The Overlord

The audition

Frances Watts woke up for work as her alarm went off. She lived in a smallish two-bedroom flat on the outskirts of Redwick Bush. She was twenty-three years old and despite being an aspiring actor, she worked full time as a receptionist for a local law firm. She proceeded to shower and get ready for work, like today was any other day, even though it was not. Frances’ agent had finally reached out to her with an offer of work, which could, he said, kickstart her acting career. She had done some work as an extra in her late teens but aside from a small role in a TV show pilot that wasn’t taken up, the phone had stopped ringing and her acting career seemed to have stagnated. She walked quietly towards the shower, not wishing to wake her flatmate up, if at all possible, as the hour was still very early; she wouldn’t ordinarily be up this early, but since she had an appointment with the production team, or somebody, about the possible acting gig, she had asked to leave work early, and in order to do so, she had agreed to start an earlier shift to minimise the disruption to her employers, especially as, even though her agent had been somewhat light on the details, she knew that the job could take two weeks of her time, meaning she would have to exhaust a chunk of her annual leave for it. Still, the offer on the table, as she’d been told, was £5,000 for a fortnight’s work, which was a sizable sum - especially so, if it could kick start her acting career, providing her with real opportunities moving forwards.

Frances was of average height, her blonde hair descending halfway down her back and she was a relatively slim build; though her ex-boyfriend had often insinuated that she could lose a few pounds. She stood, holding her hand under the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. She sighed, disappointed that their landlord had still not gotten their boiler fixed. She stepped into the shower, once the water had gotten as warm as it was going to get, washing her body and her hair before getting dressed for work. She had planned her attire the night before, selecting a black sweater, a light grey knee-length skirt, black tights and ankle boots. Her intention was to find something suitable for work but that would provide a good first impression to her potential employers, as though her agent had seemed to offer the impression the job was hers, should she want it, she didn’t trust his lack of detail about what exactly the job entailed. She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed nervously, it had been a while since she’d had an opportunity like this and she didn’t want to blow it but she knew it was important not to burn her bridges with her firm. She nodded to herself, trying to reinforce her confidence, telling herself that she looked nice. Feeling as confident as she would ever, she opened her bedroom door and started walking towards the front door.

As Frances was walking towards the door, she heard her flatmate, Hannah, getting up. Frances felt bad, initially, realising it was still early for Hannah to be getting up, concerned that she was getting up having heard a noise. Frances stood deathly still, her hand gripping the front door handle, feeling like a burglar who’d been interrupted in the act, waiting to discern the best course of action. She heard Hannah’s door open and the bleary-eyed woman put her head out into the hallway. She blinked several times at Frances, clearly confused by what she was doing.

“What time is it?” Hannah asked, her voice still croaky from sleep. Her dark hair was held up in a loose ponytail, wearing what appeared to be a dressing-gown of some description.

“I make… 6:30 am” Frances responded, sympathetically, checking her watch.

“Why are you even up at this hour?” Hannah asked, exasperated.

“I have to work. I’ve got that… Audition, thing, this afternoon, so I’m going in early to make up the time so I can go. Sorry if I woke you” Frances explained, apologetically.

“Oh… Yeah. Do you know anything about it, yet?” Hannah asked as if her memory was still foggy.

“Not much. I’m hoping I can get some more info today.” Frances explained. Hannah nodded, seeming satisfied with Frances’ answer. “You should go back to bed, you’ve got an hour or so before you need to be up, yet.” Frances insisted; Hannah emitted a loud groan in response as if she had exhausted her ability for human communication at this ungodly hour. Frances subsequently quietly opened the door, her keys in her hand. She would ordinarily carpool when she could or take public transport but considering she was dressed to impress, she didn’t want to face being stared at by her fellow passengers; especially since she needed to travel after work. She opened her car door, stepping into the driver’s seat, she promptly turned the key in the ignition, as the heater whirred to life. She rubbed her hands together, in front of the heater, trying to warm them up. She hadn’t been outside for long but she was already feeling the cold of the morning. Once her car was warmed up and the windscreen clear enough to see, she set off for work.

The day had passed quickly enough, though she had become more anxious as the day had gone on, with several of her male colleagues stopping to compliment her on her clothes; she had made a point to thank them, with a smile, even though it made her feel particularly uncomfortable. She was by no means resentful for the intended compliment, however, she had made a point of not dating any of her colleagues, as such relationships had a tendency to be damaging to both participants careers, should they encounter difficulties. Much to her dismay, she did have a conversation with her boss, whom she had to explain, yet again, that she was going to an audition for an acting role, which she would pursue with her annual leave; she was not looking to leave the firm for another job, which had caused her no small amount of anxiety. The day had soon ended and Frances hurried to her car; the last thing she wanted was to be late.

The address she’d been given was quite strange, when she entered it into her phone for directions, it was taking her to a residential estate. She checked the details she had written in her email from her agent and they appeared to match, exactly. She shook her head, dismissively; this was, she thought, further evidence that she needed to find better representation. Perhaps this was why her career had stagnated? She promptly dialled the number on the email.

“Sebastian Campbell’s office” A middle-aged sounding woman introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m hoping to speak to Sebastian?” Frances enquired, politely; she had always made a point of being especially polite to reception staff, being one herself, she knew the difficulties faced with the job and the level of abuse received from rude clients.

“Who may I say is calling?” The woman asked.

“Frances Watts. I’m one of his clients.” Frances introduced herself to the woman.

“Putting you through now.” The woman responded. The line rang for a few seconds, then was picked up by an arrogant sounding man.

“Good afternoon, what can I do to make your day?” Sebastian asked, his egotistical nature shining through. Frances found him as insufferable as he seemed incompetent but at the time she’d hired him, she felt he was actually good enough at his job for her to find some work, then move on to a more suitable representative.

“Hi, Sebastian?” Frances asked. “It’s Frances, Frances Watts. I’m heading to that audition you booked for me but the address seems to be a residential property? That… Doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t it be a studio or something?” Frances queried, trying to explain her reason for calling as quickly as possible.

“No, that’s right. That’s the address they gave. Are you far? It’s a done deal, as far as they’re concerned but you still don’t want to be late. Gives a really bad impression, you don’t want people to think you’re difficult to work with” Sebastian asked, dismissively. Frances wondered if he’d even checked the details.

“I’ll get there in time. Can you please check the address? I asked because I don’t want to be late because I went to the wrong place” Frances asked, insistently. She was trying to be as polite as she could, but she was already very nervous and she didn’t need to deal with an obnoxious, egotistical agent, today.

“Ugh… The address I’ve got is 52 Rowan Avenue. If that’s residential, then that’s where they’re asking you to meet.” Sebastian answered, impatiently; it was clear he thought that checking details was menial work and therefore beneath him; possibly that he thought Frances was also, unworthy of his time. She bit her tongue, now was definitely not the time for a blowout with her agent.

“That’s what it says. I’ll head there now, hopefully, it’s the correct address” Frances responded, trying to hide her frustration. She hung up the phone before he could respond, fearing that she might say something she would regret. The streets were still quite icy, so Frances set off, cautiously, checking the directions on her phone to avoid any heavy traffic spots that could potentially delay her journey. Fortunately, whether due to the poor weather or the time of day, she made good time, arriving some ten minutes early. She parked up on the street, outside a semi-detached house. She got out of the car, carefully not to slip on any ice; she didn’t want to embarrass herself or worse, have her first meeting with her prospective employers looking dishevelled like she’d just fallen into a bush. She looked around for some signs that she was in the right place, confirming that she was outside of the correct property. The front door was open at number 53 and it appeared there was building work going on, with a skip outside in the front driveway and a missing chunk of wall to the left of the front door, with a tarp covering the opening.

“Great. Now I get to disturb some poor homeowner who’s getting an extension put in, asking them about an audition! I definitely need a new agent” Frances muttered to herself, trying to vent her frustrations. She was now ninety per cent certain she had the wrong address. She cautiously approached the front door, trying to not breach the privacy of whoever lived at the property. She looked through the front door, looking for some sign of life. She saw a lot of chairs, in what seemed to be the living room of the property but nobody was yet sitting in any of them. Frances decided to knock on the door, hoping to get some attention.

“Hello? Is anybody there? I think I have the wrong place.” Francs explained, apologetically. She hoped, if she got her apologies out of the way, first, then the residents may go easy on her for disturbing their afternoon. After a moment or two, a young woman poked her head around the door. She smiled at Frances, warmly.

“Are you here for an interview?” The woman asked.

“Yes, I think so? I’m not really sure, to be honest.” Frances answered, without much confidence. The woman nodded in response.

“You’re in the right place. Come on in” She explained, gesturing towards Frances. She stepped over the threshold; at least, if she was trespassing in someone’s home, she had a plausible reason to believe she was in the right place. Frances walked into the living room, which was not as empty as she had originally thought. There was a row of plastic, patio chairs scattered around the room and a red sofa that Frances thought looked like it belonged in an IKEA catalogue. The living room appeared to be undergoing redecoration, also, which seemed to fit the overall aesthetic of the house. The only notable features, outside of the furniture was a coffee machine, a small fridge with milk and a bin, along with a TV, mounted onto the wall. This was, presumably, to offer them something to drink while they waited. The woman sat down, in a corner. Also in the room, sprawled out across the sofa was a man, who appeared around Frances’ age. He was dressed in blue jeans, a sleeveless shirt that was clearly intended to show off his arms, sporting a mohawk. He arrogantly nodded at her, looking her up and down. Frances looked at the woman, who seemed to have intentionally chosen a seat as far away from the Mohawk man as possible. She was dressed similarly casually, making Frances feel more than a little overdressed. She wore blue jeans, white trainers and a colourful T-shirt, her black hair plaited on either side of her head. She beamed an enthusiastic smile at Frances, extending her hand.

“Hi, I’m Nazreen. I was hoping there’d be another girl here…” Nazreen introduced herself, a little nervously.

“I’m Frances. Nice to meet you” Frances greeted her, shaking the woman’s hand. Mohawk man was now climbing over the side of the sofa, leering, lecherously at the women.  

“Hi babe, I’m Marco” Marco introduced himself with a wink.

“Hi Marco, I’m Frances” Frances waved, awkwardly.

“So… Two beautiful girls and me… What will we do to pass the time?” Marco asked, suggestively.

“Um… We could… Talk about what we know about why we’re here?” Frances suggested, hoping to move the topic of conversation onto something less likely to stimulate Marco’s libido.

“I think it’s some sort of reality TV thing. A friend from uni hooked me up; see, I’m a med student, so £5,000 is a lot of money for me!” Nazreen explained, leaping on the opportunity to take the conversation in a more platonic direction.

“Oh right. My agent didn’t tell me much at all, just the fee and the address… He’s pretty useless, if I’m being honest” Frances responded, frustrated that a woman she’d known for minutes had seemed to know more than she did about the job.

“Model?” Marco asked. “You’re pretty enough to be a model. What do you model? Do you ever do underwear shoots? Marco likes models.” Marco continued.

“No… I’m an actor, actually.” Frances responded, trying to pull her skirt down. She didn’t want to give him any additional reason to continue his unwanted advances.

They continued making as polite a conversation as they could, as the room slowly filled up. There were eleven seats in total, with three other women arriving and four other men. The women seemed to cultivate on either side of the room, seemingly to avoid sitting as close to Marco as possible.

Frances looked at each woman, first, trying to remember their names; there was Allison, who wore business casual attire, wearing pinstripe trousers and a suit jacket, which made Frances feel a little bit better, her hair was dyed black, with bright red tips. The next woman was Sara, who wore a thick coat, chewing on the toggle, which Frances presumed was a nervous habit, her hair was dark red and she seemed to cocoon herself in her coat. The third woman was Jennifer, who was dressed in a green dress. To Frances’ surprise, most of the men seemed just as content to avoid Marco, possibly wishing to not be tainted by association with him, exchanging polite greetings with the other’s there.

There was Alex, who wore a pale blue shirt, his hair short, blonde, immaculately parted onto the left; Frances wasn’t sure why but she had a suspicion he might be gay. The second, who seemed the most content talking to Marco, sat on the sofa with him, discussing sports, was Joe. Joe was dressed in a black suit, his tie hanging loosely around his neck and he looked like the typical salesman; Frances found him a little attractive, but she was more than a little concerned by his seeming willingness to buddy up with the pervert in the room, his facial hair coming through quite thick, his hair shaved close to his head, with piercing green eyes. The last two were Ted and Lucas, who seemed to know one another, already. Ted was a portly fellow, who had the look of an IT consultant; he seemed very pleasant, his hair slightly thinning. He was a little older than the rest and he certainly had a way about him that put Frances at ease. Lucas was the youngest of the bunch and he had the look of a musician, with his long hair and facial piercings contrasting with his dark shirt and trousers. Frances had tried to glean what she could from the others, but it seemed nobody quite knew much information about what they were doing there; hopefully, they would get some answers.

Frances was starting to grow impatient, while the coffee machine had indeed kept them occupied, they were beginning to exhaust their ability to make small-talk and she was starting to consider leaving, chalking it up to a dead-end; Nazreen, she thought, seemed nice and she contemplated exchanging numbers with the woman before she left, which at least meant it wasn’t a total write-off. Just as Frances was ready to give up, another woman walked through the door.

“Afternoon. Sorry for keeping you all waiting” She opened with an apology. She spoke with a thick Irish accent, her dark hair was curly and flowing over her shoulders. She wore a dark blue top and pinstripe trousers, with a black leather jacket.

“Hi… I’m Marco. Marco likes Irish girls, a lot” Marco said, immediately taking the opportunity to smarm the newest arrival.

“Hmm. Marco needs to stop referring to himself in the third person. It makes Marco seem like a big dickhead.” The woman retorted, immediately. Frances stifled her laughter, seeming Marco’s face; he seemed like a schoolboy who’d been scolded by his teacher. “Thank you all for coming. I’d have been here sooner but… Well, that’s not really important right now. I’m Saoirse, as long as you don’t call me Sasha, we’ll get along fine - I know it’s pronounced very similarly, but they’re really not the same.” Saoirse introduced herself, as she sat down in the last remaining chair, crossing her legs.

“Hi, Saoirse… Are you here to tell us why we’re here?” Allison asked, impatiently.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I don’t know your names, aside from two-dicks, there. You are…?” Saoirse asked, pointing towards Allison.

“I’m Allison.” She responded.

“Allison… Okay. Yes, that’s exactly why I’m here. How much do you know about the show we’re setting up here?” Saoirse asked, looking around at the assembled group. Nazreen put her hand up, eagerly.

“Yes. You don’t need to put your hand up, we’re not in high school, so feel free to just ask.” Saoirse explained, acknowledging Nazreen.

“Sorry. I’m Nazreen. My friend knows one of the guys who set up the show, he helped me get in. It’s a reality TV show, where you’re offering £5,000 for participants, right?” Nazreen asked, looking to confirm what she knew.

“In essence, yes. Everything is a little up in the air right now, but £5,000 is the minimum you will be paid for your time. If I’m being honest, that seems low, based on the show; I’m fighting that one out with the producers, hopefully, if the show is picked up, we can increase that amount to something more befitting the work that you’re all putting in. I don’t want to mention any figures because I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. The reason I asked to meet with you all is that I know somebody was very vague when advertising - that was a mistake and it needs to be rectified before anyone commits to participate.” Saoirse began to explain to the assembled group.

“If it means I get to spend more time with you-” Marco interjected.

“Two-dicks, if you want to talk, I am going to insist you put your hand up.” Saoirse cut him off. His hand immediately went up in response. “To save everyone time…” Saoirse raised her hand, pointing to the ring.

“Marco likes a challenge” Marco added in response.

“I’m going to have a problem with you, aren’t I? Okay. Just to make it abundantly clear… I’m happily married, to a woman. No, we aren’t interested in inviting you over. I find you repugnant and I have serious questions about your relationship with your mother. Just because you have a massive dick situated on your head, doesn’t mean girls are interested in you; it just makes you a massive dickhead. Now, if you’re going to continue to be obstructive, you may as well do everyone here a favour and leave because I’ve no interest in putting these people in an environment with a toxic individual. So can you behave like an adult male? I realise that may be asking a lot” Saoirse retorted, shredding through the man’s bravado. Frances, for a moment, could see him wearing a pair of school shorts, a blazer and a hat, his head bowed in shame, having been firmly put in his place by his headteacher; it was a mental image that she relished and from the chuckles that awkwardly became coughs, she could tell she wasn’t the only one.

“Sorry to interrupt, Saoirse. I’m Frances. Erm… You said you’re trying to increase the pay? Why is that?” Frances asked, trying to get things back on track.

“Thank you, Frances. Yes. In a nutshell? The show is a Big Brother rip off, being broadcast on late-night TV. If you agree to participate, you’ll be living in this house, for up to two weeks. There’s going to be cameras fitted, in almost every room, including the bathroom. We’re positioning the bathroom camera to afford you all as much privacy as possible and the footage is recorded twenty-four-seven, but it’s not broadcast live - there’s a twenty-four-hour delay, so for the viewers at home, the first day the show is broadcast is actually on the second day of filming. That way, we can edit the footage before it’s aired and if there is any particularly gratuitous nudity, we can confirm with you that you’re happy with it being aired. The other reason I don’t think £5,000 is nearly enough, is that there is a messy aspect to the show. There is a high chance that each one of you will be gunged, as part of your participation in the show.” Saoirse explained. That aspect of the show certainly had not been covered with her agent.

“So… I’m being paid £5,000 to participate in a messy Big Brother?” Alex asked.

“Short answer? Yes. There is a prize for the winner of £100,000. Like I said before, I’m pushing to increase the participation sum to something a lot more reasonable. I’m the host of the show but part of my job is also to make sure all of you are okay, physically, mentally and emotionally. I will understand if any of you wants to walk away, right now.” Saoirse paused, poignantly. It was clear she was waiting for any doubts to set in and for anyone who wished to leave. “Absolutely no judgement; £5,000 simply wouldn’t be enough for me to consider that kind of opportunity, so I understand why any of you would not want to participate.'' She continued. Frances considered it; Saoirse was right, it wasn’t a lot of money for what was being asked of her. £100,000 was a much more worthwhile sum, but she knew there was a ten percent chance of winning that sum and it would mean two weeks of changing, showering and living on camera. On the other hand, this kind of opportunity, even on late-night TV, could prove to be the kind of springboard Frances had been looking for in order to launch her career; it was easily possible that a TV executive would see her and think she seemed perfect for a recurring role in a serious film or show; she admitted that the potential for nudity, to mention nothing of the likelihood of getting messy had given her pause, though the nudity she could reconcile with herself, after all, every actor at some point in their career had to wrestle with just how much of their bodies they are willing to bare for their art.

“You said it’s late-night TV, so there’s going to be some nudity expected?” Nazreen asked.

“Yes and no. The network is happy with a degree of nudity and yes, nudity does bring in the late-night crowd. The bottom line is and as long as I’m involved with the show, your consent. How much skin you show, will, of course, be up to you. You can refuse to participate in any event, game, challenge or anything else; that may harm your chances of winning, however, so I would have a good, long, think about what you’re happy with. Especially as, the footage will be broadcast, so there’s every chance it will be recorded then put online on various sites. We’ve already got the copyrights and plan to ask for things to be taken down but as we all know, once it’s online… So you should consider the long-term implications, too. Some of the games may involve some overtly sexual acts, but you’d be asked to confirm that you’re happy to do that before anything happens.” Saoirse answered. Frances was surprised that nobody had left, yet, looking particularly at the women on the other side of the room. Allison seemed particularly deterred by what she’d been told and the woman cocooned in her coat had seemed to be completely absorbed by her jacket.

“Can I ask about these… Events?” Lucas asked.

“Each day, there’s a game, challenge, event… A different name for what effectively amounts to the same thing. That’s where the messy aspect of the show comes in. The better you perform, as a team, dictates how comfortable your living standards will be for the following day. Let me be clear, you won’t be uncomfortable, even if you refuse. You will be warm, well-fed, you will also have access to every streaming service known to man - or to woman, for that matter - so you will have entertainment aplenty. Completing these games successfully will increase what you can ask for. So for instance, if you wanted to order pizza, you could do so by winning a challenge the day before, but if you didn’t then you’d not be able to and would need to cook for yourselves.” Saoirse addressed Lucas’ question.

“These games are one way that nudity can be involved and may make some of you uncomfortable. Sometimes, there will be a costume assigned for contestants, so you may be asked to dress up; in order to fully respect all participants genders and identities, everything is gender-neutral. So that would mean if you identify as male, you could be asked to wear a dress as part of one of the games. You can absolutely refuse, but that refusal would then mean your team loses the game. The same would go, if you identify as female, you could be asked to wear male clothes, which could potentially mean you’re asked to bare your chest. There would be nothing stopping you from keeping your modesty with your hands but that could well put you at a massive disadvantage for the game itself. The clothing, when applicable, would be determined after the volunteer is chosen and it’s done randomly, so nobody is asked to do anything that couldn’t be asked of anyone else.” Saoirse continued. Marco’s hand immediately went up, he seemed very nervous at that revelation.

“So I could have to dress up as a girl?” Marco asked, revealing the area that he felt most uncomfortable with.

“No. You don’t have to do anything. If you weren’t one hundred per cent comfortable with what you’re being asked to do, nobody would force you to do it. That would be reciprocal, too, so you would respect the consent of every other contestant. Again, we don’t know how refusal would be seen by the viewers, so it could hinder your chances of winning. Of course, only you can decide where you draw your line, so you need to decide if that’s too much for you, as does everyone else.” Saoirse said.

“You said there are cameras in almost every room. What room isn’t hooked up?” Ted asked, seeming more interested in the technology.

“Good question. There’s one room, at the end of the hallway upstairs, that’s not hooked up to a camera that will be viewed by the audience. That’s basically your private space, where you can go if you need to. There is a camera in there, but it’s only viewed by members of the production team, for your well-being. In that room, we’re going to have some furniture where you can just sit, chill, take a few minutes to yourself. In there, there will be a phone where you can speak to a trained psychologist, so if you are experiencing any problems, you have support, on hand. That’s also your avenue to say if the experience is too much, voice any problems or grievances… I’m hoping none of you will need to say anything serious and that it will just be sounding off. Like I said, your health is the bottom line.” Saoirse responded. Frances felt reassured by that news, Saoirse seemed very genuine when she highlighted consent and the health of the participants.

“What happens to contestants who are voted out?” Sara chimed in, poking her head from her coat.

“I’m going to come back to that, in just a moment” Saoirse answered, pointing to Sara. “Before I do, there is something I do need to cover; wish it didn’t need to be said but there we have it. If you’re going to abuse any of your fellow contestants or production team, verbally, physically, sexually and/or in any other way, I would remind you that you are one, on camera and two, you will be removed from the premises, your contract terminated and you won’t be paid. Subsequently, we will pass on the raw footage of any incidents to the authorities, so they can prosecute where a crime has been committed. Again, if you have a dispute with another contestant, whether a civil allegation or a criminal one, we won’t get involved in any disputes, beyond turning over the raw footage to your respective legal representatives. So if you have a problem with any group of people that you just can’t keep to yourself, I would strongly recommend you don’t agree to participate, because we don’t want intolerant people.” Saoirse laid down the ground rules. Frances looked around the room, most of the people there seemed quite reassured by that.

Saoirse stood up for a moment, walking past the exposed wall, heading towards the door. Frances realised she hadn’t really noticed it before or queried why there was a big hole in the wall; surely, this would make heating the property nigh on impossible. She leaned out from the front door, shouting something to the house next door, before she returned, sitting down on her chair.

“Next door is basically where the production team is situated.” Saoirse explained, switching on the TV. There was no signal to the TV, however. “This will be hooked up to streaming services, as I mentioned, however, you won’t have access to live TV. Same with internet access. TV or internet access could lead to the temptation to cheat… And we can’t have that, now, can we?” Saoirse asked, rhetorically. While she was explaining, another woman walked into the house. She was wearing a black top and a red, tartan skirt. Her hair was dark, coming in around the top of her neck. She and Saoirse clearly knew each other as the pair exchanged a hug. “This is Michelle. If I’m not here, Michelle will be and she will help me to take care of you all. It should go without saying that you should treat her with the same level of respect as you would offer me; just in case it needs to be said, I will tell you now, the words ‘bollocks’ and ‘sandwich toaster’ will feature heavily in my retaliation.” Saoirse explained. It was clear she was very protective over the woman. Frances couldn’t help but notice a very slight pregnancy bump under her top.

“Hi, I’m Michelle… I believe Saoirse hasn’t told you what happens to you when you leave the show, is that correct?” Michelle asked. She seemed very friendly and bubbly. There was consensus from everyone assembled, with nods and some confirmatory noises. “Okay. Basically, when you’re voted out, you will be leaving the house, but not through the front door” Michelle explained, walking towards the tarp, pulling it to the side. Underneath was what looked like a stairlift, covered in cling film. “This is how you will be leaving, it will take you through this corridor that’s been added. It still needs decorating, but we’re hoping to make it look a lot more daunting than it is.” Michelle explained. Saoirse pressed some buttons on the TV remote and the source brought up a view from a camera at the bottom of the corridor. Frances could see what looked like an array of nozzles along the way; she could surmise the purpose from what she’d been told. Michelle walked around the front of the chair, she seemed almost giddy with excitement.

“Um… I’m sorry, is that safe?” Allison asked, pointing to Michelle’s ever so slight baby bump.

“Yes, nothing we use is toxic” Michelle answered, addressing Allison’s concerns. “You didn’t tell me I was starting to show!” Michelle exclaimed, slapping Saoirse’s arm.

“How am I supposed to compare? I never see you anymore, you’re always in Ireland. Is Lachlan still not moving over here, permanently?” Saoirse asked.

“He’s dragging his feet. It’s nice spending time with him, but I wish he would just accept that I’m not ready to be that close to your ma. No offence” Michelle replied, indicating how close they are.

“Me neither. I swear, one of us was adopted… Sometimes, I really hope it was me! You should come over for dinner, sometime; I know the missus would love to see you.” Saoirse responded, with a wry smile, as Michelle went through the process of setting up the chair.

“We’ll sort something out” Michelle answered as she sat down on the chair. “Okay, so when you’re sitting down, your hands are bound to the arms, so you can’t move. You’ll be released, at the end of the corridor. Tunnel work better, for you? Tunnel of Torment?” Michelle speculated, as her arms were locked in place.

“I’m sorry, you’re actually going to put your sister in law through that? Your pregnant sister in law?” Alex interjected.

“She is pregnant and she is my sister in law, she’s also good friends with my wife, not that either is particularly relevant here… I’m not making her do anything. This was entirely her idea, she suggested it so you could all see what you’re being asked to go through. Read into that what you will…” Saoirse explained, rather nonchalantly.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Michelle shouted, though to who was unclear. After a few minutes, the chair began to whir to life, as the woman emitted an elated scream. The chair moved forwards as the tarp returned to its original place. Frances could see Michelle on the TV screen now, fidgeting a little, albeit seemingly playfully. The chair stopped, then what appeared to be cream pies were propelled at the woman, slamming into her face, into the side of her head and over her chest. She emitted a squeak as each impacted her, as her upper body became more of a white blob. The chair then moved forwards, with a waterfall beginning, though Frances was sure it wasn’t water. Michelle let out a disgusted shriek as soon as the liquid hit her legs, which became muted as she went further through, with it eventually covering her head. The liquid left a distinct shiny residue over her hair and clothes, as she began shaking her head to try to get rid of as much of the slime as she could. The chair continued to move forwards, getting closer to the end of the corridor. It stopped at the end, offering the clearest view of Michelle from the camera, she was situated directly under what appeared to be three nozzles, two on either side of her and one directly above her head. The two side nozzles began spraying her with thick red gunge.

“Ugh! That went right down my top!” Michelle shouted, disgust in her voice.

“She asked for this?” Frances exclaimed in disgust.

“Yes. She was very insistent. You can ask her, yourself, if you like” Saoirse confirmed. The woman was now a red blob, with the sides of her head had turned bright red. Michelle then looked upwards, then turned her head down, almost as if she knew if she continued looking up a moment longer, she would get a faceful of gunge. A torrent of thick, green gunge plummeted down from the overhead nozzle, coating the woman’s head, sliding over what remained clean of her hair and over her face. It continued to flow and Frances could tell even more gunge was going straight down Michelle’s top. There was a deathly silence in the room, while everyone, except for Saoirse, watched with a sense of abject terror and intrigue in equal measure as the flow seemed to continue, unabated.

“Tunnel of Terror definitely seems apt” Joe chimed in, seeming quite nervous. His nervousness made him seem more human, which made Frances reconsider her earlier assessment of the man. She had to admit, she had misjudged him, based solely on his immediate comradery with Marco; it seemed only fair to give him a chance to prove her wrong. Inviting everyone for a drink seemed a good idea, that way they could discuss their plans with others who had the same experiences of their unorthodox interview.

“Well, we do need a name for it. If you think that works…” Saoirse explained. She was the only person who wasn’t looking at the TV, instead, she was looking at her phone’s screen. The green gunge finally ended, and the chair proceeded up to what Frances could only assume was the other tarp, at the other end of the tunnel.

“Does anyone have any questions that haven’t been covered?” Saoirse asked, putting her phone away. Everyone seemed to be gobsmacked by what they’d just seen. “Okay. Assuming that you’re all still interested in considering your participation, I have an information pack for each of you; inside contains a draft of the contract you’re going to be asked to sign. I would recommend you read through it, thoroughly. In these packs is my work phone number, so feel free to call me, email me, text me with any questions you have that you didn’t want to raise publicly. Please keep your contact respectful, if you start sending me crude messages, I will put your number in the bathrooms of the local gay bars, insinuating that you like late-night calls from drunks who like to do really nasty stuff. Just to forewarn you…” Saoirse explained with a wry smile. Saoirse stood up, walking into the next room, collecting the aforementioned packs, placing them on her chair. Meanwhile, a very messy Michelle walked in through the front door, having barely managed to wipe her face clear. Frances’ jaw dropped, as she saw Michelle’s clothes were completely sodden with red and green, even her legs hadn’t been spared and Frances could only assume her boots also contained a lot of gunge. Despite all that, Michelle seemed in good spirits; it was clear that she enjoyed it, somehow.

“Try not to drip!” Saoirse shouted as Michelle headed up the stairs. “Thank you all for coming. I hope to see you all again, those of you I do see again, I will update you as I can about the payment for your time… Those I don’t? It was a pleasure meeting you, please tune in, if you find yourself up late watching TV.” Saoirse explained, before leaving the house; it seemed quite clear to Frances that Saoirse didn’t want to be there, looming over everyone while they considered whether or not to collect a pack.

“Wow. That was… Well, that… Happened.” Nazreen uttered, to nobody in particular.

“Yep… Are you… Going to?” Frances asked, gesturing towards the pile of papers on Saoirse’s chair. Nobody had yet stood up to leave, nor had anyone taken one. Frances suspected they were waiting for the first, brave person to do so.

“That looks… Scary! She clearly had fun though. I mean, it can’t be that bad if that girl volunteered to do it?” Allison asked, rhetorically.

“That Irish woman seems genuine about the money, too. I mean, if it’s more money, for two weeks of our time…” Ted contributed, seeming the most convinced of them all.

“You’re going to risk dressing up as a girl?” Marco asked, clearly unable to move past that.

“It might not happen, you can refuse and you’re being paid a lot of money, especially if you win. Would I dress up as a woman, for a hundred grand? Yes.” Ted retorted.

“Um… How about we take the packs and go to a pub so we can get to know each other a little, then decide whether we want to take one or not? It seems like it’s worth discussing” Frances suggested.

“I think that sounds like a good plan” Nazreen agreed, while Ted and Lucas nodded along. Allison shrugged, collecting the papers up; it seemed like the majority of people present were going along with Frances’ suggestion.

The decision

The group had separately made their way to a nearby pub, though Sara had dropped off from their number, indicating, nervously, that it simply wasn’t for her and that she didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. They found a table large enough to adequately accommodate nine people and each made their way to the bar, to purchase a drink. Frances wondered who would be next to drop off and what impact that would have on the prospective show; would they simply continue looking for more contestants until they had found ten, willing participants or would they simply proceed on schedule, assuming they deemed the numbers received sufficiently high enough to make for an interesting dynamic? Frances had noted that there seemed to be a fair amount of work being done on the property, work which would certainly take time for completion and would certainly allow for them to continue looking for other contestants. Alex and Lucas seemed to be deeper in thought, while only Ted had ventured towards opening and perusing the document. Allison seemed more interested, for the time being, in getting everyone else’s take on things, while Joe seemed to be trying to size everyone else up. Marco had remained at the bar, trying his luck with the bartender, for the moment. Frances suspected he would saunter over, once she rejected him with prejudice as if he wanted to spend time with the group, after all.

“So what does everyone think?” Frances asked, trying to break the silence.

“I think it’s a lot of money for me. I’m massively in debt, this will clear my overdraft and some credit cards.” Nazreen chimed in, first of all. Frances felt relieved that she wasn’t the only one looking solely at the payday for the show. “It’s even better if they do increase the money. I mean… I don’t want to sound mercenary, but it is why we’re here, right?” She continued, her head swaying from side to side.

“You think £5,000 is worth that? I… I’m really not sure it is, if I’m being honest” Jennifer contributed, breaking her self-induced silence from the group. Her accent seemed to suggest she was from an affluent family. Frances tried hard to not make a snap judgement about the woman based on her appearance and her accent, but it did seem from what little stimuli Frances had available that Jennifer did not need the money like the rest of them possibly did.

