The Recall Trials
Chapter 37: A Traitor in the Room

Chapter 37: A Traitor in the Room

The clock on the wall kept ticking, second by second. It’s been four hours since the wildcard announcement.

But it didn’t feel like four hours. It felt like days trapped in a time loop. Everyone looking at everyone like they were strangers. Or threats.

Breakfast was laid out in the common area.

Cold oats in metal bowls. Rock-hard slices of bread. Juice so thin it tasted more like colored water than fruit.

No one had the appetite for it... No one touched anything. People just sat there, hands folded, eyes shifting around the room like they were expecting someone to pull a knife from under the table.

No one... except Luca.

That guy was gliding around like it was Sunday brunch. He moved from one table to the next, casually picking up untouched trays, stacking food on his own. He grabbed an apple off someone’s plate, dipped his fingers into someone else’s oatmeal, drank leftover juice straight from a half-used cup.

Rayen wrinkled her nose and muttered, "Dude, are you serious?" as he snatched her bread without even looking her way.

Luca shrugged, stuffing it in his mouth. "You weren’t eating it." He was chewing like he couldn’t care less that people were barely holding themselves together.

Then someone slammed their tray down. The sharp clang made us all flinch.

No one said anything, but we were all thinking the same thing:

What the hell is going to happen next?

And then, as if the tension had heard us and decided to snap.

A scream.

From the hallway.

It was followed by a loud thud.

And then another voice, yelling.

"Get your hands off me, you psycho!"

I jumped to my feet. "What the hell was that?" Zaara said, already halfway to the hall.

We ran.

Everyone ran.

Down the corridor, past the restrooms, toward the locker room where the sounds were coming from.

Another yell.

A punch.

Someone gasped.

When we got there, two guys were already on the floor, tangled in each other’s jumpsuits like street fighters.

Aaron, a dark skinned tough-looking guy and Dinesh, the brown skinned quiet guy who barely spoke two words since we got here.

Dinesh glasses were broken, hanging from one ear, and his lip was split open.

They were throwing wild punches, slamming each other against the lockers, grunting, sweating, cursing.

Jojo was the first to react. She rushed in, grabbing one of Aaron’s arms, trying to separate them. "Jesus Christ," she muttered as she struggled to pull him off.

Carter wasn’t far behind. He shoved himself in between them with the kind of force only a military man could carry. He slammed his palm into one of the lockers.....BANG.

"Enough!" he roared.

Everything froze.

The only sound left was heavy breathing.

Dinesh stumbled backward, wiping blood off his lip with the back of his hand.

"He was going through my locker!" he spat, pointing a shaky finger at Aaron. "I caught him with my stuff in his hands. He was digging through it like he was looking for something!"

Aaron wiped at his nose, which was bleeding now too.

"You’re the one hiding something. You never talk. You move weird. Always watching people like you’re collecting data or some shit."

People started whispering.

— "He’s the wildcard."

— "No, he’s trying to start something! That’s what the wildcard would do!"

— "They’re both lying!"

"No, it’s Aaron. Look how defensive he is, he snapped the second he got caught," Dinesh yelled.

I looked around. Every face in the room was wearing the same expression...fear or confusion..

And just like that, the paranoia doubled.

No one could trust anyone.

Zaara stepped forward, eyes sweeping over the room. Her voice didn’t rise, but somehow everyone heard her.

"You’re all idiots. This is exactly what they want!"

Silence. Heads turned to listen to her.

"This is what the game is. Not guns, not traps. This." She pointed to the blood on Dinesh’ shirt. "They want us to turn on each other. To tear each other apart. And we’re already doing it."

People looked away, ashamed, but still tense.

She wasn’t wrong.

Carter took a deep breath and clapped his hands once....loud enough to cut through the tension.

"Alright. Enough," he said. "Zaara’s right. This....." he gestured around the room, to the chaos, the blood, the mess "....this is exactly what they want. Us turning on each other. Losing our grip. It’s not gonna work if we’re just swinging fists and throwing blind accusations. If anything, it’s making it easier for the wildcard to hide"

A few faces glanced at each other.

Carter took a small step forward. "If we want to find the wildcard, we need to actually understand each other. Who we are. What doesn’t add up. What someone’s hiding."

A few people scoffed. Someone in the back muttered, "So what...we just sit in a circle and trauma dump now?"

Someone else in front laughed, "He wants us to have a Group therapy."

Carter didn’t flinch. "No one has to bare their soul. But at the very least, names. Sector. How you got here. If someone’s lying... we’ll hear it in their voice. No pressure."

People hesitated. Looked around. Some folded their arms, some looked at the floor.

Theo let out a short laugh, brushing his thumb along his jaw. "Y’know what? I’m down," he said. "Not because I take orders from the army guy over here, but because this wildcard game’s starting to get interesting." He tilted his head. "Let’s see who starts sweating when it’s their turn."

A heavy silence followed.

Carter glanced around once more, then stepped into the center of the group.

"Since I’m the one who brought the idea, I’d go first. My name’s Carter Reyes. I’m from Sector C. Former military—top unit, third division." His eyes scanned the room. "I got discharged for refusing a direct order. They wanted me to clear a village full of civilians....women, kids included. I didn’t follow through. I was supposed to face trial, but someone intervened. Said I’d rot in a cell or disappear into this... place. So here I am."

His voice cracked slightly at the end. "They took everything from me. My job. My wife. My future. But I don’t regret what I did. Not even for a second."

Silence.

No one said anything.

Then Theo took a step forward, casual as ever. "Theo Moss. Sector D." He scratched his neck lazily. "I was born in the swamps, raised in fight pits. Learned to bleed before I learned to read. I’ve done jobs for gangs, ran weapons, smuggled drugs. Got caught, obviously." He shrugged. "And instead of rotting in a cell, someone thought it’d be more entertaining to throw me in here."

He gave a crooked grin. "Still waiting for the entertainment, by the way."

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