Day 14 — Silent Ball

(The quietest, tensest day yet. Big character beats for Yoshi and Wembry — and Nocturne’s hold finally breaks.)

Mewo hovers above the court wearing absurdly large noise-cancelling headphones just for show. He grins and holds up a matte black ball.

“MUTE. NOISE. STAY STILL. Toss the ball. Don’t drop it. Don’t make a sound. Last team with a member standing — wins,” he whispers with showbiz flourish. (Then he honks a tiny, silent horn for drama.)

Dontavious Donquavious III sits in the spectator loft with a goblet of something vaguely regal and a monocle on. Chris McLean stands nearby, marshmallows in hand as if the night will be a normal elimination. It won’t.

Teams (who’s on the court)

BIG SHOTS: Steve, Binah, Luigi, Retro, Parcelboy, Springtrap, Thomas Jefferson Miku Binder, Spamton, Yoshi
RITUAL RULERS: CassiLyn, Sphinx, Wembry (she/her), Blobert, Caring Individual, MSMG Waifu, I Hate Fun Soyjak, Noxor

(Quick reminder aloud before silence: Nocturne is gone from the team physically but its psychic aftertaste has been tugging at Wembry for days. Noxor stands with Ritual Rulers, analyzing patterns. Mercedes Benz is gone.)

Mewo counts down. The silence bell chimes (no sound — just a flash of light). The game begins.

Pre-game jitters (last spoken lines)

Steve (whisper, then hush): “Stay light on your feet. Eyes. Read motion, not sound.”

Binah (calmly): “Control your breathing. Breathe shallow. Center.”

CassiLyn (to Wembry, quietly): “You’re not alone. Focus on the movement we practiced.”

Wembry nods, jaw clenched, fingers white on her knees; the ghost of Nocturne’s pressure is visible in the way her shoulders hitch.

The Game — silence, gestures, tension

The ball moves like a slow, deliberate heartbeat around the court.

Round 1: Fast, quiet. People pass with precognitive eyeblinks. A few near-misses — a pencil rolled, a foot brushing a line. No sound.

Blobert clumsily but carefully passes to Caring Individual, huge green body moving like a gentle wall. He’s focused — different from his goofy past.

Yoshi moves with unexpected deliberation; his usual joyful squawks are suppressed into disciplined head-bobs. You can see him counting beats with his tail.

Round 2: Tension ratchets. Players stare each other down. A stray elbow brushes a crate — no sound, but eyes go wide.

Noxor’s tail flicks in near-imperceptible rhythm; he’s mapped margins, ready.

Springtrap watches from the perimeter, teeth nearly visible in the moonlight — fascinated.

Eliminations start without noise — the only signals are resigned nods and slow, embarrassed exits after a flinch or a dropped ball.

Parcelboy makes a nervous laugh — eliminated. He leaves, laughing awkwardly, making everyone exhale silently.

MSMG Waifu’s popups glitch visually — she flinches, knocks the ball; eliminated with a flurry of animated eyes that the others can’t hear but all see. She walks off, bursting the image of bravado.

Spamton spasms into a tremor, his glitching speech nearly audible as his lips move; a micro-lurch — eliminated. He scuttles away, muttering visual text squares he'll never finish.

Midgame — Wembry’s struggle and the turning point

Wembry stands, palms sweating, eyes darting. The invisible tug — the last of Nocturne’s influence — feels like a weight on her skull. She’s trembling, fingers twitching with conflicting impulses. Every muscle in her screams to be silent yet controlled.

What happens visually:

She freezes mid-pass. Eyes distant. Her hand trembles toward the ball as though someone else were puppeting it. A dozen faces tilt in worry.

CassiLyn locks eyes with her and slowly, deliberately puffs a tiny mental cue — a pattern of a look learned in training: index finger tap, then three blinks. That was their signal for “grounding.” Wembry responds with a nearly imperceptible blinkback.

Then — in the most cinematic, wordless moment:

Nocturne’s last tug snaps.

