"It didn't work."

"It didn't work," Sheila repeats desolately. All three of us, Elie, Sheila, and I, sit together in a contemplative silence in the middle of my room floor.

"You know what this means, right?" questions Elie, gaze lifting.

Both Sheila and I turn to Elie, feeling more than a little uneasy. Elie . . . he had a look. A very, very specific look that only surfaced when he had ideas. And these were not just any ideas. They were crazy ideas. A corner of his lips would quirk up, he would tilt his face towards us, and peer at us with gunmetal blue eyes from under his lashes. It's almost as if he knew how much convincing it would take us to go through with it, if we weren't desperate. Desperation, he knew, would ultimately be what made us follow through with his insane ideas.

Sheila takes it upon herself to indulge the energized Elie, who is positively glowing with excitement. "No, Elie. I don't know what 'this' means. Care to share?"

Elie's smirk widens and he immediately straightens from where he's sprawled on the floor, "First off, that rhymes. So, congratulations. And second, I think we should do something drastic." Ah crap, he's going to make us work for this answer, isn't he?

"Get to the point," Sheila snaps.

"Well, we've already tried just flatout ditching. But every time we're not there on time, they send people to come and get us and implement consequences. Like giving us gloopy porridge for lunch." Ugh, the porridge. While it seems like an innocent enough punishment, it was absolute torture. Everyone else had gotten pizza and chicken wings, while we were forced to eat porridge. Bad porridge. It had settled in out stomachs like cement, and we'd been sick for the whole of next week. I bet it wasn't even porridge. It was probably cement. Bad cement.

We only have two days until the forest simulation that is supposed to activate the virus in us. It would be the Final Simulation. We have to get out of here fast, but if I'm being frank, neither of us have any freaking clue on how to escape. It's not like we're hardened, experienced criminals. And we can't just run away from home so that we can escape the facility. It seems like Elie's plan is our only hope. It is probably a very pathetic hope.

Elie continues, "We have to something drastic--"

"You already said that, just get to the point!" Sheila growls.

"We're going to prank the staff." He slaps the floor for emphasis and leans back smugly, as if he'd come up with some kind of ground breaking idea.

Leaning forwards, Sheila says, "Read my lips. They say NO WAY IN HELL."

"Woah, language. Are you afraid to get caught? Because that's kinda the point."

After some sputtering, Sheila rebutts, "If ditching didn't work, pranking won't work either."

He gets The Look again. Damn it, Sheila. You've stimulated the production of another one of his idiotic brain childs.

"We aren't just going to prank them," he begins softly, "We're going to sabotage them! Something disruptive. Something darn-freaking-amazing. Something that'll get rid of the staff for sometime, so that we can tell all the kids about the danger they face if we stay here. We'll end with a big finale prank--something that will hopefully postpone the Final Simulation so we can buy ourselves more time to escape. Something that will knock their socks off."

"Oh, shit . . . are you suggesting--"

"Yes. Yes I am."

***

    So, we found out the the mentors just don't give a shit today. Either that, or they're stupid. There's no other way to put it. All three of us asked to leave to go to the bathroom during one of the torturous mandatory workouts, and the person in charge doesn't even blink an eye. He just nodded and waved us away. He doesn't even notice when we took our backpacks with us.

    Elie had asked me to bring duct tape and Sheila to bring plastic wrap. He still hadn't bothered to explain to us what was going to happen. Even so, I have to admit, watching him get so excited made me kind of excited, too. He's like a little firecracker of hyper energy. He is hyperactive to the point where he's actually slightly bouncing as he walks. It's kind of cute.

    Each pace we go, my hearts beats slightly faster. With each beat my steps fall faster, until I've fallen beside Elie. Beaming, he turns to me and reaches for his pocket. Slowly, he takes out a pristine, unopened box Dulcolax. Dulcolax laxative tablets.

    "What are we going to do with laxatives, plastic wrap, and duct tape?" I can't help but ask.

Sheila, snorts from slightly behind us and grabs my arm, "You might not want to use any of the bathrooms for a while."

I look back up at Elie only to see that he's shaking his head. "We aren't going to plastic wrap the regular stalls. We're going to sabotage the staff bathrooms. The ones only the head manager people get to use."

"Those bathrooms are locked, though."

He shoves his hand into his pocket again, and after some digging, he takes out a key. "I know."

