Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The crisp October morning air carried the distinctive scent of fallen leaves and distant wood smoke as Beca Mitchell navigated the familiar pathways of Barden University's campus.

Her worn leather messenger bag was slung across one shoulder and her attention was focused on the glowing screen of her phone rather than the bustling collegiate environment surrounding her. Unsurprisingly.

The previous evening's party activities had left her with a vague headache and the kind of mental fog that typically accompanied social interactions that extended far beyond her usual comfort zone, but the prospect of attending actual classes for once had motivated her to drag herself out of bed at what she considered an ungodly hour for someone whose natural circadian rhythms favored late-night creative sessions over early-morning academic obligations.

At least Dad will be pleased to hear that I'm actually attending the classes he's paying for, she thought with a mixture of resignation and pragmatic acceptance as she scrolled through her phone's various notifications and updates. Maybe if I can demonstrate some basic level of academic engagement, he'll ease off on the constant lectures about "making the most of my college experience" and "building the foundation for my future career." Though knowing him, he'll probably just see it as evidence that his strategy of making my continued financial support contingent on group participation is working exactly as intended.

The decision to actually attend her morning classes had been surprisingly rewarding from an intellectual standpoint, even if the social dynamics of large lecture halls and the competitive atmosphere of academic discussion sections continued to feel alien and uncomfortable compared to the solitary creative pursuits that had defined her pre-college existence. Her music theory professor had introduced concepts about harmonic progression and melodic development that directly related to the electronic music production techniques she'd been experimenting with for years, while her literature seminar had explored themes about individual identity versus collective belonging that seemed eerily relevant to her recent experiences with group membership and institutional loyalty.

It's weird how college coursework sometimes connects to real life in ways you don't expect, she reflected as she paused near the central fountain to check her phone for any messages or updates that might require immediate attention. Though I suppose the whole point of liberal arts education is supposed to be developing analytical frameworks for understanding human experience and cultural phenomena. Even if most of the time it just feels like jumping through arbitrary academic hoops designed to justify the astronomical cost of higher education.

Her casual phone browsing was interrupted by the appearance of a new email notification—a message from Aubrey Posen with a subject line that immediately commanded attention through its characteristic combination of formal authority and barely contained urgency: "MANDATORY Barden Bellas Rehearsal Schedule - IMMEDIATE REVIEW REQUIRED."

Mandatory rehearsal schedule with immediate review required, she read with growing apprehension as she opened the message to reveal several paragraphs of densely packed information about practice times, location details, performance expectations, and behavioral guidelines that had apparently been distributed while she was unconscious and recovering from the previous evening's social exhaustion. Of course Aubrey would send detailed organisational communications at what was probably two in the morning, complete with capital letters and multiple exclamation points to ensure that no one could miss the critical importance of every single logistical detail.

The email's contents were characteristically thorough and intimidating, covering everything from vocal warm-up procedures to dress code requirements for various types of rehearsals, but the information that caused her stomach to drop with genuine panic was buried in the third paragraph: their first official group rehearsal was scheduled for today, beginning in exactly twenty minutes, in the music building's main practice room.

Twenty minutes, she thought with mounting alarm as she checked the time displayed on her phone's home screen and realised that her casual post-class wandering had consumed far more time than she'd anticipated. Twenty minutes to get across campus, find the correct rehearsal room, and somehow transform from confused college student into committed Bella member ready to demonstrate her dedication to group excellence and competitive success.

The music building was located on the opposite side of campus from her current position, a distance that would require either a brisk walk that left no time for mental preparation or an undignified sprint that would ensure her arrival in a state of disheveled breathlessness that would hardly project the image of professional competence that Aubrey clearly expected from all group members.

This is exactly the kind of organisational disaster that's going to convince Aubrey that I'm not serious about being a Bella, she realised as she began walking quickly toward the music building while simultaneously trying to process the email's remaining content about rehearsal expectations and performance standards. Show up late to the first official practice, demonstrate complete ignorance about basic scheduling responsibilities, and confirm her suspicions that I'm not committed enough to justify inclusion in whatever elite musical organisation she's trying to create.

But even as she mentally prepared herself for whatever disciplinary response her tardiness might provoke, she found her thoughts drifting to someone whose absence from the previous evening's festivities had left her with an uncomfortable sense of guilt and neglect: Benji, her childhood best friend, whose disappointment about failing to secure Treblemaker membership had been overshadowed by her own unexpected success and subsequent immersion in Bella initiation activities.

Jesus Christ, I completely forgot to check in with him after the party, she thought with a surge of genuine remorse as she realised how thoroughly her focus on navigating new group dynamics had displaced her usual attention to maintaining existing friendships. He was so excited about the whole a cappella thing, and then he didn't get in while Jesse and I both did, and I just... disappeared for hours without even sending him a text to see how he was handling the disappointment.

The realisation that she'd effectively abandoned her best friend during what was probably one of the most emotionally challenging experiences of his college career so far filled her with the kind of guilty urgency that temporarily overrode her concerns about punctual arrival at rehearsal. Benji deserved better than casual neglect, especially when his support and encouragement had been instrumental in motivating her to audition for the Bellas in the first place.

I need to see him, she decided, altering her trajectory toward his dormitory building despite the rapidly diminishing time available before rehearsal was scheduled to begin. Even if it makes me late, even if Aubrey considers it evidence of poor time management and inadequate group commitment. Benji has been my friend since we were kids, and he deserves to know that I haven't forgotten about him just because I got lucky with group selection.

The decision to prioritise friendship over punctuality felt both morally necessary and strategically questionable as she navigated the familiar corridors of Benji's dormitory building, her footsteps echoing against the institutional linoleum flooring while her mind raced through possible explanations for her extended absence and potential strategies for making up for her neglectful behavior.

As she walked, Beca reflected on some of the events that took place right now — especially the most prominent one: Bumper Allen. The weirdo Treblemaker captain who had tried to make her purchase something that sounded suspiciously like drugs.

For a while, Beca had—ugh—actually considered approaching Bumper with the $600 dollars. Why? Honestly, she's not so sure. Curiosity, maybe? To see if he actually remembered anything that took place last night? She doesn't really know why.

But in the end, Beca decided she wasn't that stupid. And plus — she doesn't even have $600 dollars. If she were to get that kind of money, she'd have to ask her dad for it, and that would probably raise a lot of questions from her old man.

So, no, Beca did not go to Bumper today. She didn't actually even see him at all — which is simultaneously surprising and unsurprising. It's not like they share any classes — but he's usually out with his Treblemaker crew singing random acappella-fied songs.

Oh well. It's not like she has any reason to dwell on that right now. Currently, her mind is on Benji.

Maybe I can convince him to come to rehearsal with me, she thought as she approached his dorm room door and prepared to execute their childhood signal for requesting entry. Not as some kind of Bella groupie or wannabe member, but just as moral support and company during what's probably going to be an intimidating introduction to whatever intense rehearsal culture Aubrey has established for the group.

