Chapter Text
Aesop Carl was not having a great week.
Monday had seen him suffer at the hands of a particularly annoying client, who barely gave him a moment's peace while he went about his work. Normally, the deceased's relatives wanted to be as far away from the process as possible… but this one insisted on hanging around and asking him startlingly blunt questions, usually about himself. It was disrespectful at best to the deceased (who just so happened to be her husband), and a royal pain for Aesop, who desperately wanted to attend to his duties in silence and then leave without saying a word more than was necessary.
Tuesday had him going to the shops for groceries, something he'd unfortunately had to take charge of since his mentor's passing. While going himself meant he could treat himself to a bit of licorice and chocolate as he saw fit, it also meant he had to walk himself right into the lion's den—countless supposedly well-meaning locals would ask after him, comment on his weight and pallor, and make not-so-subtle hints about his marital status. What people saw in him was completely beyond him… he'd tried to ask once, but ended up lost at the phrase "Tumblr sexyman".
Wednesday had been... blissfully uneventful, to be fair. Aesop had made himself a nice breakfast (runny eggs and soldiers, his secret favourite despite being about ten years older than the average eggs-and-soldiers-liker), then spent the rest of his day filling out paperwork and occasionally getting up to brew himself more coffee. It was quiet, save the low-level hum of background noise from outside, and that was just how he liked it.
Thursday, however… Thursday was the worst.
Aesop had needed to post an order form for embalming fluid and other miscellaneous supplies, so he reluctantly forced himself out into the rainy back alleys of London's East End once more.
No sooner did he step out of his front door did a carriage roll by at an unnecessarily high speed, sending water from a puddle spraying up and over the pavement, completely drenching him. In his shock—the water had been freezing cold, to boot—Aesop dropped his letter, and it fluttered off into the road. He scrambled to retrieve it in a panic… but in his haste, he hadn't noticed the freshly-made horse droppings lying in his path.
He slipped. He fell. He lay there, paralysed with shock, as another horse came screeching to a halt just feet away from him.
...No, Thursday was truly not Aesop's day.
By some miracle, he at least managed to retrieve his letter and get it sent without any further delay. By the time he got home he was soaked to the bone, having a slight existential crisis (given he'd very nearly died in the most humiliating way possible), and overall, completely and utterly miserable.
On Friday, he'd been just plain tense from the moment he awoke.
He'd been flipping through the newspaper, chugging his morning coffee, when he noticed a gaudy advertisement covering a good third of the broadsheet page.
Participants Needed!
Are you tired of your life?
Do you want the opportunity to start afresh?
Could you turn your life around with an exorbitant (but ominously unspecified) sum of money?
Participants are needed for a small social study at Oletus Manor. Everyone who joins stands a chance of winning an enormous cash prize—but don't delay, as places are extremely limited!
To enter, just write to [̵̪̳̩̈́̈́ä̷́͝ͅ ̶̻̜̯̅̃͝Ḍ̷̳͍̔̈́̎ ̸̬̯͐͌̐d̸̮̺̙̅̄ ̷̫͓̠͆̐R̵̮̾̊ ̶̞̫̻̓̂̑E̸͚̋̌ ̴̰͗S̶͓̯̉̕ ̴̣̬͔̆̍̌S̶̳̼͗]̴̘̫̗͋ with your name, address, and answers to the following questions:
1. What do you do for a living?
2. What are your hobbies?
3. What are your likes and dislikes?
4. What is the meaning of life?
5. What would YOU spend your prize money on?
We wish you the best of luck!
For whatever reason, Aesop found himself hesitating over the advert.
Though he'd never told a soul before, he'd always secretly dreamed of moving away from the city one day. He'd retire to a secluded cottage in the countryside, far from the rest of civilisation… there'd be no horny widows to harass him, no horses to damn near trample him or get their crap all over his nice new leather shoes… just the sound of birds singing as he tended to his own little garden and watched the clouds float by.
With that little dream in mind… Aesop found himself reaching for his pen.
Well, what was the harm?
He wrote down his answers to the questions, sealed them in an envelope, and made a mental note to post it later. Right now, he needed to start packing his supplies ready to visit his next client.