We stop first at the lounge for, as Elie so intricately put it, the 'head manager people'. He drops some laxatives into the coffee pot sitting on the counter, and into the milk in the fridge, then makes a u-turn towards the staff bathrooms. It's there, watching Elie fumble with the lock into one of the many staff bathrooms scattered around the place, that I realize how much of an evil mastermind he really is. "You're going to switch out the toilet paper with duct tape, aren't you?"

He grins an evil, but somehow intensely handsome grin and takes the duct tape from me, not saying anything the whole time. The door swings open, and we all crowd into the small space. The space has a single, pristine white toilet sitting in a pool of equally pristine sea-green tiles. A large mirror covers one of the walls, probably out there for the purpose of watching yourself shit, and the mirror is lined with warm lights that fill the room with comfort. A marble sink is shoved in the corner, and on the side is vase of tulips. What the heck? Our stalls are literally designed for our ultimate death. The stalls are small, and only open inwards. So opening the stall door enough to get out, requires one to back up entirely into the toilet. Not only that, but the small space also lets you feel the refreshing spray of toilet water whenever you flush.

Sheila shuts the door behind her and locks it, before finally firmly leaning against the door. Elie gestures to the toilet paper roll, sitting daintily in its spot. I gingerly reach out and switch the roll out for the duct tape. I feel a distinct sense of indignant outrage wash over me as I feel a square between two fingers.

"Guys!" I blurt, "I think this is quantum ply toilet paper!"

Sheila freezes from her guard position near the door, and Elie snaps his head towards the toilet paper. The toilet paper is ripped out of my hands by Sheila, while Elie and I crowd over to gawk at it sitting in her hands. She carefully peels the toilet apart. Her gaze turns hard as she dissects the square, "Yep. This is definitely quantum ply."

I glower at the toilet paper, thinking about all the one ply toilet paper problems I've had. All those times when I've struggled to rip a sufficient amount off, but not being able to because of the fragility of the material. All those times I've had my period without a pad or tampon, and have had to use freaking ONE PLY toilet paper to try to survive the rest of the day because no one else seemed to have an extra. I finally turn to Elie, who's looking indifferently at the toilet paper.

"What?" I snap, "You aren't mad or anything?"

"Well," he reaches to rub the back of his neck uncomfortably, "Us guy don't usually have to use that much toilet paper anyway . . . so . . . ."

"Elie, damn it! It's not about that! It's the fact that they've been hoarding all this quality stuff, while giving us the cheap stuff. They even have the nice, gentle type of hand soap in here! You know what we have, Elie? We have the nose drool of a soap dispenser! Foam, Elie! We have foam!"

"Okay, okay! Geeze! I guess I'll let you wrap the toilet?"

"Yes! You will!" I don't even know why I'm this angry, but I am. I grab the plastic wrap and using the QUANTUM ply toilet paper, lift the toilet seat. I carefully stretch the plastic over the toilet bowl, then lower the toilet seat back down. The only way anyone would even notice that the plastic is there, is if they actually looked hard. And with the laxatives making their food rip through their systems, they probably wouldn't even bother to look. It would be perfect. Whatever they tried to excrete would just bounce back, or, at the very least, not go into the toilet. It's genius. And when they go to try to clean up their hot messes, there wouldn't be any toilet paper. I turn to see that Elie has removed the paper towels from the dispenser, and is waiting nervously by the door. Did I feel bad for snapping at him? Sure. But I was already over it, and hopefully he was, too.

After we wash our hands, we move to the next staff bathroom, and the next, until we've hit almost every bathroom. Sheila has just finished putting the plastic wrap on the toilet bowl and is washing her hands, when we hear a frantic knocking on the door. We look to each other and smile, because it's started. Let the toilet apocalypse begin!

As soon as Sheila flips the lock, the door burst open and a man pushes us out hurriedly. He doesn't even question our presence in the bathrooms as he slams the door shut.

Sheila tilts her head up with a self satisfied smile playing on her face and takes a big whiff in through her nose, "Do you smell that?" she asks.

"Ew, Sheila--" She cuts me off before I can finish voicing my disgust.

"It's the smell of victory." Elie dissolves into laughter just as soon as I do. At this point, the subtle changes in atmosphere have been noticed. Staff members, after drinking their morning coffee, have rushed off to the bathrooms, and the kids are left to whisper and chatter. The hallway is no longer dead silent. We restrain any further laughter, and collectively decide to wait for the man to come out. From the bathroom, we hear a groan, punctuated by a rather pre-teen-like voice crack. He's probably discovered the plastic wrap and the duct tape. We wait for a good ten minutes, just to see if the guy will come out. He doesn't come out. And like moths to a flame, staff members come out of rooms and swarm to the staff bathrooms, some frantically knocking on doors, while others relent and just go into the regular student stalls. It's really too bad for them, we decided to plastic wrap the student stalls, too since we had extra. They wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon with the laxative in their systems, and the mess of plastic wrap acting as obstacle for them.