She knocked on the door with their familiar pattern—three sharp raps followed by two slower, more deliberate strikes—a code they'd developed during elementary school as a way to identify themselves to each other and distinguish friendly visits from unwanted social intrusions or parental supervision.

The door opened to reveal Benji in what she immediately recognised as his comfort-seeking outfit: a flowing black cape that he'd acquired during his intense interest in stage magic, layered over a vintage Star Wars t-shirt featuring the original trilogy cast, paired with ordinary jeans that suggested he'd made some concession to conventional social expectations despite his obvious desire to retreat into familiar fantasy imagery.

He's wearing the cape, she observed with a mixture of affection and concern, recognising the garment as Benji's equivalent of comfort food—something he turned to when he needed to feel protected and powerful in situations where his natural social anxiety might otherwise overwhelm his ability to function normally. Which means he's probably dealing with more disappointment and self-doubt about the Treblemaker rejection than he wanted to admit yesterday.

"Beca!" Benji exclaimed with obvious pleasure and relief at her unexpected appearance, his expression brightening immediately despite the subtle signs of emotional fatigue that suggested he'd spent considerable time processing his audition disappointment. "Hey, how was the party last night? I was wondering if you'd had fun at the whole aca-initiation thing."

How was the party... she repeated mentally, realising that any honest answer to that question would require her to explain a series of bizarre experiences ranging from ritualistic wine consumption to cryptic conversations about imaginary brain enhancement technology—none of which seemed like appropriate topics for someone who was already dealing with feelings of exclusion from the campus a cappella community.

"It was... educational," she said diplomatically, echoing the same carefully neutral language she'd used with Aubrey the previous evening. "But actually, I was looking for you. I realised I never checked in after everything that happened with audition results, and I wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

And to apologise for being a terrible friend who got distracted by group activities and forgot about the person who's been supporting me since we were kids, she added silently, though she wasn't sure how to articulate that kind of admission without sounding patronising or self-serving.

Benji's expression shifted slightly, a brief flash of something that might have been hurt or disappointment crossing his features before being quickly replaced by his characteristic cheerful resilience. "Oh, that's really sweet of you to check up on me. I'm doing fine, actually. Disappointed, obviously, but I knew it was a long shot, and there will be other opportunities to get involved with music stuff on campus."

There will be other opportunities, she noted, recognising his tendency to minimise his own emotional responses in order to avoid making other people feel guilty or uncomfortable about their success. He's trying so hard to be supportive and positive that he's not allowing himself to actually process how much this rejection hurt him.

"I tried to find you at the party," she continued, hoping to demonstrate that her absence hadn't been the result of deliberate avoidance or indifference to his situation. "But I overheard some people saying that non-a cappella members weren't allowed to attend. Which seems kind of exclusionary and harsh, honestly."

Benji nodded with understanding rather than resentment. "Yeah, that's the policy for aca-initiation events. They're considered internal celebrations for active group members only, so people like me who didn't make it onto any teams aren't supposed to be there. It makes sense from an organisational standpoint, even if it does feel a bit isolating when you're on the outside looking in."

'Internal celebrations for active group members only', she repeated, struck by how clinical and businesslike the terminology made what was essentially a college party with themed activities sound. Everything about this whole a cappella world seems designed to create clear boundaries between insiders and outsiders, with very little consideration for how that affects people who want to be involved but don't meet whatever criteria the groups have established.

"That's... ridiculous," she said with genuine indignation on her friend's behalf. "You know more about a cappella music than half the people who did get selected, and you've been supportive of everyone else's involvement even when it didn't work out for you. The least they could do is let you attend the social events?"

Plus, she added mentally, if you had been there, maybe I could have avoided some of the weirder aspects of the evening, like extended conversations with Treblemaker captains about imaginary neurotechnology and whatever psychological manipulation techniques they use to recruit new customers for their various schemes.

But before she could elaborate further on her criticism of exclusionary group policies, she noticed that Jesse's side of the room appeared to be unoccupied despite the relatively late hour of the morning, with his bed neatly made and his possessions arranged in the kind of orderly fashion that suggested he'd left early and with specific destination plans.

"Where's Jesse?" She asked, glancing around the room for any indication of his whereabouts or planned return time.

"Treblemaker rehearsal," Benji replied with what appeared to be genuine enthusiasm rather than resentment about his roommate's successful group membership. "He left about an hour ago, all excited about learning their signature arrangements and bonding with his new musical brothers. It's actually kind of sweet how thrilled he is about the whole thing."

Treblemaker rehearsal, she thought with growing awareness of her own scheduling obligations and rapidly diminishing time margin. Which means that both major campus a cappella groups are conducting serious practice sessions today, and I'm about to be late for mine because I am a hermit who loses track of time too easily.

The realisation that Jesse was currently engaged in the exact same type of organisational commitment that she was supposed to be demonstrating triggered a renewed sense of urgency about her own rehearsal obligations, but it also inspired an idea that might address both her scheduling challenges and her concerns about Benji's social isolation.

"Speaking of rehearsals," she said, checking her phone to confirm that she now had less than ten minutes to traverse campus and locate the correct practice room, "I'm supposed to be at my first Bella rehearsal in about eight minutes, and I'm probably going to be late because I have terrible time management skills and didn't check my email until five minutes ago."

Eight minutes, she thought with growing panic. Eight minutes to get across campus, find the rehearsal room, and somehow project the image of a committed group member who takes scheduling responsibilities seriously and deserves inclusion in whatever elite musical organisation Aubrey is trying to create.

"Uh—Do you want to come with me?" She asked impulsively, the invitation emerging from a combination of genuine desire for moral support and practical recognition that having company might make the potentially intimidating experience of her first official rehearsal feel more manageable and less socially overwhelming.

Benji's expression shifted through several different emotional registers as he processed her unexpected invitation—surprise, pleasure, uncertainty, and what appeared to be cautious hope about the possibility of experiencing some version of the a cappella involvement that had been denied to him through official channels.

"Is... Is that allowed?" He asked with characteristic consideration for rules and social boundaries, though his tone suggested genuine interest in accepting her offer if it wouldn't create problems or complications for her new group membership.

Is that allowed? She repeated, realising that she had no actual knowledge about Bella policies regarding non-member attendance at rehearsals, but also recognising that she'd never seen any explicit prohibition against bringing friends or supporters to practice sessions. I mean, it's not like he's trying to steal trade secrets or infiltrate our competitive strategies. He just wants to be around music and people who care about musical excellence.

"I don't see why not," she said with more confidence than she actually felt about the organisational wisdom of her invitation. "You're not a Treblemaker, so there's no conflict of interest or loyalty issue. And you know more about vocal arrangements and performance techniques than most people, so if anything, your presence might be beneficial for the group's overall musical development."

