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You could have stopped this at any time.
You could have spoke up earlier.
There was a point where the volleying of who you can trust reaches a peak. Where you had to keep everyone's happiness to a certain level, because no one else is willing to try.
"We're not going to kill, right?"
No one could give you an answer at the time. They were too tired and fraught, and they both looked away. Wolfgang, he looked with righteousness. He was fair and just, but he had everyone's interest in mind. Including casting away the stragglers who wouldn't care.
It only made sense that you speak up. Tell them that everyone deserved their own voice to be heard. Isn't that enough?
You could have told them there. But the echoes of footsteps stopped you. You remember Damon trudging along behind, hunched over.
"Damon?" The silence in the room had amplified your voice tenfold. Rung in your ear.
Damon didn't listen to you then. His face was indescribable, looking down at the floor as you followed him out.
The silence persisted as the elevator doors shut tightly and the room hummed its way to the top. It was so, so easy to have them listen, then and there. All these strangers in a room who turn their heads away from each other. You could rise up to the occasion and say something to ease their tensions. That was something you've been great at when styling others.
At the time, it would have been perfect. What difference there is to one Ultimate over another?
But hindsight is 20/20. Too little, too late, as you watched Wolfgang stare much like a cross director towards misbehaving crew. Or, no, that's too harsh. An otherwise strict director who had a bad day and wanted this film shoot to go as smoothly as possible, so he had to have a firm talk with his crew.
Perhaps speaking up earlier would have set the record straight. Neither Eva or Damon give you a thank you. Instead, they stick together like glue, talking in hush tones that you couldn't interpret.
That should have been your role: an outsider looking in. Then none of this would unfold.
You could have listened to him.
You talked excitingly to Damon because of how everyone was isolating him. It was only fair that he'd have some company.
But he called you suspicious. He never said that you ever talk about yourself and that you should have been weary.
"This is a killing game," he told you. "I don't know why you're obsessed with trying to tell me to turn a new leaf."
"Is that wrong?" There wasn't anything wrong to you: this was just how you saw people. They can change for the world, if the world would let them.
The frown was interwoven. The kind of tattoo that was impossible to scrub off. Those were always the worst to cover up: compared to scars, the ink always bubbled up sooner rather than later. "Yet you never talk about yourself."
But did that matter? There was nothing to talk about. Your family was supportive from the start about your career aspects. The friends you made liked the way you listen. The directors and make up artists all gave you heed. Was there anything to talk about? "I just thought those stories were boring."
"If you really didn't think people would kill, you wouldn't be looking for friends here. Are waiting for a tragedy to happen?"
"Well, no. I just thought you were a good friend." It didn't seem like much at the time. You never want to lie to anyone. "And you're a good person." You weren't good at sniping fallacies like Damon, but your didn't think that was necessary when intuition was more than enough. "And whatever you say, I know you wouldn't kill anyone." Why did he barb himself with wire? Why did he want to convince others so badly that he had the ability to harm?
You could have said something different. Or maybe your words could have been directed at somebody else. Because he glanced at you. Then stared at you. Then glared at you. Only to retreat back and stop giving you attention.
Is being naive the worst thing anyone can be? You rather not see the other side of this argument. But it echoed and pulsed in your mind like a metronome. Hiding in plain sight. Breaking that vulnerability just to snap. Can someone be that cruel? That unforgiving?
You let that fester. You should have switched the conversation then and there.
The one thing you didn't regret was talking to him at all.
You could have saved her.
She didn't have conversations, those miniscule moments of time where you took her under your wing when no one cared. She was more content with staying in the corner of the room, wallowing. The vanity did great work at magnifying her innate sadness.
"Eva," your reflection said, "Did you know I knew a couple of mathletes?" Granted, it was more of a friend of a sibling situation. But it's was still knowing the person. "They're really popular, you know. They help with the bake sale every year."
Eva's reflection didn't speak up.
"It's alright, though. Everyone will get over it in the morning." Your reflection side-eyed and picked at its bangs. If it was anything like high school, people forgive and forget so quickly. Tabloids and twitter gossip, not so much.
Eva's reflection, you remembered, it fogged up her glasses, an unrecognizable look. Still, she was tight-lipped.
"And it's all in the clear now! There's more respect in being honest to everyone." It was on the nose, too. Ultimate Liar seemed so far-fetched. You heard there were people who win by sheer lottery alone, this ability to be ranked amongst the talented. Was that worse than being good at math?
A mathematician winning by lotto. Quite silly to think about it that context.
"It's not that simple." Eva's reflection was already zipping past the vanity mirror.
"Well, isn't it better? I know Wolfgang wanted everyone to be truthful with each other."
"What does he know? He's..." you remembered this, her struggling to convey her thoughts before her anguish crumbled into an unusual groan. Stark contrast to the courageous Eva that you were introduced to. "Forget it. you wouldn't understand."
"No, I do!" It was an automatic thing, turning just to face her. Saying things just to keep the conversation going. "He wanted us to keep peace, right? That meant no secrets between any of us."
