Round 7 Transcript

You hear muffled voices coming from downstairs—they're awake now. But there's no movement yet, and the silence feels heavy with unspoken tension.

Abby stands motionless by the altar, her uniform feeling suddenly too tight around her body, every stitch a reminder of the role she's been forced into here. Her eyes dart between Hera, Silra, and Halie, wide with fear and a desperate, unspoken question: What now? She wants to run, to hide, but her feet feel glued to the floorboards.
Silra is right—food is important. It’s the only thing that keeps them sane out here in this abandoned church. But every time they leave… Abby shudders as she remembers how easily Jeane found Hera and Halie at the bar last night, how quickly things had spiraled into chaos. They were all trapped together now, bound by fear more than any physical restraint.
She looks down at her hands, which are trembling slightly. She can still feel the ghost of Jeane's touch on them from this morning when she was forced to—she pushes that thought away before it can fully form. The memory is too raw, too painful to process right now. Her gaze drifts to Hera next, taking in her exhausted posture and the way she flinches at sudden movements. Abby feels an overwhelming surge of empathy mixed with guilt.

Jeane paces in front of the bar entrance, wings tucked tightly against her back—too visible out here. This is sloppy. All of it. That little display downstairs proved nothing except how fragile our control really is. Halia's too soft—needs to understand what we're building here requires more than scripture and good intentions. Silra's useful but easily spooked by complications she didn't anticipate. And Hera… Jeane's lip curls. Still thinks she has agency in this situation. Delusional.

Silra wipes sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, eyeing the two unconscious women in the church's makeshift sanctuary with a blend of exhaustion and barely-concealed irritation. Right. Because what we needed was more complications we don't have time to manage properly. She mutters to herself as she stumbles into the kitchenette area, yanking open cupboards with increasing frustration. This is exactly why I said we should stick to online recruitment—fewer variables, less risk of leaving evidence behind. But no, Miss 'Influence the Neighbors in Person' had to go and get handsy with the first woman who wandered too close. She pulls out a half-eaten loaf of bread and what looks like the remains of last night's takeout—cold, greasy, but edible. At least Jeane has the sense to go handle… whatever it is she does when she leaves. Probably terrorizing more innocent civilians into joining our little club of consent violation enthusiasts. Silra rips off a chunk of bread, chewing without tasting it as her eyes keep darting back to Hera and Abby. We need to move them before they wake up fully—that's just asking for more drama we don't need right now.

I move closer to Hera, my voice steady despite the exhaustion pulling at every muscle. We can't leave them here, but we also can't just… keep them like this. My eyes flick toward Silra in the kitchenette—I agree about needing food and privacy for discussion, but something needs to be done before more complications pile up. The voices downstairs grow a bit louder, though still indistinct through the floorboards. I resist the urge to check over my shoulder—they're not moving yet, which means we have minutes at best before this situation explodes further. My hand moves toward Hera instinctively, offering support or comfort if she'll take it, but stopping short of actually touching her without consent. We need to get them somewhere safe—somewhere outside the church—in case… in case anyone else comes looking. The thought makes my stomach churn—if Jeane's actions downstairs bring more cultists here, we won't be able to maintain our grip on this situation. Can you wake Abby? Gently, if possible. We need her conscious before we try moving either of them. I glance at Silra again, hoping she'll come over rather than staying in the kitchenette where the conversation might carry downstairs. My eyes drift back to Hera's face—I can see the fear there beneath the exhaustion and confusion. It mirrors my own feelings too closely for comfort. We're both caught in this now, whether we wanted it or not.