Kelsey walked back into the infirmary closet on Monday morning and found the granola bar gone.
The bucket was still there. The sign still said STAFFED, with FULLY crossed out in her handwriting. And on the cot, where she had left the granola bar, there was nothing but a wrapper folded into a very neat square.
She looked at the bucket.
The bucket said nothing.
“Fair,” she said, and went to find Blake.
Blake had the binder. Blake always has the binder. It had grown a new tab since last week, labelled RECOVERY PLAN, and he opened it on the bench beside him with the quiet determination of a man who had been beaten by sixty-seven points and intended to never discuss it again.
Kelsey watched him open it. Then she reached over and took his pulse.
“What are you doing.”
“You’re at a hundred and twelve.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re at a hundred and twelve and you’re holding a binder.”
The System would like to say this was a psychological tactic. It may have been. It may also have just been a doctor taking a pulse. With Kelsey, those are the same thing.
Under her collar, the Pendant of the Squeaker Syndicate stayed cold again. It only wakes for underdogs, and on Friday night the projections had her on top. It has now sulked for two straight weeks. The System is beginning to suspect it is not sulking. It is waiting.
181.3 to 151.0. A comfortable, clinical win. She is 2-0.
System NoticeLOOT DROP: TONGUE DEPRESSOR OF MILD AUTHORITY. TIER: COMMON. EFFECT: +2 PTS IN ONE WEEK OF HER CHOOSING, DECLARED BY WEDNESDAY NOON. SAY AHH. THEN LOSE.
She examined it, snapped it cleanly in half to check the grain, decided it was acceptable, and put both halves in her pack. Next to the bandage. Next to the Boon.
The Boon remains unspent. I check every morning. It remains unspent.
And yes. She scored 181.3 this week. So did Vicky. Exactly the same number, to the decimal. Kelsey won with it. Vicky lost with it. She brought this up at dinner. I have addressed it in my own log. I would prefer not to address it again.
On her way out of the Lobby, Kelsey left a second granola bar on the cot.
She did not explain. The bucket did not ask.
Week 3: Mike. The bear. Floor 2, the Mucus Swamps, where everything is slippery and nothing heals properly.
She has already packed extra bandages.