...But why did he suddenly feel so tired…?
"...You are live in Oletus Manor! Please do not swear!"
"Like hell I won't swear, you— mmfhghfghfh!!"
With a serene grin, Jack kept his hand firmly clamped over Naib's mouth, holding him in a tight headlock as he continued to address the camera in front of him.
"In our last installment, a surprise twist saw you, the audience, selecting five of our survivors for eviction. As you already know, the usual rules state that just two nominations are made by the survivors themselves, with evictions decided by public vote…"
Behind him, the other remaining survivors twitched nervously in their seats. The eviction process had been harrowing, and none of them had quite gotten past it yet… they certainly weren't ready to deal with this quite so soon.
"...but our last installment also saw one of our survivors leaving of his own accord, leaving a spot in the manor open. I am therefore delighted to introduce our newest contestant: please give a warm welcome to Mr Aesop Carl!"
…
Loud.
Too loud.
When Aesop awoke, his hands immediately flew to his ears to muffle the sound of… music? But music unlike anything he'd heard before; it was discordant, demanding, and down-right hideous.
And then, to make it worse, someone was touching him. Gently shaking his shoulder. But why—
"That's the show's theme tune," a jarringly soft voice said against the din. "They play it to wake us up in the morning, so you'll get used to it… Emma still finds it a bit scary, though. Mr Carl?"
Aesop knew all of those words individually, but for the life of him he couldn't make them make sense in context. He'd just woken up, apparently not in his bed, and… show? Theme tune? And who on earth was Emma??
He had to be dreaming, he decided, scrunching his eyes shut tight and willing himself to wake up.
Unfortunately, the music only got louder.
"Mr Carl, wake up… you have to come on stage, or the host will get upset!"
On stage? Yeah, this had to be a nightmare.
Unfortunately, the person who had so rudely shaken him wasn't taking no for an answer. Before he could react, Aesop was hoisted up and thrown over their shoulder like a sack of flour, and they were moving.
"Emma's sorry, Mr Carl… you need to be careful, though. I don't want you to get evicted so soon…"
And with that, Aesop was dumped unceremoniously on the stage.
Finally forced to open his eyes (lest he fall back on his arse), he realised that there was no audience whatsoever… thank god. There was only a camera in front of him, an intimidatingly tall gentleman in a comically tall top hat beside him, a much shorter gentleman trying to tackle the former (who remained firmly planted on the stage), and two rows of rather shaken looking individuals behind him.
"Ah, Mr Carl! Good of you to join us," the first gentleman said. "Welcome to Oletus Manor."
"Oletus…?" Aesop said, voice still slightly raw with sleep. This was all far too much to process, but for some reason, the name rang a bell…
Oh.
Aesop's eyes widened, mouth falling open just slightly.
The advertisement.
"Yes, Oletus Manor! You were selected to be our latest contestant. How do you feel?"
Aesop continued to stare for a moment in silence. "...I'll get money for this?"
At that, the gentleman slapped his side and laughed (or he would have if the other gentleman wasn't still trying to tackle him like a rabid guard dog—he ended up getting a rather hard slap on the side of the head instead. Ouch).
"You're not the first to say that, and you won't be the last," he replied. "If you win, yes, you'll be awarded with a grand prize of one million echoes!"
"Echoes...?"
"It converts to about 151 of the biggest echo packs," a voice piped up behind him. Aesop turned to see a rather tired-looking man in a helmet addressing him. "The biggest pack costs $99.99, so it's the equivalent of about $15,200. At the current exchange rate, that's about £11,314."
"Oh, thank you," Aesop replied. That certainly cleared that up.
The top-hatted gentleman, who seemed to be acting as some sort of emcee, continued on. "Right. So without further ado, I'll allow you to take a gander at the rules. The rest of us already know them back to front, so I won't bother repeating them." Handing Aesop a thick roll of parchment, the emcee gave him a small nod, then turned back to face the camera. "And that's that! Mr Carl will familiarise himself with the rules, and then make his first trip to the diary room after a short tour. As always, our livestream is available to watch 24/7 until the finale, and you can tune in for our next special eviction programme at the same time next week.