Plus, she added silently, having you there will give me someone familiar to focus on during what's probably going to be an intense and potentially overwhelming introduction to whatever rehearsal culture Aubrey has established for maintaining group excellence and competitive readiness.

Benji's face lit up with the kind of genuine excitement that reminded her why their friendship had endured through all the various social transitions and identity changes that typically characterised adolescent and early adult development. Despite his disappointment about not securing official group membership, his enthusiasm for musical excellence and collaborative performance remained undiminished, and the opportunity to observe professional-level rehearsal techniques was clearly appealing regardless of his official status within the campus a cappella hierarchy.

"That would be amazing," he said with obvious gratitude and anticipation. "I'd love to see how the Bellas approach rehearsal structure and vocal development. And maybe I can provide some moral support during what's probably going to be an intense introduction to their performance standards."

Moral support during an intense introduction to performance standards, she thought with appreciation for his intuitive understanding of what made social situations challenging for her. That's exactly what I need—someone who knows me well enough to provide emotional anchoring during whatever elaborate group dynamics are about to unfold.

"Great," she said, already moving toward the door with renewed urgency about their rapidly diminishing time margin. "But we need to leave right now, because I'm pretty sure that showing up late to my first official rehearsal is going to confirm all of Aubrey's worst suspicions about my commitment level and professional reliability."

And possibly result in some kind of disciplinary action that involves public humiliation or expulsion from the group, she added mentally, though she kept that particular concern to herself rather than sharing it with someone who was being generous enough to provide moral support during her potentially disastrous introduction to competitive collegiate music.

They gathered Benji's jacket — he kept the cape since he still didn't quite gather what was odd about it, and Beca didn't have the heart to tell him — and left the dormitory room together, their conversation shifting to more casual topics as they navigated the campus pathways with increasing urgency. Benji maintained his characteristic enthusiasm for discussing musical theory and performance techniques, while Beca found herself appreciating both his emotional support and his ability to distract her from mounting anxiety about whatever rehearsal experience awaited them.

At least I'm not facing this alone, she thought as they approached the music building with approximately two minutes to spare before the official start time. Whatever elaborate group dynamics or performance expectations Aubrey has established, at least I'll have someone there who knows me well enough to provide perspective and emotional grounding.

The music building's main entrance was bustling with activity as various students arrived for afternoon classes and practice sessions, creating a stream of human traffic that included several faces she recognised from the previous evening's initiation ceremony. Jessica and Ashley were entering the building just ahead of them, their conversation focused on what appeared to be detailed speculation about rehearsal content and performance expectations, while Stacie could be seen through the glass doors already inside the building and apparently navigating toward their designated rehearsal space.

Perfect timing, Beca thought with relief as she realised that their arrival would coincide with several other group members, reducing the likelihood that her near-lateness would be particularly noticeable or worthy of specific disciplinary attention from Aubrey's quality control monitoring.

They followed the flow of Bella members through the building's corridors, past practice rooms containing various individual students working through scales and technical exercises, until they reached the larger rehearsal space that had been designated for their group activities. The room was significantly more spacious and well-equipped than the candlelit chamber where their initiation ceremony had been conducted, featuring professional-quality acoustic treatment, multiple rows of chairs arranged in the traditional choral formation, and various pieces of equipment that suggested serious commitment to musical excellence and technical precision.

This is definitely more professional than I expected, she observed as she took in the rehearsal room's sophisticated setup and the way her fellow group members were already beginning to arrange themselves according to whatever organisational system Aubrey had established for their regular practice sessions. They're not just treating this like a fun college activity—they're approaching it with the kind of serious professionalism that you'd expect from people preparing for significant competitive performance opportunities.

Beca removed her messenger bag and headphones, placing them carefully against the wall in an area that appeared to be designated for personal belongings, while Benji positioned himself slightly behind her in a way that suggested he understood his role as observer rather than active participant in whatever group activities were about to commence.

The rehearsal space was gradually filling with the other Bella members, their conversations creating a low buzz of anticipatory energy as they settled into their designated positions and prepared for whatever organisational announcements or musical activities Aubrey had planned for their first official group practice session. The atmosphere was markedly different from the ritualistic solemnity of the previous evening's initiation ceremony—more businesslike and focused, with less theatrical drama but greater emphasis on professional preparation and collaborative efficiency.

Everyone seems to know what they're doing, Beca noted as she watched her fellow group members navigate the rehearsal setup with apparent familiarity and confidence. Which suggests that either they've done research about proper choral rehearsal etiquette, or Aubrey provided detailed instructions about behavioral expectations that I somehow missed in my hasty email review. The latter seems more likely.

Several of the other Bellas had gravitated toward a display area along one wall that featured an elaborate collection of framed photographs documenting the group's history and previous achievements. The images showed generation after generation of young women in the distinctive blue and yellow performance attire, their expressions radiating the kind of confident professionalism and competitive success that clearly represented Aubrey's aspirational vision for the current group membership.

Past generations of Bellas, she realised as she moved closer to examine the photographic timeline that traced the group's evolution from its founding through various periods of triumph and challenge. This isn't just about current members—it's about connecting us to a tradition that goes back decades and includes all kinds of accomplished women who used their Bella experience as a foundation for broader personal and professional success.

Benji's reaction to the historical display was characteristically enthusiastic and analytically detailed. His eyes moved across the photographs with obvious appreciation for both the visual documentation of group evolution and the underlying narrative of sustained musical excellence that the images represented.

"Look at this one from 1987," he said quietly, pointing to a particular photograph that showed a group of young women whose styling and presentation reflected the distinctive aesthetic choices of late 1980s collegiate culture. "That's the founding generation—Diane Morrison and her original recruits. And this one from 1994 shows the group that won their first ICCA regional championship."

Of course Benji knows the detailed history of Bella achievements and milestones, she thought with fond amusement at his encyclopedic knowledge of campus a cappella trivia. He's probably memorised the performance records and competitive statistics for every successful group in the region, along with detailed analysis of their vocal arrangements and strategic approaches.

"These are some of the groups whose performances you've shown me on YouTube," she realised as she recognised several images from videos that Benji had shared during his attempts to educate her about the artistic possibilities of competitive collegiate singing. "The ones with really complex harmonies and sophisticated choreographic elements."

The ones that actually looked and sounded professional rather than like amateur college students pretending to be serious musicians, she added mentally, though she kept that particular observation to herself rather than sharing potentially insulting commentary about her new group's current capabilities compared to their illustrious predecessors. Though the good groups seem to be the older ones rather than the more recent ones.

It was during their examination of the historical photographs that Cynthia-Rose Adams approached their small cluster, her expression carrying the kind of appreciative assessment that suggested she was evaluating the photographic subjects according to criteria that had nothing to do with musical performance or competitive achievement.