By now, student were catching on, and peaking out of rooms and testing centers. I take charge and go through the hall telling students to meet in the auditorium. With the horde of students going to the auditorium, others started catching on and following in suit. Soon, everyone is in the auditorium except the staff. A buzz of wonderful, beautiful conversations lifts and spreads through the auditorium. Buzzing about what has happened. Buzzing about seeing plastic wrap on the toilets. See, who said that teenagers never paid attention to anything? Most importantly, however, is the sense of comradery around, because of the fact that, of those who saw the plastic on the toilets, no one snitched. It really is an amazing feeling.

Together, Elie, Sheila, and I step onto the stage, and a hush falls across the auditorium. We have their full attention. Looking over the crown, I see that aren't really that many people here. There are only about twenty of us. Good. Less people to have to convince.

Sheila has melted back into a corner, leaving Elie and I front and center on the stage. Elie steps back slightly, too, leaving me to break the news to everyone. Wow, thanks a lot, guys. Nervously, I start to narrate our findings with everyone, trying not to second guess my decisions. Because, what if they panicked? What if they don't believe us? There were so many ways that this could go wrong. But once I start getting into it, I feel myself start to loosen up, and by the time I get to Kowalski's death, the words flow out of my mouth like a river, and I find myself getting louder and louder and angrier and angrier until I'm yelling and throwing my body into hand gestures. Because, really, our whole plan of sabotaging the Final Simulation, hinges on the cooperation of everyone else.

When I finally finish, my throat is parched, but my heart is beating in a way that's it's never done before. The audience sits in stunned silence as they process the information. The information that if they don't leave the organization, they might be the first victims of a deadly virus, and the catalyst to the ultimate end of the human race. If they let themselves get infected, it would be over for everyone else.

I feel a slightly sweaty, yet warm hand squeeze mine, and then quickly let go. It's Elie. "Your hands were shaking," is all he says. For some reason, his hand had felt oddly comforting. It must have been the high I'd gotten from telling everyone the truth. Yes, that's what it was.

Whispers of outrage, whispers of fear, float over us in a frenzied cloud. Some are just frozen in their seats. Staring in shock. Others, staring in disbelief. But no one can deny the death of Kowalski, and no one can deny the strange vibes the organization practically radiates. Everything about this facility, this organization, is shrouded in mystery. We don't even know it's real name. For some, this explanation, while is raised many other questions, also answered some of the more pressing ones. Most importantly, it gave them a way out. Our plan, with their cooperation would hopefully delay the activation of the deadly virus. Of course, I hadn't told them everything. I'm not an idiot. Telling them that the virus is intelligent would be unnecessary. They would never have believed it anyway.

I look around the auditorium, making sure that all the security cameras are switched off. The auditorium's security cameras are only switched on when we have actual meetings. And right now, they weren't on.

I look back to the kids below me. People who are still finding out who they are, people who were dragged into something they aren't ready for. Clumps of people had formed and were quietly discussing together. The people willing to cooperate and participate in the plan to delay the Final Simulation, have clumped to one side, and the people who were in complete disbelief, on the other. Leading these disbelievers, is none other than Moby Dick. Of course.

We have roughly eight people out of twenty who were willing to help us. The rest either don't want to believe in the virus, or flatout thought that we were crazy attention seekers. Moby takes his opportunity to speak, "I'm intrigued. I would like to see how this little plan of yours turns out. I guess I won't try to stop you idiots. It'll be like free entertainment, something to look forward too," he lets out a small laugh, "Good luck in wonderland." He kicks open the door rather dramatically and storms out. Slowly, the others who were in agreement with him, start to filter out as well until the only ones left are the eight people willing to be a part of our plan.

Eleven in all. We could do this. We were going to sabotage that simulation.

***

Author's Note:

Yeah, I know. So sorry I have updated. Busy weekend? I wasn't home, I was at an overnight school thing. But alas, my excuses are petty. Sorry. Thank you to those who are sticking with this ♥️

Vote, comment, tell me what you think!

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Until next time (which is hopefully next Saturday).