“I’m not looking forward to it if that’s what you’re suggesting!” Nazreen recoiled, defensively at the perceived sleight. “I’m training to be a doctor. If I qualify, then I will likely find myself covered in all kinds of disgusting things, in my working life. I’m not squeamish about mess… That doesn’t mean I’m sold just yet!” Nazreen continued, folding her arms.

“I am looking forward to that part. I always thought it looks ridiculously fun when I saw it on TV as a kid. It’s the… Nudity I’m not really sure about” Allison uttered, with a nervous sigh. Jennifer seemed to try to shuffle away from Allison as if she were disgusted by the woman for some reason, while some of the men seemed surprised by her revelation.

“It is a big decision to make. I just mean anyone who’s pursuing a career in modelling or acting has to, at some point, work out where they draw the line in terms of what they’re willing to do and not do in order to progress their careers.” Frances emphasised with the woman. Allison nodded, respectfully at Frances’ assertions.

“The contract seems very standard. That woman, Saoirse, seemed to have been telling the truth, there are mentions to adult entertainment but that participants have the right to refuse at any time. As Nazreen said, it’s a sizable sum; that could be a deposit on a flat, possibly a small house, if you’re not fussy about where you’re living.” Ted explained, putting the papers back where he found them.

“Full disclosure; I don’t think it’s for me” Alex explained, holding his hands out.

“The content a bit too much for you?” Ted asked, trying to emphasise with the man.

“No, I mean, if they increased the money, it’d be well worth considering. It’s more… Do I really want to spend up to two weeks in a house with him?” Alex asked, gesturing towards Marco. It was clear from the tone of his voice, he was possibly more disgusted by the man’s machismo than anyone else.

“He does seem a bit much. I think once he calms down, he’d probably be alright? I just mean we’ve all got that mate who’s a bit of a prick until you get to know them…Like an acquired taste and all that” Joe chipped in, trying to defend the man he had a budding friendship with.

“That’s very generous of you, Joe. Are you always this kind?” Frances asked, trying not to play with her hair. “My God, why don’t you just throw yourself at him? Everyone’s going to think you’re a complete slut!” Frances scolded herself, then tried to compensate for her actions. “I… I… He just seems really obnoxious, I don’t know how you can get on with him” Frances stammered, trying to salvage what dignity she could.

“I believe in giving everyone a fair chance, is all.” Joe retorted, casually, leaning back on his chair.

“What about you?” Allison asked, looking over to Lucas. “You’ve been very quiet. Do you think you’re in, or out?” She continued.

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ll have a read of the contract, but I think I’d need to discuss it with my mum. You all seem nice, I just dislike the idea that I’d be competing against you all for the money” Lucas explained, seeming quite shy and timid. Frances felt a little guilty that her immediate thoughts were that he would potentially be the best person to keep on board, as that lack of competitiveness could lead to a reluctance to truly scheme for a victory that could provide an edge to her. She bit her tongue, deciding to not try to sway him, one way or the other.

“It’s a big decision. You’re all young, that kind of money will go a long way… But you absolutely need to consider the consequences, too.” Ted explained, looking over at the rest of them.

“I can’t believe you’re all considering this” Jennifer scoffed, with disgust.

“I want to be an actor. A job like this could get the attention of somebody influential!” Frances blurted out, in a knee-jerk way.

“Well, good luck trying to get them to take you seriously, once they’ve seen everything you have to offer” Jennifer spat back, venomously. She collected her things, clearly intending to leave.

“Bitch. Why would you even take the meeting if you’re so above it all?” Allison asked, as Jennifer stood up and pridefully marched towards the door. Frances was quite glad she had left, after that reaction; she was also relieved that it was somebody else who had called her out for her behaviour.

“Are you okay?” Nazreen asked, her empathetic bedside manner showing in her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No need in being rude” Frances responded, trying to lick her wounds after the woman’s viciousness.

Perhaps it was due to him seeing another of the women leave, perhaps the bartender had threatened to bar him if he continued his unwanted advances or perhaps he genuinely wanted to contribute to the conversation, it seemed impossible to truly tell, but Marco walked over towards their table, a pint in each hand. He sat down in Jennifer’s discarded seat, causing most of the people around him to instinctively move an inch or two in any direction to get away from him.

“So… Which one of you lucky ladies will be going home with me, tonight?” Marco asked, smarmily. All three of the women, as well as Alex, all recoiled; it seemed quite clear that they all found him rather repulsive.

“Marco, we’re trying to have a serious conversation about what to do, here. I appreciate that you’re more interested in getting your leg over but we are looking for constructive input; if you don’t mind… Your opinions are more than welcome, let’s just try to be respectful of one another?” Ted asked, trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

“No, I get it. You all want to know what I’m deciding before you make your decision…” Marco replied, nodding. “I mean, you boys don’t want me competing with you for these fine girls. I definitely think it’d be a crime to deprive them of my presence though. I think I’m in” Marco continued, being the first person to indicate his choice, more conclusively. With that, true to his word, Alex stood up.

“Well… Pleasure meeting most of you. I wish you well, whatever you decide to do and good luck.” Alex uttered, before walking towards the door.

“Wow. Okay, which one of you upset him?” Marco asked, obliviously. The group seemed stunned by the staggering obliviousness of the consequences of his actions as Marco leafed through the contract pack. “Who’s Sao-see? Sauce? Wow, that’s a funny name! Sauce has put their phone number down, here. Who wants to prank, Sauce?” Marco chuckled, childishly. Almost as if he’d assumed a pseudo parental role over the group, without saying anything, Ted opened his copy, looking through to find the page Marco had referenced. The look on his face confirmed his wonderment at the man’s ignorant butchery, instead of deducing what was plainly evident to everyone else.

“That’s Saoirse. It’s Irish. She put her number there, so we could contact her with any questions that may arise, not for your own amusement.” Ted scolded, clearly annoyed by Marco’s lack of effort to even try to pronounce the woman’s name correctly. “You even heard her say she was putting her number down there for that exact purpose. Are you being intentionally dense, so we underestimate you? Is this some sort of strategy?” Ted pressed, clearly unwilling to let it go. There was a silence from the group as everyone seemed to wait for an answer from Marco, who just looked at each of them, in turn, as if hoping for aid from them. Frances checked the time, trying to determine whether to stay or to leave and she felt compelled to collect one of the packs for herself; there was an opportunity for a young actor, after all. To her surprise, Allison, Joe and Nazreen also followed her lead, as if they’d been waiting for someone else to go first.

“Well… I might see you all again. If not, it was nice meeting you” Frances uttered, nervously. With having driven, she hadn’t planned on having more than one drink, anyway and she didn’t know how long everyone had planned on staying, either.

Frances’ drive home was rather uneventful, though her mind was clearly elsewhere as she cast her memory back to childhood; most specifically, to TV shows she had watched after school. Unlike Allison, she had never considered what she’d seen to be fun but she did have some fond memories of seeing people plummeting into vast pools of thick, often multicoloured, goo. Was she actually considering being one of them? All for the chance to win £100,000? Frances had to concede, there were some well-known figures on TV now who had traversed from children’s TV when she was a kid, in some cases, having been frequently subjected to similar experiences she was contemplating, only to now share the screen with legends in the field, having long surpassed these events. She could even have a potential future on the show, itself if it took off; there were a number of possibilities afoot for her. All it would take is two weeks of discomfort and she could be set for life.

“Am I really seriously considering this?” Frances thought, astonished by her own level of commitment. “Is this just so I can be close to a cute boy?” She queried, her mind returning to Joe. It had been some time since she and her ex-boyfriend had broken up, the experience had knocked her confidence some; it had transpired that, despite being a few years older than her, he had considered their relationship much more casual than she had, as he hadn’t even considered their future together and wouldn’t agree to things like moving in together; she had later learned that he still lived with his mother, rent-free and was unwilling to give up that particular comfort, for her. If they both signed up, she could have two weeks of living with Joe, two weeks to get to know him better, two weeks to vet him for his suitability for a long-term relationship, to see what he looked for in a partner… Two weeks where they would be close to each other, where feelings could grow. Frances reached her home and parked up outside before she ventured inside.

When she got in, Hannah was eagerly looking over the back of the sofa, trying to read Frances’ body language to determine how it went; Frances could see Hannah had procured two glasses and an as yet unopened bottle of wine and as she got closer to her, she could see an array of takeaway menus scattered across the coffee table; this was, Frances, presumed, Hannah’s way of offering a celebratory drink or a one to commiserate her loss. Hannah wore a pair of blue jeans and a casual T-shirt, clearly having changed clothes from work and her hair worn up in a bobble. Frances sat down opposite Hannah, taking off her shoes. Hannah simply stared at her, eager with excitement for her news. Frances wasn’t quite sure how to explain it to Hannah, perhaps she was afraid that Hannah would judge her for the fact she was seriously considering it; Frances broke the silence by putting the contract from her bag.

“You got the part?” Hannah beamed, grabbing the wine bottle.

“...It’s mine if I want it” Frances clarified.

“So you got it” Hannah confirmed, opening the bottle.

“I guess” Frances responded, curling up on the sofa. Hannah looked over at her, trying to glean the source of her reticence to be more excited.

“I thought you’d be thrilled? Your first proper acting job” Hannah asked, probing Frances’ lack of enthusiasm.

“I am, it’s a great opportunity, £5,000 for two weeks work. I could win £100,000, and this Irish girl I met with says she’s trying to get them to increase the money, too.” Frances explained, trying to summon the enthusiasm she’d felt in the car.

“£105,000, with more being talked about and you’re not excited? I would be leaping for joy at that kind of money! I mean… You could buy a house!” Hannah exclaimed. “Do you know how girls our age actually own their home? What’s the problem? Is it porn or something?” Hannah inquired, trying to get to the bottom of the question.

“No. Well, I don’t think so. It’s basically like Big Brother, except… Adult with messy games” Frances explained.

“What do you mean adult?” Hannah asked, pouring the wine.

“Like… Nudity. I think some of the games might involve some sex acts but that’s not something I would have to do” Frances answered.

“Ah. That explains the money. Did you say messy too?” Hannah continued.

“Yeah. Like on kids TV, they gunge the contestants. They had this girl, she wore this really cute skirt, then they put her through this… I don’t even know what to call it! By the end of it, she was totally unrecognisable! It looked…” Frances summarised what she’d seen Michelle go through.

“Oh my God, that poor girl” Hannah replied, empathically for a person she’d never met. “I understand why you’re not excited then. Are you going to turn it down?” She continued, collecting up the takeaway menus.

“I don’t know. I mean, I… I kind of want to see how much they end up offering. I’m not thrilled by the idea of my first big job being like this but I mean, if the show does badly, then nobody will have seen it but if it does well, then it gets my face out there for other roles…” Frances explained her conundrum.

“But you’d have to go on TV, naked! Everyone who watches will see your boobs” Hannah retorted, instinctively covering her chest with her arms.

“It’s no different to being asked to film a sex scene for a film though. I mean, young actors are asked all the time to stand in for famous people who don’t want to go nude on camera. At the very least, this could get me an agent who actually gets details about a job before booking me for an audition” Frances defended her consideration; she was a little surprised by the level of conviction with which she did so, too.

“Okay, I suppose you have a point. But what about that girl in the cute skirt? You said you saw her get gunged. I mean… Would you really want to do that?” Hannah asked a grimace stretched across her face.

“I don’t know! Apparently, this girl insisted? They said it was her idea, nobody forced her… I think she looked like she actually enjoyed it. I think she’s married to the Irish girl’s brother, I mean, I doubt she would make her sister in law do anything she didn’t want to do. Maybe it’s more fun than it looks?” Frances explained, furthering her own conviction towards accepting.

“I can’t believe you’re actually considering it” Hannah exclaimed, gripping her glass, tightly, whilst still adopting a defensive position.

“Well… I did meet this really cute boy there.” Frances revealed, taking the other glass as she filled Hannah in about meeting Joe.

Having discussed it out loud with Hannah, Frances had decided that the best course of action would be to try to shore up some more concrete commitment for more money, discuss the potential for future roles and involvement, should the show prove a success then she would make her final decision. Having checked the time, she felt it was a little too late in the day to contact Saoirse to discuss these things, as she didn’t want to antagonise the woman, especially before they’d even properly spoken. She would try the following morning, given that she was off work, she would have the time to properly go over any questions she had, hopefully, she would garner enough information to make up her mind there and then. She could understand Hannah’s astonishment, Frances had to admit, she too, was surprised that she was seriously thinking about it, especially given that she’d seen the utter obliteration Michelle had gone through.

The next morning, Frances awoke and went through her usual routine, when she wasn’t working, opting to wear far more casual clothes that she could simply lounge around in, preferring to be comfortable on her days off. Hannah was already up, Frances thought she had plans for the day already, as she was dressed for the gym. She shot an insistent look at Frances, who raised her hands in acceptance of her demands. Frances fetched the contract and began perusing through it; she felt it a better plan to have read the contract, that way, if she had any questions, she would be able to ask them while discussing her other questions.

Having read through it over her morning coffee, Frances felt Ted’s assertions were initially correct; she would ask one of the solicitors at her firm to read through it (a short skirt and a little flirting would oft yield positive results in such cases) before she agreed to sign, as there were sometimes clauses that would go by unnoticed from the untrained eye, yet could prove imperative onto the person’s decision about whether or not to sign; a story Frances had heard many a horrifying tale about, young actors desperate for their big break, signing up to horrendous contracts that bound them to certain producers, with hefty buy-out clauses should they wish to leave. Feeling satisfied enough, she picked up her phone and began dialling the number. It rang a few times, to the extent Frances was expecting to leave a voicemail message before there was an answer.

“Yes?” Saoirse answered, a little curtly. Frances could hear loud music in the background.

“Hi, er… Can I speak with Saoirse, please?” Frances asked, going into auto-pilot.

“You can. Who’s calling?” Saoirse asked, seeming rather guarded.

“It’s Frances Watts, I’m calling about… Um… Well, it’s about… An interview I had with her, recently?” Frances summarised, trying to be as diplomatic as she could about it.

“I remember you, Frances. What can I do to help?” Saoirse asked as the music playing in the background seemed muted as if she had gone into another room. “I’m going to say this now, to save us both time; if you’re calling in the hopes I will persuade or dissuade you, I won’t do it. Your answer should be yours and yours alone. If you’re asking me to persuade you to choose something, then as I told somebody else already, in your heart of hearts, you know your answer, you just want somebody to validate it. There’s nothing wrong with that, at all, it just can’t be me who does that for you. Talk to a friend, a colleague, a boyfriend, girlfriend, family member… Anyone who doesn’t stand to gain from your decision.” Saoirse explained as if reciting a disclaimer.

“No, I’m not asking anything like that. I just um… You mentioned that you were trying to increase the money?” Frances asked, awkwardly.

“I am. You’re hoping for a more concrete answer?” Saoirse asked, in a very matter of fact way.

“...Yes” Frances answered, feeling very mercenary.

“I get that. If I were you, I would definitely want to know some more concrete figures. I’m reluctant to say any figures because I don’t want to disappoint you, should the offer come in lower than I mentioned. Right now? Some people have already indicated they won’t be participating, so the producers have agreed to divide their pay between those who do, so it will be more. They do seem more amenable to a bonus being paid, should the show be renewed, so it’s looking good. But unfortunately, until it’s written down, in some form of a legally binding document, I’d not bank on it. That’s just my cynicism, though.” Saoirse explained, non-committally.

“I understand that. If I were asking entirely hypothetically, about your ideal amount? Totally off the record.” Frances asked. Saoirse sighed heavily in response, it was clearly a question she’d been asked a number of times already.

“Completely off the record? What I’ve asked them to do is to say £10,000 upfront for participating, paid on the day each person leaves, that way they know nobody is going to do anything illegal. Then a further £15,000 is paid to everyone if the show is renewed. I’m going to stress that’s what I’m pushing for; if they come back with a lower figure, I’d still put it on the table, then you can choose to accept it or walk away, as you deem fit. Any other questions?” Saoirse asked, seemingly eager to return to whatever she was doing.

“Just one. If the show is renewed, do you think there’s potential for former contestants to be involved? Like, do you think there could be a long term job there?” Frances asked, hopefully.

“Ha, you’re an ambitious one, aren’t you? Short answer? Maybe. Right now? There are no concrete plans for any future series, we don’t really even have a loose plan at the moment because we’re too focused on getting this series right; future series’ can be planned if/when it’s a reality. If you choose to take the job and you’re still interested in the job, after? Assuming there is a job to discuss, by all means, set up a meeting with the bosses, see what they say.” Saoirse explained. Frances nodded, contemplating her decision. She knew Saoirse was right in what she had said; she felt like she was maybe looking for someone to validate her decision.

“I will have my decision for you shortly, then” Frances explained before their conversation concluded.

The next few weeks passed by relatively uneventfully, Frances had a colleague look over the contract for any suspect passages or clauses. Her colleague had confirmed what she had suspected, the contract seemed above board, without any particularly offensive passages; the most difficult part of it for her was dealing with the fact her male colleague had become particularly interested in her participation in the show, upon learning the nature of it; it did serve to reinforce the reality that there would be some people who tuned in, simply to see her and the other participants, nude or wearing very skimpy clothing. It made her a little uncomfortable but could she really reconcile the difference between what she was being asked to do with being asked to play a part where these things were expected of her? The difference, she thought, was a distinction without a difference. She had her answer and she texted Saoirse to confirm she would be participating. Within a few minutes, she received a response, in a very matter of fact way, telling her a date and time for their next meeting.

The preparation

Their first official meeting was some weeks later, which worked out well for Frances because it had allowed her to book the time off work, meaning that she didn’t need to worry about working early to make up for the time and she could attend their meetings wearing whatever she felt comfortable in. The show was due to start filming in the spring, which allowed for ample time for the necessary renovations to take place; Frances had been informed that they would be given an updated version of the contracts, with a revised payment, a full tour of the house they would be staying in, although it was still under development, they could get a good idea about their home for the fortnight, as well as a confirmation of the dates they would be staying there; it was rather fortuitous for Frances, as she realised, by taking the time off as annual leave, she would have the opportunity to pocket the payment from the show but also receive her ordinary salary from her firm. Frances felt quite excited about the prospect of her first, proper TV appearance; she was especially relieved when she’d approached the subject with her family, given the more risque nature of the show, that they had offered her support and understanding. For an aspiring actor, when opportunity knocks, that opportunity isn’t always the most attractive and they sometimes have to accept it or accept that their career has finished before it even began.

The day of their first official meeting had arrived, Frances was quite anxious by now because she was concerned about who else had decided it wasn’t for her; Allison, Nazreen and Ted all seemed like nice people. Lucas seemed very quiet, Frances expected she might not see him there. She hoped that Marco might not make it, for whatever reason, to be replaced by somebody less obnoxious, though she had to admit, his brash nature might well resonate poorly with the voting public, leading to a potential for increased viewing figures, he could also take votes away from other contestants, leading to an earlier exit as a result; which could work in her favour. She did, however, hope that she would see Joe again the most. She had kicked herself in recent weeks that she hadn’t approached him, asked for his number, started a dialogue with the man. She opted to wear black jeans and a thick sweater, due to the cold winter weather that had set in. She drove slowly and carefully to avoid icy patches, arriving at their meeting a good fifteen minutes early. She got out of the car, careful to ensure her footing before she exited the car. The property looked like a lot had been done in the intervening weeks, with the exposed wall now more resembling an enclosed conservatory, with blacked out windows and a door by which to enter and exit from. The front door was closed this time, presumably due to the cold weather, there was a sign taped to the door indicating that it was open. Frances opened the door and walked inside.

Upon entering, Frances heard voices in the main room. The interior also looked a lot different, having been repainted with bright colours, separating each room. Upon entering the living room, she noticed that there was now ample seating available, in the form of armchairs and sofas. She looked around and saw two familiar faces, with Allison and Ted already being there. Allison was dressed similarly to before, wearing a somewhat gothic suit, with boots dripping with metal, her hair worn up which only accentuated the red in her hair even more. Ted was dressed in a sweater and trousers, resembling more of a geography teacher than an IT consultant now. The other person she recognised was Saoirse, who’s attire immediately struck Frances. She was wearing a black and white pleated skirt, a mesh top, worn under a studded leather waistcoat, black tights and boots with a spiked heel. She wore a nose ring now and a green streak in her hair. Saoirse waved to Frances, gesturing towards the seating available.

“It’s not your first gig, is it?” Allison asked. Frances presumed that they were discussing the reasons for Saoirse’s attire.

“No. I’ve not been to as many as I’d have liked; the downsides of growing up in Ireland. I know, who knew there were any of those?” Saoirse quipped with a wry smile. “For some unknown reason, a lot of bands don’t come to the north of Ireland, they’d often go to Dublin but that was quite far to go for us. Belfast wasn’t too far; I remember once, this band - who I will not name - were playing Belfast. Bunch of us girls wanted to go, so we tried to convince our parents, explaining that we’d all be together, that we’d book a hotel so we aren’t travelling anywhere at night… As soon as I mentioned it to my ma, she completely lost it. Belfast, to her, may as well be Babylon. I tried to tell her they were doing one night in Belfast, then down to Dublin, then that would probably be it for proper bands for ages… She totally refused. I was heartbroken, I thought for sure their singer would meet some other girl, then he’d have his Irish princess and my chance to marry him would forever be lost.” Saoirse explained. Frances couldn’t help but admire the way she told the story.

“Where are you off to, tonight? Nobody is playing, locally, that I’m aware of.” Ted asked, curiously.

“My wife is picking me up later today, we’re heading up to Glasgow tonight, staying in Scotland for a few days. Seeing the band tonight, then over to her family. Makes more sense, that way, she can see them and we can go to a gig together too.” Saoirse explained, she seemed to beam enthusiastically about their plans.

“Don’t let her change the subject! Who was the band?” Allison insisted.

“I’m not telling you. Only the girls who were going know who we were planning to see and those bitches are sworn on pain of death to never reveal it; I have dirt on every one of them. I assure you, they’re more scared of me than they are of anyone else!” Saoirse insisted, vehemently guarding what seemed to be an embarrassing secret.

“Why are you so embarrassed? Was it some cheesy boy band or something?” Frances asked with a giggle.

“It could just as easily be a really shitty emo band.” Saoirse retorted, as the front door opened and Nazreen walked in. She looked tired, like she had been working hard lately, wearing an oversized sweater, that was presumably a man’s sweater that she had procured for some reason, and black leggings with white trainers.

“Wow, you look amazing” Nazreen remarked, seeing Saoirse.

“Thank you. Going to a gig tonight, I don’t dress like this normally. Well… Not quite like this.” Saoirse clarified. “It is one of the big perks of being self employed though; I make my own hours, I can dress how I wish and nobody can say anything about it” Saoirse added.

“So it was an emo band… That’d certainly be embarrassing for a true rock chick like you” Allison explained, squinting at Saoirse, as if she were trying to get to the bottom of it.

“Well, either that or I only suggested it was an emo band to throw you off the scent and it actually was a boy band. Not saying either way, just that I could easily be misdirecting. It could be neither and it was a totally different genre with a particularly embarrassing band.” Saoirse answered, with a wry smile. She was clearly quite adept at avoiding this particular question.

“So do you go back to Ireland often? It’s a beautiful country. I used to visit in the summers with my wife” Ted explained.

“Not really. Not much to go back to anymore; long story short, my ma disowned me. My da and I are still close, but that’s basically phone calls when he has the chance. My friends prefer the nightlife over here, so it’s actually better for them to visit than for me to go back home. Weirdly, I see more of Scotland than Ireland these days.” Saoirse explained, with a hint of sadness in her voice.

“You don’t speak to your mum? That’s sad.” Nazreen uttered, empathetically.

“It is. I invited her to my wedding, evidently, she decided not to come. She knows where I am, my da has my number, if/when she’s ready…” Saoirse answered. It was clearly a bit of a sore subject for her.

“I couldn’t imagine not being close with my mum.” Nazreen exclaimed, as the door opened. Frances didn’t want to look towards the door, in case it made her seem eager to see Joe, especially as there was a chance she would only find herself looking eager to see Marco or Lucas.

“So how come you don’t visit Ireland anymore, Ted?” Frances asked.

“Well… It… I guess circumstances got in the way” Ted avoided the question, awkwardly. Frances could tell that it was a rather difficult subject for him. As if at the worst possible moment, Marco appeared in the doorway.

“Don’t panic, girls, I’m still here.” Marco uttered, arrogantly, looking around at each of them, until his eyes fixated on Saoirse. “Rock-chick-a-wow-wow!” He uttered, obnoxiously. Saoirse only grinned in response, as if she’d been prepared for his reaction.

“I didn’t know if you’d actually turn up.” Saoirse commented. Marco sauntered over, sitting next to Allison, who promptly moved away from him.

“Why would I deprive you of my company, babe?” Marco asked, in his usual style.

“Because you really have a problem with drunk texting” Saoirse answered, her grin becoming more wry and sadistic; Marco’s posture immediately shifted to an uncomfortable and awkward one.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Marco mumbled, shifting his position uncomfortably. It was obvious to anyone, he was lying.

“Really? You don’t remember drunk texting a girl called Neira?” Saoirse asked, pressing him further.

“N… What do you… Wait, was that you? Were you catfishing me?” Marco asked, almost indignantly.

“You started to drunk text me, my wife sometimes answers my texts when I’m busy, rather than keep people waiting… Her name, as it so happens, is Neira, so no, it wasn’t me, nor was I catfishing you. She did, however, tell me all about it… Including what you talked to her about.” Saoirse explained. Marco seemed utterly mortified, like he had confessed some deep, dark secret.

“You… I… It…” Marco stammered, clearly trying to think on his feet.

“What did he tell her?” Allison asked, a gleeful smile on her face.

“Don’t; that just seems mean” Nazreen interjected.

“Oh, I don’t ‘out’ people lightly. Unless you want me to, I don’t have a problem with that.” Saoirse explained. It was clear she was enjoying having Marco over a barrel like that, though she seemed quite genuine that she wouldn’t simply reveal his secret. “Just waiting on one more, then we can get started. It’s actually worked out quite nicely, we have three boys and three girls.” Saoirse clarified, changing the subject.

“Can you give us a hint? Is the fact you said three girls a hint?” Allison pressed, clearly keen to watch Marco squirm more.

“No hints. Not my truth to tell. You could just get to know him, get him drunk then ask? Who knows, maybe you’ll get your answer. You’ll have time… Though I would caution against that, given that if he did tell you, he’s just done so on TV, where anyone could be watching.” Saoirse answered, checking the time and then looking towards the door. “Okay, so we’re not running massively late, as some of us have plans, let’s get started. We can always catch him up.” Saoirse explained, standing up, handing out revised contracts to the five assembled people.

“Okay. As you can see, this is the living room area. Behind me is the kitchen, it’s communal, so please keep it clean. If you don’t feel like it? That’s just fine by me, you can stew in it for as long as you’re in here… I’d strongly recommend drawing up a rota and revising it as you need to. We aren’t going to pay for a cleaner to do it for you, at least, until after you’ve all left.” Saoirse explained, leading them into the kitchen. “Back door is there, there’s a very high fence, so nobody can see what’s going on. The garden is where the majority of the messy events will happen, to save on cleaning. Down there is a toilet, which, again, is your responsibility to keep clean. You can see where the cameras are going to go…” Saoirse continued, pointing towards the appropriate places.

“So we could get freaky, in the bathroom?” Marco interjected, clearly returning to himself.

“You could, assuming somebody else wants to… Or you decided you wanted to rub one out. I would remind you, there is a camera, so if you want everyone watching to see your ‘O’ face? It’s also a communal bathroom, so it would be mighty disrespectful to everyone else if you expected them to do their business, knowing that you’d cranked one out in there…” Saoirse explained, in a very matter-of-fact manner. She led the group past a closed door, which was now directly underneath the staircase, once everyone was past it, she opened the door.

“I assume none of you need reminding of where this leads… All but one of you will be getting a closer look in there. Of course, you’re welcome to go for a ride, now, if you’d like?” Saoirse asked. Frances flinched, she couldn’t tell whether the woman was joking or being serious, or a combination of the two; such was her deadpan expression. There was an awkward silence amongst them all, as she scanned each of their faces. “No takers? Fair enough. I think Michelle wants some modifications done, anyway. I’m sure she will want to test it, afterwards, then complain about how tough her job is…” Saoirse quipped; once again, Frances wasn’t sure just how sarcastic she was being.

“I thought you said she requested that job. Why would she complain about her job, when she asked for that to be part of it?” Ted enquired, clearly a little concerned for the woman’s wellbeing.

“She did and yet she still says it. I don’t know why; she’s having my idiot brother’s baby, so I’ve known for some time she has a screw or two loose. I don’t judge!” Saoirse chirped before leading them towards the bottom of the stairs. Frances kept one eye on the front door, hoping against hope that she might see Joe walk through it.

“I should’ve dressed better, done something with my hair. Would it have killed you to have put on a nice top and some make-up? He’s never going to notice you, not with her here…” Frances thought to herself, her own insecurities making her all the more nervous. She tried to calm herself by reminding herself that she really didn’t know Joe, having barely had a proper conversation with him, there was every chance that her attraction was purely physical and that would conclude her interest in the man, yet she couldn’t quite get past it, not as yet. Saoirse gestured to everyone to walk up the stairs and Frances began to ascend the staircase. She had gotten halfway up, when the door opened. She had to fight her own instincts to not turn around, leading to her craning her neck in such an awkward position that she nearly fell down the stairs. She saw Saoirse crack a wry smile and emitted a chuckle; Frances knew that she had figured out why and started to blush.

“Sorry I’m late, I got held up” Frances heard a male voice explain, she couldn’t quite discern the identity of its owner, as she racked her brain trying to recall if Joe had an accent or not.

“No problem, if I have time, I’ll show you around downstairs; if not then Michelle can do some work for a change.” Saoirse retorted, nonchalantly. Frances stood, waiting to catch a glimpse of who she was speaking with, very aware she was affixed halfway up the stairs, very visible from the doorway. She caught a glimpse of him, seeing a white shirt, a tie, a dark winter jacket and a scarf. Frances hurriedly climbed the remainder of the stairs, hoping that the pace by which she ascended might explain away her face whilst conveniently hiding her curiosity from whomever had just arrived. She looked around, there were four doors, three of which were collected together, presumably these were (or at least had been) bedrooms, with the fourth door being the bathroom, which seemed to be directly above the kitchen. Frances heard footsteps ascending the staircase and dived out of sight, trying to seem as casual as possible, as either Joe or Lucas walked up the stairs, followed by Saoirse. The hallway was quite narrow for six people, which made sense for her to stand nearer to what she suspected was the bathroom. The man reached the top of the stairs and Frances’ heart had reached a fever pitch, beating like it was in time to a thumping trance song at a local club. She silently celebrated when she saw Joe, offering a flirtatious wave. Joe simply offered an open palm gesture in response, seemingly unaware of her flirtatious intentions. Saoirse shot her a knowing glance, when she arrived at the top, as if to confirm that Joe was who Frances was hoping to see.

“Four rooms, as you can all see… The door on the left hand side is one of the bedrooms, the opposite door leads to the other; it’ll be bunk beds, to save on space. Who sleeps where is entirely up to you, ultimately, but I would remind you that you’ll be sleeping and changing in these rooms, so don’t choose to share a room with anyone you’re not comfortable doing either of those things around. The middle room is the only room where there is no external camera, there’s also a phone set up in there, so if you’re feeling stressed or anything like that, you can talk to a trained counsellor. This is also where you’d go to talk to somebody if you found that the experience was too much for you, then we can make arrangements for you to leave. That’s really important. Also, really important; and I wish this could go without saying, while this room has no external camera, there is a camera in there that does record. This is so our counsellor can see you, read body language and non-verbal signs that someone needs help rather than just sounding off. Which leads me to my point, please do not abuse it. Just because these images won’t be broadcast, doesn’t mean it’s a wank room, where you can quietly crank one off in privacy… Words I never thought I would have to say and never want to say again!” Saoirse surmised, becoming a little curt as she continued.

“The fourth door, by where… Frances?” Saoirse asked, trying to confirm her name. Frances nodded, trying to seem relaxed. “Cool. By Frances, is the bathroom. Everything will be pretty much as it is now, with the exception of the garden, in which we’re having the fence moved;  basically, we want you to have as much outdoor space as possible, which will hopefully help you to feel less confined while you’re here. Since it’s all a little cramped here, with everyone all piled in, let’s relocate downstairs, so if you have any questions, we can discuss the all important question that you will all want answered.” Saoirse carried on. She looked at each of them in turn, presumably looking for confirmation, then gestured for them to start making their way down the stairs. Everyone started making their way, with Saoirse standing out of their way in the doorway of one of the rooms, while Frances stood in the bathroom doorway, feeling a little bit like an Amsterdam red light worker, advertising her wares to passers by. Once everyone else had passed, she started to walk towards the stairs, not waiting for Saoirse to descend first.

“You like him.” She whispered with a grin.

“What? No I don’t.” Frances denied, startled by the accusation.

“No judgement. It’s kind of perfect, if you do; you’re in a house together, you can eat and drink together… Get to know one another, see if there’s a spark there whilst seeing all his idiosyncrasies before you find out he likes to bite his toenails or whatever other annoying habit he might have, because… Boys.” Saoirse whispered, gesturing to her to walk down the stairs. Frances started to walk down the stairs.

 “Besides, you’re both adults, assuming you’re both single and interested, who cares what you two do?” Saoirse whispered to the back of her head. Frances didn’t know why she was encouraging it, there didn’t seem to be any reason to do so.