"Damn," she said with obvious admiration as she studied the images of previous Bella generations, "the old Bellas were hot."

Their examination of Bella history and casual commentary about the physical attributes of previous group members was interrupted by Aubrey's authoritative voice cutting through the ambient conversation and social positioning that had characterised the early moments of their rehearsal gathering.

"Ladies," she announced with the kind of commanding presence that immediately focused everyone's attention and created the expectant silence that characterised well-managed group meetings, "please take your positions according to vocal section. Sopranos in the front row, mezzos in the middle, altos in the back."

Beca found herself seated between Fat Amy, whose presence was immediately noticeable due to her characteristic combination of confident body language and irreverent commentary about their surroundings, and Benji, who had positioned himself at the very end of the back row in a way that suggested his understanding of his observer status and desire to remain as unobtrusive as possible during official group activities.

Aubrey and Chloe had positioned themselves at the front of the rehearsal formation, their body language and positioning clearly establishing their roles as group leadership while their contrasting presentation styles—Aubrey's rigid professionalism versus Chloe's warm approachability—suggested different approaches to authority and group management that would presumably complement each other during various aspects of rehearsal leadership.

Two different leadership styles working in coordination, she observed, noting how their positioning and demeanor created both authoritative structure and emotional accessibility for group members who might respond better to different types of guidance and motivation. Though something tells me that when push comes to shove, Aubrey's going to be the one making final decisions about group direction and performance standards.

It was then that Aubrey moved forward with deliberate precision and grasped the back of one of the middle-row chairs—a seat that was conspicuously empty despite the fact that all other positions appeared to be occupied by their current group membership. The chair's isolation in the midst of their formation created an obvious visual gap that immediately drew attention to whoever was supposed to be sitting there but had failed to arrive for their first official rehearsal.

Wait—someone's missing, Beca realised with growing apprehension about what kind of disciplinary response might be triggered by absence from mandatory group activities. And based on Aubrey's expression, this isn't just a case of running late due to scheduling conflicts or transportation difficulties...

"As you can see," Aubrey announced with the kind of formal gravity typically reserved for delivering significant organisational news or policy changes, "Kori is not here. She has been removed from the group due to violation of her oath commitments."

Removed from the group due to violation of oath commitments, Beca repeated with dawning understanding of what specific behavioral infraction had triggered this disciplinary action. The Treblemaker clause. Someone actually violated the anti-fraternisation rule that we all swore to uphold during last night's initiation ceremony.

Aubrey's expression carried the kind of stern disapproval that suggested she viewed oath violations as serious breaches of trust and group loyalty rather than minor social infractions that could be addressed through warnings or probationary measures. Her tone was crisp and unforgiving as she elaborated on the specific nature of Kori's transgression and its consequences for her continued membership in the organisation.

"Specifically," she continued with clinical precision, "Kori was Treble-boned last night, which constitutes a direct violation of the sacred promises she made during her initiation ceremony. As a result, she has been permanently disinvited from the Barden Bellas and is no longer welcome at any group activities or events."

'Treble-boned', Beca thought with a mixture of amusement and disbelief at the crude terminology being used to describe what was presumably romantic or sexual contact between members of rival organisations. They're using middle school slang to discuss adult relationship choices, and treating consensual romantic activity like it's some kind of treasonous betrayal that justifies permanent expulsion from the group.

The absurdity of treating college students' romantic decisions as matters of organisational security and competitive strategy struck her as simultaneously humourous and deeply problematic, suggesting a level of control and interference in personal autonomy that went far beyond what seemed reasonable for an extracurricular activity.

This is insane, she thought as she processed the implications of Aubrey's announcement and the casual way it was being presented as normal group management rather than an extreme overreach of institutional authority into private personal behavior. They're actually enforcing the oath we took last night, and they're treating romantic relationships with members of rival groups as grounds for immediate expulsion without appeal or reconsideration.

Unable to contain her incredulity at the seriousness with which this policy was apparently being implemented, she found herself speaking before she could consider the wisdom of questioning group leadership decisions during her first official rehearsal.

"Wait," she said with obvious scepticism and amusement, "that oath was serious?"

Aubrey's reaction to her question was immediate and unmistakably serious, her blue-green eyes focusing on Beca with the kind of laser intensity that suggested she found any questioning of group policies or traditions to be personally offensive and potentially threatening to organisational cohesion.

"Dixie Chicks serious," she replied with a tone that conveyed absolute conviction about the binding nature of their oath commitments and the consequences for failing to honor them appropriately.

Beca's amused expression immediately dropped, giving way to awkward surprise.

Holy shit, she thought with growing realisation that her casual approach to the previous evening's ceremonial elements had seriously underestimated the actual expectations and obligations associated with Bella membership. She's not kidding around about any of this. The oath, the rules, the competitive rivalry with the Treblemakers—it's all completely real and binding as far as she's concerned.

Aubrey continued her explanation of group policies and behavioral expectations, her tone maintaining the kind of professional authority that suggested she'd given considerable thought to the strategic and psychological implications of maintaining strict boundaries between rival organisations.

"You can fool around with anyone you want," she said with clinical directness that reduced intimate relationships to strategic considerations rather than personal emotional experiences. "Just not a Treble. The reason for this policy should be obvious to anyone who understands competitive dynamics and organisational loyalty."

Anyone who understands competitive dynamics and organisational loyalty, Beca repeated, noting how Aubrey's language transformed college social relationships into matters of institutional strategy and group security rather than individual choice and personal autonomy. She's treating romantic attraction like it's a form of espionage or betrayal that threatens the group's competitive advantages...

It was during this explanation of romantic restrictions and their strategic justification that Benji leaned closer to her position, his voice dropping to a whisper that was intended to be private despite their public setting.

"What oath?" He asked with obvious confusion about the institutional commitments she'd apparently made during the previous evening's activities.

Right, she realised, he doesn't know anything about the initiation ceremony or the specific promises we had to make about avoiding romantic relationships with rival group members. From his perspective, I just went to a party and came back as an official Bella member without any explanation of what that actually involved.

"Last night during the initiation," she whispered back, keeping her voice low enough to avoid attracting Aubrey's attention while she was still focused on delivering her policy explanation to the full group. "We had to take this oath promising 'never to have sexual relations with a Treblemaker, or may our vocal cords be ripped out by wolves'. It was completely crazy."

Benji's expression reflected the same mixture of disbelief and concern that she'd felt when first encountering the specific terms of their oath requirements, his whispered response carrying obvious skepticism about the reasonableness of such restrictions on personal behavior.

"That's... that's actually kind of concerning," he murmured, his tone suggesting genuine worry about the implications of institutional control over individual romantic autonomy. "I mean, I understand competitive rivalry, but controlling who you're allowed to date seems like it crosses some important boundaries about personal freedom."