And so, all I have left to say is… cheerio!"
And just like that, the lights dimmed, and everyone—save the emcee and his companion, who was still glued to him like a particularly angry burr stuck on his coat—filed out of the room.
Aesop took a deep breath, deciding it was probably just best to roll with it, and unfurled the parchment.
Oletus Manor Rules and Regulations
- Contestants—hereafter named "survivors"—are to live in the manor under constant surveillance.
-
- Survivors may not attempt to leave the manor, or they risk eviction.
-
- Survivors may not attempt to contact anyone in the outside world, or they risk eviction.
- Every week, survivors must nominate two fellow survivors for eviction. The two (or more) survivors with the most votes will then be subject to an audience vote, and the survivor with the most votes will be evicted from the manor.
-
- Discussion of nominations within the manor is forbidden, and doing so will result in punishment, up to and including immediate eviction.
-
- Refusal to nominate fellow survivors, or any other wilful obstruction of the nomination system, will result in immediate eviction.
- Survivors must visit the diary room at least twice a week. There, they will be free to share their thoughts and feelings with the audience.
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- There are certain times when survivors' presence will be requested in the diary room without prior notice.
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- Not visiting the diary room as required will result in nomination for eviction.
- Causing lasting bodily harm to fellow survivors is strictly forbidden, and doing so will result in automatic nomination for eviction that week. Causing the death of a fellow survivor will result in immediate eviction.
-
- Property damage will also incur similar punishment, at the host's discretion.
- Once a week, survivors will take part in a group task as set by the host. A portion of the grand prize fund will be wagered on completion of this task.
-
- If the task is completed successfully, the wagered echoes will be doubled and added to the grand prize fund. If unsuccessful, the wagered echoes will be deducted from the fund.
-
- Survivors may occasionally be offered individual tasks to complete. If successful, they will receive a small personal reward. Punishment for incompletion varies at the host's discretion.
-
- Refusal to attempt any task may result in punishment, up to and including immediate eviction.
- Rules may change at any time at the host's discretion.
"...You'd really go so far as to risk nomination just because I said you couldn't swear? Honestly, Naib, what am I to do with you?"
Still attempting to process what he'd just read, Aesop couldn't help but overhear the heated discussion from across the stage. The shorter gentleman—Naib, apparently—had finally been detached from the taller gentleman, and now had his teeth bared as he grabbed him by the lapels.
"It's not just about the swearing and you know it! The hell am I supposed to do, just sit there looking pretty while you drag some other poor bastard into this?!"
"My goodness... I've told you a thousand times, I have nothing to do with who joins the manor. I really am just as innocent as you."
"Bullshit! You think they'd just put any of us in front of the camera, give us an earpiece and let us present?! Nah, Jack, you're in on it. You can't fool me. I'd bet that whole damn prize fund on you being the host," Naib spat. "It's you, and you're doing a piss-poor job of hiding it."
"...Um…"
The two of them finally took pause to look at poor Aesop, who was still just standing there, doing a fantastic impression of a confused goldfish. With a sigh, Naib released Jack, grimacing as he gave Aesop a nod of acknowledgement.
"Sorry… Aesop, wasn't it? Word of advice: don't trust this guy as far as you can throw him."
"R-right…"
Completely ignoring Naib's utter resentment, Jack simply clapped his hands together. "Ah, yes! Naib, seeing as you're here, you can give Mr Carl his tour."
"The hell? Why can't you do it?!"
"As much as I would love to, I have something else I need to attend to." With an ostentatious bow, Jack flashed Aesop a cheeky smile. "I'll be leaving you in Mr Subedar's capable hands, then."
Before either of them could get another word in, Jack scarpered, leaving them alone on the stage in the small theatre room.
"...No way he's not involved. His crusty ass should've been evicted on day one," Naib muttered.
"What?"
"...Don't worry about it."
The tour was short and sweet—not just because of Aesop's unwilling tour guide, but because the manor itself had relatively little to show.
There were two large communal dorm rooms, with two separate small bedrooms off to the side, each with a single double bed. (Clearly one of Jack's perverted schemes , Naib had said—there were only so many beds in the main dorm rooms, so two "couples" were forced to share a bed nightly, like a particularly uncomfortable game of musical chairs.)
