurt Jack. No matter what terrible things he'd contributed to.
"They didn't really help," he admitted.
The doctor's face lit up, "These things take time, Ralph," he chuckled. "Trauma is like a wound you know. If you stick a plaster on it, the wound will still be infected and might even get worse. But if you clean the wound, then treat it with an antiseptic and then put a dressing on it, it'll heal quicker and will be less likely to reopen," he explained.
Ralph nodded in acknowledgement.
"Say Ralph," his face lit up again. "I have an exciting opportunity for you." He gesticulated his arms as he explained, pulling out his phone from his blazer pocket. "You've told me how much you enjoy playing video games and using those weird headset things," he said. "So I think I know just the thing. A few weeks ago my good friend Cameron at Target Games told me about this exciting new virtual reality game competition they're hosting next Saturday."
Ralph bobbed up in intrigue.
"The game is called The Void." He was looking down at his phone now, directly reading off of what seemed to be the official website. "Two teams of three choose superpowers and will be virtually transported into a fantasy world where they'll have to overcome puzzles, traps and complete the end goal to win," he read enthusiastically, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "Only, all players will lose all of their memories once they enter The Void so as to prevent cheating and or already knowing how to beat the game. All players' memories will return once the game has ended."
Ralph felt a surge of excitement pulse through him, "A virtual game that allows you to choose superpowers?" he exclaimed emphatically. Just the thought of having a power, even if only for the game sounded amazing.
"I thought that might grab your attention," he chuckled. "When Cameron mentioned the game to me and what it entailed, I thought it would be good for you."
"It could help my nightmares... ?"
"Well I can't say it will for sure," said Dr Jones. "I just reckoned being in a virtual world will be good for you, give you a break away from reality."
Ralph tugged at his sleeves. "Are you sure this is safe? We lose all of our memories—and what if the game ends and they don't return..."
"Do not worry," he laughed heartily. "Cameron told me the game has been beta tested for any bugs or glitches."
"B-but how do they even wipe our memories?" The thought of a virtual game being able to do that seemed impossible, even with the advanced technology of today.
"Not too sure about that one," he said nonchalantly. "I assume they use a drug like Benzodiazepine, but who knows. It's all too advanced and technical for me." He laughed again.
Apart from the mystery of how the game can wipe memories, he couldn't deny it seemed like a great opportunity. Having superpowers in a fantasy world and having to complete an end goal seemed like the perfect distraction. And maybe the memory loss wouldn't be so bad after all. No memories, no problems.
"How long does the game usually take to complete?"
Doctor Jones glanced back down at his phone, thumbing the screen. "... beta players took up to a week to complete the game... blah blah… players should be aware completion could take up to two weeks."
"Two weeks?" Ralph spat. "That can't be—how can it take that long?"
Doctor Jones shrugged, "Memory loss I suppose. You won't know you're in a game so it could take a while to figure that out, let alone how to beat it."
Ralph brooded for a while. A break from reality was all he needed, yet the sound of being stuck in some cartoon, fantasy world for two weeks sent shivers up his spine.
"Well how do you beat the game?" he found himself asking.
The Doctor's eyes were on his phone screen again, "Players' final challenge isn't listed. Though it does say here something about a large beast. So maybe that's it?
"A beast?" his sentence drifted off as myriads of memories flashed in his mind. Kill the beast! Cut his throat, Spill his blood, Do him in! Why oh why did it have to be a beast? He thought of Simon briefly and what he said regarding the beast Maybe there is a beast... maybe it's only us. He never knew what Simon meant by that at first. When they ventured to the top of the island and saw a creature like shape resting on the mountain, he was certain there was a beast.
There wasn't really a beast—not a physical one anyway. But on the island it was easier to say you were scared of some beast than say you were actually scared of each other. The real beast was always them. The darkness that resided in all of them, even the littleuns who were only children.
"Yeah, I suppose it has to be something menacing. They can't very well have a unicorn now can they?" he said expectantly.
He shook his head lightly. "S'ppose not."
"I wouldn't worry too much. Maybe it's not a beast at all. Beast has lots of connotations and it could just be used to trick you."
Ralph knew all about that
"So what do you think?" he set his phone down on his lap, clasping his hands together. "This is completely optional remember."
"I-I want to do it," he said. He paused before saying, "So these teams of three are people who don't know each other?"
Doctor Jones chuckled, "Of course not. Allowing a team of people who already know each other would be cheating in a way."
He didn't know how it could be cheating when you wouldn't remember them anyway, but he didn't question further. "How are teams selected?"
"You sign up online I'm sure," he said. "Cam informed me that players are selected so that each team has a range of diversity. And making sure both teams are around the same age," he went on. "Wouldn't be fair if someone had an age advantage," he chuckled. "I have kindly asked Cameron if you could be considered, which may have been a little bad of me to do, but I wanted to give you the best chance. It is quite rare to be picked for these sorts of opportunities."
Ralph smiled to himself. Doctor Jones had gone through hefty lengths for him despite only being his therapist. "Thank you, Doctor Jones."
The session continued as usual after that.
Doctor Jones scribbled some hieroglyphic-looking lettering across his notepad again before slamming it shut and getting up slowly. Ralph followed. "Unfortunately, that's all I have time for today," he said warmly, checking his watch. "Good luck at the tournament if you do decide to sign up."
He nodded dumbly.
"And don't hesitate to pop in if the nightmares get worse," Dr Jones affirmed as he crossed the room, twisting the nob of the large door and opening it for him. Ralph turned to him muttering a thanks as he walked out.
"No worries, lad. Take care and I'll see you next-" he quickly scanned his maroon-red diary that had appeared open in his hands. "Monday. Unless you are doing the tournament in which I'll just book you in in two weeks time."
"Sure," he had said before leaving quickly.
The door clicked behind him as he barrelled down the corridor. He never would have guessed Doctor my-favourite-game-is-scrabble Jones, would've been the type to have connections at Target Games and even be into the whole virtual game world thing. Ralph pushed his blonde locks out of his eyes as he exited the building, breathing in the fresh air.
He wondered if joining the tournament was a good idea. Video games were right up his ally, but he wasn't sure about the social aspect of it. Grouping with two other strangers and possibly spending two weeks in a game with them sounded scary. Socialising had been hard for him lately. Too many memories of the island who surface making it difficult to communicate without freaking out. His anxiety levels around people were always sky high which Dr Jones had explained as being a consequence of being on an island with your fellow classmates who weren't all that nice to you on the island.
That was the problem. No one knew what really happened. Everyone thought that they took a war game a bit too far, but that was far from the truth.
Ralph pulled out his phone and typed his way to the home page of The Void via Target Games. A thought popped into his head. Losing his memories would mean no trauma and no trauma meant socialisation may be possible for him. He scrolled to the sign up form and began punching in his details, hands trembling.
If he could erase all of his problems for a while then game on.