Personal freedom versus group loyalty, she thought, recognising that Benji had identified the fundamental tension underlying Aubrey's strict policy enforcement and disciplinary approach to oath violations. The question is whether being part of a competitive organisation justifies accepting restrictions on individual choice and personal relationships.

Their whispered commentary was interrupted by Stacie's response to Aubrey's policy explanation, her voice carrying the kind of bold directness that seemed to characterise all of her contributions to group discussions and social interactions.

"That's not going to be easy," Stacie announced with obvious reference to her own romantic preferences and social objectives, "he's a hunter."

As she delivered this cryptic statement about hunting activities, Stacie accompanied her words with a gesture toward her lower abdomen that left no doubt about the specific anatomical references underlying her metaphorical language choices.

'He's a hunter' with focus on her private area, Beca translated with growing incredulity at the casual way intimate anatomical discussions were being incorporated into what was supposed to be a professional rehearsal setting. She's talking about her genitals like they're some kind of independent entity with their own agency and hunting instincts.

The combination of crude anatomical references and hunting metaphors struck her as so absurd that she couldn't contain her amused disbelief at Stacie's particular approach to discussing intimate relationships within the context of group policy discussions.

"You call it a dude?" She asked with obvious amused incredulity, her tone reflecting genuine curiosity about the psychological and linguistic choices underlying Stacie's personification of her own anatomy.

Beca blinked, trying to process the implications of referring to female anatomy using masculine terminology and wondering whether this represented some kind of broader pattern of gender confusion or just Stacie's individual approach to body image and sexual identity.

Stacie's response was accompanied by a confident smirk that suggested she found nothing unusual or problematic about her anatomical terminology choices, her body language radiating the kind of sexual self-assurance that apparently characterised her approach to intimate relationships and romantic interactions.

She nodded with obvious pride in her linguistic creativity, while Benji visibly shifted in his chair with the kind of uncomfortable body language that suggested he found this particular topic of conversation to be significantly outside his comfort zone for public discussion.

Poor Benji, she thought with sympathetic amusement at her friend's obvious discomfort with casual discussions of intimate anatomy and sexual behavior. This is probably way more information about female sexuality than he was prepared to encounter during what he thought was going to be a straightforward musical rehearsal focused on vocal techniques and harmonic arrangements.

Aubrey's response to Stacie's crude anatomical commentary carried the kind of clinical precision that transformed intimate relationship discussions into strategic organisational analysis, her tone remaining professionally authoritative despite the increasingly inappropriate nature of their group conversation.

"The Trebles do not respect us," she explained with the measured cadence of someone delivering a carefully prepared lecture on competitive psychology and institutional dynamics. "If we let them penetrate us, then we are giving them our power."

What. Beca thought blankly, struck by how Aubrey's language choice managed to be simultaneously clinical and deeply problematic in its reduction of intimate relationships to power dynamics and competitive strategy. She's talking about consensual romantic and sexual relationships like they're military invasions or corporate takeovers that involve the literal transfer of institutional authority.

The psychological implications of framing intimate relationships in terms of power exchange and competitive advantage were disturbing on multiple levels, suggesting that Aubrey viewed personal romantic connections not as expressions of individual autonomy and emotional choice, but as potential vectors for organisational compromise and strategic vulnerability.

This is completely insane, she realised with growing alarm at the authoritarian implications of treating adult relationship choices as matters of institutional security and competitive intelligence. Beca found herself helplessly looking around to try and catch other people's eyes, trying to see if they saw just how weird this was like she did.

Fat Amy's response to Aubrey's use of clinical terminology cut through the increasingly uncomfortable tension with her characteristic directness and irreverent commentary about inappropriate language choices in professional settings.

"Nooot a good enough reason to use the word penetrate," she announced with obvious distaste for the clinical euphemisms being employed to discuss intimate physical relationships, her expression slightly awkward.

Thank God, Beca thought with appreciation for Fat Amy's willingness to directly challenge the inappropriate clinical language that was transforming their rehearsal into something resembling a bizarre psychology lecture about power dynamics and sexual politics. At least someone else recognises that this conversation has moved way beyond the boundaries of appropriate professional discourse.

However, Aubrey's response to this criticism of her vocabulary choices was to ignore Fat Amy's objection entirely and instead begin moving through their rehearsal formation with the kind of predatory intensity that suggested she was conducting an investigation rather than leading a musical practice session. Her eyes swept across each group member with penetrating focus, as if she was searching for signs of guilt, deception, or potential oath violations that might require immediate disciplinary intervention.

She's treating us like criminal suspects, Beca observed with growing unease as Aubrey's surveillance-style examination of their group membership created an atmosphere of suspicion and paranoia rather than collaborative artistic preparation. This isn't musical leadership—this is authoritarian control disguised as quality management.

"Does anyone else have anything to confess?" Aubrey asked with the kind of ominous tone typically associated with interrogation scenes in crime dramas, her voice carrying clear implications that confession might result in leniency while concealment would lead to more severe consequences when the truth was inevitably discovered.

Beca shifted uncomfortably, sharing an awkward glance with Benji before looking back at Aubrey. She's treating consensual adult relationships like they're sins that require confession and absolution, rather than personal choices that shouldn't be subject to institutional oversight and disciplinary intervention.

The request for confessions created an immediate atmosphere of nervous tension throughout their rehearsal formation, as group members began exchanging uncertain glances and engaging in the kind of subtle body language that suggested several people were calculating the risks and benefits of voluntary disclosure versus strategic concealment of potentially problematic romantic activities.

Beca also noticed her fellow Bellas were studying each other with expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion to obvious anxiety about their own potential vulnerability to disciplinary action.

The psychological pressure created by Aubrey's confession request was clearly designed to encourage voluntary disclosure through the implication that honesty would be rewarded while deception would be punished more severely once the truth was eventually revealed through other means. It was a classic interrogation technique that relied on creating uncertainty and fear about the consequences of concealment while offering the possibility of mercy for those who cooperated voluntarily.

This is like something out of a totalitarian regime, she thought with growing disgust at the authoritarian control mechanisms being employed to manage what was supposed to be a fun college extracurricular activity. Next thing you know, she'll be encouraging us to report on each other for suspicious behavior or potential thought crimes.

The tense silence that followed Aubrey's request for confessions stretched for several long moments, creating the kind of pregnant pause that typically preceded either dramatic revelations or explosive confrontations. The rehearsal room's acoustic properties amplified even the smallest sounds—nervous breathing, shifting fabric, the subtle creak of chairs under pressure—transforming their group formation into a pressure cooker of anxiety and mutual suspicion.

It was during this oppressive silence that Mary-Elise's voice suddenly cut through the tension with the kind of desperate urgency that suggested she could no longer bear the psychological pressure of concealing whatever transgression she'd committed against group loyalty and oath requirements.

Oh shit—

"It was an accident!" She blurted out with obvious panic and distress, her voice cracking with the strain of carrying guilt about whatever romantic indiscretion she'd engaged in during the previous evening's social activities.