Down the corridor from the dorms were two large bathrooms, a kitchen, a small library, and an enclosed garden (with a vegetable patch, which Emma—the strong young woman who'd picked Aesop up before, who apparently just liked to refer to herself in the third person—was tending to when they passed through).
This was all topped off with a well-furnished communal area, the so-called showroom (where they'd first started), and the aforementioned diary room. This was where Aesop and Naib parted ways, so that Aesop could make his first "entry".
The diary room itself was no bigger than a cupboard, fitted with a luxurious velveteen armchair, a camera, and not much else. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Aesop let the door click shut behind him as he took a seat.
"Is this really… being shown to other people?" he mused out loud.
"It is," replied a deep, disembodied voice, coming seemingly from nowhere. Aesop just about jumped out of his skin.
"Who… where?!"
"I," came the voice, "am unimportant. It is you, Aesop Carl, who the audience wishes to hear."
Steeling himself, Aesop swallowed again, his mouth uncomfortably dry. Ominous disembodied voice or no, he supposed he just had to keep rolling with it, like he'd rolled with everything else today.
"...Right… um. Can I ask… who are the audience?"
"Those who take an interest in your lives. That is all you need to know."
Sensing he wouldn't get a straight answer there, Aesop decided to change tack. "And… we're really being watched twenty-four hours a day? How?"
"The manor proudly boasts the latest in its own technology; you are observed at all hours via small cameras known as "peepers". The only places not covered by their line of sight are the lavatories, and any attempt to locate, obscure, or destroy them will be treated as heinous property damage."
"I… I see…"
To be observed at all hours by some dictatorial overlord… what a terrifying, dystopian concept, Aesop thought. Somebody should write a book about that.
Still, he thought to himself—it wasn't as if he led a particularly interesting life to begin with. All he had to do was keep to himself, not rock the boat, and take part in the odd task. Sure, being in an enclosed space with an unknown quantity of loud strangers (with lord knows how many more watching him from afar) might be his own personal idea of hell… but at best, he might win those echoes and have a chance at a better life, and at worst, he'd just be evicted and return home. Wasn't it at least worth a shot?
"...I see," he repeated slowly. "I think… yes, I understand."
"Good. So, Aesop Carl: how do you feel right now?"
Aesop considered his words carefully before responding. "I feel… bewildered, to be frank. I still don't quite understand how I actually got here, but it's probably best not to question these things. This is technically only meant to be a crack fic, after all. Real world logic doesn't really apply."
"Indeed, " the voice replied.
"I… I must admit, I'm not very enthusiastic about being around so many people, either."
"Ah, yes… you wrote in your application that you dislike the company of the living. Why is that?"
"...They ask too many questions," Aesop replied, lacing his fingers together in his lap. "They bother you. They get concerned, but… but it always feels false, somehow. They confuse me. They claim to understand, but they don't understand a jot."
"And the dead are simple in comparison?"
"I… I suppose so, yes. They aren't confusing, and they don't try to pry into your business or bother you. The dead are quiet… I can handle them far better."
"...You will certainly make an interesting addition to the manor, Aesop Carl.
It's nearing lights out, so please proceed to one of the dorms. We will speak again soon."
The first few days went by surprisingly smoothly, given the circumstances.
Aesop had managed to nab a single bed in the corner every night, and spent most of the daytime tucked away in the library. (Given that he hadn't attended school himself, and his mentor's book collection had been minimal and mostly instructional, he couldn't say he disliked suddenly having so many books at his disposal.)
Of course, Aesop couldn't avoid his fellow survivors, as much as he tried. So far, he could split most of them neatly into three groups: the loud troublemakers (Naib and Jack fit into this category, as well as that one acrobat, Mike), the quote-unquote "nice" ones (Emma, and the dancer Margaretha), and the quiet ones who also seemed to just want to get this over and done with with as little fuss as possible (comprising Andrew, a grave keeper, and Norton, the echo expert from Aesop's first day—as well as Aesop himself).
There were also some who defied those categories. They were the ones Aesop found himself the most unsure about.
Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu, for example. The two of them, had they not known each other prior to the game, might have easily slotted into the second and first categories respectively; however, it was well-known that the two were inseparable and acted almost as one. When Wujiu would occasionally show resistance to the manor's rules, Bi'an would calm him instantly. Together, they seemed intent on winning.
Could two people even win this game together? Aesop wasn't sure, but he didn't care enough to question it. He was just glad that they happily claimed one of the double beds each night, meaning he had a better chance of getting a single. Thank god for gay people.
Eli Clark was also a bit of an odd one. The man had a gentle sort of aura that Aesop couldn't say he hated, and notably, he had a pet owl sat on his shoulder most of the time. (Occasionally said owl was replaced with a paper cup, for reasons unknown. Eli seemed oblivious to this fact, despite it being pointed out to him numerous times.) This owl would sometimes appear out of nowhere when Aesop was alone, and Aesop (after making sure nobody else was around) would gently stroke her feathers with the back of his finger. It was kind of nice.
And then there were the really weird ones. Mary, for example, who claimed to be the Queen of France; she would walk into a room, declare "I'm not bloody French, I'm Austrian, why can't you get it right," and then leave again.
Then there was Joseph, who was also French. He didn't claim to be royalty, though—he just went around attempting to get the others to pose for his photographs, which was usually met with similar reticence to Jack's advances. This was because Joseph was also in charge of the manor's cameras, so most assumed he couldn't be trusted either.
Right now, as Aesop tried and failed to concentrate on the book in front of him—'1948' , or something—he couldn't help but fret about nominations. Of course it would serve him best if he voted for members of the 'loud troublemakers' group, but was that too harsh? Perhaps one of them really needed those echoes. Having never had a real conversation with any of them lasting more than a minute, Aesop wouldn't have the first idea.
As much as he detested the idea of actively getting to know them, the desire to make the fairest and most logical decision kept niggling at the back of his brain. After all, Aesop Carl was not a cruel man—he had dedicated his life so far to treating the dead with kindness and care, after all.
(He might have also been killing them himself, but he didn't know that, to be fair.)
Loud and obnoxious as that group may be, Aesop still hated the idea of making unfair assumptions about people—he'd been on the receiving end of said unfair assumptions far too many times himself.
That afternoon, all of the survivors had to meet up in the kitchen for their weekly challenge. Maybe Aesop would try to find out more then.
Aesop gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow as his fellow survivors talked over each other, clattering about and generally making an unbearable racket. Things were already not going to plan.
("Your challenge this week," that disembodied voice had said from god-knows where, "is to present a talent show. Your wager will be on whether you can all present your talents successfully without any issues, trip-ups, or transgressions. The talent you select can be anything you wish, although some props and supplies have already been provided for your perusal."
"Just present our talents? That's it?" the acrobat, Mike, had said.
"Correct. You have one hour to prepare, and then you will present your talents in the showroom. Good luck.")
Thinking the task an easy one, the group (or rather, the louder members of the group) had collectively decided to wager 250,000 echoes on their success. Now, Aesop was trying and failing to concentrate. The very last thing he wanted was to mess up, lose their wager, and be the subject of thirteen people's scorn for the rest of the week.
"...I can't show off my talent without some top-class balls," Mike said, oblivious to Aesop's plight. "But I seem to have forgotten the recipe after all this time…"
Wordlessly, Margaretha—the dancer—slid a piece of paper across the kitchen counter. With a look of pure scorn, Mike grabbed it, reading out its contents with a sneer.
"'Nitroglycerin, diatomaceous earth, lead…' first of all, why the hell do you have that memorised? And second, how am I even meant to find all that here?!"
"You get the nitroglycerin from the pharmacy," Aesop said, finally looking up. "The diatomaceous earth can be found near the furthest exit gate, but it's easiest to find using Eli. You get the lead from the electrotherapy room after overloading the circuits on day three."
Wait, what ?
After fixing Aesop with a very strange look, everyone turned back to Mike, who was rifling through the bags of supplies one more time.
"Oh, wait. They included all of that in here anyway," he said, getting to work.
("Exit gate? Electrotherapy room..?" Andrew whispered. Eli just shrugged. He had no idea, either.)