Frances sat down on the sofa again, while Joe was looking around in the kitchen. She intentionally sat as close to the arm rest as she could, meaning there was ample space for him to sit near her, in the hopes this may help to spark up a conversation with him.

“I take it that these revised contracts are essentially the same as the ones we’ve been given before?” Ted asked, holding up the paper.

“Fundamentally, yes. There’s basically one or two lines that are different, which pertains to your fee for your time. Obviously, to avoid repeating myself, I’m going to go over that in a minute when everyone is present.” Saoirse explained, seemingly putting everyone’s minds at ease. “You are, of course, welcome to read it, compare it to the other documents, if you so wish, have your agent, solicitor or whoever to read through it before you sign… Just return it to the address on the first page to either Saoirse McHugh or Michelle McElroy, we’ll make sure it’s handled appropriately. Again, it’s detailed in the contract, so you can just copy my name out rather than trying to guess how it’s spelt; as amusing as that can be, it does get old, fast.” Saoirse explained, to a few chuckles.

Having dealt with the business of the day, the group began to disperse, heading for the door; they would each be contacted in due course about start dates with as much notice as possible. After all, they each had lives they needed to structure their ambitions around. This would also allow for any additional work to be conducted, as Frances understood it. Upon leaving the house via the front door, a fact that Frances realised only one of them would likely do again, she witnessed Michelle speaking with another woman. She was quite short, just below average height with very long, dark red hair that seemed to stretch down her back. She was well dressed, wearing a teal dress, which was complimented with a velvet choker and boots with a metal heel. Frances speculated that she was Saoirse’s wife.

“...I’m going to have them change it up a bit, I think it should be a lot messier at the start, so that the rider can’t see anything that’s happening as they go further through. Lots of cream, which we’ll switch out for foam, if there’s any allergy issues, of course.” Michelle explained. She looked different from the last time Frances had seen her, not least because she wasn’t caked in viscous goo; her hair was now strawberry blonde, with little signs of the brown that it once had and she was now more visibly pregnant than before. The red headed woman stood back from the doorway, as if wary of getting closer. “Only downside is that once they’ve made the changes, someone needs to give it a proper test…” Michelle continued with a reluctant sigh. Frances peered through the conservatory doorway, surveying what she could of the passageway. It had been painted to look far more ominous than when she had first seen it and from what she could see, the chair seemed to have been better equipped for its purpose than before, also. Everyone had now assembled on the front lawn, as if trying to decide what to do with the remainder of the day. It was Marco who first broke that silence.

“Hey” He approached the red head, swaggering with arrogance. Both Allison and Frances emitted an exasperated sigh.

“Hello” The woman replied, politely.

“Can I just say, you are looking hell-a fine today, girl” Marco began, looking her up and down.

“Thank you! I wore this dress when I met my other half, kind of seems fitting to wear it tonight” The woman replied, looking down at herself. It was clear from her voice that she was Scottish, speaking with a rather thick accent.

“See what I’ve been saying? Ever since I started showing, men just don’t see me anymore. I mean, I’m not complaining, it’s certainly nice to not have to tell a guy seventeen times that I’m not interested… It would be nice if they actually saw me, for long enough to not walk into me and knock me over though” Michelle griped, looking squarely at Marco.

“So what are you doing tonight? Want to cancel your plans and go home with me?” Marco asked, ignoring Michelle altogether. Meanwhile, Allison walked over towards Frances, her eyes fixated on the events unfolding.

“Is it just me or is this like a car crash? You want to look away but you just can’t help but watch? I mean… How does he not know who she is?” Allison whispered. Frances nodded, with a slight chuckle. It would seem, Allison had also noticed the ring on the woman’s finger, piecing together the facts.

“No, not really.” The woman replied, dismissively.

“Shame, because I would love to show you a good time… I know you’re probably desperate for my number, I only give it out to girls as fine as you.” Marco uttered, his every word dripping with arrogance. Frances didn’t quite know whether she was simply ignoring his overtures or if she was simply unaware of them as she checked the time. “I’m Marco, I’ve no doubt you’ve heard great things” Marco continued his assault on decency.

“You’re Marco?” The woman asked, her face lighting up as she gasped. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve known; you’re exactly how Saoirse described you.” She continued, enthusiastically. Whether it was the mention of Saoirse or that she did in fact know him, Marco was immediately thrown, seemingly unable to grasp who she was; or he was embarrassed that he hadn’t gleaned her identity already.

“Er…” Marco stammered, trying to think on his feet.

“This is just too good! I feel like I’m eating an entire tub of ice cream by myself right now!” Allison chirped, while Ted and Joe seemed to discuss something together. Frances’ tried to divert her attention between the two events, hoping she might find a way to spark up a conversation with the man.

“I’m Neira, we were texting last night? Aww, how was your head this morning?” Neira asked, with a surprising amount of empathy. Marco’s demeanor immediately changed, he was no longer confident or even arrogant, now an insecure, bumbling mess.

“I er… Um…” He stumbled, trying to get his words out.

“Is he bothering you, red?” Saoirse asked, appearing in the doorway. “If he’s making you in any way uncomfortable, I will give him a dick-ectomy; both of them!” Saoirse continued, clearly very protective over her.

“No, he’s okay. You haven’t told anyone then?” Neira asked, looking at Marco.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Marco retorted, sounding a retreat, with a very obvious lie.

“Aww.” Neira uttered.

“You said something about changes?” Ted chimed in, clearly keen to get things back on to the reason they were all there. “Anything we need to know about?” He added.

“No, it’ll fundamentally be the same. As I was saying to my friend, I think it needs to be a bit messier at the start… Obviously, we’ll change out cream for foam, too” Michelle explained. “I’ve not tested the foam, yet, but I’ll be able to do that later this week, make sure it all works okay” Michelle continued, nodding.

“That doesn’t affect your decision, does it?” Saoirse asked, looking over the group.

“No, not really. I imagine once we’re covered, any extra mess is just…” Nazreen trailed off, trying to imagine it.

“Oh, you’ll wish!” Michelle scoffed. “Think about me! I’m the one going through it to test it” Michelle exclaimed.

“Yes, you have the hardest job out of all of us, Michelle; it’s not like you suggested it, then volunteered, even writing it into your own contract or anything!” Saoirse exclaimed, with a wry smile. It was quite clear she wasn’t willing to suffer her feigned reticence. Neira tapped her wrist, clearly indicating that they were running late.

“Sorry, red. I’ll be as quick as I can” Saoirse explained, moving closer to the woman. “Okay, does anyone have any burning questions that they absolutely need me to answer? I’m sure Michelle will be happy to answer any questions, if you’re not fussy about getting them from her. Not intending to give you all the impression that your questions aren’t important or valued…” Saoirse asked, trying to hurry things along.

“I have a question.” Allison asked, raising her hand.

“Yes? You don’t need to raise your hand. I’m not a primary school teacher.” Saoirse retorted.

“Actually, I was going to ask your wife, what did Marco tell you?” Allison enquired, looking over to the red head.

“Um…” Neira replied, clearly feeling awkward at being put on the spot. “It’s… Nothing bad! I just don’t think I should be the one to tell you” Neira continued, looking at Marco, who seemed more content putting as much distance from himself and her as possible.

“Any questions about the reason we’re all here?” Saoirse asked, impatiently. Frances looked around at the assembled group, kicking herself that she had let another opportunity to speak to Joe pass her by, she couldn’t even pretend to have thought of a decent enough question. “Okay. If you do, by all means, text me, leave me a voicemail… If it’s urgent, I suggest that you contact my esteemed colleague who will be happy to help.” Saoirse said, bidding them all farewell, clasping her hands together.

Entering the house

The winter had passed and Frances was making the final preparations for her appearance; despite the content that she was being asked to help create, she was actually looking forward to it. With the warmer weather, she decided to take advantage of the opportunity to dress accordingly; she hoped, with more feminine clothes, she might better get Joe’s attention, it was possible that she could walk away with a life changing amount of money for a woman her age, having kickstarted her on screen career and gained a new boyfriend, all at once. She had booked an extra couple of days off work, allowing her adequate time to prepare and re-settle back into her normal routine, enjoy some of her newfound wealth and, she hoped, sift through job offers while planning her on-screen career. She packed her bag, with a spring in her step as she collected up the clothes she loved to wear but rarely got the chance. She was dressed very casually, wearing a navy blue hoodie and a pair of old jeans, as they weren’t yet going to be on camera, but going over everything, getting settled and comfortable with their new house mates. She put her suitcases in the boot of her car, re-entering her home, looking to check she hadn’t missed anything; after all, once the show had begun, there was no way to go back to collect things.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Hannah uttered, standing near to the doorway, ready to say her farewells to her friend for the next two weeks.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks” Frances downplayed, trying to hide her own nervousness but also her curious excitement.

“Yeah, well, rather you than me!” Hannah chirped, opening her arms to hug her friend. Frances embraced her, for a few moments.

“Will you watch?” Frances asked, curiously; she had mixed feelings about it, given what Hannah would be watching but also hoping to do what she could in order to aid the show garnering better ratings. She had already had a difficult conversation with her family about it, as well as with her work, who had made her sign a confidentiality agreement, stating that she would not in any way mention or indicate where she works, lest her on screen actions somehow bring disrepute to their firm. When Hannah pulled away, Frances could see from the look on Hannah’s face, it was likely to be a no.

“I don’t know. I mean, I want to help, to support you, I just don’t know if I can? It's late and… And I just don’t know if I can watch you do those things? Just seems a bit…” Hannah explained, her face telling more than her words.

“I understand. I just asked because it would help with the viewing figures and all that. The better it does, the better it could be for my career?” Frances explained, rehashing her argument.

“I’ll try.” Hannah conceded, rolling her eyes. “I’m starting to worry that you just want me to watch you getting messy” Hannah retorted, clearly trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness.

“That’s exactly it. I set up this whole, elaborate scheme, funded the production of a new TV show, just so I could guilt trip you into watching me get gunged. You found out my secret!” Frances laughed, making her friend's accusation a jest. Hannah laughed along, shaking her head. With that, Frances departed.

Frances arrived at the house, it was getting quite late in the day, apprehension was now fully setting in. Frances tried to shake away her doubts, she couldn’t back out now, even if she wanted to; it would effectively end her career, entirely. She parked up her car, taking her suitcases out of the vehicle and walked towards the front door. She presumed they would make arrangements to securely park her car for the duration of her stay, making a mental note to enquire about it; her car was by no means expensive but it was hers, she was quite dependent on it and she would prefer to know it would be safe. Frances approached the door, she was unsure whether to knock or to simply walk in; it seemed fine, to simply enter but at the same time, perhaps knocking was the more prudent option? She didn’t know who was going to be there or what they might be doing, after all. She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to will the courage to go that final step; after all, she had come this far, she may as well finish. She outstretched her arm, feeling completely terrified now, trying to grip the door handle. Instead, she found herself knocking. There was commotion within the house which became footsteps. Frances felt her back straighten as they got closer. The door opened.

“Can I h - Oh, hey. You know, you could’ve just come in” Saoirse answered, holding the door open. She was wearing a pair of black suit trousers and a matching waistcoat that flattered her figure, with a dark green top underneath it. Her dark hair was worn down, descending past her shoulders. She walked back into the house, leaving the door open. Frances entered, carrying her suitcases inside, putting them to one side; she would need to discuss with the others, to determine who was sleeping where before she put her things away. She followed Saoirse through, the house looked very different now, filled with furniture and even some art work littering the walls which Frances imagined was to make them feel a bit more comfortable. Frances saw Saoirse enter the kitchen but rather than follow her she decided to investigate the living room. She noticed, as she went, the locations of each of the cameras which had been fitted, marked with little domes that blended into the ceiling. She gazed into the living room, noticing that Joe and Ted were already there, sat on the sofa, cans of beer on the coffee table watching sports together. Frances shrank away, heading into the kitchen. Saoirse was standing over the kitchen table, looking at a laptop screen, headphones in her ears. Upon seeing Frances, she removed one of them, looking over towards Frances with an enquiring, empathetic look.

“Do you need something? I stocked up on booze for you all. There’s beer and white wine in the fridge, some red on the counter, too, if that’s more to your taste. I don’t know anything about wine, so it may be nasty… It will get you drunk, however” Saoirse explained, pointing towards where everything was. Frances pulled up a dining chair and sat down with an emotive sigh, putting her head in her hands.

“Um… What’s going to happen with our cars?” Frances asked while she was thinking of it.

“We’ve rented some secure space, so leave your keys in the appropriate space by the door, somebody will store your car, it’ll be returned to you, valeted the morning after you leave.” Saoirse answered her question, gesturing towards the hallway. Frances nodded, absorbing her answer.

“Is it just the four of us?” Frances asked, trying to avoid her own thoughts.

“Four? No, there should be five…” Saoirse answered, before she left the kitchen to poke her head through to the living room. “Boys, have you seen Nazreen?” Saoirse asked, from the next room before she headed back to the kitchen briefly. “Honestly, boys and sports…” Saoirse mocked, rolling her eyes. Frances followed her through to the living room, feeling a bit more confident next to her, as if she could leech the woman’s extrovert personality from her by will and proximity.

“What?” Joe responded, clearly not having heard the question.

“Nazreen? About this high, too nice for her own good? You know her” Saoirse explained.

“Um…” Joe replied, fixated on the screen.

“I don’t know, I thought she was with you?” Ted responded, breaking eye contact with the TV to answer Saoirse’s question properly. Saoirse nodded, accepting his response before returning to the kitchen.

“Hi Joe” Frances mumbled, with a timid wave. She only received a raised arm in response to her greeting, from Joe; Ted, however, smiled and greeted her. Deflated by her lack of response, she returned to the kitchen. She immediately walked to the fridge, collecting a beer, opening it and wishing that the floor would just open up and swallow her whole.

“Taking your clothes off helps” Saoirse interrupted her self pity.

“I’m sorry?” Frances retorted, feeling more than a little awkward at the statement.

“I had the same problem with my husband. Barely married for a year and he would pay more attention to football than me… So whenever I wanted his attention, I would stand behind him, strip off, then get him to look. Once his attention was fixed on me? I would get dressed again.” Saoirse explained.

“Did it work?” Frances giggled, curiously.

“Oh yeah! I reserved it for when he’d been putting off doing stuff for a while, kind of my way of teaching him better behaviours; he’d have to then do whatever he had committed to doing, while one of his teams was playing or he wouldn’t get any. The things boys will do when they think it will lead to them having sex…” Saoirse trailed off, shaking her head.

“I don’t know if that would help me.” Frances mumbled. “Husband? I thought you were gay” Frances asked, trying to divert the conversation away from her own insecurities.

“I was married before I met Neira. I loved him, not the same way that I love red, but I guess that’s love for you; I don’t know if I would call myself gay or bi or… It’s all just labels to me, none of it really rings true when you boil it right down to it. Why do we need to label ourselves? You would still be you if you had a different label, so why make such a big deal out of it?” Saoirse explained, turning off the music playing through her laptop. “Quid quo pro, Clarise…” Saoirse uttered, in her best Hannibal Lecter impression. Frances looked up at her, almost terrified by what she might choose to ask her. “Why are you in here, talking to me about my love life, when you could be in there, trying to make advances in your own love life?” Saoirse pressed. Frances could tell from the way she held herself, when Saoirse asked questions like this, she rarely accepted less than a truthful answer.

“Um… I’d like to get to know you better?” Frances answered, unconfidently.

“Not buying it. I have a very finely tuned bullshit detector. If you don’t want to answer my question, that’s absolutely fine - don’t answer my question. I don’t like people lying to me, though; it makes me wonder what you’re trying to hide.” Saoirse retorted, without diverting from her laptop.

“I’m not lying…” Frances mumbled, timidly.

“No, you’re not. That’s a lie of omission; you’re telling me something that may well be true but you’re doing it so you can avoid telling me the answer to my question. Therein comes the deception, when you could just say that you’d rather not tell me. So why are you in here, talking to me, instead of trying to make him yours?” Saoirse enquired, again.

“Because what if he hates me? What if he’s not into me because he wants to be with a pretty girl? What if he already has a girlfriend? What if she’s prettier than me? What if he wants one of the other girls, instead?” Frances ran through the reasons in her head, feeling like there was an endless tirade of reasons to not talk to him and simply consider it a foregone conclusion. Saoirse simply closed her laptop, turning her chair to face Frances, crossing her legs.

“Why are you here, this late?” Frances asked, trying to change the subject again.

“Quid pro quo. I’ll answer your questions, only if you answer mine.” Saoirse insisted, reaching for her drink.

“What if I don’t want to answer?” Frances asked, remembering that Saoirse offered her that option. Saoirse shrugged, nonchalantly.

“Then you don’t answer. I’ve no interest in forcing you to tell me these things; everything should be done of your own free will.” Saoirse explained.

“What if… I just… I keep thinking of reasons not to talk to him, then when I try, he’s either not noticing me or I feel like I come off as boring.” Frances answered, feeling upset by the revelation.

“Hmm.” Saoirse retorted, digesting the information; this was, Frances thought, perhaps her shrink routine. “There are always ways to get someone talking. Alcohol is a good one; there’s no reason you can’t grab a few cans, go on through and start chatting about football. I did that with Jimmy, it actually helped me in ways I didn’t expect; he’d bonded with my da over it, which meant the three of us could talk and spend time together… We became really close as a result. Maybe that’s what he wants? A girl who will take an interest in the things he’s passionate about. It’s also a great way to get to know him, to bond with him.” Saoirse explained, her voice betraying her emotions about the subject.

“So why are you here?” Frances asked, seizing on the question that Saoirse avoided before.

“I’m… I’m here for two reasons. First of all, we’re expecting another arrival tonight, so I’m here to make sure things go smoothly. Dark haired girl, name starts with A? Andrea? Abigail? Alyssa? It’ll come to me. Anyway, that’s part of my job. But just telling you that would be a lie of omission and since I told you not to do that to me… I’m… Well, I’m pretty much doing what you are, only for different reasons. I’m here so I don’t have to go home.” Saoirse answered, finishing her drink, as if it somehow gave her the courage to speak the words.

“Why don’t you want to go home? Are you having a fight?” Frances asked.

“That would be two questions and I do believe it’s my turn. Why would he not want to talk to you? It’s a cliche, I know but it’s a cliche for a reason. He’s cute, if you’re into that sort of thing and you obviously are, which is fine. He’s still just a person. I guarantee you, he has just as many insecurities about talking to girls… He doesn’t strike me as the smooth talking Lothario type who’s looking for his next conquest.” Saoirse asked, clarifying her question.

“I don’t know” Frances sighed, resentfully at her own inaction. “I get scared then I start to question myself, doubts creep in… What if he has a really pretty girlfriend? Then I’m the man-stealing skank who tried to steal him away” Frances explained, in a self loathing tone.

“No girlfriend, no boyfriend. I made a point of asking each of you, making certain that you’re not going to participate in the show and ruin your relationships in doing so. Unless, of course, that was your intention. I’ve nothing more than intuition on this one but I don’t think he’s especially experienced. He strikes me as quite shy, that could just be his interactions with me, of course. Maybe he’s just waiting for the right girl to open up to?” Saoirse hypothesised. Frances felt as if the gloom had lifted somewhat, she knew that Saoirse would have spoken with Joe a lot more than anyone else, given that she seemed to be an excellent judge of character, or at least excellent at pretending to be, if anyone would know these things, she would.

“Thanks. I feel a bit better now.” Frances stood up, taking Saoirse’s advice, retrieving some beers from the fridge. “Why are you here? I mean, why don’t you want to go home? Your wife seems really nice, really pretty, I just don’t understand why you’d prefer to be here than at home with her” Frances asked, looking back at the woman.

“And there was me hoping you’d not ask that question…” Saoirse began. “Give me one of those beers, please” She requested. Frances could tell it was a difficult question for her to answer.

“Okay…” Saoirse began, opening the can. “Neira and Michelle are good friends, as you may have noticed. I hope it didn’t escape your notice that Michelle is heavily pregnant; anyway, she recently had some scans, shared them with us - she’s having a wee girl” Saoirse started to explain, pausing to drink heavily from the beer can.

“Awww” Frances automatically reacted, without thinking.

“Neira blurts out that she wants a baby. To be honest, I think she was more surprised by it than I was.” Saoirse explained, a look of shame etched across her face like it was carved in marble.

“Is that bad?” Frances asked, cautiously.

“No. It’s complicated; long story short, I can’t have children. As you might expect, that’s not exactly my favourite fact about myself, so I’ve been actively avoiding the question, because I know it’s not fair on her for me to commandeer her genetic material and her uterus so I can be a ma to someone. She knows how sensitive it is, I know she probably feels horrible about it and I know once we actually talk about it, everything will be fine, great even. The hard part, the part I’m avoiding, is seeing that look in her eyes.” Saoirse clarified, her expression one of guilt and shame. There was a knock at the door, which seemed to be a relief for Saoirse. “Ugh, the door is open. Yet none of you seem to be able to just open it” Saoirse uttered, marching towards the door. “Allison! That’s her name… Allison, Allison, Allison…” Frances heard Saoirse reciting her name, as if repetition would commit it to her memory.

Shortly after, Allison walked into the kitchen. She was wearing a long red skirt, a low cut black top and her arms covered in bracelets.

“There’s beer and wine in the fridge, the wine may or may not be any good but it will get you drunk. Nazreen is upstairs, somewhere, I’m about to go check on her. If you want food, there’s food in the cupboards, there’s also a stack of takeaway menus, should you wish to go that route; it should be paid for, as well, if there’s any issues let me know, I’ll make sure you’re reimbursed.” Saoirse explained, doing her best to make sure Allison knew where everything was before she disappeared up the stairs. Allison proceeded to look into the living room, noticing Joe and Ted had seemingly bonded over sports and beers.

“No dickhead?” Allison asked, looking at Frances. Frances felt bad that she immediately knew who Allison was referring to and that she had thought the same thing.

“No sign of him, from what Saoirse said, I don’t think he’s coming tonight?” Frances explained, with more questions than answers, though she knew Saoirse wouldn’t share any details to her.

“Thank fuck for that! Hopefully, we can help him out the door - or rather… What would we even call that?” Allison asked, gesturing towards the exit that five of them would be using.

“I don’t know! Are you having second thoughts? I mean… We’re very likely to be completely obliterated in there” Frances exclaimed, giving voice to the niggling doubts she was still feeling, despite knowing she had little other option at this stage.

“No, not really. Maybe I’m a freak but it looks kind of fun! I hope I can wear some old clothes that I don’t care about getting ruined, if I’m going in there but I’m actually kind of looking forward to getting messy. Are you totally dreading it, then?” Allison asked, sipping at her beer.

“A bit. I… I guess once it’s happened I will be able to deal a bit better? I mean… It’s all going to go in my hair and inside my clothes and-” Frances explained, freaking out a little at the thought of it.

“I understand that. I mean… That Michelle girl seemed to enjoy it, didn’t she? Would she really ask to be gunged, several times, if it were that bad?” Allison asked, trying to assuage Frances’ doubts. Perhaps seeing that she wasn’t having much luck, Allison left the kitchen for the moment, as they presumably heard Saoirse walking down the stairs. She returned a few moments later with Saoirse following behind her.

“Allison tells me you’re having a bit of a freak out about the show. Are you having doubts or just last minute jitters?” Saoirse asked, sitting back down on the dining chair. Frances was quite impressed with the level of professionalism she was showing, despite having at least two beers in her.

“I’m fine, it’s just jitters. I signed a contract, I know I have-” Frances downplayed her concerns.

“Fuck all that. You absolutely have the right to say no, you even have that right after the cameras start rolling if you’re not able to continue. Your health and wellbeing are more important than any TV show. You can walk out that door right now and not come back; I’d highly recommend you don’t drive because you’ve been drinking, but I wouldn’t stop you, nor would anyone else; we’d soldier on without you.” Saoirse explained, empathetically.

“I was telling her, it can’t be that bad, I mean, your friend Michelle has been gunged, how many times?” Allison enquired, trying to reinforce her case.

“I have absolutely no idea. I can tell you that once she decided she was happy with the machine, she decided she needed to test it again, just to be absolutely certain she was happy with it, then asked me if I thought she should triple check it. So she’s been through it five or six times? That’s only counting in relation to the show; nobody has even so much as asked her to do it, she’s actively tried to find excuses to herself.” Saoirse explained. Frances chuckled, though she had to admit Saoirse’s words certainly were persuasive.

“It’s a shame we can’t get Michelle to do the messy bits for us” Frances chuckled.

“Please don’t suggest that to her, we’ll never get her out of this house until she’s actually giving birth!” Saoirse exclaimed before she stood up, reaching out for Frances’ hands. Unsure what Saoirse was planning, she cautiously took the woman’s hands and Saoirse pulled Frances to her feet. Saoirse proceeded to open the door to the corridor, Frances felt a shiver go down her spine. “Take a look, sit in the seat, get a feel for it… It’s not ready to use, the cameras aren’t on, so I have absolutely no reason to try to trick you into anything. This will be as messy as any of you get. Five of you, possibly six, will experience it firsthand. From what I’m told, while it’s ridiculously messy, it’s not altogether unpleasant.” Saoirse explained. Frances exchanged a look with Allison, who seemed elated at the opportunity.

“I’ll go first, you can see she’s not trying to trick you into getting gunged” Allison chippered, approaching the chair with an almost child-like skip.

“Anyone would think you want to be tricked into it” Saoirse quipped with a wry, almost sadistic smile. “Wish I’d known that now…” She added, her grin enveloping her face. Allison was taken aback a little, clearly unsure how to take it.

“It’s definitely not switched on?” Allison queried, standing next to the chair.

“It’s powered, but it’s not prepped to go; even if I did have access to it - which I don’t - then you’d just be transported from this end of the corridor to that.” Saoirse explained, her demeanour seemingly indicating she was being honest, though Frances had to admit she found her smile a little unsettling, like she enjoyed her job a little more than she was letting on.

“I don’t know whether to trust you!” Allison giggled, nervously. “I mean… You look like you love your job.” She added, looking at the different devices.

“Oh I do; I get to be a total bitch to six people and I get paid for it. That’s not a secret” Saoirse retorted, as if that were an obvious fact. “My own predilections aside, I’m one hundred percent serious about your consent and wellbeing being paramount; I would rather the show fails than have any one of you feel like you’ve been taken advantage of because of deceptive practices. If you ask me if there’s some twist you don’t know about in a game, I will either tell you there isn’t or I will make it very clear that you’ll need to find that one out for yourself; I’m not about to lie to you.” Saoirse continued. Feeling satisfied, Allison sat in the chair, slotting her arms into the chair’s binds. She proceeded to pull and shuffle, trying to see how much give they have in them then ceased, looking down the corridor.

“Oh God…” She muttered. “I’m going to get completely covered!” She exclaimed, almost astonished by the sight.

“That is kind of the idea” Saoirse quipped, sarcastically. “You’re not having doubts now, too, are you?” She asked, a sense of reluctance in her voice.

“No, not at all! I’m not leaving this house without being gunged at least once” Allison beamed. “Can you let me out of this chair, though? These arm binds are really secure!” Allison requested, revealing what was making her nervous. Saoirse nodded, walking over to her, reaching underneath each arm. With the press of a mechanism, Allison then pulled her arms free.

“It’s not electronic, so you don’t need to worry about being stuck. Obviously, if/when it’s your turn, somebody will release you from the chair, you’ll have a very brief interview with me before you get a nice, long, hot shower.” Saoirse summarised. Frances wasn’t sure whether it was the alcohol taking effect, lowering her inhibitions but she felt much less anxious about it now.

“You said five if not six of us will go through this. Why would all of us go through?” Frances asked.

“Well, on the last day, it will be the winner and the runner up in the house, alone. The runner up will take their seat and the front door will be unlocked for the winner; of course, if she or he would prefer, they can absolutely take this way out. As they won the show, they get to choose whether or not that’s something they wish to experience or not. You might win, having seen five of your newfound friends getting obliterated with gunge, overwhelmed with the joy of being rich, maybe you decided you wanted the same treatment, for the sake of solidarity? Maybe you’ve grown quite fond of feeling gunge in your hair and over your body over the past two weeks and want to add one more gunging your tally, before you leave? Maybe you just really want to stick it to Michelle? Not sure why you’d have such strong feelings towards Michelle, or indeed how much she would actually care but hey. The reasons don’t really matter, the winner can absolutely choose to, if they so wish, I don’t judge.” Saoirse clarified.

“Do you want to try it out?” Allison asked, pointing towards the chair, like it was now some sort of rite of passage. Frances’ gaze fixated on the chair; did she? She had to admit, her curiousity had grown. She pondered the question for a moment, before realising she was standing there in complete silence, meanwhile Saoirse returned to the kitchen, beginning to pack up her laptop. Seizing on the opportunity to avoid the question altogether, Frances stepped back through the doorway, into the house.

“You’re leaving?” Frances asked.

“Getting ready, to, yes. You five really need to start getting to know each other a bit, me being here will only get in the way of that. Besides, I have a wife to go home and apologise to” Saoirse explained, a guilty expression strewn across her face. “Nazreen is upstairs doing some reading for med school. I don’t care who, I would appreciate it if someone would check in on her, make sure she’s okay, ideally get her to ingratiate herself with the group a little.” Saoirse asked, loudly enough for Joe and Ted to hear her. Frances noticed that Ted’s head turned, as if silently acknowledging her request. Frances looked over at Joe, he was dressed similarly to when they’d first met, presumably he had come straight from work, wearing a white shirt and black trousers, with black shoes. Frances wanted to say something to him, she wished she could borrow Saoirse’s confidence for five minutes, just to start talking to him. She found herself waving, ever so slightly, though once again, he seemed oblivious to her.

“Don’t worry, I will be here first thing tomorrow. I will even bring coffee for those of you who decide to overdo it tonight. Do either of you two have any burning questions that can’t wait until the morning?” Saoirse asked, turning her attention to the men.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks for the booze, it’s a nice touch. Have a good evening” Ted responded, with a friendly, grateful smile. He looked over to Joe, as if trying to silently get his attention to answer the question. Frances felt a little better, realising that his attention was simply absorbed by the game he was watching, so it wasn’t simply her he was ignoring. There was silence, save for the commentary from the game on TV. It was awkward and seemed to go on forever.

“Oh no, my boobs just totally fell out of my top and everyone can see me naked!” Saoirse exclaimed, in a surprisingly convincing way.

“What?” Joe asked, seeming startled by her words.

“Told you. Works every time.” Saoirse whispered to Frances, whilst Allison emitted a giggle.  “I’m leaving shortly, do you have any last minute questions before I do?” Saoirse asked, towards Joe.

“Oh er…” He began, looking at the women. He seemed quite timid, suddenly, like he was feeling just as nervous and as anxious as Frances was. She felt both relieved and saddened by that development, wishing she had the confidence to give him a hug and tell him that she, too, was more than a little freaked out about the prospect of it all. Her thoughts turned to Nazreen, who she presumed had retreated to her school work, as a coping mechanism to deal with the same anxiety, while Allison was simply putting on a brave face, Marco, presumably, was opting to make a fashionably late arrival, leaving only Ted who seemed calm and collected.

“Don’t feel that you need to hurry or anything” Saoirse clarified.

“Sorry. I… I can’t think of anything” Joe stuttered a little. Frances shifted her posture a little, she found it endearing, like it was an imperfect perfection about him; he stuttered when he was nervous.

“No, I’m serious, don’t rush to an answer. I can wait if you need the time to collect your thoughts; we will have time to go over everything, tomorrow morning, before the cameras start recording. I’d much rather stick around here for a bit longer and feel like I wasted my time, rather than get a call at 3am because one of you is having a full on meltdown.” Saoirse explained. Frances felt someone prodding her, gently at her back, as if trying to urge her forwards. She knew in her head that it was an easy thing to say, she willed herself forwards, trying to psych herself up to saying the words.

“It’s easy. Just say we will look after each other, make sure everyone is okay. We will all manage, together.” Frances thought to herself, framing her response.

“You’re more than welcome to join us, ladies” Ted said, invitingly, gesturing towards the ample free seating available. “We can change channels to something more to your tastes, if you don’t want to watch the football” He continued, clearly thinking along the same wavelength as Frances had been. Allison, seemingly needing no further invitation, raided the fridge for a pack of beers and a bottle of white wine, then walked past Frances, into the living room.

“Go in there, sit down, have a drink, talk to him! I promise you, once you start talking to him, you’ll realise the universal truth of life; even the most beautiful people are just fucking people.” Saoirse whispered into Frances’ ear. “Besides, alcohol is the great equaliser; it turns us all into a gibbering wreck!” Saoirse added, nodding towards the booze Allison had procured. Saoirse then disappeared back up the stairs, presumably to check on Nazreen again, letting her know that she would be leaving shortly. Frances knew that Saoirse’s advice was good, Frances couldn’t help but wonder what else had happened in her life that had made her so wise to the world, despite seeming to be in her early to mid twenties. Perhaps by intention, perhaps not, Allison had sat down closest to the door, nearest to Ted, leaving Frances free to sit down with Joe. This was her opportunity. She crossed the room, causing Joe to crane his head to not lose his view of the TV as she did.

“Are you a beer or a wine girl?” Allison asked. “I think Saoirse said there’s red wine, if you’d rather that” Allison clarified, her tone of voice betraying a quiver of nervousness had crept in for her, too.