There it is, Beca thought with a sigh and a mixture of sympathy and disbelief at the terminology being used to describe what was presumably consensual romantic or sexual activity with a member of the rival organisation. Though that's a weird wording choice. How exactly does someone accidentally engage in intimate physical contact with another person? Unless she's claiming that she somehow didn't realise the person was a Treblemaker, which seems unlikely given how obsessed everyone is with maintaining awareness of group affiliations. But still—she sounds really upset.

Mary-Elise's confession carried the kind of genuine emotional distress that suggested she was experiencing real guilt and anxiety about her oath violation, rather than simply going through the motions of institutional compliance. Her voice trembled with what appeared to be authentic remorse about betraying group trust and disappointing leadership expectations, indicating that she'd internalised the organisational messaging about loyalty and competitive commitment to a degree that made her feel genuinely terrible about her personal choices.

She's actually really upset about this, Beca realised with growing concern about the psychological manipulation techniques being employed to create genuine emotional investment in arbitrary institutional rules and restrictions. They've convinced her that making out with someone from a rival singing group is a moral failure rather than a normal college social interaction.

But Aubrey's response to Mary-Elise's voluntary confession demonstrated no appreciation for her honesty or willingness to take responsibility for her actions. Instead of acknowledging her courage in coming forward or offering guidance about how to avoid similar situations in the future, Aubrey simply delivered immediate and uncompromising punishment with the kind of cold efficiency that suggested she viewed discipline as more important than education or rehabilitation.

"Turn in your scarf and go," she commanded with clinical detachment, her tone carrying no trace of regret, understanding, or consideration for the emotional impact of immediate expulsion from the group that Mary-Elise had presumably been excited to join.

Is that seriously it? Beca thought with shock at the summary nature of the disciplinary action being imposed without any discussion, appeal process, or consideration of mitigating circumstances. No second chances, no probationary period, no opportunity to demonstrate renewed commitment to group values. Just immediate expulsion for a single romantic mistake?

The rehearsal room fell into stunned silence as the other group members processed the swift and merciless nature of Aubrey's disciplinary response. The speed and finality of Mary-Elise's expulsion created an atmosphere of shock and fear that clearly communicated the serious consequences awaiting anyone else who might be concealing similar oath violations.

God, this is genuinely frightening, Beca thought as she watched the disciplinary process unfold with the kind of authoritarian efficiency that left no room for discussion, appeal, or reconsideration. She's treating consensual romantic relationships like capital crimes that justify immediate and permanent punishment without any consideration for proportionality or rehabilitation.

"Wh—..I—" Mary-Elise stammered, but she quickly fell silent in the face of Aubrey's ice-cold glare.

Mary-Elise's hands trembled visibly as she opened her handbag with obvious difficulty, her fingers shaking with the combined effects of emotional distress and public humiliation as she retrieved the blue and yellow scarf that had symbolised her brief membership in the organisation. The simple act of removing the fabric from her bag seemed to require tremendous effort, as if she was struggling against the physical manifestation of her psychological attachment to group belonging and institutional identity.

She's devastated, Beca observed with growing sympathy for someone who was experiencing genuine grief about losing membership in something she'd clearly valued deeply. This isn't just disappointment about missing out on musical opportunities—this is heartbreak about being rejected by a community she wanted to belong to.

The scarf exchange itself was conducted with the kind of ritualistic formality that transformed a simple fabric transfer into something resembling a military court-martial or religious excommunication ceremony. Mary-Elise extended the scarf toward Aubrey with obvious reluctance, while Aubrey accepted it with the clinical precision of someone collecting evidence rather than receiving a voluntary surrender of group membership symbols.

But Aubrey's disciplinary process wasn't finished with the symbolic reclamation of group membership artifacts. Just as Mary-Elise was stepping away to leave, she said something else. Her final instruction to Mary-Elise demonstrated a level of petty cruelty that seemed designed to maximise humiliation and ensure that the expelled member's departure would create maximum psychological impact on the remaining group members.

"Take your chair too," she added with sharp emphasis, her tone suggesting that even the furniture Mary-Elise had been using was somehow contaminated by her presence and needed to be removed along with her personal belongings.

Is this some kind of fucking humiliation ritual? This is, like, bullying, right?? Beca frowned, eyebrows knitting together.

Mary-Elise's compliance with this final degrading requirement demonstrated the complete psychological defeat that Aubrey's disciplinary process had achieved. Rather than protesting the unreasonable nature of the furniture removal demand or maintaining any dignity about her departure, she simply accepted the additional humiliation as part of whatever punishment she believed she deserved for her oath violation.

The sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor as Mary-Elise dragged it toward the piano created exactly the kind of harsh, discordant noise that would ensure everyone in the room remained acutely aware of her expulsion process until she finally disappeared from their rehearsal space. The acoustic assault was clearly intentional—a deliberate choice to make her departure as unpleasant and memorable as possible for all witnesses.

Beca noticed that the noise made Benji wince, observing how her friend's autism-related sensory sensitivities were being triggered by the deliberately harsh sounds of Mary-Elise's furniture removal. His shoulders were hunched and he was trying to cover his ears without making it obvious that the scraping noise was causing him physical discomfort. Beca bit her lip, feeling sympathy both towards Mary-Elise and her best friend.

God, poor Benji.

The other group members' reactions to Mary-Elise's public humiliation ranged from uncomfortable fidgeting to obvious distress about the harshness of the disciplinary process they were witnessing. Several people shifted nervously in their chairs, while others exchanged concerned glances that suggested they were reconsidering their own commitment to an organisation that treated minor social infractions with such disproportionate punishment.

Everyone was terrified it was evident in the anxiety and fear in Beca's fellow group members' body language and facial expressions. They're all calculating their own vulnerability to similar punishment and trying to figure out whether they've done anything that might be interpreted as an oath violation worthy of immediate expulsion.

Mary-Elise's final departure from the rehearsal room was accompanied by the kind of heartbroken sobbing that typically characterised genuine grief and loss rather than simple disappointment about missing out on extracurricular activities. Her emotional response to expulsion suggested that she'd invested significant psychological energy in her Bella identity and was experiencing real trauma about being rejected by a community she'd hoped to belong to.

She's genuinely heartbroken, Beca thought with growing outrage at the cruelty of inflicting such severe emotional damage over what was essentially a normal college social interaction. They've convinced her that hooking up with someone from a rival singing group is some kind of moral failure that justifies destroying her self-esteem and social connections.

The sounds of Mary-Elise's distress gradually faded as she moved through the building's corridors and presumably exited the music building entirely, leaving behind a rehearsal room filled with shocked silence and the kind of nervous energy that typically followed traumatic group experiences or public executions designed to intimidate remaining community members.

And here I thought the freakiness ended at that party last night.

