The Recall Trials
Chapter 41: No Innocents Here II

Chapter 41: No Innocents Here II

Another voice spoke up. The kind you hear on polished interviews or livestreams.

"I’m Valerie," the girl said, stepping forward and tucking a strand of perfectly curled hair behind her ear. She had long lashes, sleek hair in a high ponytail, and a face that clearly used to be camera-ready. Her nails were chipped now. "I’m from Sector B.... I guess you’d call me an influencer."

A few heads turned.

"I started building my page when I was thirteen... makeup tutorials, lifestyle, all that stuff."

Someone from the back perked up. "Wait... ValerieSky? The beauty influencer?"

"The one with, like... 1.3 million followers on insta?" another chimed in.

Valerie blushed slightly, lowering her gaze. "That’s me."

You could tell by the way she stood...shoulders back, chin lifted slightly, that she was used to being seen.

"So, uh... why are you even in the Trials?" someone asked. "You have tons of followers. Shouldn’t that buy you a ticket out?"

Valerie’s smile faded. She wrapped her arms around herself.

"Well.... Because, followers don’t equal fortune," she said. "People assume that once you’re famous, you’re swimming in money. That your life’s all glam and yachts and PR boxes. But the truth?"

She glanced around the circle. "It’s not. It’s pressure. You have to look the part even when you can’t afford it. Rent a Polly dress to post one photo. Borrow fake Chanel. Steal a Rhode lipstick and hope nobody catches you, even fake brand deals. You do what it takes to keep up the image.....because if you don’t, you lose everything."

Her voice cracked just a little, but she kept going.

"I couldn’t keep up. The more people watched, the more I had to prove I was something I wasn’t. So, I started taking loans. Sponsorships fell through. Debt piled up. Eventually, I got arrested. Publicly. Mugshot, headlines, everything."

There was a short silence.

Dinesh, adjusting his half-broken glasses, blinked slowly. "Oh... I saw that news story. ’Fake Influencer Busted for luxury scam.’ That was you?"

Valerie smirked faintly. "Yeah. That’s me. The fraud in heels."

She paused, then added with a shrug, "And maybe... maybe part of me’s still here to entertain. Maybe I thought this would be my comeback show even if it’s the twisted version."

No one laughed this time. Not even Theo.

Because no matter how polished she sounded, you could hear the truth in her voice. That hunger. That desperation to matter. To be seen for something real.

Even in hell, she was still chasing validation.

And the fact that she still smiled through it somehow made it worse.

"You guys won’t believe what got me in here," a familiar voice called out, raising a hand like he was in a classroom.

Heads turned. Luca, the stocky guy with cheeks stepping forward, his round frame already making a few people smile. He had crumbs on his jumpsuit again and a half-eaten protein bar.

Everyone already knew his reputation: if your food went missing, Luca probably had it halfway down his throat.

"Let me guess," someone muttered from the back, grinning. "Food?"

Luca held up his hands like he was being arrested. "Guilty as charged!"

The room chuckled.

"No, but for real," he said, trying to keep a straight face, which only made it funnier. "When they picked me, I swear I thought this was some kind of reality show. Like, Win Your Weight in Rations! They said something about following the rules and getting unlimited supply of food. I said, ’Hell yeah, sign me up!’"

That earned a real laugh.

"I thought I’d just play a few games, maybe win a fridge or something. Next thing I know, I wake up in this nightmare. Cameras. Jumpsuits. People dying. Didn’t know the rules came with electrocution, trauma, and half of y’all trying to figure out who’s lying. I thought I was walking into a buffet, not a mental breakdown. And worst of all...." he held up the bar like a cursed relic, "...these sad excuses for meals."

Someone snorted. "Weren’t you the one caught taking my bread earlier?"

"Allegedly," Luca said, pretending to be serious.

That got the room laughing harder this time. Someone even tossed him a wrapped protein bar from across the room. He caught it and held it to his chest like it was sacred.

"Blessings," he said, tearing into it immediately.

"Man, how’d they even get your size?" someone called out from the back, laughing. "They must’ve used extra-extra fabric just to sew that jumpsuit!"

The room erupted into laughter again.

Luca didn’t miss a beat. He held up the half-eaten protein bar like it was a weapon.

"Keep talking," he said with a smirk. "And I’ll shove this down your throat....sideways."

More laughter exploded, louder this time.

Even Zaara cracked a smile beside me.

But the mood shifted again when another voice cut in.

He cleared his throat as everyone turned. It was the guy who had tackled Dinesh earlier. He stepped forward, his arms crossed, blood stain on his shirt.

He was tall, huge, dark skinned, built like a fighter, with tattooed knuckles and a cigarette burn scar under his collarbone.

He didn’t smile.

"So, uh..." he muttered. "Name’s Aaron."

He scratched the back of his neck, then looked up. "Sector C. Used to run with the boys who moved product between the sectors. Stuff that made you forget your name for a few hours."

Jojo’s brows raised. "Drugs?"

He nodded. "Everything from party pills to the kind that rots your mind. I was the guy with the backpack and a fast bike."

He glanced at Theo, like he was mentally checking who in the room already understood this kind of life.

"Much respect, man," Aaron said, tapping his chest with a closed fist before nodding toward Theo.

Theo gave him a small hand gesture in return....a lazy salute or maybe just flicking two fingers up, like it barely mattered.

I scoffed under my breath, not even trying to hide it. The sudden bromance was laughable. They’re bonding over trauma like it’s a group therapy session.

"I worked with the cartel out of the underground stations. I didn’t get caught because I was sloppy. I got caught because someone snitched. So when I say I can smell betrayal?" He tapped the side of his head. "I mean it."

A wave of side-eyes swept through the group.

His jaw clenched. "Lost my cousin during a raid. Got thrown into a holding block for a month, no light, no food. They said I could either rot... or entertain."

"Damn," someone whispered.

I checked the countdown on the wall. The red numbers blinked steadily. Twelve hours down.

Sixty to go.

It was probably late evening by now, judging by how everyone was getting quiet and tired, and yet none of us still knew who the wildcard was.

That was the scary part...because the more truths we got, the harder it was to see which one was hiding the lie.