Eva's face had fallen at the mention. A sore spot, for sure, but nothing that seemed off.
"Besides, he's a lawyer. Aren't they supposed to be fair and just with everyone?"
If you could return time, you would have stopped there. But wouldn't Eva consider this? Wouldn't everything about Wolfgang being nice and humble and forgiving if she gave him a chance, wouldn't she understood if they had just a little more time?
"He needs to here you out, but you also have to put your faith into him, too. There's nothing to be afraid of."
They were words of encouragement. Earnest words that you could shout. To break her armor and have her flourishing amongst the rest of you. Couldn't that be enough?
"Come on. You trust him, right?"
She didn't say anything back. Her eyes never met yours.
Was this the nail on the coffin? She told you, with complete conviction, how much this hurt. Side with others because you cared so much for them and cared so little for her. If, by chance, you didn't lend a hand, then you and only you could have prevented this her downfall.
Is this why she told you it meant nothing? To distance herself even further in a pit of despair?
It keeps you up at night, all the possibilities that will never amount to anything.
You could have saved him.
In your mind was blackmail, blackmail, blackmail. Your secrets were nothing heinous, but that didn't mean you didn't want it kept lock and key. It was the principle of the thing, not the fact that it was anything important in of itself. Mercifully, it dies down when you reach Wolfgang, stuck in the humidity of the boiler room.
In the water, he mumbled all his misgivings to some unknown spectator. "Forgive me," he said, "forgive me for what I've done."
And you forgave him, whatever he's doing, you absolutely forgave him. You'll never forget how lost his eyes look, bloodshot and vacant, scanning the perfect opportunity to strike. Beyond you and the boiler room, he spoke about needing to bring someone back.
"Wolfgang, take my hand, please." You couldn't imagine how he ended up this way. But you could have pulled him out of the water. Let him know that he was okay. Let him recover.
"I'm always a failure...." A familiar sentiment. You've heard of this a lot more since you've been here.
"Wolfgang," you said, "it's okay, I won't hurt you."
"I'll never amount to anything." Heaving, cold and bitter.
"Wolfgang?"
The cry he admitted was guttural. Was this the point of no return?
The knife he pulled out was a bee sting. Stinging but dangerous reminder of how much you could stopped this and got him help. Your heart pulsed in your head as you scrambled for options as the door shut behind you. Broken.
The taser gun. Why didn't you use the taser gun?
Why did he need to be stuck in the water why did he need to be asking these questions why did he have the knife why did he need your blackmail why why why why.
Why didn't you do something?
Pulled him away, stopped him, told him it was okay, it's just you, Diana as the taser gun lowered.
But instead, you watched. Here him declare that won't stop until everyone knew him as--
Damon told you it was pointless to think about what he was hallucinating. But maybe you should have known. Maybe he wouldn't end up the way he would if you weren't a coward.
To a crisp. The smell of sparks that brought tears to your eyes as you fumbled in the dark, all alone. All along, you heard the shouts of others from who knows where. A nightmare that you couldn't have woken up from.
Was this how he imagined he'd die? Without a trace of who he spoke to last? Scared to wits about who was on the other side?
Why didn't you do anything?
You could have said nothing.
And yet, you didn't.
You spoke out because you had caused this. The broken fragments of a class divided rests on your shoulders.
You know this to be true. If no one wants to do anything to stop a murder from happening, then you'll just have to do it yourself.
Eva and Wolfgang, you couldn't save. You could have done so much but only know so little. Is that what they intrusted you with when they died?
Stop blaming yourself. Live on forward and start fighting.
Wear the scar with pride. Morbid as it may be, this is how Wolfgang's legacy lives on. This is how people like Eva won't fall on the wayside.
Be heard. Be the shining beacon of light at the end of the tunnel.
You will live on, for the sake of Wolfgang. For the sake of Eva. Because this time, you can save everyone.
You can stop it where it stands now.
You tell yourself that.
Damon stands in front of Eva's door in silence as everyone else departs back to their room. Does he hope she'll be there behind the door? The real punishment of killing someone is letting you live with it for the rest of time.
"Damon." Anything right now is better than nothing. Your determination's too strong to give up now.
Damon turns around, and he's clutching something in his hand. Since when did the gatchapon sell feather pens?
"I think, deep down, she cared about you."
"You don't know that."
You suck in a breath. Swallow your pride. "Yeah, I don't. But she cared so much about what we thought." All the sentiments pile up. Everything you could have said. And what you couldn't. "And Wolfgang, he--" you had to bite your tongue. Damon wouldn't have understand. "He would have entrusted me to live and carry on."
Damon's fist loosens slightly. The feather pen is more detached than you realized.
"I could have done something different, Damon. I could have saved them both." Your tears well. You hold your scarred arm gingerly in your hand.
Damon pockets the feather in his cardigan. Up close in studio grade lighting, you can see the traces of wet tears on the sides of his cheek.
"And...I want to live on for his sake. So that he ... so that both of them didn't die for nothing."
You can stop lying to yourself anytime, now.
"Don't be naive, Diana."