It was during this oppressive silence that Benji's voice cut through the tension with an observation that was intended as a private comment but accidentally projected with enough volume to attract Aubrey's immediate and hostile attention.

"I didn't know the Bellas were this brutal," he muttered with obvious discomfort about the disciplinary process he'd just witnessed, his tone carrying genuine concern about the authoritarian control mechanisms being employed to manage group membership and behavioral compliance.

Too loud.

Oh shit, Beca thought with immediate alarm as she realised that Benji's comment had been overheard by exactly the person who would be most offended by criticism of her leadership methods and organisational management strategies.

Aubrey's reaction to Benji's inadvertent criticism was immediate and devastating in its focused intensity. Her green eyes locked onto his position with laser precision, and her entire posture shifted into the kind of predatory stance that suggested she'd identified a potential threat that required immediate neutralisation.

Her expression just went from stern authority to actual hatred, Beca observed with growing fear about what kind of confrontation was about to unfold between her best friend and someone who had just demonstrated her willingness to inflict public humiliation on group members who violated arbitrary behavioral standards.

"You. In the cape. Who are you?" Aubrey demanded with the kind of sharp authority typically associated with border guards questioning suspicious individuals or security personnel challenging unauthorised personnel in restricted areas. "And what are you doing here?"

Beca noticed Benji fidget with the edges of his cape, and Beca immediately felt a worried kind of affection towards Benji, something she's always felt when seeing him have to handle bullying for being different. Aubrey spoke to him in a way that established him as an outsider — and she just hoped she wouldn't berate him like others might.

"And why is he wearing a cape...?" Beca heard Amy whisper, bemused, beside her. It didn't exactly sound like she was being judgemental — more like a confused curiosity. Though with Amy, it's hard to tell.

Benji's response to Aubrey's hostile interrogation demonstrated the kind of nervous confusion that typically characterised his reaction to unexpected social confrontation and authority figure aggression. His words tumbled over each other with obvious anxiety as he struggled to explain his presence in terms that might reduce the apparent threat level of his observation about group disciplinary practices.

"I'm... I'm Beca's friend," he stammered with obvious discomfort at being singled out for aggressive questioning, his voice carrying the kind of apologetic tone that suggested he was hoping to defuse the confrontation through demonstrated submissiveness and non-threatening behavior. "She said... she thought it would be okay for me to come and watch rehearsal."

He's terrified, she realised with protective fury about the way Aubrey was using intimidation tactics against someone who had never done anything more threatening than make an observation about group dynamics that happened to challenge her authority and self-image as an effective leader.

But before Benji could complete his explanation or she could intervene to defend his right to be present as her invited guest, Aubrey launched into the kind of aggressive interrogation that suggested she'd immediately identified him as a potential security threat requiring immediate investigation and possible expulsion from their rehearsal environment.

"You're a Treblemaker," she stated with obvious accusation rather than asking a genuine question, her tone carrying the kind of certainty that suggested she'd already reached conclusions about his identity and affiliations based on limited information and suspicious assumptions.

Aubrey was clearly operating under the assumption that anyone who criticised group disciplinary practices must be an enemy agent engaged in espionage or psychological warfare against Bella organisational integrity.

The paranoid logic underlying Aubrey's immediate assumption that Benji represented some kind of competitive threat demonstrated how thoroughly the rivalry between campus a cappella groups had warped her ability to distinguish between legitimate criticism and enemy infiltration attempts. Her willingness to view any questioning of her authority as potential sabotage suggested that she'd moved beyond healthy competitive spirit into genuinely problematic authoritarian thinking.

She's not thinking rationally at all, Beca observed with alarm at the way Aubrey's competitive obsessions were leading her to treat innocent social interactions as potential security breaches requiring immediate investigation and defensive response. Her paranoia about Treblemaker infiltration is making her see enemies everywhere, including people who are just trying to be supportive friends.

"You are a Treblemaker, aren't you?" Aubrey continued with increased intensity, her repeated questioning technique designed to pressure Benji into admitting whatever hostile affiliations she'd decided he must be concealing. "I remember seeing you sing at auditions."

Benji's attempt to explain his actual situation—that he'd auditioned unsuccessfully and therefore represented no competitive threat to Bella organisational security—was delivered with the kind of nervous honesty that should have immediately clarified any misunderstandings about his affiliations and intentions.

"I—uh—I–I didn't get in," he stuttered out with obvious embarrassment about his audition failure, his tone carrying genuine disappointment rather than any kind of strategic deception or hostile concealment of enemy loyalties.

Beca sighed with sympathy for how humiliating it must be for Benji to have his audition failure used as evidence against him during what was supposed to be a supportive social interaction rather than a security investigation. He must be feeling terrible.

Chloe's intervention in the increasingly hostile interrogation demonstrated her characteristically generous and empathetic approach to group leadership, offering the kind of supportive commentary that suggested she recognised Benji's genuine musical abilities despite his failure to secure official group membership.

"Really?? I thought you were great!" She said with obvious sincerity and warmth, her tone providing a stark contrast to Aubrey's paranoid aggression and suggesting that not all Bella leadership subscribed to the same level of competitive paranoia and security obsession. "I really thought you would have gotten in, I'm so so sorry you didn't."

Thank God she's not like Aubrey, Beca thought with a newfound deep appreciation towards Chloe. The last thing Benji needs is more upsetting social interactions.

Chloe's support should have defused the situation by establishing Benji's legitimacy as someone who'd participated in official audition processes and demonstrated genuine musical ability, even if he hadn't been selected for group membership. Her endorsement of his vocal capabilities should have transformed him from a suspicious outsider into a recognised community member whose presence was welcome even if he hadn't achieved official status.

But instead, Aubrey was ignoring Chloe. It became clear that collaborative leadership input wasn't going to moderate Aubrey's paranoid investigation of potential security threats and enemy infiltration attempts.

Aubrey's dismissal of Chloe's supportive commentary in favor of continued interrogation about potential enemy connections demonstrated her single-minded focus on competitive security and organisational purity over collaborative decision-making or nuanced assessment of individual situations and social relationships.

"But you're friends with Jesse Swanson though, right?" She demanded with the kind of prosecutorial intensity that transformed friendly social connections into evidence of potential treason and competitive betrayal.

Oh God, Beca thought, resisting a frustrated groan as she realised where this was going.

Benji's hesitation about how to respond to this question demonstrated his growing awareness that whatever answer he provided was likely to be interpreted as evidence against him rather than simple clarification of his social relationships and residential arrangements.

He was clearly wracked with nerves — not knowing whether to admit the friendship and risk being labeled a collaborator, or deny it and risk being caught in a lie. Aubrey had created an impossible through her paranoid questioning techniques and conspiracy-minded interpretation of normal social connections.