Not quite sure what had just happened himself, Aesop sighed and decided to take a look through the supplies. He couldn't exactly find and embalm a corpse in the time they'd been given, so maybe there was something else in there that he could use.
Hmm. Bomb materials… no. Magnets… no? Elbow pads… what...? A music box… oh—drat. Aesop glanced over at Margaretha, who was already practicing her dance routine with a music box of her own. That was his ballet idea out of the window. What else… ah!
Triumphant, Aesop held up a small makeup kit. He could certainly work with that.
"Found something?" a soft voice said from behind him.
"Ah! Yes..." Aesop replied, trying to hide his surprise. He turned to see Xie Bi'an, smiling warmly down at him.
"I'm glad. Wujiu and I planned on working on a paired dance, but…" Aesop followed Xie Bi'an's line of sight to see Margaretha again. Damn it, Margie. "...We didn't want to step on any toes."
"I see," replied Aesop. After a moment of awkward silence, he continued. "...Then if you don't mind, I'll be going to practice."
"Wait," said Xie Bi'an with a soft laugh, "I wasn't quite done with you yet!"
"Didn't you just want to congratulate me on finding something to do?"
"Well, that was part of it—look, Mr Carl, I was wondering. You need a model, don't you? Unless you planned to paint your own face, which I suppose you could… but Wujiu and I would be happy to help, too."
"Oh," Aesop replied, glancing over at Fan Wujiu, who looked more than a little pissed while still trying to find something worthwhile in the supply bags. "I suppose that's fine… I warn you though, I'm not used to working with living clients."
"Eh…?"
"I… I'm an embalmer."
"Oh!" Bi'an replied, apparently unfazed. "I see. Well, I'll be as still as a rock for you then. Though I can't promise the same for Wujiu…"
"They managed to put elbow pads and bomb materials in there, but not a damn sword? Not even a calligraphy brush?!" Fan Wujiu seethed, giving up. "Of all the…!"
"Fan," Xie Bi'an interjected sweetly, lacing their hands together. Aesop watched as Wujiu visibly relaxed, the tension in his muscles melting away in an instant. "Mr Carl here has offered to help us."
"Hm...?"
"He's offered to paint our faces. If we dress up a bit too, I was thinking we could be models. That might work as a talent at a push, mightn't it?"
"Models…? That sort of thing suits you more than it does me, Bi'an. There's no way I'll pull that off."
Xie Bi'an sighed plaintively, bringing Fan Wujiu's knuckles to his lips. Aesop almost looked away… he was starting to feel like a third wheel.
"I just know you'll dazzle them all, Fan. Won't you trust us? Please?"
Glancing between Aesop and Bi'an, Wujiu eventually sighed.
"...Fine. But I'm not taking responsibility if we lose that wager."
Exactly one hour later, Aesop, Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu were sitting patiently at the back of the showroom's stage with the other survivors. Jack was currently front and centre, dabbing at a small canvas as the camera watched on.
"There were paints in there…?" Wujiu whispered. "Bi'an, you're a wonderful artist. Why…"
"For one," Xie Bi'an whispered in response, "Jack got there first… but also, I didn't want to just take care of myself and leave you out in the cold. That would be unthinkable."
Overhearing the hushed conversation, Aesop took a sideways glance at the two. Bi'an was averting his gaze, cheeks stained a pink not painted on by Aesop's own hand. Upon further inspection, Wujiu was in a similar state.
Married people , he thought.
"Thank you very much," announced Jack from the front, bowing beside his finished picture. What was that? It looked like… a nude? It looked like—
"What the fuck!!" yelled Naib, trying to lunge forwards as a weary-looking Norton and Andrew held him back. "Fucking pervert, what the hell!! How d'you even know about that mole?!"
Ignoring him completely, Jack continued. "Next up, we have Mr Michael Morton!"
"Thank you, thank you!" said Mr Michael Morton himself, making his way to the front of the stage in a forward roll—only to stop just short of where he needed to be.
"Damn, I forgot about that nerf," he muttered.
As Mike set about tossing his balls, Aesop took the opportunity to look around at the rest of the audience.
