Clock knew he shouldn't be here.
As far as everyone knew, he had been eliminated and sent to... wherever it is that eliminated contestants go. He was far away from everyone's thoughts and feelings; partly because they never cared, and partly because thinking about him entailed thinking about where *they* were inevitably going once they got the boot, and nobody wanted to consider that possibility. To be perfectly honest, he didn't quite know what to make of it either. The thought of being sent away to who-knows-where, a million miles away from all you've known, completely and utterly separated from the world you once inhabited... that's a terrifying thought. But so is spending yet another second with those childish hosts that he switched shows for the sole purpose of avoiding. If he had to do so menial cleaning work with nothing but his legs and feet *one* more time, he might just lose it.
But this strange limbo state did have *some* perks. Somehow, by some miracle, Four and X had become a lot more lax and aloof; so long as he didn't directly complain about them in front of their faces, he wasn't slated to get screeched or mangled. As long as he did everything on the itinerary, things could go smoothly. Outside of all those chores (as well as the... *other* thing), Clock was free to do... whatever he wanted. Within reason. Mostly within the Hotel. Out of sight of everybody else. He's supposed to be eliminated, remember?
It was during one of those free days (well, nights) where the story starts. Dinner had been served hours ago, the guests were all fed, and the clockwork was left to do the *wonderful* task of cleaning up the kitchen after the algebralians had made a huge mess. Polishing each surface, sweeping the floor, washing the dishes and the cutlery, dealing with the leftovers, dumping things in the trash, and so on, and so forth. It was a long, *long* checklist that he spent much of the night working on, almost collapsing at several points due to sheer exhaustion.
But eventually, *eventually*, it was all said and done. By the time his (clock) hands indicated that it was close to midnight, the whole place was cleaned to the best of his ability. Once again, doing everything with only one set of limbs was a *massive* pain, but pain is a regular part of the Battle for Dream Island routine, so he was used to it. There were a few spots that he *just* couldn't get to, being too high or too low or whatever, and he was bound to get shouted at for it. But *whatever*. That was tomorrow him's problem. It was coming whether or not he wanted it, so what's the point in fretting about it?
Clock sat down, resting his head (well, his body) on the fridge and taking a deep breath. His itinerary tomorrow is likely to be just as full as it had been today. If he wanted *any* chance at survival, he was gonna need as much rest as he could possibly get. He was tired and exhausted, and so it should come easy. He just had to close his eyes, take one last breath of relief...
Hang on, has that door been slightly open this *entire* time?
Clock had to answer to Four and X, and they had to answer to Two; just as he'd be the target of divine retribution whenever he acted *slightly* out of line, the algebralians would be on the receiving end of The Power of Two. As part of the deal between the numerals, the deal that allowed those numbers to have a hapless subject to mess around with, they had to ensure that he is unable to escape under any circumstances. If he was able to break free for even just a moment, if word got out that he hadn't been disappeared, that the host had a bias towards certain contestants... One could probably guess how that would be received.
But it looked like the two had been careless today; after all the Hotel guests had gotten their fair share of food, none of them bothered to check if the door was shut and locked. They probably wanted to immediately get to their playtime, or something.
He stared at the door for a moment, fixated and in a trance. His eyes were probably just deceiving him, no? This was probably some sort of trick, isn't it? There's absolutely no way that after *all* this time, all this pain and suffering, he'd be allowed to just go out and be free. That's just too easy; nothing good ever comes easy. He tried his hardest to look away, knowing that there's gonna be 2,763 different things for him to do in the morning. He didn't want to add yet more tasks to the total, did he?