There’s no thunderclap. No voice. But Wembry’s shoulders drop like a weight lifted. Her eyes clear. For the first time in days she breathes normally; it’s visible in the way her chest rises.

Visual cue: the air around her seems to brighten. CassiLyn’s hand slides to Wembry’s, squeezing — a silent “I’m here.”

Wembry’s face crumples with relief. Tears form, but she does not cry out. In her eyes: raw, stunned clarity.

Noxor exhales quietly (a soft rustle), and from the sidelines you can see the calculations reorder in his head — he immediately adjusts his stance to back her.

The Endgame — Yoshi vs. Wembry (major character beats)

Fewer players remain. On one side Yoshi stands solid for Big Shots — steady, brave, and absolutely changed: he’s no longer just the joyful sidekick. Now he’s a silent anchor, patient, strategically precise. On the other side Wembry stands, liberated, fierce — bravery refined by the battle to free herself.

The play narrows to a standoff: Yoshi and Wembry pass the ball between them in a long, silent duet. Both know: one sound, one mistake, and someone’s team loses.

Yoshi watches Wembry closely. He nods, slow, respectful — a nonverbal “you got this.”

Wembry nods back, steadying her hands. She passes the ball in a beautiful, confident arc that says everything she could not say for days.

Then — a whisper of motion! Not sound, but a startle: Retro’s shadow flutters in the stands (he’s spectating from Big Shots side); Yoshi misreads the visual tremor for an incoming threat, and his tail flicks — the tiny tail-flick is enough to brush his knee on a pebble.

The pebble rolls with the tiniest rattle.

Silence breaks. The pebble’s little click is all it takes.

Yoshi’s shoe scuffs. He freezes, mortified. The play referee — a blinking light on Mewo’s stand — flashes red.

ELIMINATION: Yoshi. He lowers his head and, for the first time in the competition, speaks.

It’s soft, but audible now that he’s out:
Yoshi: “Yoshi…” — then a grin, and a small, grateful bow. He pats his chest, then points to Wembry and the team. He doesn’t need words — his whole demeanor says, you can do it. I trust you.

Major Yoshi development: he has matured from comic relief to deliberate leader, choosing a silent sacrifice (not literal sacrifice — he didn’t throw the game — but accepting elimination gracefully) to support the team morale. He leaves the court with dignity, not shame. He tells no one to be loud; he models calm courage.

Final Throw — Wembry’s moment

Now alone against Noxor or maybe Binah (depending on final survivors), Wembry stands tall. She breathes, centers herself, and uses everything she learned from Cassie, Sphinx, and the week of training.

She passes and fakes — a flawless feint that would make any silent general proud. The opponent startles visually; a glove brushes a sleeve. The referee light blinks red.

ELIMINATION: the opponent makes the smallest involuntary sound — they’re out.

Wembry is the last person standing. Ritual Rulers win Silent Ball.

Aftermath — loud celebration

Sound returns like a flood. Screams, cheers, honks (no Mercedes, but there are plenty of honks metaphorically), and laughter pour across the court.

CassiLyn grabs Wembry in a fierce, tight hug. Nocturne’s absence is a physical thing now — Wembry sobs great relieved, audible sobs and says, finally with words:

Wembry (voice breaking): “It’s… gone. I can… breathe. Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

CassiLyn: “You don’t have to apologize. You were strong.”

Noxor slaps a hand on Wembry’s shoulder — a rare, genuine human gesture from the hacker-cat: “You did it. Functionally incredible.”

Yoshi (off to the side, beaming): “Yoshi!” — now his voice is a cheer, proud rather than panicked. He ruffles Wembry’s hair gently.

Blobert bounces up and down, wordlessly ecstatic: “blob blob blob!” He’s become a radiant little support node for the team — more than a gag; he’s a friend. This event cements his development: he’s no longer just background humor — he’s brave, inventive, and emotionally present.

Steve and Binah from Big Shots approach to offer respectful congratulations. Springtrap watches with predator’s curiosity but allows himself a small nod.