“Um… Either is fine.” Frances uttered, as Allison offered a can to her, gesturing towards Joe to aid her. Frances couldn’t help but wonder if it was in fact Saoirse who had prodded her, trying to urge her forwards and not Allison, picking up on subconscious signals she was sending out. Joe complied, flashing her a nervous smile as he did so. “She seems nice?” Frances said, trying to start a conversation with the group.

“She is, from the conversations we’ve had; though she strikes me as the kind of woman who would rip your throat out with her bare hands, if you crossed her.” Ted nodded in agreement.

“I’m going to have to remember that naked thing” Allison chirped with a smile, opening the wine bottle.

“Sorry, what?” Joe interjected.

“Oh my God, it really works!” Allison exclaimed in astonishment. “I was just going to ask if you wanted any wine?” Allison asked, raising the bottle.

“Beer is fine, thank you” Joe replied, very politely.

“I will, if you’re happy to share” Ted responded, grabbing a glass. “Always better to share wine, I find; that way, you can say that you didn’t drink it all yourself” He continued, in a calm and collected voice.

“So your wife doesn’t mind you being here, drinking with other women?” Frances asked, curiously; she hoped that the segway might help her to learn Joe’s marital status.

“No.” Ted responded, tersely, filling the glass.

“How about you, Allison? A boyfriend who's going to be watching? Or a girlfriend?” Frances asked, feeling more confident speaking to Allison than to Joe.

“No, not at the moment. Is that a subtle way of asking which team I play for?” Allison asked with a grin.

“No. I just mean… I just… I didn’t want to assume. I don’t mind, either way!” Frances stammered, defensively.

“Oh, I’m sure you have lots of gay friends?” Allison asked; Frances was almost certain that she was joking at this point.

“Some… You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” Frances asked, gaining in confidence.

“I am. You should’ve seen your face when you thought I was offended!” Allison explained before enveloping into a cackle. Whether she had noticed that they were starting to get to know one another or whether it was because her taxi had arrived, Frances heard the door closing, quietly, realising that Saoirse had now left; they were on their own now.

“What about you, Joe?” Allison asked, without looking at Frances; Frances wasn’t sure whether this was deliberate, that she was asking on her behalf or out of her own curiousity.

“I’m sorry, what about me?” Joe asked, clearly not following the conversation so far.

“Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Girl and/or boy-friends?” Allison asked, clearly laying the options out for him to choose from.

“Oh… No, not… Not yet. I… Haven’t met the right girl.” Joe stumbled, fidgeting awkwardly as he spoke, as if the words were difficult to share. Frances was ashamed of herself for it but she considered it something of a green light, an opportunity for her to pursue him as a romantic partner. She scanned his face, trying to memorise every curve, every crease, every blemish and imperfection, everything that made him unique.

“Well, you’ve got plenty of time for that, there’s no sense in rushing. Best to take life at your own pace” Ted contributed his words of wisdom. Frances had to fight the urge to question it; had she of been a little drunker, she might well have done, too.

“What do you do, Joe?” Frances asked, trying her best to keep her curiosity at a reasonable, unsuspicious level. She realised she would need to compensate, after the question. “I mean, everyone. It’s good to get to know each other a little bit better?” Frances clarified, hoping that she hadn’t given herself away altogether.

“I work in a call centre. Basically your standard phone based service and sales job. Nothing interesting or exciting.” Joe downplayed, taking a drink of his beer.

“Oh right. I bet all the girls around the office are forever around your desk” Frances blurted out. She immediately regretted it afterwards, feeling her face turn a bright shade of red. “I just mean… I…” Frances tried to remedy the faux pa, trying desperately to think of a reason for her comment that made logical sense. “Why did you just say that? What is wrong with you?” Frances scolded herself. Ted choked on his drink, reinforcing just how badly she had put her foot in it. Joe didn’t say anything, which Frances couldn’t tell whether it was good or bad.

“Joe, mind giving me a hand? We can get the ladies’ luggage upstairs, before it gets late.” Ted asked, clearly trying to make an excuse to break the awkward silence.

“Er…” Joe answered, clearly unsure what the best approach would be. “Is that… Okay?” He asked, expressing uncertainty at the prospect; it was evident by his gaze, as it shot between the women, he didn’t want to insult them by insinuating they were unable to do so themselves.

“You are, of course, more than welcome to carry them yourselves, if you’d prefer? Just a thought” Ted enquired, trying to gain their consent, though it seemed that his offer was more due to other reasons.

“No, it’s fine; saves us doing it. If it’s not out of your way” Allison chimed in, helping Frances out as she had somehow rendered herself unable to speak; she found herself checking every thought, every sound, every syllable she thought to speak for further embarrassing revelations. With that, the two men stood up, heading towards the hallway. Allison simply grinned at Frances, swirling the liquid within her glass around.

“Well, I think I can safely say, no matter how bad being gunged turns out to be, that you won’t feel quite as embarrassed afterwards as you do right now… So that’s an upside?” Allison giggled. “Plus, it wasn’t recorded, so there’s that” Allison continued, sipping her drink. Frances couldn’t tell whether she was being nice or sadistically revelling in the moment. Whatever the reason, Frances had to admit, she did have a point; it was a very small mercy, though a mercy it was all the same. “You like him!” Allison exclaimed, putting her hand on Frances’ arm.

“How bad was it? He knows, doesn’t he? He probably thinks I’m some crazy slut who spends her day harassing men at work!” Frances enquired, exposing her insecurities to the woman.

“It could’ve been worse? I mean, you didn’t ask him to marry you or to father your babies? Plus, you know, some guys really like crazy girls.” Allison retorted with a sly chuckle. “No, I don’t think he knows. There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean, he’s cute, he’s single, you’re single, so why not?” Allison continued, adjusting to be more supportive.

“Thank you for not judging me.” Frances replied, feeling a little better about it.

“We’ve all been there. I make an excellent wing-woman and there’s not much competition here… Nazreen seems lovely, but I don’t think she’d put a boy ahead of her studies. I’m not interested in him in that way, so the field is wide open. Unless Two Dicks gets his hooks into him and turns him” Allison quipped.

“Not just me, who's really glad he’s not here?” Frances asked.

“God no! I think the boys are too.” Allison exclaimed, hearing three sets of footsteps approaching from behind her.

“I have so much work to do though!” Nazreem exclaimed, clearly protesting about having been disturbed.

“It will still be there tomorrow, the day after, and after that too. You absolutely don’t have to, I just think it’d be good for you to get to know everyone and for everyone to get to know you, too.” Ted explained. It seemed apparent, now, that his ulterior motive was to make sure Nazreen was included within their conversation, not simply to avoid an awkward moment.

“But… Won’t that mean Marco feels left out?” Nazreen asked, noticing his absence.

“That’s not a problem we can fix right now. Studying is great, you also need to make sure you live life a little, too. You’re not going to suddenly find yourself struggling because you took a night off to relax.” Ted explained. Frances couldn’t help but notice a sadness in his eyes, he was a man who had regrets in his life, ones he wished he could help them to avoid in theirs. He seemed to be quickly becoming the sort of parent of the group; perhaps this was the source of his sadness, of his regrets, Frances pondered quietly for the moment. Nazreen sat down on the sofa, awkwardly.

“I… I work as a legal secretary at the moment, as I may have mentioned. I’m hoping to become an actor but my agent isn’t very good. I’m hoping this might help to kickstart my career, before… Well, it’s not so easy for girls.” Frances explained, trying to break the ice.

“We established that Joe works in a call centre, also” Ted said, catching Nazreen up. Nazreen nodded, contemplating the assembled alcohol on the nearby coffee table.

“I work for my dad.” Allison contributed. “He owns a local taxi company, I work in the office, booking jobs. It’s not for me, long term, I don’t really know what is yet. It helps him out and the money is okay, I suppose” Allison continued, with a shrug.

“What about you, Ted? What do you do?” Frances asked, trying to make sure Ted felt included within the group, also.

“Oh… I’m actually looking at changing careers. I’ve always wanted to be a chef, had good instincts in the kitchen, been taking classes; my wife says I really have talent and she made me promise that I’ll make a real go of it once…” Ted trailed off, as if he’d shared more than he originally intended. Frances could see there was some curiosity about his statement but also reticence about it, given the look of sadness and loneliness etched onto his face.

The rest of the night had gone as expected, the five of them felt as though they had bonded a great deal within the time they had. Stories had been shared, jokes had been told and she felt like she could now add four names to those she considered friends; at least she felt like it was on the way towards that point. She went to their shared bedroom. As an only child, she had never had to share her space with anyone else in such a close way, meaning this was quite a novelty for her; she could experience what it would have been like to have sisters. There was a brief discussion about what they were each expecting from the morning’s events, with the show beginning properly, but Frances felt, for the first time, that she could handle what was coming.

Day One

Frances awoke, with a pounding headache. Her throat was dry and the immediate sights were startling to her; she was looking at a bunk-bed, rather than the comfort of her own bedroom. She stifled the urge to panic, reminding herself where she was and that she was safe. She got out of bed, rummaging within her suitcase for a towel and a change of clothes. Her gaze fixated at the corner of the room, towards the ceiling; another, familiar, white dome which contained a camera. She knew this camera could, if she stood in the wrong place, see everything she was doing. On some level, she knew that the camera had been placed to offer viewers insights into what they were doing, it had also been strategically positioned to allow them as much privacy as possible, for changing clothes, without being fully exposed, without compromising the intention of the show. Allison waltzed out of the bathroom, her body wrapped in a towel with another wrapped around her head. She seemed much less concerned by the cameras than Frances.

“That shower…” Allison began, excitement in her voice. “You have to try it!” She exclaimed.

“Why? What’s so good about it?” Frances enquired, a little confused.

“Oh, the water pressure is fantastic. It’s also a really warm, powerful shower. I mean, I get it, we’re going to be washing all kinds of gunge, slime and food off our bodies and out of our hair, so the shower has to be top quality… I’m quite looking forward to showering there, afterwards!” Allison chirped. Frances smiled, nervously and headed towards the bathroom. She checked the room for the camera’s location, before she decided to undress. True to Saoirse’s words, the camera was in a position that offered plenty of discretion for them to a fair amount of privacy, all things considered. Frances wagered she could undress by the shower cubicle, without showing much of her body. She wasn’t against nudity, she just preferred to avoid going fully nude, if she could avoid it. Topless, she felt, was a much more reasonable compromise, keeping her private areas to herself and her boyfriend (whomever he should be).

Having showered, Frances couldn’t help but agree that the shower had lived up to Allison’s hype and Frances opted to wear a light coloured summer dress with a floral design with white, strappy sandals. She headed down the stairs to meet with the rest of the group. Her heart sank before she even reached the bottom of the stairs, as she heard Marco’s voice. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but felt it was probably something obnoxious. Upon getting to the bottom of the stairs, she headed towards the living room area. Saoirse was already there waiting, wearing black jeans, a black leather jacket and big sunglasses; Frances smirked, realising that she had likely continued drinking after she had gone home, leading to a pretty nasty hangover. There were an array of disposable coffee cups laid out over the table, each labelled something else. Frances surveyed the drinks, identifying tea and coffee, in abundance, allowing them to each choose their preference. She noted the word written on one of the cups; ‘Sasha’ it read.

“Sasha?” Frances asked, confused, as if Saoirse had collected some other woman’s coffee order.

“Ugh, don’t even get me started! I don’t expect some random coffee shop employee to be able to spell my name right. It’d be really nice, though they could always ask. Instead, I get Sasha! Fucking Sasha!” Saoirse ranted, clearly infuriated by it.

“Sorry…” Frances muttered, unsure whether she had earned Saoirse’s ire by mentioning it.

“Even if they’d just spelled it how it sounds, Sorsha would be fine, even though you’re spelling it wrong. That is, at least, my name. Fucking Sasha, I hate her” Saoirse continued to vent. It seemed quite clear this was something that had happened often; certainly often enough to irk her to this point. For whatever reason, even Marco seemed somewhat sedate today, perhaps for fear of being the target of Saoirse’s pent up, hungover, rage.

“Did you… Talk to your wife?” Frances asked, trying to be diplomatic about their conversation the night before.

“We talked, she understands why I overreacted. We still have a lot to discuss but it’s… Well, that’s a subject for a future time, when we’re both ready for it.” Saoirse responded, giving away little. Frances admired how she was so open about her relationship, yet also managed to play her cards close to her chest at times, too. “Okay. Brief update; cameras go on this morning, you’ll have warning before they start recording, so you can make sure you’re decent - assuming that you don’t want your very first appearance on the show to be something lewd, of course. Which… Yeah, I’m not taking that as a given.” Saoirse explained, taking a swig of coffee.

“Only change that’s been made to the format is entirely superficial for your purposes. Aside from the length of time the show is running for, since it’s fewer people, it’ll run for a week, rather than two.” Saoirse began “There’s a phone, this will connect you to one of the production team, even though I don't know anything about them, they’re off site, known only as The Overlord. They’re your point of contact, if I’m not here, so if you need to settle a dispute or anything like that, you pick up the phone. They will also call you, if they feel there is a need. The Overlord will be the last word on decisions such as games, challenges, what you are expected to wear… The idea is, that will make it totally impartial - I’m here to present the show and to make sure you’re all okay, while the Overlord is in charge of the structure. They have access to the live feed, so they can see you at all times. I’m told that’s twenty four, seven, whether that’s between them and our editing team, I don’t know. Does anyone have any questions?” Saoirse asked.

“Sasha, is that an Irish coffee you're drinking?” Marco asked, with a grin stretched across his face.

“That is the first and last Irish joke I’ll let you make, Martin.” Saoirse shot back, with a cold, stony faced glare that even Frances could feel from underneath her sunglasses. “That brings me to something else that really shouldn’t need to be said… Irish jokes are fine, if they’re funny. Why did the Irishman wear two condoms? To be sure, to be sure. The Irishman who tried to blow up a car? Burnt his lips on the exhaust pipe. The Irish boomerang? Doesn’t come back, just sings songs about how much it wants to. Heard them all, not funny. Clear?” Saoirse asked as Frances tried to stifle a giggle at the last one.

“So you don’t have any say on who gets messy?” Frances asked.

“Oh, assume nothing. I’m not necessarily here to help you, but I’m also not necessarily here to make things more difficult for you. I can offer you advice, though how helpful it proves to be is another matter. Lest we not forget, I am a first class, grade A bitch, I make no secret of that either.” Saoirse answered, with a sly smile. “With your coffees are envelopes, you’ll have the morning to get settled, eat, chill out… You’ll see a curtain go up in the garden, that’s basically so our team can set everything up for the afternoon. One of you will be getting gunged today, though who it is, is really up to you.” Saoirse teased, pointing to the envelopes.

“So we get to vote for who we want gunged?” Allison asked, a suspicious frown on her face.

“Kind of, yes. On the card, I want you to write who you want gunged and what you want them to wear. The Overlord will then use that information to select a candidate for the game, which will determine who gets messy. All will be revealed later today, of course” Saoirse explained, somewhat cryptically.

“So what’s happening this morning?” Joe asked, fearing there may be some sort of trick up Saoirse’s sleeve.

“Cameras go on, you will each be asked to go upstairs to record a brief introduction video, standard stuff, your name, your occupation, age… There’s nothing specific you need to share, just basically telling our viewers who you are and what you’re about, so we can put it on the website and those who are interested can view it. I believe Ted is making something for breakfast for you all, too, so you’ll be able to eat and chat. When you see me next, I will escort you all outside, and the game will begin.” Saoirse explained. The prospect of getting messy sent a shiver down Frances’ spine; she knew that once it had happened, she would likely feel less anxious about it but did she really want to be the first person to get messy? She collected the card and a pen, writing her name at the appropriate place.

“Who do I want to see get gunged?” Frances thought to herself. Allison, Nazreen and Joe had each collected a card. Allison was wearing a pair of denim shorts that showed off her long legs and a vest top, her bra straps showing underneath the top. Frances considered her, especially as she seemed somewhat excited about the prospect of getting messy. Joe was wearing a grey T shirt and blue jeans, his shirt showing off his physique. He looked more toned than Frances had originally thought. Would he know, if she’d picked him? Would it really be fair, to pick something that she could get a good look at him in? The morality of the subject seemed rather complex to her. Then there was Nazreen. She wore her hair down today, chewing on the pen lid as she considered her options. She seemed very nice, she’d likely take it really well, but did Frances really want to gunge another woman, first of all? Moving on, she thought about Ted, who was slavishly preparing breakfast for everyone. Like Nazreen, Frances expected he would likely brush it off with a very nonchalant shrug, accepting it as his role as pseudo caretaker for them. But Frances felt bad about picking him, too, given he was being nothing but nice to them all. As if fate had intervened to make her decision easier, Marco wandered over to her.

“I like your dress. I think it’d look better on the floor” He uttered. Frances scoffed, rolling her eyes. She wondered where he got these lines; was he addicted to watching ‘pick up videos’ online, where sleazy men tried to bed women with terrible one liners? Frances smiled, feeling that her decision had been made much easier for her. She wrote Marco’s name down. The next field, simply asked ‘what would you like them to wear?’ Frances contemplated her choices for a moment.

“Um… Saoirse?” Frances asked, getting her attention. Saoirse returned from the kitchen, a bacon roll in her hands.

“Frances.” She uttered, between bites of her breakfast.

“What can I pick for clothes? For my nominee, I mean” Frances asked, trying to give as little away as possible.

“Whatever you like. We have a selection of clothes, in your size, whether they’re ‘male’ or ‘female’ clothes. We’re gender-neutralising clothes for the purposes of the show, so if you were nominated, you could be asked to wear a fireman’s outfit, if that’s what the person who nominated you wanted. You can’t refuse out of ‘gender reasons’ if there’s no gender application. Of course, nobody is going to force you to wear anything… I would recommend that you come up with a viable alternative, should you wish to refuse the chosen clothing though. Does that answer your question?” Saoirse asked. It was abundantly clear to Frances there were some twists and turns in this game to come.

“So a boy could have girls clothes picked and a girl could have boys clothes picked, and they would basically have to suck it up and wear it?” Frances clarified.

“...Well, they can say no, but if they do, then they will be expected to provide a sufficient alternative; the Overlord would decide if they accept that alternative, or they would provide their own. Short answer? More or less, yes.” Saoirse clarified further. Frances nodded, absorbing the information. Allison then raised her hand, getting Saoirse’s attention.

“Can we nominate ourselves?” Allison asked with a smirk.

“Of course. Though that would mean, should you win the game, your prize is to get gunged. So it would really beg the question, do you consider that a worthwhile prize? It may also make the entire game a little pointless, because the stakes are pretty much gone… But you do you. If you’re picked, we will make it work.” Saoirse explained in response. Frances contemplated for a moment, as some of the others inserted their cards into the provided envelopes. She looked at each of their faces, trying to glean if any of them had picked her. She grinned, sadistically; she had the perfect pick for Marco. She hurriedly jotted it down, covering the card with her hand like she was writing a secret note, then promptly inserted the card into the envelope. Saoirse collected up the cards, confirming everyone was happy with what they’d chosen, then Frances went into the kitchen to get something to eat.

“It should go without saying that you shouldn’t tell anyone who you’ve picked or what clothes you’ve picked. Though, feel free, if you wish to brag… It’s no odds to me, likes” Saoirse quipped with the slightest Scottish twang to her accent. “Okay, I shall be back when the game is ready to begin… You’ll get warning ten minutes before, five minutes before and one minute before the cameras start recording. In the meantime, they are active, they are also being viewed” Saoirse explained with an overly enthusiastic wave, perhaps intended to mock the viewer, for whatever reason Frances didn’t know.  

The first game

Saoirse picked up her bag as she walked through the house where they had set up for the production. There was still a great deal of work needed to make it look hospitable but that would wait for the time being, as they could work in an aesthetically unsatisfying environment. She smiled and greeted her colleagues, trying to confirm that she knew everyone’s names (it was a point of pride for her, that she knew who everyone was - in her mind, she was just the mouthpiece of the show, they were equally, if not more important as they did the work that made her job possible). She walked towards the room that had been set up as a dressing room, hair and make-up studio, even though with the current budget being mostly absorbed by the purchasing and renovations of the property and production materials, the hair and make-up department were also under Saoirse’s purview. Not that she minded this fact, it meant she didn’t have somebody else poking and prodding at her, trying to suggest ways she can look her best. On her way, she passed by a room, overhearing a conversation between Michelle and one of the editors. She checked the time, deciding there was no rush for getting changed, she opened the door, stepping into the room.

“Saoirse, um… What do you need? I mean, can I help?” the man asked. He was in his early twenties, having been recruited from either the local university or college, tempted by the opportunity to gain real world experience editing footage on a televised show, albeit for a pittance of his worth. He wore a white T shirt and jeans, he was a little overweight, his blonde hair showing signs of receding. Saoirse knew his name, but it didn’t immediately come to her.

“C name, right? Creator Craig? No… Not Callum… No A… Chris. Creator Chris” Saoirse ran through the possible names that fit the pneumonic she used for him.

“Chris, yeah. Though I’m an editor” Chris retorted, meekly.

“Yeah, I know, but ‘editor Chris’ doesn’t work as a pneumonic. Don’t mind me, I’m just interfering and annoying Michelle at the same time.” Saoirse explained, pulling a wry smile at Michelle. The woman was now quite clearly pregnant, having given in the fight to avoid wearing maternity clothes. She wore a green top and trousers, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Saoirse noticed she was stroking her bump, though she was certain Michelle was unaware of it. Chris returned to his work, taking a bite from his breakfast burrito that looked as appetising as a microwaved product could. His computer was set up with two screens, with one being the CCTV network for the house, the other containing the video he was currently editing.

“Chris is working on the gunging footage I recorded, so we can include it on the show. He’s really good, you can’t even see my face! Before my face was completely covered in goo, that is.” Michelle explained, with a little chuckle. Saoirse peered over his shoulder, looking at the screen.

“Can you hide her bump?” Saoirse asked.

“Should be able to, sure.” Chris answered, confidently.

“Why? I’m not ashamed of anything” Michelle asked, slightly combatively.

“I know, nor should you be. I just don’t want my unborn niece to have asshole kids showing her that video and saying ‘that’s your ma and that’s you! You were gunged! Ner ner!’ in that asshole way that will make me want to say shit and I really don’t want to be that bitch who punches a bitch out at the school gates because her kid made fun of her niece.” Saoirse explained. “I’m very protective of my family. Particularly of the McElroy girls” Saoirse explained, looking to Chris, as if to catch him up.

“I thought your maiden name was McHugh” Chris queried, confusion in his voice.

“No, McElroy. McHugh is my married name. Well, it was. Now I use it more for work, since it’s no longer my legal name, it makes it harder for sweaty perverts to stalk me, as is their want in life” Saoirse clarified.

“I thought you were taking Neira’s name when you got married.” Michelle asked, as Saoirse looked closely at the screen, watching Chris’ at work, as he airbrushed Michelle’s abdomen.

“That is some remarkable work. I did; I double-barrelled, out of respect for Jimmy. Can’t stay mad at him forever for dying on me” Saoirse quipped, in a dead-pan manner. It was a mechanism she’d often used to hide her own vulnerabilities, wearing her emotions on her sleeve with a devil-may-care attitude, giving the illusion that she was a lot tougher than she seemed.

“Wait, you were angry because he died?” Chris asked, turning in his chair to look at Saoirse with astonishment.

“A little, yes. I mean, isn’t that so like a man? He swears a vow, until death do we part… I didn’t specifically mean his death! He was supposed to be devoted to me, to love me, until I died, an old woman, then he’d be so distraught and devastated that he couldn’t possibly face finding another woman, because she couldn’t possibly measure up to me, so he becomes a monk, or… Well, whatever he wants to do, as long as it involves celibacy. Well, I wouldn’t care if he were celibate… I’m not a complete bitch.” Saoirse explained; she was enjoying the scared and confused look on Chris’ face, who was clearly unsure how to take her yet.

“She’s not serious. You’re not, are you?” Michelle asked, her conviction clearly waning.

“Not entirely, no. I mean, I did tell him if he died on me that I would never love another man… Weirdly, I’ve actually kept to that one, without ever intending to!” Saoirse clarified with a chuckle. It was a lot easier to talk about, now, but she still needed to guard it in jest, to protect herself.

“Do you want to see the finished article?” Michelle asked.

“Sweetie, how do I put this nicely… I’ve seen you get gunged, a number of times now, every time you tell everyone how much you hate it, my bullshit alarm goes off in a big way. I don’t care that you enjoy it, I get that pretending you don’t is somehow part of that, so… I think I’ll give it a miss, if it’s okay?” Saoirse asked, trying to be as diplomatic and sensitive to Michelle’s feelings as she could. She clutched the bag she was carrying, tightly, ready to get changed.

“Oh, I er… I had some changes made, from last time. Included a nasty surprise for them” Michelle explained, with a facial expression that Saoirse honestly thought might have been genuinely sadistic, if it were on anyone else’s face.

“...Way to bury the lead. Go on then, but don't tell me how horrible it was!”  Saoirse insisted. Michelle stifled a smile, nodding to Chris, who commenced playback on the video he was working on. It began with Michelle standing next to the chair, she wore her blonde hair down, flowing around her shoulders. She was wearing a white blouse, a short, blue and green pleated skirt and black knee high boots. She sat in the chair, affixing her arms in place, as she had done before, then crossing her legs. To Saoirse, she looked quite relaxed. “Aww, I love that skirt.” Saoirse muttered.

“Me too. I can’t wear it now. It sucks” Michelle uttered, with a degree of self pity. “You can have it, if you want? Not sure I will be able to fit in it after I’ve given birth” Michelle offered, a defeated tone in her voice.

“I do. I should ask Neira first, she’d kill me if I came home with that skirt and it wasn’t for her.” Saoirse answered, tentatively accepting Michelle’s offer. The chair began to move forwards, though so far it hadn’t grasped Saoirse’s attention.

“She’d kill you, over a skirt?” Michelle asked, more than a little shocked.

“Quite probably, yes! That girl loves pretty clothes” Saoirse explained, paying even less attention to the video.

“You should watch.” Michelle insisted, pointing towards the screen. Saoirse sighed.

“So far, so samey.” Saoirse thought, humouring her friend. She watched as the chair moved forwards to the first junction point, as Michelle gasped and cried out on the video, as she was pelted with cream pies and sprayed with the substance, covering her face and coating her hair. There were splatterings of white over her skirt and her boots; Saoirse noticed that her leg seemed to jerk, every time she got messy, before her leg returned to its crossed position. The chair moved forwards, Saoirse expecting the slime waterfall, but instead there was a foam jet, positioned either side of the woman, which completely coated her. Michelle emitted a shriek, as if she had been caught off guard by it, somehow, despite having designed it.

“Okay, that’s new” Saoirse said, rewarding her friend for her ingenuity. The chair moved forwards and what appeared to be a modified sprinkler began to spray gunge over Michelle, from both sides, dissolving some of the foam as it coated her with splatterings of blue. The woman tried to move out of the way, but was clearly too firmly fixed in place to the chair to gain any traction. Her top was now gradually becoming soaked and stained with the blue gunge, showing the white bra she wore underneath the shirt. “I take it you wore white, knowing that it’d go see through?” Saoirse asked, looking over to Michelle. She didn’t particularly care about the answer, she cared more about flagging it up to her, in case she wished to hide her modesty from viewers who might be eager to see a woman’s bra.

“Yes.” Michelle replied, gesturing for Saoirse’s attention to remain on the screen. The chair moved forwards once more, as Michelle shook herself, trying to get as much of the gunge from her body as she could, despite her situation.

“I know it’s all performative, I do like your reaction though. It’s how I suspect you’d react if you genuinely did hate it” Saoirse complimented Michelle.

“I thought it set off your bullshit detector?” Michelle asked, carefully choosing her words to not admit that she did in fact enjoy it.

“Well, like I said, I know it’s performative, it’d also not play as well if you were going through each stage with a massive grin on your face, shouting for more like some kind of crazy, gunge whore. Is that a thing? I feel like that may well be a thing.” Saoirse contemplated for a moment. The chair moved to the next stage, with two jets of gunge, thicker than the last, sprayed over both sides of Michelle, this time green and purple, coating the sides of her hair, clearly going inside her blouse. She emitted another shriek, this one seeming more natural.

“It’s freezing! This is horrible, why does it have to be so cold?!” Michelle decried on the recording.

“See? That you were serious about!” Saoirse pointed out, somewhat pridefully demonstrating her detection. True to her word, she kept her eyes on the screen.

“How can you even tell?!” Michelle exclaimed, astonished by Saoirse’s revelation.

“The tone of your voice is slightly different when you’re not enjoying something. It’s an involuntary change, which is what actually makes it so much more obvious that you’re pretending. Well, to me, anyway.” Saoirse explained, getting ready to leave the room. The chair moved forwards, under the final nozzle. This time, the chair remained static, nothing descending upon Michelle’s head. She fidgeted in her seat, presumably trying to dislodge gunge that had crept into uncomfortable places. Her shirt was now unrecognisable, her skirt faring little better. Saoirse even questioned her choice to wear knee high boots, thinking they, too, may well now have a rather high gunge content. Michelle uncrossed her legs, clearly trying to gain some kind of leverage to achieve her goal. It was at that moment that the woman seemed unusually aware at how long it was taking, beginning to wonder if the final nozzle had malfunctioned or was awaiting the chair to move forwards. Saoirse could see the contemplation on what little remained visible of her face, her head nudging ever so slightly upwards. As nothing happened, she had clearly decided to risk it, looking up at the nozzle. As if by intention, it was at that moment that a stream of thick red gunge flowed from the nozzle.

“Shit!” Michelle exclaimed, trying to look down as quickly as possible. It was too late, however, as a stream of gunge impacted her face, clinging to her now closed eyelids, her nose and her mouth. Her head now down, the gunge covered her head, flowing downwards over the back and sides of her head, like an invading force, determined to leave her completely conquered. She was still emitting shrieks and squeals, though muted by her closed mouth. Saoirse was sure that she saw her spit out some gunge when the flow abated for a brief second. Eventually, the torrent slowed, leaving a trickle on the top of her head, which was absorbed, but not before leaving its trail, like a thick sauce congealing in a pan. The chair began its final ascent forwards, to a very relieved looking Michelle (or at least, from what Saoirse could glean from her body language). She was almost out, when the chair reversed course, pulling backwards.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Michelle asked, looking around her, pulling at the armlocks. “No, that’s the wrong way! I should be getting out!” She protested. Saoirse looked on, with interest; either Michelle had gotten better at protesting her messy fate, or she was genuinely unaware of this new additional twist. The chair returned to the position where she had just been and Michelle continued to pull at the restraints, as if she could free herself and dart for the door, mere feet away, before suffering the further indignity of being gunged again.

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Saoirse asked, looking over at Michelle again.

“No, apparently, whoever The Overlord is, they’re really keen to make changes without telling anyone.” Michelle answered, pointing back to the screen. Saoirse was certain, as Michelle struggled, she could see directly up her skirt.

“I think I might have just seen underwear.” Saoirse said, drawing attention to it. “Not being a bitch, just thought you might want to know, so you can edit that out, if you’re not comfortable with it. I mean, if I can see it, a pervert who really wants to look up a girls’ skirt will have tools to zoom and enhance so they can tell what colour, cut and fabric you’re wearing!” Saoirse clarified, trying to make sure Michelle’s consent was respected. The gunge machine kicked in again, this time with all three working in unison, with red and yellow coming from the sides and blue from the top. It cascaded over what remained unscathed of her body, adding a further layer over her head, shoulders, completely encasing her hair. Her arms were not spared, each of her hands now turning a different colour, also. Saoirse’s suspicions were confirmed when she saw the inside of Michelle’s skirt begin to turn blue, with gunge flowing over and off the seat towards the floor. The side jets ceased, first, leaving only the blue to continue. Michelle remained deathly still, as if what remained of her will to escape had been stripped away, as if even her resolve to enjoy the experience had been exhausted and she now simply wanted it over with. The overhead deluge ceased, leaving her a multicoloured, matted, mess. The chair moved forwards again, stalling as it got to the door again.

“Oh, no, please, not again!” Michelle cried out, again, seeming totally genuine this time. The pause continued, then whether by design or by accident, the chair continued to move forwards. Michelle emitted a sigh of relief, as the chair reached its final destination point. “Can somebody please let me out? I want a really long, very hot shower right now!” Michelle demanded, making no bones about her discomfort. One of the crew members carefully reached under the arms to the release catch, clearly reluctant to touch the gunge, if at all possible. Having one arm released, Michelle opted to release the other, before she moved her hands to the attention of clearing her eyes and mouth. Fortunately, the palms of her hands were clear enough.

“Are you okay?” The crew member asked, keeping a good distance away from the slimy woman.

“Cold!” Michelle uttered with a shiver. “I wasn’t expecting it to be that messy. When did that get added?” Michelle asked, then the video ended.

“Obviously, we’re going to trim it, removing the first part where she’s getting into the chair and getting out. Going to be harder to hide her identity at those stages than anywhere else” Chris explained, focussing on the editing. “I’m going to try to add a voice modulator, so her voice sounds different but also natural, again, protects her identity. I can airbrush your underwear out, if you’d like, too?” Chris asked. Saoirse was quite surprised by his professionalism, given what he’d just seen.

“Yes please! I don’t mind showing my bra off, got to be a benefit to having bigger boobs now” Michelle explained, gripping her chest. “I didn’t know you could see up my skirt though” she added, blushing a little. Saoirse was about to leave when something on the CCTV caught her eye.

“Please tell me we’re not recording, yet” Saoirse asked, frustration in her voice.