Margaretha, who had been sitting as far away from Mike as possible, had an unreadable expression on her face as she watched his performance. Beside her, Mary actually looked vaguely entertained, her eyebrows raising ever so slightly as Mike pulled off a backflip mid-juggle.
A little further along, Emma seemed far more impressed, audibly gasping at each move with sheer delight. She seemed completely oblivious to Norton and Andrew's struggle beside her, still trying their best to hold down Naib, who was glaring absolute daggers at Jack from across the room.
Also seemingly oblivious to the chaos was Eli, who sat serenely with his owl perched on his shoulder. Beside him was Joseph, though, who made absolutely no effort to hide his boredom. He sat cross-legged with his arms folded, looking somewhere off to the side, his hair tumbling gracefully over the backrest.
Until he—along with the rest of the audience—nearly jumped out of his skin.
The sudden explosion, followed by the uncomfortable squelch of something falling to the floor from a height, had shocked them all to silence.
Aesop was certain you could hear a pin drop.
For a moment, the stage was obscured by a thick fog. When it dispersed, Aesop could see something… charred, splattered right in the middle of the stage. He quickly put the pieces together: one of Mike's balls had gone astray, hit this thing on the ceiling, and exploded on impact.
(Why did Mike's balls have to be explosive anyway? he thought. That's a bit silly, if you ask me. )
Mike himself had stopped dead, staring at this thing on the floor. His face was white.
...And then, the show's discordant theme started playing again.
"Michael Morton," boomed that familiar disembodied voice over the music, " you have destroyed a peeper, an act of heinous property damage. The penalty for this is immediate eviction."
Once again, everyone was silent. Mike's mouth opened and closed a few times, before he finally found the ability to speak.
"W-wait, no, I…" he stuttered. "It was an accident, I swear… you can't evict me for that!"
"Michael Morton. Please prepare for immediate eviction."
"Please, no… you can't…! I haven't broken any other rules, this was just an accident!!"
Mike's cries received no response other than the continued thumping of the theme music. Beside him, Aesop noticed Xie Bi'an turning his face away from the stage. Fan Wujiu averted his gaze with a grimace, using his hand to cover Bi'an's eyes.
Looking around the room, nobody seemed to be looking at Mike. Most were either looking away completely or closing their eyes, shoulders tense… only Jack seemed nonchalant, inspecting his long nails with a slight frown.
Was this some sort of ritual they'd neglected to mention to Aesop? Were evictees meant to be shunned completely before being thrown out of the manor? How cruel if so, he thought. As if failing to win the grand prize wasn't punishment enough.
Aesop was torn away from his thoughts by a bloodcurdling scream.
Fire.
Where Mike Morton had just been standing, enormous flames now licked up at the ceiling—except Mike was still there, still screaming, a grim, writhing silhouette amongst the thick column of flames.
It was over in a matter of minutes, though it felt like hours. His body eventually fell silent and collapsed, shrinking in on itself until the shape looked barely human. The flames eventually seemed to swallow themselves up, fizzling out, and leaving only a small pile of ashes behind.
Silence reigned for a moment more before the voice returned.
"Michael Morton has been evicted."
The theme tune came to a halt.
"...Well," Jack piped up after a moment. "Unfortunately, it seems we've failed the talent show mission, meaning the grand prize has been reduced to a total of 750,000 echoes."
"...About $11,740," Norton said quietly, expression still grim. "£8,480 at the current exchange rate."
"Exactly. It's a shame to have another of our group leave us so soon… oh, but not to worry! I've just been informed that a new survivor will be arriving shortly! What excellent timing."
Not even Naib seemed to have it in him to argue. He just sat there, fists and jaw clenched, staring at the floor.
Aesop himself felt numb.
Was… was that what was meant by eviction? Dying an agonising death for the entertainment of god-knows-who?
Now that he knew the truth, his whole body trembled with quiet rage.
Death was sacred. It was delicate, to be dealt with with care and respect. The whole idea of this sickened him to his core—it was undignified, it was perverted, it was… it was…
Aesop's jaw clenched tight.
That music had started up again.
This time, however, it was accompanied by the shrill cry of a violin.