“Um… Not yet, in about ten minutes. Why?” Chris asked.

“Is it just me, or is he fucking wanking in the bathroom?” Saoirse asked, angrily, pointing to the camera. Both Chris and Michelle moved closer to the screen to look. Saoirse could tell Marco was in the bathroom, his back to the camera, poised at a very odd angle, towards the toilet bowl. He also seemed to be actively doing something, though she couldn’t be absolutely certain what, given that his back was turned; though the angle by which he was standing, it seemed there was little other suspicion to draw.

“...I definitely think he might be.” Chris answered, his professionalism straining.

“Dirty bastard! He’d better clean up properly, like disinfecting the place when he’s done. Fucking men! No offence, Chris, you seem alright.” Saoirse exclaimed with disgust.

“What are you going to do?” Michelle asked, a grimace etched over her face.

“Not really a whole lot I can do, he hasn’t broken any rules. I get that we all have needs, I understand that can really help if you’re nervous… Why did he not do that at home?” Saoirse clarified, her frustration and disgust evident in her voice. Saoirse shook off her annoyance, with her bag in hand, she went to get changed.

Knowing she had plenty of time, she changed into the clothes she had brought for the occasion. Saoirse had opted to buy a new dress for the occasion, opting for a short, black lace trim dress with a colourful pattern. Feeling happy with the length, she turned her attention to her hair, choosing to braid the left side of her hair, closely to her head, leaving the remainder of her hair flowing down over her shoulders before she applied her make-up. She was rather nervous herself, whilst she was no stranger to putting on a performance, this was on a different scale to what she had experienced before. She looked at herself in the mirror, almost satisfied with her attire.

“Something is missing” She said to herself, now unconvinced by the footwear she had brought with her. Saoirse remembered the video she had seen, in particular, the boots Michelle was wearing. Deciding they would go perfectly with her dress, Saoirse left the room, still bare-foot. She looked in on Chris, to see if Michelle was still there, but he was alone and hard at work. Saoirse opted against disturbing him, not wishing to break his flow. She descended the staircase, carefully, wishing to avoid any pins, nails or splinters that were poking out from the currently uncarpeted floors; the last thing she needed was to have an injured foot on the first day. Having reached the bottom of the stairs, Saoirse went into the room nearest to the front door, where she knew Michelle commonly preferred to work. Saoirse knocked gently on the door, trying to politely approach the situation without breaking Michelle’s concentration unnecessarily.

“Wow, you look amazing.” Michelle exclaimed, putting down some papers.

“Thank you. I need to ask a really cheeky favour” Saoirse said, prefacing her request with her reticence at asking. It was still very new for her, having people who she felt close enough with to share clothes. She had only really had one close friend at home, particularly in the years after her late husband had passed. She still felt awkward at asking, even though she would routinely find that Neira had borrowed her clothes, without asking, and much to Saoirse’s ire, Neira often looked better in them than Saoirse did.

“Of course, what do you need?” Michelle asked, her attention focussing somewhat on her work as she did.

“Those boots you wore in the video, did they survive?” Saoirse asked, first checking that they were still in a wearable state.

“Yeah, they’re okay. Do you want to borrow them?” Michelle asked, cutting through to the heart of Saoirse’s question. Saoirse sighed with relief, rather pleased that Michelle had saved her the awkwardness of asking.

“If that’s okay” Saoirse answered, still a little awkwardly.

“Of course. They should be around here, somewhere. I had to put them near the heater, so they dried. I want them back though!” Michelle insisted, prodding her finger towards Saoirse as she concluded her sentence.

“Would I ever steal your boots? Honestly, what kind of girl do you think I am?” Saoirse asked, putting on her best innocent expression.

“A stone cold, grade A bitch, who if I’m perfectly honest, still scares me?” Michelle answered, with a smile. Saoirse couldn’t help but feel proud that she was starting to feel more comfortable with her to make such jokes.

“Yeah, that’s fair. Though I’m not quite bitch enough to steal a girl’s boots” Saoirse retorted, with a moment of honesty. Saoirse let Michelle return to her work and collected the boots from the heater. She put her arms into each, first, to check for signs of moisture, or worse, any lingering gunge that may still be trapped within the boots; she certainly didn’t want to feel gunge between her bare toes while trying to do her job. Satisfied that they were clean and dry, she unzipped the boots, inserting her feet into each before zipping them up again. Saoirse returned to look at herself in the mirror, surveying herself as best she could. She felt satisfied, now, and prepared for the first day. She ran through her introduction in her head, trying to develop a cadence and rhythm to it that felt natural to her but would also prove entertaining for the group as well as anyone watching. She went back downstairs, one of Ted’s bacon rolls, wrapped in cling film in her hand. She re-entered the side room, handing the roll to Michelle, whose eyes immediately lit up upon the sight of it.

“Saoirse! I could have sex with you right now!” Michelle exclaimed, as she unwrapped the sandwich.

“Not sure how Neira would feel about that… I will take it as ‘thank you’ nonetheless” Saoirse retorted, feeling self satisfied at having been able to do something nice for her friend.

“Oh… I just meant that - you knew what I meant” Michelle nodded, before devouring the sandwich. “This isn’t for me, it’s for the baby” She added, between mouthfuls.

“And here was me thinking I just look that good I turn straight girls.” Saoirse quipped, shaking her head. “You just ruined a perfectly good compliment.” She added.

“Sorry… It’s… It’s the food.” Michelle chuckled, as she finished the sandwich. “You do look really pretty though” Michelle added, trying to reaffirm Saoirse’s confidence. With a sigh, hoping to expel some nervousness, Saoirse collected the envelopes; as she understood it, one of the production team would have updated the envelopes, allowing her to simply return them to their owners.

Saoirse marched into the back garden, which was littered with varying items they might need for the next two weeks. She opened the gate that had been set up, allowing them to pass between the gardens with ease. There was still a tarp obscuring view from the house, hiding what they were doing (and vice versa). Standing in the centre of the garden was a traditional gunge tank, filled to the brim with three or four different colours of thick gunge, off towards the opposite fence was a table filled with dessert pies, of varying flavours, fifteen, in total, including chocolate, vanilla, banana and some that were a mix of different flavours; Saoirse had initially felt guilty about sending Michelle to the bakery to make the purchase, but upon seeing her return and devour one she had bought for herself, she decided it was likely a shrewd move. Next to the tank, between where she was standing and the house were patio chairs; five of which had been placed in a circle, with the sixth chair being off to the side. Saoirse stood for a moment, admiring the way the gunge had begun to bleed together, making a rather interesting, almost abstract impressionistic blend.

“It almost seems a shame to empty it all over someone” Saoirse uttered, to nobody in particular. “Are we all set?” She then asked, looking over to the dark haired, rather muscular man. The man nodded, confirming. “...Robbie, right?” Saoirse asked, remembering his name as Robbie the Roadie.

“That’s me” The man answered, not diverting from his work for long enough to really pay her much attention. Robbie prepared to take down the tarp, pulling to the side for Saoirse to walk underneath. She took a deep breath and walked towards the house with a confident stride towards the back door. She entered the house, heading towards the living room area. She leaned up against the doorway, casually looking in at everyone. Nobody immediately noticed her, which she had to admit bugged the extrovert part of herself a little. She shuffled through the envelopes, ensuring she had them all present. Joe and Marcus seemed deep in discussion, presumably they had either bonded, as Joe felt more comfortable speaking with Marco, or it was his shift, occupying the man’s attention. Nazreen sat at the table, her head buried in a book, while Allison and Frances were watching something on TV. From their body language, they seemed at least comfortable enough with one another, meaning Saoirse had no immediate concerns.

“Hey” Ted said, from behind her. Saoirse instinctively moved out of the way, to allow him to walk through the door. With that, the group's attention diverted towards her. Nazreen took off her glasses, setting them down on her textbook, Joe gestured towards Saoirse, presumably to instruct Marco it was time for him to stop speaking, while Allison muted the TV. They all looked to her with a degree of nervous terror and enthralled devotion.

“Afternoon. Are you all ready?” Saoirse asked, cryptically.

“What do we need to be ready for?” Frances asked, a quiver in her voice.

“Well, the first game is set up.” Saoirse explained, handing out the envelopes to everyone. “If you’d all be so kind as to make your way outside, there are chairs, so you can sit down and we can begin” Saoirse continued, pointing through the window, with a now unobscured view of what awaited them. There was a flurry of mutters and gasps, perhaps at the realisation that one of them would be getting messy, very soon. Any reticence or reluctance did not muster sufficiently to grow into outright defiance, fortunately, as the group followed Ted out into the garden, each person sitting in one of the six seats within the circle. Saoirse noticed their gaze went, once sat down, from the table filled with pies, then to the gunge tank, without fail.

“Is there any way we can all stay clean?” Nazreen asked, pointing to the gunge tank.

“None, whatsoever. At least one of you is getting very messy today. Considering it’s your first day, we’re being nice and making it easier; I’m told the gunge is warm, too, so whoever goes in will surely have that to be thankful for” Saoirse grinned, sadistically. “I’m told, cold gunge is much, much worse. Though I’m sure you won’t have to take my word for it…” She added, not being able to resist the temptation to twist the knife a little as she sat down, crossing her legs. There were more gasps and murmurs, perhaps as the reality of their situation set in.

“So, what do we have to do?” Ted asked, taking charge of the situation.

“I’ve returned to you the envelopes you all filled in this morning. There will be an addition onto each of them; the game you’re playing is called Wolf. For most of you, your instructions are simple: - figure out who The Wolf is. For the sixth, you are the wolf and your objective is to avoid suspicion at all costs. The wolf can lie, accuse others, lead the charge or they can stay quiet, whatever strategy they feel may best suit them. There will be up to four rounds, an accusation must be levied in each round, until there are two people left or The Wolf is discovered. If accused, The Wolf must admit, when asked, that they are The Wolf. I don’t know who it is, but The Overlord has taken great care in selecting each of you, so if you do lie to me, I will know, then you will wish you hadn’t.” Saoirse explained the rules. “Everyone understood so far?” Saoirse asked. There were quiet nods from the group.

Marco had opted to wear a grey ribbed T shirt with camouflage trousers. Joe wore a loose fitting sweater and jeans, Ted wore a Sex Pistols T shirt and joggers, presumably chosen as his clothes he was least concerned about getting ruined; though Saoirse had to admit, she objected to his choice of T shirt (though only for the sheer fact it was being risked so callously), she had to admire his foresight. Nazreen wore a brightly coloured top, that Saoirse worried might someday induce a migraine that she would then have to treat and what looked like leggings or similar trousers, Allison wore a loose fitting vest style top and black, low-rise jeans, while Frances wore a light coloured, summer dress.

“Okay. Each round, someone is accused, if they’re not The Wolf, then they get a pie in the face and we move on to the next round. Should The Wolf remain undetected, they win the game, then their choice of fellow contestant will be expected to wear the attire they chose and get gunged. Of course, if you have a valid objection, it will be heard, as long as you have a reasonable alternative suggestion for what you should wear to go in the tank. So I can avoid saying this later? No, you can’t object to being gunged. Not happy with that? Should’ve thought that through more before you agreed to come on the show” Saoirse continued.

“What clues do we get about their identity?” Allison asked, raising her hand. She seemed a little more timid than she had previously; perhaps being on camera, or coming face to face with a gunge tank had knocked her confidence a little.

“Also, what happens if The Wolf gets caught?” Frances asked, seeming more nervous than Allison.

“I’ll consider giving you clues, as the rounds go on, if they’re needed. If The Wolf is discovered, she or he will have to wear the clothes they chose for their would-be victim, then they will be covered in all of the remaining pies before they’re gunged. Again: no, you can’t refuse, either one. It’d be really quite a tough sell to suggest why you were happy for someone else to wear what you picked but not for you to wear the same!” Saoirse explained, trying to avoid what she hoped would be a fruitless and annoying argument later. There was a collective nervous shuffle from everyone, not least from Marco, who fidgeted like his seat was heating up beneath him. Saoirse dismissed him as a suspect because he was perhaps a little too obvious, though she was in no doubt he had chosen something skimpy and sexy for one of the women to wear, only now realising that he was on the hook to wear the same. Saoirse had to admit to herself, she was quite curious about who it was and who they had picked.

“Um… What if I told someone what I picked?” Marco asked. Saoirse couldn’t help but chuckle at the question.

“Then I guess you’d better hope you’re not The Wolf and that I don’t decide to give the group a clue by revealing what they picked. Which… I am definitely warming to that now you’ve inadvertently told me you were stupid enough to share that fact, when I told you all not to.” Saoirse retorted, she felt her Domme persona rearing her head a little with her response; she knew she would need to reign it in a little, for fear of pushing them all too far, so soon; though she did feel satisfied it was warranted, given the clear and concise warning he had, seemingly ignored. “Okay, any more questions? Or are you all ready to start?”

“One question. You said if you’re accused, you get a pie in the face. Who does it? I mean, you can’t ask The Wolf to do it” Joe asked.

“Well, The Wolf could very well be doing it. The person who accused you would take the honour. Or dishonour, however you prefer to look at it. They would also get to pick the flavour… So you can plead with them for a specific kind or to not get a specific kind, should you have a preference there.” Saoirse answered, looking around at everyone else. There seemed to be no other questions.

“Okay, is everyone happy to begin?” Saoirse asked. There were nods and muttered confirmations. “Great. If you’d like to open your envelope; it should go without saying that you shouldn’t show anyone what’s in your envelope but apparently it doesn’t. So do not show anyone!” Saoirse insisted, stressing her words, looking towards Marco. Her instruction garnered a somewhat nervous chuckle from the group as she surveyed each of their faces and body language. Unfortunately, it largely left her none the wiser, as Allison, Joe and Ted seemed more relaxed by their discovery, but Frances and Nazreen seemed more nervous, while Marco couldn’t feasibly seem more nervous than he already was. It stood to reason, Saoirse thought, that any one of them might feel relieved by being chosen, as it meant they were in direct control over their fate. They each put the cards back into the envelope and for whatever reason, each passed them back to Saoirse. They each shot each other a suspicious glare, as if trying to catch someone out. There was a silence that seemed to go on for an eternity, as nobody seemed to want to go first.

“...I think it’s Marco.” Allison uttered, breaking the silence first.

“What? It’s not me!” Marco barked, defensively. “It’s not!” he insisted, clearly not feeling particularly confident in his original assertion.

“You do look really nervous and suspicious.” Nazreen added, nodding along with Allison’s suspicion.

“He’s a bit too suspicious though, isn’t he?” Joe interjected. “I get why you’d think it’s him, but surely they’d anticipate that we’d suspect him and choose somebody else?” Joe clarified his argument. Saoirse was a little surprised but it was a sound argument. The obvious suspect was perhaps too obvious.

“Yeah, it would make for a rather short game.” Frances agreed, concurring with Joe; Saoirse wasn’t sure whether she was siding with her crush for the sole reason of him being her crush, that she genuinely felt that was true or she was trying to avert suspicion by suggesting they continue looking; a solid defence, to be sure. After all, why would The Wolf assuage the group from the wrong target when the gaze could land on them?

“Should we suspect you, instead, Joe? Would that be the better target?” Allison retorted, clearly keen to cement herself as Wolf-finder General.

“No, I’m not saying that! I know it’s not me, I can prove it too” Joe stammered.

“No you can’t. If you start proving that you’re not The Wolf, it would negate the entire purpose, then I would be forced to rule that The Wolf wins by default because you all cheated. Actually, forget I said anything; reveal your cards, if you wish.” Saoirse explained, changing her mind as she continued.

“Why would he offer to show his card, if it were him?” Nazreen asked, looking directly at Allison; it had seemed the pair had bonded during the morning, providing an unexpected team-up early within the game.

“Unless he knew it wouldn’t be allowed, so he did it to be shrewd at diverting suspicion” Allison answered, the women’s gaze fixated on Joe.

“Yeah! He’s been pretending to be one of us, so he doesn’t get gunged! It must be him!” Marco chimed in, clearly keen to pile on to anyone else but him. Saoirse noticed Ted, staring at her, stroking his chin. He seemed deep in thought, perhaps as if he were trying to figure out what twists she had in store. Certainly, another interesting strategy, staying as quiet as he could.

“See? Even Marco thinks it’s you, your mate is selling you out!” Allison heaped more pressure onto Joe.

“Oh come on, mate, seriously? After I stuck up for you, too?” Joe decried Marco’s disloyalty.

“You’d have done the same to me” Marco dismissed the allegation with a wave of his hand.

“Okay, so we have Marco and Jo both being accused. You can only accuse one per round. So it needs to be unanimous. Who are you picking?” Saoirse asked, keen to progress things forwards, yet without breaking eye contact with Ted. Allison and Nazreen exchanged looks and hand gestures, as if they had developed some kind of telepathic link or a non-verbal language between them, in the span of a morning.

“I’m sticking by what I said” Allison answered, nodding.

“Me too.” Nazreen concurred.

“Okay, going to need you to say a name, for the avoidance of doubt; then anyone who isn't being accused can choose to object, stating their case… Or we find out their identity” Saoirse explained. Allison looked around at each of their faces, as Marco nodded like an overly enthusiastic dog, panting in the summer heat.

“We’re accusing Marco” Allison said, authoritatively.

“What? You said Joe a minute ago!” Marco hissed, feeling scorned.

“Yeah, we didn’t really think it was Joe” Nazreen shook her head, with a chuckle.

“Seems you two have been preparing. Anyone disagree that it’s Marco?” Saoirse asked, with a wry smile. She had to admit, there seemed to be no downside to this allegation; if it wasn’t him, then she would get to watch him be the first among them to receive a pie in the face, but if it was him, then she would get to see him dress in something he would dread, get fifteen pies in the face, then gunged. Ted leaned back in his chair, clearly formulating a theory of his own. There were nods from most of the group, all except for Ted. “Ted? Are you happy with Marco? Or do you have an alternate suspect?” Saoirse asked.

“I don’t think it’s Marco.” Ted stated, leaning forwards again.

“Okay, do you care to offer an alternative suspect?” Saoirse asked, curiously.

“I think it’s you.” Ted answered. Saoirse was taken back by his allegation, though impressed; even if he had overlooked one point.

“I don’t have a card, so I couldn’t have received one that names me the wolf.” Saoirse dismissed the allegation.

“Hmm. That’s true. I suppose it couldn’t be you, after all” Ted shook his head, dismissing his theory.

“So, are we all at least happy enough to not object?” Saoirse asked, as Marco raised his hand in objection. “Put your hand down.” She barked, in a school teacher-ish tone. The group nodded, some with a pseudo sadistic undertone. Saoirse quietly wondered to herself if Marco was self-aware enough to realise that they had seized on him so quickly for the exact behaviour he used to mask his insecurities.

“Come on!” Marco pleaded, as there were no objections.

“Without further ado… Marco, are you The Wolf?” Saoirse asked. “You can show your card, if you wish; if he says he’s not, I will know anyway and we’ll devise some way of making sure you regret your deception.” Saoirse explained, with a wicked smile.

“Like what?” Marco enquired, with a morbid curiousity.

“I haven’t decided. I suppose I could only be a little cruel and insist you wear a penis cage. You’d still be able to pee, but I’m told they’re really painful if you try to indulge in… Other activities” Saoirse posited. There were a mix of surprised and horrified expressions, even a gasp or two along with an utterly nonplussed look from Allison and Ted.

“Why do you own something like that?” Frances asked, recoiling at the thought of it. “I just mean… Aren’t you gay?” Frances clarified.

“I’m not fond of labels, so while I’m in a gay relationship, I wouldn’t necessarily describe myself as gay. I just don’t know if a person can be truly surmised with a sentence, like that. It feels reductive to me. Nothing against those who feel it helps, I’m glad it does… To answer your other question, well, do you really want me to answer your other question or are you happy to be kept in the dark about it?” Saoirse asked. Frances shuffled in her seat, contemplating her options.

“You’re being serious, aren’t you?” Allison asked with an elated gasp.

“Oh I never joke about these things.” Saoirse answered, returning her gaze to Marco. “Are you The Wolf?” Saoirse asked, insistently.

“No.” Marco answered, bowing his head, almost as if he were ashamed that he wasn’t.

“The obvious suspect was obvious.” Saoirse confirmed he was telling the truth. “Allison, as you made the accusation, if you would be so kind as to select a pie… Marco, you’re now eliminated from the game, with the distinct honour of being the first contestant, ever, to get messy” Saoirse instructed. Allison sauntered over to the table, perusing the available options.

“So does this mean I won’t be going in there?” Marco asked, an uncharacteristic nervousness about him; Saoirse wondered if this was the first sign of his machismo mask slipping.

“It doesn’t, if The Wolf, whomever they may be, has picked you and they win? You will absolutely get that honour too” Saoirse explained.

“You really love your job!” Allison commented, before turning her attention to Marco. “What flavour would you prefer?” She asked.

“What is there?” Marco asked.

“Um… Chocolate, vanilla, banana, strawberry, I think this one is banoffee, which is definitely mine, if I get accused, so you can’t have that one. I love banoffee” Allison explained.

“Wait, you’d want to have a pie you love smeared all over you?” Nazreen asked, still reeling from one shock, only to be hit with another.

“Well, if you have to, why not have something you’ll like the taste of?” Allison explained, with a casual shrug that knocked the strap of her top down her arm.

“Any, just not banana” Marco uttered, resignedly, as if he were hoping to get it over with.

“Banana it is!” Allison responded, chipperly. Saoirse felt a little surprised that Marco hadn’t foreseen the outcome to Allison’s question; unless he were more devious than she originally credited him with. The woman skipped towards her victim, the pie gripped carefully in her hands, as though it were a prized possession. She stood over him, putting her left hand on his shoulder, the pie held in her right hand. Marco looked very nervous at this point, which only seemed to further Allison’s delay; she was savouring every moment. Finally, she thrust the baked good powerfully into the man’s face, being sure to smother and smear as much of it as she could, to ensure he received a good caking. Finally, she pulled the tray away, revealing the results. Marco’s face was no longer visible, for a mix of crust, cream and banana filling. He blinked furiously, before wiping the mess from his eyes, angrily discarding it from his fingertips. He shot a deathly glare at Allison, who he, presumably, blamed for his experience.

“Okay, on to round two… Needless to say, Marco is now out, he cannot accuse anyone, be accused or object to an accusation. If you have a suspect, keep it to yourself. You are, now, a spectator.” Saoirse explained. “Who’s hiding in plain sight? Who’s being a little too good at belonging?” Saoirse asked, rhetorically, looking at each of them, in turn. She wondered how long Allison and Nazreen’s alliance would last, before they in turn accused one another.

“Okay, so we now know it wasn’t Marco, I’m reasonably confident it’s not Saoirse, as that would break the established rules. So what would I do, if I wanted to avoid suspicion?” Ted asked, taking charge of the situation.

“That’s a good question, Ted. What would you do? Or are you already doing it?” Allison asked, seizing on the opportunity to levy another accusation.

“That’s precisely what I was wondering… About you and Nazreen. You’re both very quick to accuse others, you’ve seemingly formed some sort of pact, an aggressive attack is sometimes the best defence; nobody suspects the Witchfinder General of being a witch.” Ted explained, looking in turn at the two women.

“As a card carrying Pagan, I want to caution you about your use of the W word, though you’re not causing any offence, so just be mindful. I have a penis cage and I know how to use it.” Saoirse warned, with a sadistic grin.

“Duly noted. That’s… More than a little scary.” Ted acknowledged her words.

“So, who are you accusing?” Saoirse asked, clearly keen to keep the game moving forwards.

“Hmm.” Ted contemplated, looking at them both. Both women seemed especially nervous, though Saoirse couldn’t be certain it wasn’t the surprise at being accused so soon, rather than an expression of guilt from one of them. Saoirse looked at the others, looking for signs of relief at avoiding the accusation, so far yet whoever it was had yet to let their guard slip. She had to admit, Allison was right; she did love her job. “It feels more out of character for Nazreen. I’m sorry if I’m wrong.” Ted answered, deciding on his answer.

“Well, I think, by your own logic, that you’re equally suspect. How do we know you’re not accusing Nazreen, to avoid the suspicion yourself?” Allison retaliated, somewhat predictably.

“It’s a fair point. I would, of course, deny it, but then, so would The Wolf.” Ted accepted the accusation; Saoirse was convinced it wasn’t Ted, unless he was an extremely accomplished liar.

“Okay, so we have two people accused. Frances and Joe are the deciding votes, here… Who do you both think it is? Needless to say, you will need to agree.” Saoirse explained, trying to avoid a tie-break scenario.

“What happens if we can’t agree?” Frances asked.

“It’s decided by chance. A toss of a coin will determine who’s accused” Saoirse explained. It was a somewhat crude method but indeed an effective one.

“Okay. Who do you think, Joe? You’ve been very quiet this round.” Frances asked. There was a distinct suspicion to her voice while noting his lack of participation.

“I don’t know, their arguments are exactly the same. I mean, it’s a sound case, but it’s based on the exact same evidence.” Joe surmised. It seemed he was being quiet because he felt a little out of his depth.

“Agreed. Though I think Ted has a point, Nazreen has been really quiet and reserved, now all of a sudden, she’s accusing everyone?” Frances explained, trying to present her case and push Joe towards her conclusion.

“Yeah… I suppose.” Joe agreed, unconfidently.

“So you’re both accusing Nazreen?” Saoirse asked.

“Yes” The pair nodded, almost in unison.

“Okay… Nazreen, are you The Wolf?” Saoirse asked. Nazreen opened her envelope, with a sense of palpable excitement in the air as she removed her card.

“No” Nazreen answered, opening it to reveal the word ‘sheep’ written in black marker on the inside cover.

“I’m sorry, Nazreen.” Ted retorted, seeming genuinely remorseful as he walked to the table. “Any preference?” He asked, guiding his hand over the assembled pies. The woman looked particularly nervous now, as if it had only just now dawned on her that she was about to get messy.

“Not my banoffee pie!” Allison insisted, pointing at her.

“I’m starting to think you really want that pie in your face” Saoirse commented, with a cheeky wink to Allison.

“Strawberry, please.” Nazreen said, timidly. Ted complied, collecting the strawberry pie in his hands, walking over to her. Ted then gestured it to her, as if urging her to take it.

“Would you prefer to… Do it yourself? Is that allowed? I don’t want to hurt her” Ted asked, empathetically.

“As long as it’s done, I don’t see a problem with how it’s done.” Saoirse explained, with a slight shrug. Nazreen nodded, closing her eyes tightly, her face contorted into a grimace. Ted gently pushed the pie into her face, as Nazreem emitted a loud squeak. He then continued to press it firmly across her, the tin bending as it contorted to the contours of her face. Much of the filling fell out of the bottom, down Nazreen’s top and over her lap. Saoirse looked at the others, noticing both Frances and Allison unconsciously touching their chests; it seemed they were regretting their choice of clothing, albeit too late to make a difference.

“I don’t know why you didn’t threaten her…” Marco mumbled, sulking.

“Really?” Saoirse sighed. “Okay, I don’t think the threat of a penis cage is going to really phase her. See, people who are born biologically female have a vagina, while people who are born biologically male have a penis. For those, biologically female, there’s nothing to cage. I can get you a textbook on the subject, if you’re in need? I mean, that seems like basic biology to me but perhaps they didn’t teach that where you went to school?” Saoirse explained, not even trying to spare his feelings. She looked over to Nazreen, whose face was now pink and white. Her arms were affixed by the sides of her head, as if she were still stunned in place by the shock of it. Quite a lot of the filling had also gone into her hair.

“Oh my God…” Nazreen muttered, as if that were the only way she could summarise the experience.

“Um… Can I change my top?” Allison asked, while Frances nodded, as if she were making the same request.

“No, that would hardly be fair to either of these two who haven’t been afforded the chance to change. You both knew that there was a high chance you’d get messy when you chose to wear what you’re wearing, so if you’re going to blame anyone, blame past you!” Saoirse retorted, unsympathetically. “Okay, we have two people down, we’re now at the halfway point… Only two more chances to find The Wolf, else she or he, will get to enact their dastardly plan upon one of you” Saoirse explained.

“What will happen if there’s only two of us left? One of us being The Wolf, I mean” Joe asked.

“Well, it will be a bit like that final scene in The Thing. Except… Well, it’ll be nothing like that, because whichever one of you isn’t The Wolf will know the other person is and there’d be no more reason for The Wolf to hide, so they would just get to pie the last person in the face. I don’t think there were any pies in The Thing.” Saoirse explained. She looked around at the surprised expressions at the group. “What? Girls can’t enjoy films, now? My husband loved sci-fi and horror.” Saoirse clarified, unashamedly.

“Your husband? I thought you were married to a girl” Joe asked, confused by the sudden revelation.

“I am. So, onto the third round…”Saoirse diverted the conversation away from a sensitive subject for her. “The Wolf has evaded capture, twice now. Are they one of the Wolf-finders? Or are they hiding, meekly, with their very best impression of a sheep?” Saoirse asked, presenting the group with their challenge.

“I still think it’s one of you two, you’ve both been quick to accuse everyone else.” Frances suggested, throwing down a gauntlet between the pair. It was a gamble, for sure, as they had already seen it was as likely to work as it was to backfire, leading to an accusation levied against themselves.

“Yeah! Ted’s accused someone, every round, always someone who it wasn’t, like he knew they’re not The Wolf!” Allison agreed, clearly making Frances her newest conspirator.

“The exact same thing could be said of you. You accused Marco, you accused Joe and you accused me. Now you’re siding with Frances… Are you afraid to accuse a woman? Or are you just heaping allegations upon anyone else, to keep the eye of suspicion away from yourself?” Ted asked.

“Oh! Says the guy who accused Saoirse, straight out the gate!” Allison shot back, immediately.

“I was wrong about that, I accepted that. We were confident it wasn’t Joe, in round one, unless it was a good bluff. I know it’s not me, which leaves you and Frances” Ted explained. “You, however, have taken centre stage, accusing everyone. What better way to avoid the accusation than to be the accuser, yourself?” Ted reused his theory, clearly still feeling it was a solid one.

“I guess we’re asking these two again.” Allison sighed, having gotten nowhere with her argument.

“It certainly seems that way…” Ted answered, seeming deep in thought again. Saoirse wondered if he were changing his mind.

“Allison, are you happy with your allegation against Ted? Ted, are you convinced you want to accuse Allison?” Saoirse asked, looking at the pair.

“I am. I’m certain it has to be him because it’s not me” Allison stated with conviction.

“I have my doubts. Can I ask, who do you think it is?” Ted asked, looking towards Saoirse.

“I think you both have a solid argument, it’s the same argument, and you’ve both used it already… I have my suspect. I think they’ve been very clever but… Something just didn’t quite add up for me, though since I don’t have a dog in this particular fight, I’m not going to share the identity of my suspect.” Saoirse explained.

“Hmm. I was hoping you might share, so I could tell if I’m right to waver, or not” Ted replied. He looked over the faces of the remaining contestants, as if trying to survey them for guilt.

“Can I say who I think it is?” Marco interjected.

“No, you’re a spectator. Spectate.” Saoirse scolded, putting him in his place. “Honestly, kids today…” She added, despite being only a couple of years older than Marco.

“I’m going to stick with Allison. I’m only 60% sure, now, but…” Ted explained, doubt evident in his voice.

“Alright. Frances and Joe, who are you accusing?” Saoirse asked. The pair exchanged looks, then at the two accused.

“Do I have to accuse anyone?” Joe asked, clearly undecided on who to pick.

“I suppose you could abstain, you could accuse Frances, or yourself, though any of those outcomes would leave her to choose who’s eliminated this round.” Saoirse explained Joe’s options.

“Yeah, I’m really not sure who I think it is.” Joe explained, clearly not too enthusiastic about the prospect of accusing someone else.

“Fair enough. Frances, who do you want to accuse?” Saoirse asked, looking over to the blonde woman.

“Hmmm. I think Allison really wants her Banoffee pie.” Frances chuckled.

“I do! It looks delicious. I’d prefer to eat it, than have it all over me, but I can always eat it after…” Allison retorted, clearly accepting the label Frances was levying. Allison tied her hair back, as if readying herself for the mess.

“So you’re going with Allison?” Saoirse asked, confirming her choice.

“Um… No, I think it’s Ted” Frances answered, switching lanes.

“Okay. Ted, are you The Wolf?” Saoirse asked. There was a great deal more tension now, as Ted’s gaze lingered on Frances, his final allegation deafeningly loud.

“I wish I could say I am… But I am not” Ted explained, with a shrug.

“Damn, I thought for sure it was you.” Allison said, standing up, as her gaze shifted between the other two. “Some surprisingly devious behaviour is going on here…” Allison added. She walked to the table, once more, scooping up a chocolate pie this time. Ted put his hands in his lap, clearly accepting what was about to happen. Allison dutifully obliged, pushing the tray into his face, as he tilted his head back, aiding her in giving him a fuller coverage. Again, she twisted the tin, pushing the sides, then pulled it away. Ted moved his head downwards, as the cream and chocolate began to slip from his face, falling in clumps down his top and into his lap. Being the consummate professional, Ted didn’t even attempt to clear his face.

“This is quite fun” Allison beamed, chipperly.

“Now… The final round. So far, The Wolf has evaded you all, navigated your allegations brilliantly, now she or he can surely taste victory… Or will they be the one to taste pie?” Saoirse summarised.

“Wait, if we guess correctly, does that mean I don’t get my banoffee pie?” Allison asked, almost territorially.

“I suppose if you really want it over your face that badly, I doubt The Wolf is going to object about getting one less pie in the face before they get gunged” Saoirse explained. “The question is, do you really want it that badly?” Saoirse enquired, rhetorically.

“Hmm, that’s a good point. This is a tough one, you’ve both been really quiet, the whole way through; I thought you were just nervous about being wrong but… One of you has just let us argue and accuse each other the whole time!” Allison explained, continuing her role to the last moment.

“Well, Joe has been much quieter than me.” Frances spluttered nervously.

“That is true. Joe, who do you think it is?” Allison asked, perhaps baiting a trap.

“I don’t know which one of you it is.” Joe answered, putting his hands in his lap, like a naughty schoolboy who’d been caught misbehaving.

“Aww. He looks like you just asked him which one of you is prettier” Saoirse surmised.

“He does, doesn’t he? Do you think Frances is prettier than me, Joe?” Allison accused, sarcastically. Frances blushed and pushed her hair back over her ear, her gaze looking over at Joe then down at the floor.

“Never answer that question, Joe.” Saoirse interjected. “It’s a trap. You can’t say she is prettier, because… That’s suicide. You can’t say no, because then you’ve noticed that the other girl is pretty but decided she’s not as pretty, which means you’ve been looking at other girls - which is suicide. If you say that you don’t know, then you’re just obviously lying, because she’s clearly a pretty girl and you’re trying to pretend you haven’t noticed” Saoirse explained.

“Yep. Then I’d have to kill you, because you’ve been looking at other girls and lied about it.” Allison added. Joe seemed totally overwhelmed by both the question and the explanation. Meanwhile, Frances buried her face in her hands, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“I er… I’m not very good at this. Do I have to pick someone?” Joe asked.

“You kind of do, since this is the final round. Otherwise, if The Wolf - assuming it’s not you - accuses someone else, which they will, then it will be down to your vote, or down to chance.” Saoirse explained.

“It’s a tough one, Frances. Joe had me fooled for a while there but… I think I know who it is” Allison explained, shifting her gaze at Frances.

“You think it’s Joe, too?” Frances nodded along.

“What?” Joe exclaimed at the sudden allegation, yet Allison didn’t revert her gaze back to Joe.

“No. I’m sorry… I think it’s Frances” Allison levied her allegation, extremely nervously.

“No…” Frances muttered under her breath.

“Joe, who do you want to accuse?” Saoirse asked. The man seemed deep in contemplation. “I’ll give you a minute to think about it. In total fairness to The Wolf, you played it really well. I genuinely didn’t suspect you, until the end of the last round; you made the mistake of letting out a big, subconscious sigh of relief… Fortunately for you, I don’t get a vote, so I’m keen to see whether Joe accuses you, or if he picks someone else. Assuming I’m not talking about Joe, of course” Saoirse explained.

“Oh my God, I’m so nervous.” Allison explained, her hands affixed to either side of her face, staring intently at the gunge tank, towering ominously over them.

“I don’t know… I know it’s not me! I don’t know” Joe muttered, struggling with the decision.

“If you’re not up to it, then it’ll be settled by chance.” Saoirse explained.

“Sorry…” Joe replied, looking straight at Frances. Saoirse could tell he really didn’t want to accuse her, though it seemed increasingly evident that he suspected her; though for how long, Saoirse couldn’t tell.

“No, please…” Frances pleaded.

“It’s her, it’s Frances” Joe answered, with a shameful look on his face.

“Okay. Now, I already know the answer… But the question still needs to be answered, truthfully; Frances, are you The Wolf?” Saoirse asked, looking at the woman. Frances’ head descended down, straight into her hands, as she seemed overwhelmed with emotion.

“Oh God…” She mumbled. “Yes” she answered, an emotional tremor in her voice.

“The clothes you picked for your victim, would you prefer to wear your own? Assuming, of course, that you own it and that you have it, or would you prefer it from the wardrobe department?” Saoirse asked, assuming her role as the host.

“Please, don’t tell me I have to…” Frances pleaded, clearly quite upset.

“I’m sorry, you came so close. I know this is likely no consolation, but you’re going to be the very first person to get gunged on the show.” Saoirse explained sensitively.

“I’m sorry too, I wish I hadn’t accused you now” Allison explained. “Can I keep the banoffee pie?” She asked, looking towards Saoirse.

“You do know, you can’t eat it, right? If I let you have it, it’s going in your face” Saoirse clarified.

“I feel really bad. I mean… Frances should get to pie somebody, too?” Allison explained.

“I highly doubt she’s going to object.” Saoirse quipped. “If you’re happy with that, I don’t have a problem with it. Frances, would you prefer it from the wardrobe department?” Saoirse asked again, delicately pressing the question.

“Yes please.” Frances answered, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Okay. I’ll go get it for you, meanwhile, it seems you’re getting some revenge on Allison, at least” Saoirse explained. Clearly needing no further invitation, Frances leaped to her feet, grabbing two pies, one in each hand.

“Hang on, I thought there was only one!” Allison retorted, backing away.

“No, Frances is right, there’s two banoffee. I guess you should’ve clarified that you only wanted the one?” Saoirse grinned, sadistically again. Allison fiddled with her top, clearly trying to make sure it was as tightly fitted to her chest as she could. Upon seeing her task was fruitless, she sighed with exasperation, then put her hands in her lap, closing her eyes.

“Please don’t mess up my hair too much.” Allison asked. Frances thrust the first pie straight into the dark haired woman’s face, with a loud, satisfying splat. Allison emitted a whimper, as Frances spread the mess across her face. When Frances pulled the tin away, Allison was now a mix of banana cream and toffee, with the mixture affixed firmly to her face. Without a word, Frances brought the second pie slamming down onto the top of Allison’s forehead, letting much of the mess fall down over her face, down into her top, using the rest to smear it over her head, getting some in her hair. Saoirse stood up, then walked quickly back into the house next door, via the garden to collect Frances clothes.

Frances had gotten changed in the bathroom, using her bathrobe to try to obscure herself from the camera as much as possible; though she knew, given her own foolhardy choice, her modesty would barely be spared. The underwear she was given was clearly good quality, at least, with the tags still on, as if to affirm to them that these clothes had never been worn by another person. Frances wondered how much of the budget had gone on clothes, alone. She slipped into the thong, then put the matching bra on. She cursed her own ambition while she slipped the black tights over her legs. If it was one consolation, she at least thought her legs looked nice in tights. She put her robe on over her underwear, and slowly made her way back outside; she thought about going outside, insisting that she couldn’t do it and asking to leave, but she knew that would completely negate the reason she was there, could jeopardise the paycheque she was set to receive and would possibly embarrass her, even more, than if she went through with it.

Frances paused at the back door, looking out at everyone assembled. Allison was pulling handfuls of mess from her face, then, true to her previous statements, eating it from her hands. The others had cleaned what they could from their faces with towels. She willed herself forwards, opening the door. Upon catching sight of her, Saoirse instinctively put her arm up towards Marco, with a ‘shushing’ gesture.

“I don’t want to hear a fucking word.” She barked, viciously. “That girl is damn brave and that bravery should be applauded, not denigrated. So if you, and this goes to you all, can’t say anything supportive to her right now? Say nothing. Just imagine that you were her, right now, dressed the way she is, about to get gunged.” Saoirse surmised. Marco squirmed, awkwardly, as if his rear orifice had just clenched so hard it could create a diamond. “Exactly! Nothing but supportive, from all of you” She added, standing up to approach Frances. Frances' teeth chattered, it wasn’t particularly cold, nor was it especially wet, she was just very scared about what was going to happen.

“Are you okay? I know you lost the game, but I’m still going to ask you if you want to go through with this.” Saoirse asked, in a quiet tone, as if to avoid the others hearing her.

“I don’t have a choice.” Frances answered, feeling overwhelmed.

“No, you absolutely do. You can say no, that this is too much for you. I don’t know what will happen, but you would still have my respect for doing as much as you have. It’s… Well, it’s a shite choice, but it’s still a choice” Saoirse explained. “I’m quite gutted that you didn’t win, you were so close… Even I didn’t know for sure it was you, until just before Ted figured it out.” Saoirse heaped praise upon Frances’ shoulders. Frances thought that she was just blowing smoke, but then, Saoirse really didn’t seem the type to be anything short of brutally sincere.

“How bad is it going to be?” Frances asked, a grimace already setting in over her face.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I only have second hand information. I’m reliably informed, warm gunge is… Well, it’s not altogether unpleasant. But I’ve never been gunged, so I only have their word for it” Saoirse explained, with ambiguous language.

“So Michelle?” Frances muttered, nodding.

“No. She’s still vehemently denying that she likes being gunged; warm or otherwise.” Saoirse clarified, deepening the mystery.

“Wait, who told you then?” Frances asked, keeping her voice down. Saoirse smiled at the question, shaking her head a little.

“You know, I can’t remember.” She answered, clearly lying.

“How many people have you gunged?!” Frances asked, astonishment evident in her voice.

“Somewhere between… Zero and seven billion” Saoirse provided a non-answer. “I forget, exactly. Bad memory, it tends to flare up whenever people ask me to break confidentiality.” Saoirse added, clearly indicating her unwillingness to provide any real clarification.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Frances said, feeling she had little other choice, though her conversation with Saoirse at least made her feel better about it. Saoirse gripped her hand, then began walking back towards the group. The chairs had been rearranged, with one being put in the centre, overlooking the tank. Frances could see that the chair was in direct view of the cameras, meaning there would be several different angles of her impending humiliation.  Frances covered her face, trying to hide herself from the embarrassment she was feeling as she felt the moisture of the grass permeate the porous nylon of her tights. She approached the chair, readying to sit down in it when Saoirse reminded her that it was going to get worse for her before it ended.

“Frances, honey, would you be so kind as to take off your robe?” Saoirse asked, very courteously. Frances felt herself blushing, looking at the group and at the cameras. “I know this probably sounds impossible, but it may be easier if you forget the camera is even there. I assume that’s something they teach in acting classes?” Saoirse said, offering some encouragement. Frances nervously undid her robe, her hands shaking as she went.

“I don’t suppose you want to go in for me?” Frances asked, looking at Allison.

“Um… I don’t think I’d be allowed” Allison muttered, looking towards Saoirse, her facial expression suggesting a vast amount of sympathy for Frances as well as relief that it wasn’t happening to her.

“I can ask the question but I highly doubt the answer will be yes.” Saoirse offered. Frances shook her head, realising that the woman was likely right; she was being paid to do this, she had signed a contract, knowing this would happen, it was only now that she was having second thoughts given the reality of the task.

“You don’t have any Dutch courage, do you?” Frances asked, her robe unfastened but still wrapped around her, showing only glimpses of the black underwear underneath.

“Oh, so because I’m Irish, I must have a hip flask, full of booze?” Saoirse quipped, clearly trying to cheer Frances up a little.

“You might?” Frances grimaced, awkwardly. Saoirse walked back inside into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of whiskey.

“I don’t have a flask, but I did know where this was. Largely because I put it there. Feel free to get a buzz on, might help you to enjoy yourself?” Saoirse suggested, offering the bottle to Frances. She opened it then pressed the bottle to her lips, drinking deeply. She pulled away, with an unceremonious noise at the taste of straight whiskey. She covered her face with her left hand as she removed her robe. As she pulled her left hand away to remove the remainder of her robe, her eyes caught Joe’s, then he looked away, then down at the floor.

“Great, he thinks I’m hideous. I probably look like a whale has washed up on the shore. Look what the waves brought, boys! The settlement is saved!” Frances tormented herself with her insecurities about her body as she sat down on the chair, crossing her legs, trying to cover herself up as much as she could. She shivered, though not through the cold, through embarrassment and fear.

“Okay, now, your fellow housemates are going to take this opportunity to cover you in the remaining pies, then, once you’ve had them all, you’ll take your seat inside the tank. Are you ready?” Saoirse asked, filling Frances in on what was about to happen.

“Can I have another drink?” Frances asked.

“After the disgusted noises you made before? The cheek of this girl!” Saoirse retorted.

“Sorry! I’m not a whiskey girl!” Frances said, apologetically. Saoirse just shook her head, offering Frances the bottle again. She took another heavy drink. She hoped it would soon take effect, as she tried to take Saoirse’s advice, forgetting about the cameras, imagining that she’s just playing a part, a part for a TV show where a woman was about to be gunged. She gripped her eyes closed as she felt someone’s hand on the back of her head. Frances let out one final whimper, before she heard a loud, wet splat. She flinched as the mixture covered her face, falling down over her exposed breasts and into her lap. Without a delay to get her bearings, she felt two more slam into the side of her head. She could feel the cream and other fillings soaking into her hair, already; she was now abundantly aware why they had paid out so much on a quality shower now. More pies were pushed into her face, to the same result, as Frances began to try to shield herself with her hands. It offered no real help, only coating her hands in a thick layer of goo. After a few minutes, the assault had ceased. Frances opened her eyes, blinking several times to try to clear her vision, then carefully clearing her eyes. If there was one small mercy, it was that her breasts were no longer visible, as her black bra was now a mixture of yellow, white, pink and brown. Her tights had fared a little better, though her crotch and top of her thighs hadn’t escaped unscathed.

“Frances, I’m going to need you to stand up and walk over to the tank, honey” Saoirse instructed. Frances could tell from the woman’s voice that she did seem to genuinely care about her wellbeing. “Can you see where you’re going?” Saoirse asked, her concern continuing.

“I bet you wouldn’t be that nice if it were me” Marco scoffed, crossing his arms.

“I’d treat any of you with the respect and kindness that I am Frances, actually. She’s been an exceptional sport right now and that is worthy of all our respect. If you want to test it, I’d be happy to get you some underwear and tights, we can refill the tank after Frances has been in and you can see for yourself?” Saoirse asked. Frances giggled at the prospect.

“Please do! I’d love to see that” Frances exclaimed.

“I think someone just discovered her kinky side” Saoirse chuckled, wryly, opening the door to the tank. “You never know, Frances, you might get to add two things to your kink list” Saoirse added, inviting Frances inside. Frances dutifully followed the woman’s silent instruction, carefully stepping over the bottom of the tank before she sat down on the stool within. Frances instinctively wiped her hands off on her legs, smearing cream, vanilla, chocolate, banana and strawberry down her black tights. She initially regretted it, having got them messy but her regrets faded away when she looked up, seeing the massive amount of multi coloured gunge that was currently suspended above her head. The reality of her situation was becoming more and more evident by the second. Frances felt a little glad for the mess covering her face, as it would at least mask her distraught expression. She shuffled on the stool, trying to find the best position to avoid the worst of the gunge (though on some level, she suspected this must be in vain). “Are you ready?” Saoirse asked, her hand gripping the lever at the side of the tank. Frances noticed that she had positioned herself curiously to the side of the tank.

“Why are you standing there?” Frances asked, a little confused.

“Simple! I don’t want any splashback landing on my dress, of course.” Saoirse answered, as if it was obvious. “Are you just asking stupid questions to delay getting gunged?” Saoirse asked, Frances knew it was rhetorical, half expecting the woman to take her answer as her indication of readiness. Frances brought her hands up to her face, then nodded. She hoped that might save her from the worst of it. There was no siren or klaxon sounding to indicate the handle had been pulled, Frances didn’t want to lower her hands to check out of fear that would be when the gunge began to fall. She emitted a distraught moan as she waited for what felt like eternity. Finally, she lowered her hands, looking at Saoirse; as her eyes met, Saoirse pulled the handle down.

“Oh God, I hate you” Frances muttered, not seriously.

“That’s fair” Saoirse responded, Frances’ words clearly not piercing her armour. Before Frances could put her hands back to her face, she felt the warm slime land squarely on her head. Frances shrieked as it started to ooze over her head, down the sides and back, covering her long, blonde hair.

“It’s a lot heavier than I thought it’d be” Frances thought, as it descended down her back, eventually pooling at the waistband of her tights. Frances knew they would offer little resistance, as she felt slime underneath her on the stool. The flow seemed to grow, rather than recede, covering her shoulders, thoroughly, flowing down her front, a stream of bluish or purplish slime with a yellow tinge descended towards her bra. She felt more gunge going over her forehead and she leant forwards, trying to keep it from her face. Of course, this only meant the overflow landed straight in her lap, beginning the process of the gunge seeping through the front of her tights, before it would begin to do the same with her thong.

“This is horrible!” Frances exclaimed, with a sob. Her bra was quickly full and overflowing, as the back of her tights felt completely sodden, the front waistband was beginning to share the same fate. She could see her thighs were going the same colour, with no sign of it abating, she knew she would be unrecognisable any time now. Even her hands were now covered, which made the disgusting experience all the worse, since she could feel nothing but gunge now.

It had felt like hours, but the gunge finally began to slow, then eventually to just a trickle. Frances raised her head again as it slowed, trying to fight the urge to cry. She really wanted to get out of the tank, run out the door and go home, abandoning her commitments to the show; her acting career surely wasn’t worth this level of humiliation. Yet some part of her insisted she remain where she was; perhaps because she had committed to something, she owed it to herself to finish it, though she was uncertain she should hope it would end sooner, rather than later. She felt like her underwear was completely filled with the slimy substance, leading her to reevaluate her immediate concerns, to factor in a long, hot shower, first and foremost.

“How do you feel, in there?” Saoirse asked. Frances initially thought she was being cruel but upon consideration, decided that it was a genuine question.

“Like I should’ve demanded more money” Frances answered, honestly, as she felt the gunge dripping off her.

“A bit too late to renegotiate, I’m afraid. For what it’s worth, you have my respect and you’ll forever have the honour of being the first person to be gunged on the show” Saoirse offered, conciliatorily.

“Yay.” Frances muttered, sarcastically. Saoirse opened the door, letting Frances out.

“Be careful as you get out, it may be slippery.” Saoirse explained, even extending her hand to Frances as she went. As soon as Frances’ got off the stool, she found her feet plunged straight into a pool of slime that went up to her calves; she now realised why the tank had such a high bottom. She gripped the side of the tank to balance herself as she climbed out. Saoirse then picked up a towel, opening it for her. “Like I said, she’s been an amazing sport and she deserves to be treated like a queen, by all of you” Saoirse insisted, looking at the others.

“I just want a really long shower” Frances uttered. She really couldn’t handle much else, right now.

“Of course. You’ve earned that much and more.” Saoirse responded. Frances hurried inside, heading straight for the bathroom where she could wash the gunge from her hair and her body, peel off the sodden underwear, then she could plan from there, though she honestly thought it might be best to just go to bed.

Day Two

Frances had awoken some time earlier but had opted to remain in bed, still reeling from her experiences the night before. She had wanted to be social with the rest of the group after she’d showered yet she could still feel eyes crawling over her half naked body, surveying every curve, judging her for every imperfection. When Allison and Nazreen had eventually caved, though not before Ted had also had a crack at persuading her out, Frances had crept out to take a brief shower, careful to avoid the cameras before she retreated straight back to her bed. She knew it wasn’t a viable long term strategy, not for winning the contest, nor would it really help her ingratiate herself with Joe; in fact, she knew it was counterproductive to both, but she couldn’t face how humiliated she felt. They had all seen her in a state of undress, barely knowing her, then she had been covered in so much gunge she could barely claim an inch of her body was spared. Frances knew she needed to come up with a strategy of some description but right now, all she could do was wallow in her own self pity.

Frances must have fallen asleep because she didn’t hear anyone come up the stairs. She was startled by a knock on the door, she turned around to see Saoirse standing in the doorway. She was wearing a rather suggestive police woman’s uniform, with a hat and big sunglasses and heels. Frances was sure there was some reason, aside from providing eye candy for their audience, but she couldn’t fathom what relevance it could have to the show itself. Frances curled up into a ball at the sight of her, feeling particularly vulnerable right then.

“Chris, can you turn the camera in here off for a bit? Just pretend you’re doing maintenance or some other reason, that’s why it needs to be off. If that doesn’t work, just blame me.” Saoirse asked, her finger pressed to her ear. Presumably after getting the answer she wanted, she looked over to Frances. “Mind if I come in? Feels like we should have a chat” Saoirse asked, a very compassionate tone to her voice.

“I can’t stop you…” Frances mumbled, a little fearful of what might happen if she said otherwise. Saoirse strode across the room, a sense of purpose and confidence to her, somehow either in spite of or fuelled by her attire. Frances had to admit, Saoirse did strangely suit the look. “Why are you dressed like that?” Frances asked, curiously.

“Well, I’d rather explain that to you all, together, because I really do loathe repeating myself. No sense in saying it twice, then answering your questions, then telling everyone else then answering their questions, some of which may well be the exact same as yours. In any case, that’s not especially important right now” Saoirse explained, sitting down on the bed beside Frances. She crossed her legs as her skirt rode up, giving Frances a glimpse of the tops of the woman’s stockings.

“Sorry, I’ll… I’ll go downstairs” Frances murmured, feeling that was the purpose of Saoirse’s conversation with her.

“No need to apologise to me. You had a really difficult first day, I understand why you’re not leaping for joy about participating, potentially going through that, again, two days in a row. Believe it or not, I may be a sadistic bitch but I’m not a fucking bitch. Well, I may be a fucking bitch but only to people who really deserve it. I wanted to make sure you were okay, because I meant it when I said your mental health is just as important as your physical health.” Saoirse explained. Frances nodded along, sceptical about her intentions.

“I didn’t think you could turn the cameras off.” Frances probed, trying to catch Saoirse out.

“Oh, I can’t. Our tech guy, Chris, however? He can. Turns out, he’s also poor, keeps buying these microwave breakfast burritos that look like they’re fifty percent cardboard; so when I offered to buy him a proper breakfast for the rest of the week, if he did a little technical wizardry for me… Plus, he can appreciate what I’m trying to accomplish here” Saoirse explained.

“Okay, why are you here then? Are you just trying to get me to come downstairs and be involved?” Frances asked, unsure whether she could, in that moment, manage it.

“No, not at all. If it’s too much for you, then you should absolutely say so, I meant what I said last night, the fact you went through with it is really impressive and you should be proud of yourself. I wanted to talk to you, because I wanted to make sure you were okay; this is the exact reason I pushed so hard to get trained counsellors for you all to talk to, if you need to” Saoirse explained. Frances switched off a little, having heard it all before.

“Yeah, okay. You’re really on my side” Frances uttered, sarcastically.

“You don’t have to believe me. There’s this woman, she’s… She’s absolutely amazing. When we first hired her, we had a brief chat, I told her why we needed her, insisted that I didn’t need her, because I’m fine, I don’t need some bitch to charge me a fortune to listen to me cry about my problems, I’m a tough bitch and tough bitches handle their shit. She says ‘fair enough’ and asks if I wanted to grab a coffee with her, so she could pick my brain about the job. We get to talking and she hits me with a question I wasn’t expecting” Saoirse explained.

“Okay, what was that?” Frances asked, she figured she may as well humour her, while she decided whether to stay or not.

“She asked me, if one of my friends had told me that she didn’t need to talk about things, what would I do? I told her, I would sit her down and tell her that she doesn’t have to talk to me, that’s okay. As long as she’s okay… If she’s clearly not okay then I would have a problem with her, because it’s not a weakness to need to talk about things. Before I knew it, I’d walked straight into her trap and she asked me why I don’t apply that same principle to myself. She had me, I’m big enough to accept that. So I tried talking to her… I still maintain that she’s rinsing my bank balance, but she is definitely worth it. I told her about what happened to me, about Jimmy, my husband… He died and I blamed myself, so I push people away, sabotage healthy relationships because I thought people who love me would get hurt; it’s why I overreacted when Neira said what she did. The fact I’ve been seeing this woman, I genuinely believe, is why I was able to recognise I was repeating the same negative pattern and stopped myself. You don’t have to talk to me, not like I can begin to understand what you felt last night… There’s someone you can talk to, who won’t judge you and that service is available to you, free of charge, too.” Saoirse explained, the words clearly quite difficult for Saoirse to get out. The penny dropped for Frances; this was the reason Saoirse had asked to turn the cameras off; she wasn’t willing to broadcast her sensitive side to the wider world, preferring to keep up the carefully crafted persona she was using.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry” Frances exclaimed, empathetically. She knew she didn’t know her well but she wanted to give her a hug.

“You’re doing exactly the same thing. I understand needing some time, I’m sure everyone does. The longer you stay in here, the less likely you are to win, if you decide to stay. You’re also losing valuable chances to talk to your crush, too.” Saoirse explained, reinforcing what Frances already knew.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m too disgusting, he doesn’t want me” Frances said, revealing her shame and body issues.

“Really? That’s not what I saw last night” Saoirse retorted, dismissively.

“Were you paying attention? He couldn’t even look at me!” Frances scolded.

“You’re right, he couldn’t. But not because he was disgusted by you. He was disgusted by himself because he was basically half man, half erection. Also, when Allison asked him who he thinks is prettier, he was trying really hard to not look at you. I’d say at the very least, he finds you attractive. Whether that spark will turn into something or not, only time could tell. He seemed genuinely worried about you, too.” Saoirse clarified. Frances had to admit, Saoirse was in a much better position to fully observe his actions and she had shown that she was very observant of people’s body language and subconscious tells.

“Is there any way I can avoid getting messy? I know I can’t avoid it all week, but for today?” Frances asked, hoping to negotiate.

“Well, I can’t really answer that without going into too much detail about what’s happening today, but I can say, how clean or how messy you get today, really depends on you. There’s no tricks or traps. If you’re up to it, you could come downstairs, find out what’s happening today, then you can talk to one of the counsellors, if you need to, decide whether you want to stay.” Saoirse answered, providing little detail to her question. “The way I see it though, as shitty as yesterday was for you, I don’t think it’s really going to get much worse. So if anything, you’re going into it fully aware of what to expect. You might even find you have fun.” Saoirse added.

“I doubt it” Frances thought to herself. She found herself increasingly wondering what kind of woman Michelle was, to not only voluntarily experience what Frances had, but to do so several times.

“So what will it be? There is a surprise for you, downstairs; it’s a little cryptic though” Saoirse asked, clearly adding the news about the surprise to try to persuade her.

“I suppose I can hear what’s happening…” Frances nodded, wiping her face with her hands.

“Good. The camera will be off while you get dressed; assuming you’re not dressed already” Saoirse explained, standing up, pulling her skirt down to cover her stockings.

“At least they’re not just dressing us up” Frances chuckled, looking again at the way Saoirse was dressed.

“You say that, but they don’t know yet, this outfit? It’s going to disappear!” Saoirse retorted, with the word in inverted commas.

“Really?” Frances asked, taken aback.

“Yep. Neira will go absolutely wild when she sees it. I’m already plotting what I can do to her when she’s under arrest” Saoirse answered, then looking at Frances with a look that suggests she may have over-shared a little. “And that is all I’m going to tell you about that…” She added, trying to compensate.

Frances got out of bed, taking off her pyjamas, taking the opportunity to change her underwear as well, while the camera was off. She had to admit, Saoirse’s words had helped to restore her confidence a little, despite how unpleasant it was, she couldn’t imagine they could realistically ask her to do anything worse; especially since she would have the option to refuse nudity and/or anything overtly sexual, so she was in all likelihood, over the worst of it. She put on clean underwear, she put her pyjamas on her bed, then chose a short red skirt and a black turtleneck top. She decided to slip on a pair of shoes with a moderate heel, hoping it would give her a bit more confidence. Before she laced up her shoes, running her hand up her legs, trying to decide whether she needed to shave her legs first or whether to wear tights instead. She decided she could get away with it, especially as she was still abundantly aware of the feeling of her tights being filled with thick gunge (a memory she feared she would be unable to shake for the rest of the day, if she wore tights again, despite how cute she thought that her skirt looked that way). Feeling satisfied, she tied her hair back, then walked to the door, flinging it open as if she was ready to face the day head on.

“Are you ready?” Saoirse asked, texting somebody on her phone.

“Yes, I’m going to take a leaf out of the toughest bitch’s I know, book” Frances answered, with a smile.

“Under the circumstances, I’m going to let that go. Not many girls are brave enough to call me a bitch to my face…” Saoirse answered, without looking up from the device. She returned the phone to one of the pockets on her shirt, then gestured to Frances to head downstairs.

“...That’s exactly why I said it, Marco! If she comes down, I want everyone to agree” Frances heard Allison chastising the most immature member of their group; it seemed they were hatching some kind of plan, relating to her. Evidently, as soon as they heard them walking down the stairs, they stopped talking. Frances descended to the bottom of the staircase, then headed to the living room where everyone was congregated. “Hey, girl!” Allison chirped, with a smile. She seemed genuinely pleased to see her, then Nazreen leapt at her with a hug. Frances reciprocated, immediately feeling better for venturing out of her bed.

“You look lovely today” Ted complimented her, then staring at Joe and Marco. “Doesn’t she?” He added, like a father instructing his sons to compliment her.

“You look h-” Marco began, then looking down at the floor, as if he were a dog that had been chastised for defecating on the carpet. Frances’ gaze fixed on Joe, who fidgeted awkwardly, as he seemed still unable to look at her. She couldn’t help but think, Saoirse may well have been telling the truth.

“Yeah. Really… Nice” Joe contributed, tripping over his words. Saoirse followed Frances into the living room, sitting down with her legs crossed.

“Okay. Now that we’re all here, we can get to the reason I’m here so early.” Saoirse began, taking something from a bag as she spoke.. “Today’s challenge is going to take place throughout the day. Like yesterday, everyone is playing, only, today, your success or failure is determined as a team. On this device, there is a number. That number is your current score. It will either be green, amber or red, depending on how well you’re doing. The rules are very simple; each of you have an individual task or tasks you’ll be expected to complete, throughout the day. If you ask anyone what their task is, you cost the team points. If you tell anyone what yours is, unless you’re specifically told that you can, you cost the team points. If you fail to complete your task, you will cost the team points… That score is very important, because the lower it is, the messier things will be later and the more of you will get messy.” Saoirse explained, showing them the device.

“What kind of tasks are we talking about?” Ted asked, looking primarily towards Frances.

“Each is tailored to the individual, but they’ve been carefully considered so as to be absolutely achievable by each of you without putting undue stress on you, physically, emotionally or psychologically. That’s not to say they’re going to be easy to do, of course, but they are absolutely doable. Now, I’ll be outside and each of you will be called, in turn, to hear what your task is.” Saoirse explained.

“How do we determine who gets messy and who stays clean?” Allison asked. Frances couldn’t discern whether she was asking out of her own warped desire to get messy or out of concern for the others; perhaps it was both.

“Well, those of you who complete your task or tasks, will be safer than the rest. Similarly, if you complete some but not all, you will be safer but less so than if you’d completed them all, if you complete none but fail none… If you fail all of your tasks, you’re first in line to get messy. How many of you get messy and how messy you get will absolutely hinge on the final score for the day.” Saoirse addressed her question.

“Can we gain points?” Nazreen enquired, noticing that Saoirse hadn’t mentioned it before.

“Absolutely. Naturally, you will need to complete your tasks to do so, but if you have and you do something particularly noteworthy, you may find your team score goes up. It’s difficult to provide examples, because it would be very much of the moment. Also, I don’t want to make it too easy for you.” Saoirse clarified, it seemed her charitable nature had been exhausted for the day.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Marco asked, clearly finding Saoirse’s attire of intrigue.

“And just like that, the tone has been lowered. I’m dressed like this because those of you who fail to complete your tasks, and I really wish I weren’t expecting that to be you, will be placed under arrest before you face your messy fate.” Saoirse answered, chastising the man. “Now, before I feel the need to take another shower, I’m going to go outside. Frances, your gift from The Overlord is on the kitchen counter” Saoirse continued, standing up, walking towards the back door. Frances felt curious and followed her through to the kitchen. True to her word, there was a white box sitting there. She noticed a note atop it, which she dutifully read.

“For Frances; not to be eaten.” The note read. Frances had an inkling about the contents, before she opened it. She did so, noticing there were three pies inside the box. She let the box close, stepping backwards in shock.

“Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny” Frances said, getting upset. Allison immediately followed her, picking up the note and looking inside the box.

“Yeah, I second that; that’s really unfair” Allison backed Frances up, looking at Saoirse. “What is she supposed to do with them?” Allison asked, insistently.

“I know what you know; they’re for Frances and they can’t be eaten. Beyond that, I imagine she can do whatever she likes with them. Frances, would you like to go first, find out what your task or tasks are?” Saoirse asked, inviting her outside. Frances felt much less confident by the revelation, she had hoped that she would stay clean but it seemed The Overlord, whomever they may be, had other ideas. Still, she accepted that she would lose nothing by going outside and hearing what was expected of her. She nodded, following Saoirse outside.

The garden showed little signs of what had happened the night before, the gunge tank had been removed along with the table, it now looked like an ordinary, if large and bland, garden. The only noteworthy feature, currently, was the placement of two patio chairs. Saoirse sat down on the chair facing the door, gesturing towards the other, for Frances to sit down on. Frances complied, as Saoirse straightened out her skirt again.

“I really don’t want to get messy with more pies” Frances insisted, drawing a line.

“Okay. Then don’t.” Saoirse retorted, accepting her objection. Frances was surprised by her response, having expected some argument about it.

“What do you mean?” Frances asked, trying to probe her for more information.

“Well, your tasks are very simple; there’s two. First of all, enjoy yourself. You had a shit day yesterday, especially given how close you came to winning, so hopefully today will be a lot easier for you and you’ll be able to watch someone else get messy instead. The second? Enjoy your pies. Yes, that is cryptic. I believe it’s intentionally so, there’s absolutely no mention or obligation upon you to get messy with them or with anything else. They must be used and they cannot be eaten by you or by anyone else, but aside from that? How you use them, who you use them on, whether you gain their permission or if you simply decide to ambush somebody with them is completely up to you. You can use whatever criteria you wish to determine your choice. That, also, goes hand in hand with your first task… Hopefully, you will find it a lot more fun being the one to mess someone else up, as opposed to being the person getting messy.” Saoirse explained.

“So I can pie anyone I want?” Frances asked, her cogs already turning.

“Almost, yes.” Saoirse answered, perhaps pre-empting her next question.

“Almost? So who can’t I pie?” Frances asked, a little disheartened.

“Well, me.” Saoirse laid down the law.

“That seems unfair.” Frances protested.

“Not really. You have five perfectly viable potential targets, three pies. Besides, the only person I would agree to get me messy is my wife. Since I highly doubt she would agree to come on the show, sadly, it’s something we’re all going to have to miss out on” Saoirse clarified.

“Wait, sadly? You’re telling me you’d want to get messy?” Frances scoffed.

“Want is a strong word. I’m not adverse to the idea, it doesn’t do anything for me, but I don’t take myself that seriously that I wouldn’t be up for it. If I were going to do it, I’d want to share the experience with someone I love, someone I’m intimate with; unfortunately, my wife is quite introverted, she’s also quite camera shy, so I really don’t think it’s going to happen” Saoirse explained; Frances couldn’t help but notice the language difference within her words, referring to Neira by name when the cameras were off but only by her relationship to Saoirse when they were on - something Frances couldn’t help but think was deliberate.

“So all I have to do is pie someone and enjoy myself?” Frances drilled down on her task.

“In a nutshell. There’s no big twists or surprises for you, today, so I would take the opportunity to relax, if I were you” Saoirse explained. Frances liked her chances, feeling more confident again now. The main question she had, now, was who did she want to get messy?

Frances had returned inside the house, one by one, they were each called outside to hear what their assignment^[a] was for the day. Frances had seen a curious look etched across the faces of everyone else when she returned, they clearly wanted to ask but given the rules of the game, they could not, nor could she volunteer the information. Frances couldn’t help but examine each person’s face, imagining the satisfaction she would get by smearing their face and hair with cream. It could prove a rather fitting revenge for their involvement in her humiliation the night before. Frances did have a brief hesitation, given that she had experienced such a harrowing experience, about putting someone else through that; though it dissipated when she remembered, they had each signed up for this, knowing the consequences.

Allison was the first to return, she was wearing a long red, Gypsy style skirt with a slit up to her knee on one side, a tight dark green top that accentuated her figure, her hair tied back. She wore what Frances could only presume were her signature boots, dripping in metal. Allison pointed to Marco, instructing him that it was his turn to go outside to receive his task for the day. Frances was curious what Allison had been told, but she was very aware that they were certainly being watched for signs they had asked one another, whether verbally or nonverbally. Allison sat down next to Frances, putting her hand on Frances’ bare leg, a gesture that was clearly intended to be supportive.

“I’m really glad you decided to come downstairs.” Allison said, pulling her hand away. “I told Saoirse, I’m not happy about this… Gift. I would’ve really given her a piece of my mind but…” Allison trailed off, looking around her, presumably for signs that Saoirse was within earshot. “She kind of scares me a little.” Allison added, in a hushed tone.

“I don’t know, she seems nice? I’d not want to piss her off though” Frances downplayed, mirroring Allison’s tone.

“Are you doing okay? I mean, after last night. I think you were really brave, doing that” Allison asked, approaching the elephant in the room. Frances wanted to dismiss her question out of hand, claim that she was totally okay, that all was absolutely fine, there was no reason or basis for concern, that she was one hundred percent happy to be here with zero doubts or second thoughts, whatsoever but she also didn’t want to meet the woman’s kindness with a lie; after all, Allison was in the same boat - they all were - and they needed to lean on each other for support.

“I’m… I’m coping. I guess I didn’t expect that to happen, quite so soon, you know?” Frances explained. Allison nodded, empathetically.

“You did kind of get thrown in the deep end.” Allison validated Frances’ feelings on the subject.

“Yeah, now everyone here and everyone watching knows that I’m a fat bitch” Frances continued, recoiling. She could feel her new found confidence shrinking away; she knew she would need to try to correct that trend, lest she be the reason she, along with others within the group, found themselves getting messy.

“You’re not fat, at all. Don’t make me ask the others to confirm that; I’ll do it” Allison assured her, with a smile. Frances didn’t believe her, though she was in no doubt that Allison would follow through on her threat. Frances looked over to Ted, who was studying the device Saoirse had left, she craned her neck to try to see what was on the screen but she couldn’t discern much information from where she was sat.

“Ted, what does it say?” Frances enquired, Allison looked over at the man. He was wearing a cream V neck sweater with a casual shirt underneath and grey trousers. He turned to look at the women, then showed them the screen. It was a digital display, like a tablet that had been modified to display only one thing. On the main panel it showed a number in green, above it was a number in white, presumably a countdown for the remainder of the game time. The more prominent number currently displayed “6,000” - a number that Frances presumed meant they each had an allocation of 1,000 points.

“It’s difficult to tell what the limits are, without some sort of guide. I doubt they’d give it to us, since I imagine part of the game is not knowing… I suspect we have a little leeway; my theory is, it will turn amber if we reach 5,000, or 4,000 if they’re generous then red if we reach 2,500 or maybe 2,000… At a guess, we can afford one person to fail, without it drastically affecting the group. Similarly, I suspect it goes up to 10,000.” Ted explained, with the manner of a teacher or a trainer, who was familiar with technology. Marco returned, instructing Nazreen to find out what she was doing. Frances immediately noticed a change in his demeanour, as if he were a different person in some way; his body language suggested he was shy, insecure, even nervous. A far cry from the machismo inspired arrogance of the smarmy individual Frances had come to avoid.

“Are you okay, Marco?” Frances asked, with genuine concern for the man’s wellbeing. He simply nodded in response, whilst maintaining eye contact (which Frances felt was more than a little disconcerting).

“Wow, it seems his task is a tough one!” Allison chirped, with a somewhat sadistic grin.

“Hmm. Remember; we succeed or fail as a group. It doesn’t help any of us to revel in each other’s discomfort right now.” Ted interjected. Frances knew he was right, but she also felt they were entitled to a little schadenfreude, given the circumstances. Frances looked intensely at Marco, who seemed fixated on the floor, as if he were deep in thought. Joe walked towards him, as if he felt obligated to do for Marco what Allison had done for Frances. Frances felt bad that her initial consideration was to deliver at least one of the pies to Marco’s smug face, as some kind of feminist protest against his constant barrage of smarm. Whatever had happened, it seemed to have stripped him down to a frightened boy and despite his previous actions, she couldn’t revel in his discomfort. She would have to rethink her plan.

Nazreen returned shortly after, Joe followed her outside, then finally Ted. They had each been given their tasks, a palpable look of intrigue etched into their faces as each returned, yet none volunteered any information about what they had been instructed to do. Nazreen had returned to the living room area, sitting down with the group, albeit unrelentingly fidgety. She was wearing a knee length black skirt with a striped pattern and white trainers, with a dark purple top. Joe had made several glances at the women, who had still maintained what could only be described as a safe distance from Marco. He was wearing a blue T shirt that showed off his gym regiment, which certainly didn’t help Frances’ attempts to not lust after the man and a pair of black jeans. Ted had also fundamentally changed his demeanour, instead of the helpful man who had seemed keen to aid the group, providing a much needed caretaker’s role, he had simply scooped up the TV remote, sifting through the available services to find something to watch before collecting a book to read.

A couple of hours had ticked down on the clock, Frances had managed to use the time to discern some of the tasks the team had been given; it was obvious, from the amount of time Nazreen had spent in isolation, surrounded by medical textbooks, that she had been told she wasn’t allowed to study. Having gotten to know her a little better, the group had learned she was a very sweet woman, incredibly kind and empathetic, but clearly lacking in social skills and confidence. Frances speculated that she had likely been working towards her goal of becoming a doctor since she was very young, foregoing many other rites of passage and other life experiences along  the way in her pursuit of academic excellence. She seemed overall to be happy with her life, telling them all, several times, that she felt she had ample time for such experiences, once she was set up as a doctor. It was a plan Nazreen had clearly thought about a great deal and one entirely of her own devising; there was no sign that anyone in her family had pushed her towards such a career (in fact, the opposite could be said as Nazreen seemed to be somewhat hostile to the prospect, as if she were sick of having that conversation). Ted, also, seemed quite obvious; he had been instructed to take a backseat, letting the group gel with one another. It was a gamble but one that seemed to be paying off, as they were pushed together more by his absence. Frances had yet to figure out what Allison’s task was, though she was surprised that Marco had managed to maintain a civil conversation, albeit not much of one.

The question for Frances still hung in the air as the clock was ticking down. She knew she had some time yet, with around five hours until the time was up. They had, however, each peeked into the box, reading the instructions left; nobody had said anything, which only served to add to the atmosphere of curiosity around what their individual tasks were. Frances had noticed Allison seemed to be particularly affectionate, today, hugging the women, as if they had developed a closer bond than Frances had thought. Suspiciously, the figure on the tablet still remained static at 5,000, which at least indicated nobody had yet failed to complete any of their tasks. Frances had to admit, she felt better, more content within the group, which she hoped would allow her to justify completion of the first task she had been assigned; it just came down to who to use her pies on.

“Sorry, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Nazreen enquired, biting her lip, awkwardly. Frances couldn’t help but think it was ironic that a woman who wanted to become a doctor struggled with asking personal questions.

“Sure” Frances answered, picking up her coffee cup to take a drink.

“...What was it like? Last night, I mean. Sorry, you don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much for you” Nazreen asked, her facial expression suggesting a mixture of curiosity, awkwardness, reluctance and sympathy. Frances emitted a loud sigh, she had anticipated the question yet it didn’t make it any easier to address.

“It’s fine. It was…” Frances began, trailing off as she tried to find the words. “I’m glad it was warm. It was so thick and slimy! Ugh, I can still feel it in my hair” Frances surmised, grimacing at the memory. Nazreen looked more than a little worried at the mention of Frances’ hair, showing the first signs that she was particularly concerned about her appearance.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad” Marco contributed, dismissively.

“That’s easy for you to say, you boys have it easy. You don’t have much hair to wash! Not the case for us girls” Allison shot back, it was clear there was still some hostility directed his way.

“I’m sure you’ll get to find out what it’s like soon enough” Frances retorted, trying to stay neutral. “It went everywhere, and I do mean… Everywhere” Frances warned, returning to looking at Nazreen.

“Oh God.” Nazreen exclaimed, her hands affixed to either side of her face. “I put on a swimsuit under my clothes this morning, in case I get messy. Do you think that was a mistake?” Nazreen enquired, nervously.

“Um…” Frances began to answer, wanting to be honest with the woman but at the same time, she didn’t want to cause her to nervously retreat, especially as she would in all likelihood dive straight back into her studies, costing the group valuable points. “I think it might be? I mean, it’s hard to say, since I was already half naked” Frances clarified, blushing at the memory of what little she wore when she had gotten messy. Both Joe and Marco shuffled in their seats, uncomfortably.

“What about you boys? Did you play it safe or did you take risks?” Allison asked, with a grin on her face.

“You mean…” Joe asked, pointing towards his waist, insinuating that Allison was asking about his underwear.

“Yes, underwear” Allison clarified.

“That’s not fair, if we asked about your underwear, you’d call us perverts!” Marco interjected, angrily at what he perceived to be a double standard.

“Oh, like that’s stopped you from commenting on what us girls have been wearing!” Allison hissed in response at Marco suddenly clutching his pearls. Frances noticed that Ted looked up from his book; he clearly wanted to break up their argument before it got out of hand but his gaze fixed on the tablet. It was all but confirmed, to Frances, at least, that he was told to stay out of things.

“It’s not a big deal” Nazreen jumped in, siding with Allison. “It’s just fabric. Besides, I don’t think she’d ask, if it weren’t part of her task” Nazreen continued, before she covered her mouth as if trying to stop herself from saying something bad. The damage was already done, however, as the green number reduced; it wasn’t a massive amount, only dropping by a hundred^[b], but it would certainly add up, especially as this was the first change. It also confirmed that they were being watched, very closely, and any overt attempt to figure out one another’s tasks would be penalised stringently.

“Is that why you’re asking?” Marco asked, clearly less reluctant, if it was for the benefit of the group. As he did so, another two hundred points were deducted from the figure. It was still green, but Frances couldn’t help but wonder how much longer it would be that way for.

“Okay, nobody ask questions like that! You’re going to get us all messy” Frances shouted, glaring at each of the group. “I really don’t want to get gunged again today. We should all just accept that we may need to say or do things that don’t make sense, so just go along with it, for the good of everyone. You know what? The next person to ask a stupid question like that can get messy with a pie in the face!” Frances ranted, angrily at their squabble having cost them points.

“So… Starting from now? Or are Marco and Nazreen getting messy?” Allison asked, clearly happy to stir the pot a little.

“From now on. It seems mean to apply it retroactively” Frances explained. Joe swallowed hard, looking towards Allison, as if he was trying to return to the original topic. Frances’ gaze fixed on the tablet, hoping the figure wouldn’t continue to drop any further.

“...Boxer shorts” Joe muttered, nervously.

“Oooh, I like a man in boxers. I used to steal my ex’s boxers all the time. He hated it, always saying I looked better in them than he did!” Allison giggled, slightly flirtatiously.

“I went with French knickers, today” Frances revealed, looking at Joe. “Didn’t want to wear a thong after… Well…” She trailed off, wondering if she had overshared a little.

“What about you, Marco? I can’t believe I’m asking…” Allison asked, in utter disbelief.

“Commando, baby.” Marco answered, reverting to his usual tone of voice. Frances’ gaze switched to the tablet, hoping that he didn’t continue his train of thought to the destination she feared he might. “I’m just too big to confine…” He added, with a wink. Frances closed her eyes, wishing she were wrong. When she opened them, the score had dropped by a further five hundred^[c] points. Frances was sure that the colour had changed a little, too, becoming less green and more yellow.

“You just fucking had to-” Allison muttered, her head in her hands. “Ugh. At least he’s putting himself first in line for getting messy” Allison added, shaking her head with disapproval. Marco’s mouth was ajar with astonishment, as if silently protesting the reduction.

“Ted, what about you?” Frances asked, looking towards the man who was still engrossed in his book.

“Sorry?” Ted remarked, lowering the tome. He looked at everyone, then at the score. If he had anything to say, he didn’t say it.

“I er… Was wondering what you’re wearing. As in… Underneath your clothes” Allison stammered, as if she felt awkward asking him.

“Briefs, if you must know” Ted answered, a curious look on his face. “Do you need to know what colour? Anything else?” He enquired, clearly trying to volunteer as much information as he could in order to assist.

“No, I think I’m okay.” Allison replied, sinking into her seat.

“I think we should get to know what you’re wearing, too” Marco insisted, his gaze fixed on Allison.

“This? This is called a top. People wear them to cover their torso or upper body.” Allison explained in a patronising tone, pointing to her top. “This is called a skirt. People wear them to cover their legs, sometimes they’re long, sometimes short.” She added, pointing to her skirt.

Time continued to pass, as Frances remained indecisive about who to bestow her presents upon, a fact that made her especially nervous now as there was a ticking clock on it. Frances knew there were no perfect answers, despite Allison’s evident enthusiasm about getting messy, Frances didn’t want to jeopardise her budding friendship with the woman in favour of staying clean herself. She revisited what Saoirse had said, believing that she had clearly stated she could use whatever criteria she wished, including gaining consent. Did this, she wondered, extend to explaining the reason for such a question? She looked around, venturing into the back garden, hoping she might see a sight of the Irish brunette lurking around, but there was no sign of her to ask. When she returned to the house she was ambushed by Nazreen.

“Who are you getting messy?” Nazreen asked, nervously.

“Um…” Frances contemplated the question. It was a good question, one she had been dancing around for some time now. “I… I haven’t quite decided. I don’t suppose you want to volunteer?” Frances asked, an awkwardly forced smile on her face. Nazreen giggled at the question, though largely through nervousness, Frances suspected, rather than actual amusement.

“No, I… I wasn’t fond of it yesterday” Nazreen explained, referring to her own experiences with getting a pie in the face. Her expression then changed from awkwardly amused to sheer horror, remembering that her own experience was nothing in comparison to what Frances had endured only hours earlier.

“No, me neither. I guess I will just have to ask everyone? Or something?” Frances suggested, indecisively. The clock indicated there was an hour left now, the score hovering around 4,000, still a yellowish green, leading them to believe they were relatively safe but this could all change at a moment’s notice. There was no indication from anyone about who had failed their task as yet. Frances returned to the doorway of the living room, trying to pluck up the courage to take charge of the situation. Allison and Marco had been bickering like siblings for much of the day, something Frances didn’t want to get in the middle of, if it were avoidable.

“Okay, does anyone want to volunteer to get a pie?” Frances asked, trying hard not to look at Allison.

“Allison will take two.” Marco answered. “Might shut her up” He sniped.

“Really? Real mature there. I bet he wonders why he’s single.” Allison hit back. She looked over to Frances, an empathetic look on her face. It was clear she knew she couldn’t directly ask if it was related to her task, but Frances suspected she knew that she didn’t really need to. Frances looked again at the tablet, checking the clock and the score. The score, at least, hadn’t changed but the final hour was ticking away.

Things continued that way for much of the hour, until Saoirse appeared, six sets of handcuffs in her hands, ready to play judge, jury and executioner for those who had failed to live up to their tasks. There were ten minutes left on the clock and Saoirse had immediately noticed there were still three pies available; if she had an opinion on that fact, it was not one she chose to share with the group. Frances’ gaze frantically darted around the room, looking for someone willing to help her out. She didn’t like the idea of inflicting them upon someone but at the same time, she was running out of viable alternative options.  

“Ten minute warning. If you’ve yet to do or say something that pertains to your task, you might want to get on that now. Unless of course, you want to suffer a messy punishment for failing, in which case… Well, just do nothing.” Saoirse warned. Frances knew that warning was directed towards her, potentially others as well.

“Okay, without asking any questions about why, I’m just going to put this out there; if somebody needs to get a pie in the face, I will take one. Just please, keep it out of my hair, I could smell cream and banana even after I’d showered, yesterday.” Allison explained, looking at nobody in particular.

“Anyone would think you actually enjoyed getting messy and that this whole martyr thing is an act…” Saoirse teased, with a wry grin.

“Judge not, lest ye be judged! I thought you were a good Catholic girl?” Allison retorted, feigning offence.

“Oh, lapsed Catholic. Very lapsed. In fact, I converted to Pagan when I was sixteen; I will admit, a big part of the reason was because I knew it would bug my ma like crazy. I just refuse to participate in a church or hail a deity who proclaims that I’m destined for hell, for being the person their deity created me to be. Yet they never seem to be able to tell me, if I’m not supposed to be attracted to girls, why did their God make me attracted to girls? Did he make a mistake? Tick the wrong box, then think ‘ah shit, not again! Now she’s going to think she’s supposed to sleep with girls! Now I’m going to have to create conversion therapy…’? But no, that didn’t happen, because God doesn’t make mistakes, Saoirse.” Saoirse ranted, her accent thickening as she went on. Frances didn’t waste any time, she strode towards Allison, one eye fixated on the clock, slamming one of the pies into the woman’s face. She took it like a consummate professional, her hands in her lap, closing her eyes before impact, letting the goo envelope her face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any offence” Allison spluttered, being careful to not eat any of the pie. Frances sighed with relief, she had a feeling that condition may have been more devious than originally intended.

“Well, I think we can call it even.” Saoirse quipped, running her hand over the front of her face, indicating that she considered that Allison had gotten messy penance enough.

“Anyone else?” Frances asked, looking at the clock. There was now less than five minutes remaining. She didn’t have much time.

“I’ll help you out” Joe announced, whether noticing how desperate Frances was getting, or through some sense of civic duty for the betterment of the group.

“Would you mind taking both…?” Frances asked, nervously.

“Sorry, one is… That seems more fair” Joe grimaced. Frances nodded, she could hardly argue with him, when he was doing so out of the goodness of his heart. She walked towards him, mashing the dessert into his face. She was pleased that he, too, had kept his mouth firmly closed.

“Two minute warning” Saoirse announced. Frances grabbed the last pie, looking at both Marco and Nazreen, yet they both avoided making eye contact with Frances. She looked over to Ted, as a last ditch attempt, who was still absorbed in his book. The older man didn’t even flinch; if he was aware what was going on, he didn’t make any indication of it. Saoirse had called nine seconds, then sixty, Frances squealed with anxiety. She quickly ran through her instructions - they had been very clear, she had to use all the pies and to enjoy herself. The only exclusions were that the pies couldn’t be eaten and that she couldn’t pie Saoirse. She knew the solution to the problem, she just didn’t want that to be her answer. She clenched her eyes closed, tightening her lips together as she did it, as she moved her head forwards towards her hands and her hands up to her face. She heard a loud splatting noise as the dessert impacted her face and the filling fell down around her, eventually descending down onto the floor around her. Frances gasped, then wiped her eyes clear.

“And with that, it’s time. Does anyone want to admit to failing or not completing their task?” Saoirse asked, opening the back door. Frances followed her instructions outside, like an automaton, programmed to walk through the door. The others followed her, one by one. Once outside, they exchanged looks, as the patio chairs had been laid out in a row, to the side there were maybe two dozen buckets filled with gunge. Frances was somewhat relieved to not see the presence of the gunge tank she had been subjected to, yet she was also a little annoyed by its absence; she had wanted to watch someone else go through what she had. Frances looked at everyone, in turn, yet nobody had owned up to anything, despite it being clear that some of them had failed to complete their task.

“I… Completed mine” Frances muttered, raising her hand as she did. “Am I allowed to tell people what it is, now?” Frances asked, not wishing to lose them more points.

“You can.” Saoirse replied, succinctly.

“My task was to pie people.” Frances explained, gesturing to Allison and Joe’s messy faces.

“Hmmm. No, it wasn’t. Your task was two-fold, firstly you were to enjoy yourself and secondly, you were to enjoy your pies. Now, I suspect you would have failed if you’d tried it but the argument was absolutely there to be made, that you could have enjoyed yourself and your pies, without getting anyone messy… But I am satisfied that you kept to your task, today, so you may take a seat; you are relatively safe.” Saoirse corrected her, emphasising that her safety was relative.

“What do you mean by relatively?” Frances asked as she took a seat, crossing her legs.

“I mean nobody is guaranteed to stay clean, even if you complete your task. You’re as safe as can be, though technically you already got a little messy.” Saoirse clarified. “Who’s next?” Saoirse asked, looking over the faces of the others.

“I completed mine” Ted came forward, proudly, his chest puffed out. “I was instructed to stay out of everything” He continued.

“Yes, you did; though I have to wonder if Frances might have wanted you to break your task, so she could’ve stayed clean. It’s done now. You may take a seat next to Frances, in relative safety. Disappointed I haven’t gotten to arrest anyone yet…” Saoirse bemoaned, twirling a set of handcuffs around. Frances thought she actually seemed genuinely disappointed.

“I did mine, too” Allison stepped forwards, albeit a little more nervously. “I er… I had to find out what underwear everyone was wearing” Allison revealed, a subject Frances thought might have been the source of her nervousness.

“Did you?” Saoirse asked, clearly priming a trap.

“Yes? Nazreen is wearing a swimsuit, Marco isn’t wearing anything, Joe has boxers on, Ted has briefs and Frances has boy shorts on” Allison summarised what she had learned.

“Very good investigative work. Though you didn’t find out what everyone is wearing…” Saoirse clarified, triggering her trap.

“What? But I found out what they were all wearing!” Allison protested as Saoirse walked towards her.

“You did, you came very close… What you didn’t do though was ask me.” Saoirse explained, pulling Allison’s arms behind her back, slipping the metal rings around her wrists.

“So I’m getting messy?” Allison asked, not seeming particularly bothered.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Saoirse responded, gesturing towards the seats. “Okay, three down, only one arrest. You’re doing quite well, so far. But who else wasn’t up to the sniff test?” Saoirse monologued, pacing up and down. “Marco, what about you?” Saoirse asked, clearly knowing the answer.

“...No” Marco uttered, seeming ashamed of his actions. Saoirse followed his reaction by proceeding to pull his hands behind his back, clasping handcuffs around him.

“Yours were so simple. You needed only to not say anything inappropriate and… Keep your hands above your waist. I won’t give you credit for managing one of those things, because I don’t believe in praising people for having self control.” Saoirse clarified, sitting him down in the middle of the seating. It was looking more like the further down the line you were, the safer you were.

“Not looking so good now… Two arrests out of four. But that could all change as we go to… Joe” Saoirse continued, clearly revelling in her role.

“I er… I had to get to know one of the girls” Joe revealed.

“And did you?” Saoirse asked. It was clear from her previous questions that she wasn’t above trapping them.

“A bit, I guess” Joe responded, putting his hands in his pockets like a bored schoolboy.

“Hmmm. See, I don’t know. Technically, you got to know all three a little, rather than really chatting with any one girl. I’m tempted to arrest you, but I will let The Overlord decide what we do with you. While we wait, we can check in with Nazreen” Saoirse continued.

“I really tried!” Nazreen protested, slapping her arms down by her side. “You told me not to study…” Nazreen explained.

“I did, because I wanted you to get to know everyone else, not sit in a room, surrounded by books the whole time. It’s really important to take time off. But you didn’t keep to it, so I’m afraid, your case is a lot more black and white than Joe’s” Saoirse explained before she walked towards Nazreen.

“Wait” Nazreen pleaded, her hands held out in front of her. “I don’t want my clothes to get messy…” Nazreen began.

“Well, there’s nothing stopping you from getting messy, naked, I suppose. Not sure you will enjoy the experience, of course, but if you want to strip off, who am I to judge?” Saoirse inquired, holding off on Nazreen’s arrest. Nazreen pulled her top over her head, revealing her black, halterneck, one piece swimsuit hugging her breasts. She proceeded to undress, picking up her clothes, placing them in a neatly folded pile before she turned her back to Saoirse, her arms behind her. Saoirse cuffed her, then turned her around. “You do realise there’s a high chance you’re going to wish you hadn’t done that?” Saoirse asked.

“You let her strip off, then told her that she may regret it?” Allison protested on the woman’s behalf.

“I did tell her that I wasn’t sure she’d enjoy the experience. I also didn’t tell her, or any of you, that a swimming costume was a sensible choice; I thought it was a given that it will likely just fill up with gunge a lot easier but perhaps that’s the idea. I don’t kink shame anyone” Saoirse defended herself. “Now, Joe… I was going to say I don’t think you should be let off clean, but you’re already messy, so The Overlord has suggested that we grant you a stay of execution, at least until we determine your team score and how messy you’re all getting…” Saoirse explained. Frances leaned forwards, looking over the faces of her fellow contestants. Allison seemed more nervous now, not that Frances could tell, for certain, given the pie covering her face. Nazreen’s eyes kept shooting towards the buckets, wondering what slimy fate awaited her and her swimwear. Marco was clearly trying to play it cool. Saoirse looked at the tablet, sucking air between her lips with astonishment at the score. She turned the device around to show the group. Frances didn’t know how it had been calculated but the score was now almost completely orange, showing a figure 2,900.

“Anyone have any particular colour preference?” Saoirse asked, walking behind them, perusing her selection of buckets. She paused, as if she were actually waiting for a response to her question. “Anyone want to go first?” Saoirse asked, prodding for an answer.

“Is it warm?” Allison asked, cautiously.

“I have absolutely no idea.” Saoirse answered, kneeling down beside one of the buckets. Frances saw her press her hand against the side. “Hard to tell, I don’t think it’s particularly warm, it might be lukewarm? It might be cold though.” Saoirse explained, rising to her feet. She waited a bit longer for any volunteers or colour requests yet none came. She shrugged, collecting a bucket of her choosing and walked towards Nazreen at the end. Perhaps sensing Saoirse’s approach or perhaps she heard, Frances couldn’t be sure but she saw Nazreen scrunch up her face, anticipating the mess. The woman stood behind her, pausing for a moment as she raised the bucket, placing her right hand underneath, presumably to control how the liquid would flow. Nazreen squealed with anticipation and Frances wondered, if she made this big a deal about it beforehand, how much noise would she make once it happened?

“Am I actually enjoying watching the poor girl suffer?” Frances pondered, checking herself for insensitivity. She was certainly glad it wasn’t happening to her, again, it was also interesting to be able to watch from the sidelines this time, with a relatively low risk of getting messier. She shook her head trying to dismiss the notion in her head, telling herself she took no satisfaction in seeing a perfectly nice woman suffer, needlessly. Saoirse upended the bucket, just enough to pour the viscous liquid over Nazreen’s dark hair, distributing it evenly over her head. It looked a similar consistency to what Frances had experienced the night before and with that, any enjoyment was dispelled. The colour was a paler pink. Nazreen shrieked, drumming her feet against the grass beneath her feet. Saoirse just continued to pour, moving the bucket up and down Nazreen’s head to provide an even distribution. The gunge had begun to ooze over Nazreen’s shoulders, descending over her bare skin, towards the top of her swimsuit.

“Oh my God” Nazreen muttered, struggling against her restraints. Frances theorised that she had plotted the likely course the slime would take - and its ultimate destination - leading her to despair at her choice.

“I did warn you about the swimming costume…” Saoirse reminded her as the gunge began to pool around her breasts. “If it’s any consolation, pink is definitely your colour, girl” Saoirse added. Frances couldn’t tell whether she was being facetious or encouraging. Frances moved her chair, hoping to get a better view of what was happening. For a moment, she thought she could actually see a bulge making its way down the centre of Nazreen’s suit, which seemed to only be aided by her fidgeting. Frances couldn’t help but feel sorry for her right at that time.

“This is so disgusting! It’s cold too!” Nazreen exclaimed, in protest, looking down at herself.

“Well, it seems your answer is no, Allison. I’d have warmed it up a little, but I didn’t prepare it…” Saoirse explained, having emptied the first bucket, looking over at Nazreen, as if she were an artist, admiring her latest masterpiece, considering whether it was complete or whether to add more. Nazreen shuffled and shifted in her seat some more.

“Why are you fidgeting like that?” Frances felt herself asking.

“I’m trying to get it to move!” Nazreen exclaimed. Frances grimaced, at the realisation that the gunge had reached her sensitive region.

“Not sure it’s helping. I’d offer to pull your swimming costume out a wee bit, but I don’t know you’d want my fingers that close to your vagina” Saoirse explained, surprisingly empathetically. “Some girls are funny about that, apparently it’s a very personal and intimate region of the female anatomy?” Saoirse posited, to no one in particular. Saoirse walked behind them again, collecting another bucket. This time, she walked behind Allison, placing the bucket above her head, her right hand ready to pour again.

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this!” Allison cried out, as if she was readying herself. Never one to do what was expected, however, Saoirse stepped to the side, positioning the bucket over Marco. She started pouring before he had a chance to protest or to react. This bucket seemed thicker than the last, with a darker, purple contents. The slime quickly covered Marco’s head, perhaps because he didn’t have anywhere near the same volume of hair to absorb the deluge. Saoirse once again, distributed it as evenly as she could, a sadistic grin carved onto her face as the bucket moved a little too far forwards, leading to Marco getting a faceful of gunge. He spluttered and spat, clearly caught by surprise. Frances could only imagine what insults and expletives Marco wanted to aim at Saoirse, right at that moment, but daren’t due to her position of authority over him. Frances had little doubt in her mind that Saoirse would have no qualms with leaving any one of them in bondage for the evening, even refusing access to a hot shower, if the whim took her. Frances was quite astonished by how messy each of them had gotten, from a single bucket each. A shiver shot down her spine, realising that Saoirse was likely doing it this way in order to discern how much gunge she had left and whether she needed to gunge everyone.

“...Please, don’t tell me I’m getting messy, too.” Frances mumbled in horror.

“You’re as safe as Ted is.” Saoirse responded, looking at Marco, stroking her chin.

“I’m not massively reassured by that…” Frances responded.

“No? Fair enough. Not really sure you should be, if I’m honest” Saoirse explained, walking behind them again to collect another bucket. Allison struggled against her restraints, as if she could escape and somehow avoid getting messy. Saoirse returned behind Marco, pouring another bucket over him. This time it was a lighter coloured green.

“Come on! You did me, already” Marco protested, spluttering again as he finished his sentence.

“Really? Did you not learn the first time to keep your mouth closed? Honestly, it’s like you enjoy the taste” Saoirse mocked, shaking her head disapprovingly. The gunge flowed more liberally this time, covering Marco’s top. If it was a similarly harrowing experience for him, he didn’t make it known. By the end of the second bucket, Marco was completely unrecognisable. Saoirse collected her fourth bucket, looking at Allison and Nazreen.

“Would you please warn me when it’s my turn?” Allison asked, timidly.

“Since you asked so nicely…”Saoirse answered, without offering a concrete answer.  “Nazreen, you okay babe? I’ve got a lot more to go, so I can either give you a top off or I can move on to Allison. Of course, if I don’t come back to you, it will make it far more likely that the others will get messier. I can pull the fabric out, a bit, but I’m just wary of making you really uncomfortable” Saoirse explained, sympathetically.

“Are they all cold?” Nazreen asked, whimpering a little.

“I have no idea. I’m not going to dip my hands into them all to find out if it’s all the same to you” Saoirse explained as raised the bucket up again, selecting her target.

“I guess it can’t get much worse…” Nazreen muttered, ceasing her fidgeting. It seemed she had resigned herself to the discomfort. Without a word, Saoirse started to pour the next bucket over Nazreen, this time having chosen a bright red. She poured the gunge over Nazreen’s hair again, going further forwards to give her a facial of gunge. Frances heard the liquid slop over her with a slimy splat as it made contact with her thighs; Frances had no doubt more than a little more had gone inside her swimsuit, a theory confirmed by another, this time larger bulge that made its way to the bottom of the suit. Nazreen flinched, uncomfortably, blinking hard, as if she were trying to clear her eyes. Saoirse noticed, walking off to the side for a moment, returning with a pristine, white hand towel.

“Close your eyes tight for me.” Saoirse instructed. Nazreen complied, then Saoirse pushed the towel over her eyes, wiping the gunge from her eyelids. Saoirse then adjusted the towel, doing the same for Nazreen’s mouth. “If any of you have gunge in your eyes, just let me know; it’s not toxic, so there’s absolutely no safety issues but there’s no reason for you to be in pain” Saoirse explained.

“Thanks” Nazreen uttered, seemingly quite surprised. The gunge had now collected around her abdomen, which caused Frances to emit a chuckle.

“It looks like you have a little gunge baby” Frances quipped. Frances immediately regretted her choice of words, remembering what Saoirse had shared with her before.

“You can have one, too, if you like.” Saoirse shot back, sadistically.

“No! I mean… No thank you. I think I’m quite okay, from this distance…” Frances retreated from her poorly timed joke. Saoirse acknowledged her reticence, then selected another bucket.

“You ready, Allison?” Saoirse asked, as the woman was fixated on Nazreen.

“Sorry?” Allison uttered, her attention being disrupted.

“Are you ready? It’s no odds to me, if you’re not…” Saoirse repeated, making it clear her courtesy was at its end. Allison closed her eyes, as if meditating.

“Are you okay, Naz?” Frances asked, looking over towards the woman, as Saoirse readied her latest bucket.

“Yeah, it’s not as cold now…” Nazreen replied, as if that were a valuable consolation.

“I’m fine, too.” Marco interjected, as if it made some difference.

“I have plenty more, if you’re complaining” Saoirse answered his sniping comment as she started to pour the gunge over Allison. Allison took her share like a professional, her eyes and mouth firmly closed, silently letting the blue sludge cover her hair. It didn’t seem as thick as the other buckets but Frances felt that it did seem somehow much slimier than the others. The gunge descended straight off her head, flowing quickly over her shoulders and pooling in her lap. Frances felt a little envious at Allison, being able to wear a long skirt that seemed to deflect the most of the gunge.

“I wonder if we’d get away with waterproof clothes” Frances thought to herself. She dismissed the idea, realising that she neither owned nor brought any waterproof clothes with her, rendering the idea moot. Allison’s skirt didn’t seem to be holding up too well as it clung to her legs underneath it. Saoirse discarded the latest bucket. There were maybe six more left, which gave Frances some relief; she hoped that Saoirse might be persuadable to pour another bucket over each of the three who had failed their tasks, or that she might spare Frances further degradation by picking Joe or Ted. It seemed a longshot but there was reason to hope.

“I’m open to colour requests, you know” Saoirse repeated, looking at each of them. Frances felt stunned and scared when Saoirse looked over at her.

“Why did you look at me?” Frances asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Because you might want a particular colour of gunge, should you be getting messy? I’d be happy to reserve a colour for you, if you have a preference. I know, if I were getting messy, I would want a nice, dark colour; I think I look good in darker colours” Saoirse explained, playing with her hat. Frances couldn’t help but admire Saoirse’s nonchalance in the face of her own hypothetical gunging. “I like that green. Does a nice green work for you, Allison?” Saoirse asked, standing over the bucket, as if she were actually waiting for a response.

“Um… I can’t see anything, so I don’t know?” Allison answered, trying to remain composed.

“I guess we’ll just have to find out…” Saoirse responded, disappointed by Allison’s response as she picked up the bucket. Frances wondered if some buckets were heavier than others, as Saoirse seemed to struggle a little more with this one. She opted against asking, lest Saoirse take her curiosity as an invitation to empty one or more buckets over her, so she could discern the weight of its contents, herself. Saoirse stood behind Allison again, the blue gunge now being more translucent over Allison’s skin, like she was wearing a slimy, blue veil. Saoirse poured the khaki green gunge over Allison, this time it was much thicker, causing Allison to emit a slight moan, though whether it was borne of pleasure or disgust, Frances couldn’t say. The gunge seemed rather content to sit atop her head, this time, seeping into every strand of her hair as Saoirse covered the woman’s head, ensuring some went over her face, as well. Once the bucket was emptied, Saoirse walked around to the front, as if she were surveying the results, deciding whether to continue. Saoirse nodded to herself, collecting two buckets and walking back in front of the three of them.

“Everyone, okay? I’m not going to ask if you’re comfortable…” Saoirse asked, pausing for a response.

“I’m really looking forward to a shower” Nazreen responded, fidgeting again.

“Fair enough. Allison? Marco?” Saoirse enquired, checking in with the other two.

“Really wishing there were more than one shower, right about now!” Allison answered, her eyes still clenched closed. Frances nodded, realising that things were about to get dicey, when it came to them all getting cleaned up. She imagined that they would put together some sort of triage, based on how messy each person has gotten, but who would police it? It could easily and quickly descend into anarchy.

“We have a hose, if you’re that eager to get cleaned up. You’d probably want a shower, after, to ensure you get it out of… Well, anywhere that it might have gone. That option is open to all of you; even if you stayed clean and really want to be hosed off, for some reason.” Saoirse explained, offering an alternative. It was definitely something that could dispose of much of the gunge, quickly, and would free up the urgency of getting in the shower. Frances found herself thankful that everyone had agreed that she was first in line for the shower the night before, as that could have made her experience much, much worse. “Marco? Are you enjoying yourself so much you’ve been rendered mute?” Saoirse prodded, expecting an answer.

“I don’t want to get gunge in my mouth!” Marco exclaimed, keeping his mouth as closed as possible.

“Honestly, he complains that I don’t check in with him when I have no reason to, then when I check in with him, he complains, like I’m going to launch a bucket of gunge at him the very moment he opens his mouth… Men!” Saoirse bemoaned, shaking her head. “Sometimes, I really do wonder why I didn’t switch teams years ago!” Saoirse queried, raising the first bucket, throwing the contents over Marco, splashing it over his face and over his torso.

“So you admonish him for thinking you were going to throw gunge at him, right before you throw gunge at him?” Ted enquired, in a school teacher-ish manner.

“Aye. Though in my defence, I wasn’t going to throw it at him while he was speaking. I would rather make sure you’re all okay before I make it worse for you. If you’re on the verge of a full on meltdown, I’m not about to make life worse for you.” Saoirse answered his query.  “Now, if you question my methods again, you’ll be getting a faceful, too!” She followed up, in a jesting tone.

“Um… Could you wipe my eyes for me, please?” Allison interrupted, timidly.

“Of course. I was about to throw a bucket over you, but if you’re uncomfortable, I don’t mind waiting. Unless of course, you’d rather I did that, then wipe your eyes? Seems a little silly to clear your eyes, only to cover them again” Saoirse explained her plan, while collecting a towel.

“Now, please. I blinked and it went all over my eyelashes… It’s really not pleasant” Allison asked, her discomfort evident in her voice.

“Okay, close your eyes nice and tight for me.” Saoirse instructed, her tone becoming more careful and considered, like it was before. She pressed the towel to Allison’s eyelids, each one in turn, then her mouth. “While I’ve got a towel, do you need a wipe, too, Marco?” Saoirse asked. Frances could see his eyes wide open and he didn’t appear to be in discomfort, if anything he seemed defiant in his posturing.

“Pffft, no” Marco responded, dismissively.

“Suit yourself.” Saoirse shrugged, throwing the towel to one side. She picked up the next bucket, looking at the two women, clearly trying to decide who needed a top up.

“That’s not a very good sight…” Allison chuckled, looking towards Nazreen. “That colour really does suit you, girl” Allison chirped, almost as if she were hoping to avoid the brunt of the gunge by facing the opposite way. Instead, Saoirse threw a bucket of royal blue slime straight over Nazreen, who yelped when it hit her, mixing with the red. Saoirse raised the bucket she’d picked for Allison, tilting it forwards a little, now that Allison could see.

“Like the green?” Saoirse asked, raising the bucket, ready to throw.

“If I say no, does that mean it will go over somebody else?” Allison giggled.

“Who would you want it to go over?” Saoirse asked, her curiousity clearly piqued.

“What, really?” Allison exclaimed in surprise.

“I’m interested in who you’d pick. Though if my attention does wane, I will just give it to you after all” Saoirse teased. Allison looked down towards Frances, Joe and Ted. Frances felt her sympathy for the woman fade a little, as their eyes met. The gunge was sitting over her head, coating her hair and much of her face, with a clear patch around her eyes and mouth where Saoirse had cleared her face.

“Hmm. I definitely think one of the boys deserves a bit of gunge. Hardly seems fair that us girls have all been completely covered, while the boys have mostly only been pied” Allison presented her case. Frances breathed a sigh of relief, fearing that Allison might push her under the bus.

“Alright. Who, pray tell, would you want to get messy?” Saoirse asked, slowly walking towards the men.

“Sorry… I would pick Joe, you said yourself, he didn’t really complete his challenge” Allison explained, clearly more reluctantly than she initially seemed.

“Interesting choice” Saoirse responded, playing with her hat again. If she had some plans to convey, her face gave nothing away. She returned to her bucket, picking it up, looking towards Joe. Saoirse then proceeded to throw the green gunge directly over Allison, with some splashing over Marco, too. Allison barely managed to turn her head to the side before it impacted, covering the side of her face and covering her top and splattering down onto her skirt. “You’ll all be pleased to hear, it’s almost over… Two more buckets left!” Saoirse teased. Frances felt herself tense up again. The three who had been arrested were all now completely covered, not quite as much as she had from the trip into the gunge tank, but they were clearly very messy. There was little point in pouring more gunge over them; two more buckets, three clean people, what were the chances that she would escape, without feeling more gunge in her hair? Frances shrank into her seat, again.

“Would you consider… Using them tomorrow, instead?” Nazreen asked, timidly.

“You don’t want another bucket down your swimming costume? I am truly shocked!” Saoirse teased, sarcastically. “Okay, I’ll come up with some wicked use for them for tomorrow. Though all of you need to agree, that everyone is fair game, that I can use whatever criteria I devise to discern who’s getting messy.” Saoirse pointed, authoritatively at each of them. They all agreed, then Saoirse released the binds from each of them, starting with Nazreen. There was a brief discussion about who should shower first. Nazreen settled the argument by pulling out the lycra suit between her legs and a stream of gunge poured out from the bottom, onto the floor. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, then they all agreed, she should be allowed to take a shower. Ted reprised his role as caretaker, informing Marco that if he were desperate, he was welcome to use the hose. Frances magnated straight to Allison, keen to catch up with her about her experience.

“How are you feeling? Was it everything you hoped for?” Frances asked, keeping a firm distance from the woman. She wiped some of the gunge from her face and her hair with her hands, squishing it between her fingers, cringing as she did.

“It’s so slimy! I’m really looking forward to a nice, hot shower. Though if I’m honest, that’s more just because I’m really, really, cold!” Allison giggled, her expression suggesting that she was still struggling to believe any of it had happened.

“You… Liked it?” Frances asked, trying not to judge the woman.

“I… I don’t know, maybe. I totally understand why you wouldn’t have, just as I really feel bad for Nazreen. I mean… I wouldn’t want… Slimy bits” Allison explained, pointing to her crotch.

“Ugh, yeah.” Frances shuddered.

Things returned to normal, after the three of them had showered, leaving Frances and Joe to towel their faces clean, meanwhile, Ted had prepared a meal for the group, allowing them to settle in for some food. Frances tried to put to the back of her mind that both Joe and Ted had thus far escaped almost entirely clean. She wondered, silently, if there were some way to redress this balance, though it would be a discussion she would have later, in the privacy of their bedroom.

Day Three

Frances shuddered, looking down at herself. She was wearing her underwear, once again, sitting in the gunge tank. It seemed somehow different, this time, as she didn’t feel scared and ashamed of her body; she was dreaming, she hypothesised. She looked up, the entire place seemed surreal, somehow less than real; she didn’t know why but she felt her hand slowly sliding down between her legs. She didn’t know what it was but something about it was turning her on. She knew exactly how the gunge would feel, but she also wanted to experience it in a new way. Saoirse’s hand gripped the lever, in slow motion, for some inexplicable reason, which Frances chalked up to dream logic. Frances pulled her tights out and then the waistband of her thong, plunging her hand straight inside. The gunge started to flow over her again, following its previous course, only this time, uninhibited by the waistband of her underwear, sliding straight into her underwear, covering her hand and her vagina as she played with herself. She couldn’t see anything, thanks to the thick goo covering her head, but she didn’t care, she was enjoying herself. What was it that she enjoyed, she wondered? None of it felt pleasant, she felt humiliated, degraded, the sensation of the gunge against her skin was slimy and made her recoil. She felt like she would need to shower for hours just to get it from her hair, yet for all of its unpleasantness, she seemed all the more turned on by the experience. She felt herself double over, trying very hard to stifle the urge to scream with pleasure as she approached climax. Finally, she awoke in her bed, covered in sweat. Her hand jerked immediately out of her underwear, realising that she had been masturbating in her sleep.

“Do either of you mind if I open a window?” Allison asked, diplomatically.

“Sorry? It’s a bit cold, why are you opening a window?” Nazreen queried, a little suspiciously.

“Er… I didn’t want to draw attention to the smell?” Allison replied, in a slightly hushed tone. Frances recoiled, fearing that Allison knew what she was doing. Nazreen sniffed, as if noticing it for the first time.

“Oh. I wondered what that was…” Nazreen replied.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, we’re all adults, at the end of the day, it could’ve been any one of us; just as likely to have been me.” Allison explained.

“I don’t mind if you want to open a window.” Frances answered, reluctantly.

“I don’t understand where it came from” Nazreen uttered, bemused by the sudden appearance of the odour.

“It smells like vagina. It happens, three women in a smallish room, if one or more of us had a sex dream, she could have…” Allison trailed off, reverting to a hand gesture instead. “No shame in it, if it was you. I’d just rather air out the room a bit, in case we get obnoxious comments from the boys” Allison continued, moving towards the window.

“Oh… Oh!” Nazreen exclaimed, the explanation slipping into place. She collected her text books from her bed, presumably relocating. “I’d rather study in warmth.” She explained. Frances didn’t think that she was judging anyone and that her reasoning was simply that she didn’t want to be cold. Allison proceeded to open the window, as Nazreen left the room.

“Sorry” Frances mumbled, her face turning red.

“Nothing to be sorry for! I have a sneaky suspicion she actually enjoyed yesterday more than I did” Allison whispered in response, sitting down at the foot of Frances’ bed.

“Do I maybe know the person you were dreaming about?” Allison asked, with a big grin on her face. She had tied her hair back today, wearing a black vest top with black trousers with chains decorating them.

“I… I don’t remember” Frances lied, fearing that she might be judged if she told the truth.

“Sure? I’m not going to make fun of you. I had a dream about Saoirse, once. I don’t normally go for girls, though she does have a really interesting energy” Allison shared, perhaps trying to make Frances feel more comfortable with sharing her story.

“Really? I think she’s really pretty” Frances asked, sitting up in bed.

“Oh, she is. I think she’s great. That whole ‘tough’ vibe is a bit of a red flag for me. I don’t mean it in a bad way, she’s just clearly been through a lot, which can make somebody difficult to be close to. I do really like her energy though, very feminine, which I’m not usually drawn to” Allison explained, revealing her more spiritually based approach to her sexuality.

“What happened in your dream?” Frances whispered, curiously.

“We had sex. It was good, too. Nothing outrageous or anything, just sex.” Allison explained, dismissively. “Was it you know who?” Allison asked, in a whisper, trying to protect the identity of Frances’ crush from any prying ears.

“Oh… I… I don’t know, maybe” Frances answered, noncommittally.

“Unless…” Allison began, squinting at Frances. “You were dreaming about something you’d be embarrassed about!” Allison whispered, with excitement.

“I… I don’t remember what I dreamed about” Frances kept to her lie, flustered now as she shifted and shuffled, getting out of her bed.

“Alright. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Would it help if I told you, I didn’t hate it?” Allison asked, as Frances rushed towards the door, with the bathroom in her sights.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Frances insisted, trying to hide her embarrassment.

The group ate breakfast together, as they had done the last two days before. Frances had opted for a bright red skater style dress. Joe had opted for a blue checked shirt, and olive green trousers. Ted wore a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt and black jeans. Marco wore a vest top and sandblasted jeans while Nazreen had worn an oversized dark red hoodie and leggings. Everyone had made a point to check in with her, to ensure she was okay; to Frances’ surprise, even Marco had said some kind words to her, as they tried to ensure she wasn’t feeling overwhelmed after her poor choice the day before. As the morning passed, Frances couldn’t help but notice a familiar white sheet going up across the garden, except this time, there were sounds of construction work going on. The group made small talk, but there was one question that they couldn’t agree on an answer to; they knew they would soon begin to leave the house, one by one, but when would it begin? Would they know who might be leaving ahead of their departure? Frances took charge of their questions, picking up the cordless phone that was left on charge. She didn’t expect it was connected to an outside line but that it was a mechanism to speak with somebody next door, likely Saoirse or Michelle. She pressed the button on the phone, which immediately cued hold music to play. It wasn’t a long wait.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” An androgynous voice asked. Frances could tell the person was using some sort of voice modulator to disguise their voice.

“Um… Can I speak with Saoirse, please?” Frances asked, politely, feeling more comfortable speaking with someone she knew already.

“She’s not here. What can I do for you?” The voice responded, rather curtly.

“We er… Had questions. I’d really prefer to speak to Saoirse, could you tell me when she will be back?” Frances pressed, giving a little information to them.

“Saoirse and I have never met. You can always speak with her when you see her.” The voice explained, offering little answer to her question.

“But you can get in contact with her? You could just ask her to come over here so we can ask what we need to?” Frances asked, getting a little frustrated.

“You can simply ask your questions and I will provide you with answers” The voice insisted, still calmly.

“Fine. Whatever. We were wondering about when people will start leaving. When do we find out more?” Frances asked, keeping her question short out of frustration.

“You will learn more, in the morning of someone’s departure, when all your questions will be answered” The voice answered, cryptically.

“Thanks, that was… Really quite unhelpful” Frances retorted as she hung up the phone. “Apparently, we will find out everything we need to, in the morning? So presumably we don’t need to worry today but who even knows.” Frances summarised with a resignatory shrug.

The morning had mostly gone by, with everyone’s curiousity being taken with what was going on outside. Frances had kept one eye firmly outside, when she heard Saoirse’s voice, she diverted her attention to outside altogether. She hurried through the back door and walked towards the white cloth. She didn’t want to cross it, fearing she might have crossed some sort of line with the production team.

“Saoirse? Are you free?” Frances asked, awkwardly. After a few minutes, the dark haired woman appeared from under the sheet. She seemed several inches shorter.

“I can spare a few minutes, what’s up?” Saoirse asked. She had her hair tied back, her nose ring in again today, wearing a low cut back top and blue jeans. Frances noticed her feet were bare.

“Are you shorter than normal?” Frances queried, a little confused by her lack of shoes.

“No. I’m usually this height, unless I’m wearing heels. That may be it? I’m guessing you didn’t come out here to discuss my footwear.” Saoirse answered, returning to the reason Frances was there.

“I… Why do you not have any shoes on?” Frances asked, unable to get off the question.

“I’m testing something. It’ll make sense later. You needed me for something? I don’t mean to rush you, just I do have work to do, which I should be doing right now” Saoirse probed.

“Sorry. Yeah, um… I wasn’t sure who to ask, so I picked up the phone and… Well, I didn’t really get an answer. I was wondering about when people are going to start leaving? I mean, I don’t really know when that will happen” Frances enquired, trying to keep her question as polite as possible.

“Ah, okay. In a nutshell, you’ll get all the pertinent details the morning that it’s happening. Obviously, it’s done by public vote, which will run from that morning up until the time that one of you leaves. It would normally be two at a time, whoever gets the most votes, stays. It’s likely that it will start tomorrow, then happen daily. Last day, there will be three people in the house, two of you get gunged, the winner is allowed to leave, completely clean and dry. In a nutshell, you don’t really need to worry about it right this second, as everything will be revealed as you need to know it. Do you have any other questions? Preferably not about my feet. That could get a bit weird.” Saoirse explained.

“Oh okay. Sorry about the feet thing, you’re just… Shorter than I realised.” Frances said, apologetically, trying to regain her footing.

“Yeah, I love heels. Probably because I’m a bit of a short arse. If you have any other questions, you can ask over the phone, or you can ask me when you see me. If you’re struggling - and this goes for all of you - then you have support, upstairs.” Saoirse reiterated. Frances felt she had the answers she needed, so she turned back to walk towards the house once again. She was curious about what Saoirse was doing that needed her to remove her shoes.

It had been a long and rather arduous morning but they had completed their task, needing only to apply finishing touches before it was ready for the group to use. Having conducted a final test to ensure it was all safe as well as that the task for the day could in fact be accomplished, Saoirse put her boots back on. Feeling quite satisfied about her day helping out with the production team, she thanked them for putting up with her and she headed towards the house, happy that they knew what was required of them. Saoirse entered through the back door and proceeded to help herself to a cup of coffee, before she entered the living room with her drink.

“I don’t know, I’m actually kind of enjoying the social media detox” Allison said, clearly responding to someone’s assertion that they missed it.

“Really? I’m surprised. I’ve really struggled with that” Joe replied, he seemed rather surprised by that revelation. Saoirse stood back for a moment, quite content to see that Joe had come out of his shell a little.

“I don’t really have time for it” Nazreen contributed, lifting her head from her textbook. Frances’ looked over to Saoirse, greeting her with a wave.

“See? I told you she’s quite short” Frances exclaimed, pointing towards Saoirse.

“Yes, yes, I’m short. It happens. I don’t get the obsession, are you some secret foot fetishist or something?” Saoirse asked, with a little lighthearted mockery.

“I think she just doesn’t want to admit how much she’s missing social media.” Ted surmised. Saoirse nodded, slowly.

“Ugh, you’re really not missing much. Some bitch called me a man earlier.” Saoirse scoffed, angrily.

“What? How exactly are you a man?” Allison asked, clearly confused.

“Oh, she posted that in order to be a woman, you need to be able to give birth to a child. Apparently, everyone else is a man; very simple, so she says. Since I’m unable to have children, that must mean I’m a man. I’ve been called many things in my life but I have never been called a man” Saoirse summarised her morning social media spat. “Anyway, I’ve literally switched my phone off all day, because I just can’t be arsed with that shite” Saoirse continued.

“Why can’t you have children?” Marco asked, insensitively.

“Oh, I accidentally left my uterus at a service station once when I was on a trip. So if you happen to stop by somewhere and find one just lying around, I’d appreciate it if you could let me know, it might be mine?” Saoirse retorted, facetiously. Ted sighed, giving Marco a disappointed look.

“This would be one of those things that you really shouldn’t ask someone. It could be a really painful and traumatic story, in any case, it’s deeply personal. You or I can’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to have to come to terms with that news.” Ted explained, in a rather succinct and supportive way. “Personally, I’d steer well clear of that whole debate. But then, I don’t have anything meaningful to contribute to it” Ted cautioned.

“Oh I get what she’s trying to say, I just don’t think she considered that she’s basically called everyone who’s infertile, undergone treatment for any number of conditions that would render them infertile and women who have gone through the change, are now all men, because she dislikes the idea that somebody who was born one thing might feel more comfortable calling themselves something else.” Saoirse clarified.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I had no idea you used to be a man.” Allison joked.

“Aww, thanks, that’s really sweet of you.” Saoirse responded, playing along. “Anyway, as riveting as this is, I’m going to give you a rundown of what’s happening today… Today’s challenge is a little bit more up in the air, so to speak. Basically, the more risks you take, the better the reward but the more difficult it will be to complete. It’s entirely voluntary, but it should go without saying that if nobody volunteers, it won’t go over well.” Saoirse explained the basics.

“What risks would there be?” Joe asked.

“That would be up to the person who volunteers. Where you draw the line is up to you; though the first person to volunteer sets the terms, anyone who wants to try after that, has to agree to their terms. For instance, you could volunteer and agree to have your clothing for the challenge chosen at random, you could agree to partial or total nudity in order to increase the reward made available to you” Saoirse explained.

“What’s the prize if we complete the challenge?” Allison asked, curiously.

“The prize sets how much your… Discretionary budget is. If you complete it, you’ll have a budget that you can spend on non-essential items, such as alcohol or things that you just want to make your stay here more comfortable. If you take more risks, then the quantity and quality of the products you can purchase will increase. Does that make sense?” Saoirse asked.

“So if somebody were to risk going totally naked on TV, we could all have nice beer and wine to drink?” Allison asked.

“If they managed to complete the task, yes. Needless to say, if they fail to complete the task, they will be getting messy, in whatever they’re wearing - or not wearing. Then, if somebody else wanted to try, they would have to face the same challenge, at the very least, as their predecessor, or accept failure… Which would mean no booze.” Saoirse clarified. “That sounds really harsh, now that I think about it…”  Saoirse added, to nobody in particular.

“What’s the most that we’d be asked to do?” Frances asked, seemingly considering putting herself forward.

“Well, I wouldn’t say you’re going to be asked to do anything, as you’d set the terms. But you can volunteer to certain sex acts, as well as the other things I mentioned. Of course, if you did that and there are certain things that are off limits for you, you can rule that or those out, no questions asked. Obviously, you can’t agree to it then rule out everything, because that would negate the point of agreeing in the first place!” Saoirse continued. The look on Frances’ face changed, it was seemingly too much for her. “Like I said, you decide how far it goes. Does anyone feel that they’re up to the challenge and want to volunteer?” Saoirse asked, moving things along. Saoirse looked at them individually, trying to gauge their willingness to put themselves forwards.

“I’d be happy to, but I’m not going to take any big risks” Frances opened.

“A firm back up option to be sure. I will sweeten the pot, there’s still two buckets of gunge that need to be used. If one of you succeeds, she or he will get to choose how those buckets are used; so in essence, you’ll also win the chance to gunge someone of your choosing.” Saoirse upped the offer. That seemed to entice more interest, with Allison, Joe and Marco all looking like they might be willing to try.

“Would you say, if someone went all the way, they’d be like a hero?” Marco asked, arrogantly. It was evident he had visions of winning it with ease and being hailed for his accomplishment.

“If your idea of a hero is someone who provides you with all the booze you can drink until your liver fails, then yes. Though I’m not sure that fits the traditional definition of the word.” Saoirse answered, trying to ground him in reality.

“Cool. I’ll do it.” Marco responded, confidently.

“All right. What are you willing to risk?” Saoirse asked, letting him take control of his challenge.

“Everything, baby. I’m looking forward to this, this was made for me” Marco answered, his confidence spilling over into cockiness.

“For the avoidance of doubt, you’re agreeing to your clothes being picked, at random, so you could be asked to wear literally anything or nothing and you’re consenting to sex acts?” Saoirse asked, pinning his commitment down.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” Marco confirmed.

“Well, that was easy. That does mean, anyone who should try if you fail, will have to agree to the same terms. Just to be clear… Of course, nobody is telling you that you have to volunteer, it’s entirely optional. This wins you additional, luxury items, essentials won’t be affected.” Saoirse explained to the group, as if she were making it clear for some sort of liability waiver. Saoirse then looked at Marco again. “Is there anything you want to rule out? Bear in mind, if you don’t say it’s out, then it can be ruled in” Saoirse took particular care to specify.

“Nah, I’m good. Let’s do this!” Marco replied, raring to go. Saoirse presented Marco with the same tablet they’d used the day previously, this time, it was programmed with a wheel, with a variety of different clothing options, with both traditionally men’s and women’s clothes listed.

“This is basically a hi-tech solution to having a big wheel lying around for people to trip over. You touch the screen, let go, the wheel will spin, where it lands will determine what you wear.” Saoirse explained, demonstrating the process as she went through it. Marco took the tablet, running his finger around it several times, building up speed for the wheel before he let it go. The virtual wheel spun around for quite a while before it started to slow down. Saoirse could tell there was a palpable sense of excitement, especially at the prospect that Marco could have talked his way into facing the challenge wearing women’s wear, despite his previous objections to it. It eventually slowed to a crawl, before landing on ‘tight speedos’. Marco seemed relieved, while the women, including Nazreen, seemed a little disappointed. Saoirse stood up, letting him know that she was going to collect his costume.

Once Marco had gotten changed and everything was set up, everyone went out into the garden once more. Saoirse proceeded to pull the sheet down, revealing a large plank, suspended over a pool, standing at least five feet tall, filled with orange gunge.

“The purpose is simple: you are going to wear this bucket hat, it will be filled with gunge, how much and how thick is up to you; the more you take and the thicker it is, the more it’s worth. Once you’re wearing the hat and the bucket is full, your challenge is to cross the pool, on the plank. There’s a red line halfway across where you will need to remain, for ten minutes. After that, you can cross to the other side, deposit the gunge from your bucket into the depository, then return. If you lose the contents of your bucket, you can go back after ten minutes to collect more, but you will need to repeat it. You can pause the time, if you need a break and you can stop whatever is happening but if you stop, you will have to either recommence or go in the gunge. We’ve tested the plank, it’s easily traversable and it’s stable enough to withstand someone heavier than each of you, so there’s no safety issues. Do you have any questions, before you attempt it?” Saoirse explained the rules.

“Yeah, what’s the catch?” Marco asked, suspiciously.

“Well, while you’re at the red line, there will be people who are going to do whatever they can to dislodge you, to cause you to slip. There are of course limits; nobody is going to sweep your leg or deliberately cause you injury but since you’ve asked to go for the most money you can, they’re going to have a lot to work with” Saoirse explained. “Now, given the situation, there will be an additional camera, which will be operated by someone. Just ignore him, he’ll be getting the best view he can. I’ll give you a minute to prepare, then make your way up the plank.” Saoirse explained, before walking down towards the side of the pool.

Marco walked towards the bottom, wearing only a pair of black speedos. His physique was quite impressive, it was evident he had spent a great deal of his free time in the gym, forging his appearance. He kept one hand firmly on the bucket as he started to walk up the plank. Saoirse took the opportunity to turn towards the camera, which had Marco in its view, with her off to the side but still within the frame.

“Now, in my experience, there are two quick ways to get a man to move. Unfortunately, if you’re a man who’s trying to lose a man, then I can’t help you; these would only really work if you’re a woman. First off? You will need a pregnancy test that has a positive result. It helps if you have a friend who is expecting, who’s willing to donate some pee to your cause. Then just show him the test, act really excited about it, then before you know it? He’s telling you he had some unexpected news of his own, he’s been given a really good job offer, but it would mean he has to move to Cork but he totally understands that’s a long way away from your friends and family, so you might not want to uproot your life like that, so it may be better to end things, amicably… Sure, you might have an awkward meeting with him when you run into him when you’re neither pregnant nor have a child in tow. But by then, you’ve sabotaged that particular relationship so it served its purpose” Saoirse explained, turning her attention to Marco who was getting closer to the middle.

“The second? This one is near enough guaranteed to get any straight man to jump a mile. Depends how cruel you want to be, but for the sake of argument, you want to be really cruel, take these two fingers…” Saoirse began, pointing to her index and middle fingers. “Then without warning, shove them up his ass. There is, of course, an element of schadenfreude to that for many women. But almost every man will leap a mile, then miraculously remember he has something important he needs to do; despite it being the middle of the night…  Don’t expect to ever hear from him again” Saoirse summarised the second method, as Marco reached the red mark at the middle of the plank. He held his arms out by either side of himself to keep his balance. “Okay, your ten minutes start… Now” Saoirse confirmed.

With her instruction, unseen assistants began their work, with one using a claw device to pull down Marco’s speedos, which dropped to the floor, revealing his already erect penis. He seemed rather pleased to have been able to show himself off, especially when he saw the sight of a sex toy on a long stick approaching his naked body. The operator proceeded to use the device on him, which had caused a few notably sways, yet his balance held. Time ticked away and Marco had lasted four minutes, it was clear he was close to climax, when a second assistant took the initiative, raising a dildo on a stick behind him.

“Oh, it looks like somebody was listening…” Saoirse remarked, as the dildo got nearer to Marco’s body. Once it made contact with his anus, he immediately flinched, stepping forwards and nearly losing his balance.

“Woah, hang on! I didn’t agree to that!” Marco protested.

“Actually, yes, you did. You will recall, I gave you the opportunity to rule anything off limits. I made it clear that if you’re not ruling it out, then it’s effectively ruled in? You’ve done really well, lasting four minutes.” Saoirse reminded him, with some encouragement.

“Yeah but… That is off limits!” Marco continued his protest.

“Then why didn’t you say it was off limits, earlier?” Saoirse reprimanded him.

“Because… I… I didn’t think I needed to” Marco answered, his argument falling apart.

“You absolutely don’t have to go through with it. You’ve got six minutes to go… Your options are, accept that you did agree, as per the terms we discussed and try something new or you can concede defeat and take a plunge.” Saoirse explained, laying out his options. Marco’s hand was now firmly covering his anus, which led Saoirse to believe she knew his answer already.