The fact that Benji's basic honesty and social integrity were being weaponised against him in service of Aubrey's competitive paranoia represented exactly the kind of authoritarian abuse that transformed healthy group activities into psychologically damaging experiences that prioritised institutional loyalty over individual humanity and social connection.

I'm not letting her destroy him like she destroyed Mary-Elise, Beca decided with fierce determination to protect her best friend from whatever disciplinary punishment Aubrey was preparing to inflict based on his inadvertent criticism and social connections with members of rival organisations.

"Yes, but I don't see why that matters," she interjected with clear challenge to Aubrey's line of reasoning, her tone carrying defensive protectiveness for Benji while simultaneously questioning the logical basis for treating friendship with Treblemaker members as evidence of hostile intent or competitive betrayal.

But her attempt to defend Benji's right to maintain friendships across competitive organisational boundaries only intensified Aubrey's hostile response and confirmed her apparent suspicions about potential collaborative betrayal and divided loyalties within her own group membership.

Aubrey's reaction to Beca's defense of cross-group friendship was immediate and alarming in its intensity, her expression shifting through micro-expressions that suggested genuine rage about what she interpreted as evidence of treasonous collaboration and competitive betrayal.

Her eye just twitched, she noticed with growing concern about Aubrey's psychological stability and ability to maintain rational leadership decision-making under the pressure of competitive anxiety and organisational paranoia.

"Did her eye just twitch like a cartoon villain...?" Fat Amy muttered with obvious amusement at the theatrical nature of Aubrey's psychological response to perceived threats, though her comment fortunately went unnoticed by the target of her criticism. It was almost as if she'd read Beca's thoughts, her comment offering some sort of comic relief to the uncomfortable moment.

But despite Amy's comic commentary, Aubrey's response to the perceived threat of enemy collaboration was deadly serious and immediately punitive, demonstrating her willingness to extend her authoritarian control beyond official group members to include anyone who might pose potential competitive risks or security concerns.

"He's friends with the enemy," she announced with the kind of dramatic emphasis typically reserved for revealing major plot developments in espionage thrillers, her tone suggesting that Benji's dormitory roommate relationship with Jesse constituted evidence of active collaboration with hostile foreign powers rather than normal college social arrangements.

Is she serious? Beca thought with incredulity at the military terminology being applied to college social relationships and dormitory housing assignments that had nothing to do with competitive strategy or organisational security concerns.

Beca was unsure whether to laugh or cough awkwardly.

"I can't believe you would betray us by bringing the enemy into our own camp!" Aubrey continued with increasing dramatic intensity, her language choices transforming their music building rehearsal room into a military installation under siege and Beca's invitation to a supportive friend into an act of treasonous collaboration with hostile forces.

What kind of wording is she using?? Beca thought with mounting outrage at the way normal social kindness and friendship loyalty were being reframed as acts of institutional betrayal requiring immediate disciplinary response and group condemnation.

The psychological manipulation inherent in Aubrey's accusation was particularly insidious because it attempted to redefine Beca's positive character traits—loyalty to friends, inclusiveness toward people who'd been excluded, resistance to arbitrary social boundaries—as evidence of moral failure and group betrayal rather than admirable personal qualities that should be valued and encouraged.

"I will let you off with a warning," Aubrey concluded with magnanimous authority, her tone suggesting that she was demonstrating remarkable generosity by not imposing more severe punishment for what she'd characterised as an act of treasonous collaboration with enemy forces.

No fucking way—

"But he must leave," Aubrey finished with finality that brooked no discussion, appeal, or consideration of alternative arrangements that might address whatever security concerns she'd constructed around Benji's presence and social connections.

Beca's mouth dropped open, leaving her at a loss for words. At first, she desperately thought that this must be a joke — no one is this serious and dramatic over fucking a cappella groups — but the seriousness in Aubrey's expression was undeniable.

Beca's attempt to argue for Benji's right to remain as her invited guest was cut short by his own intervention, demonstrating the kind of self-sacrificial generosity that had characterised their friendship since childhood but which seemed particularly heartbreaking in the context of his exclusion from yet another musical community that he'd hoped to be part of.

"It's okay, Beca," Benji said with quiet dignity despite his obvious disappointment and humiliation, his tone carrying the kind of protective concern for her welfare that prioritised her opportunities over his own emotional needs. "Uhm... I don't want to ruin your chance at being a Bella."

The fact that Benji was willing to accept exclusion and public humiliation in order to protect her relationship with an organisation that had just demonstrated its willingness to inflict cruel punishment over minor social infractions represented exactly the kind of friendship loyalty that made Aubrey's accusations of betrayal so particularly offensive and psychologically destructive.

He's protecting me even though I should be protecting him, she realised with guilt about her failure to more effectively defend someone who had always been unconditionally supportive of her goals and aspirations, even when they resulted in his own exclusion and disappointment.

"Benji, no—" Beca began to protest, but was interrupted by him yet again.

"Seriously, Beca," he interjected, voice deliberately calm but carrying undertones of something heavier. "It's okay. Uhm... have fun, alright? Uh... bye."

Benji's careful exit from the rehearsal room—looking away from the group members who were witnessing his expulsion and shuffling out with obvious embarrassment about the social rejection he was experiencing—represented the kind of quiet dignity under pressure that demonstrated his fundamental decency and emotional maturity despite the cruel treatment he was receiving.

He took one glance at Aubrey's face before swallowing and awkwardly beginning to drag his chair away just as Mary-Elise had, the scraping noise carrying it forth towards the piano.

He's handling this with more grace than I would, she thought with fierce protectiveness and pride in her best friend's character, even as she felt mounting anger about the institutional cruelty that had made his graceful retreat necessary in the first place.

The door eventually closed behind Benji with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the rehearsal room, leaving behind an atmosphere of shocked discomfort and the kind of collective guilt that typically followed community expulsion of someone who had done nothing to deserve such harsh treatment.

She shifted uncomfortably with overwhelming regret about the sequence of events that had led to her best friend's public humiliation and forced departure from what was supposed to be a supportive social environment where his musical knowledge and enthusiasm would be valued rather than treated as evidence of suspicious enemy collaboration.

The rehearsal room felt smaller and more oppressive without Benji's familiar presence, and she found herself questioning whether membership in an organisation that treated friendship loyalty as competitive betrayal was worth the cost in personal relationships and individual integrity that it seemed to demand from all participants.

Shit. Benji.

Beca stared at the empty space where her best friend had been sitting just moments before, her chest tight with a fury that burned hotter than anything she'd felt since arriving at Barden.

Fuck this.

"That was completely unnecessary," she said, her voice cutting through the oppressive quiet with sharp-edged defiance. She wasn't shouting—she had enough sense not to escalate things that far—but her words carried enough heat to make several Bellas shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Aubrey's head snapped toward her with predatory focus, green eyes narrowing into laser-sharp points of authority. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Beca leaned forward in her chair, every muscle in her body coiled with protective rage. "Benji has never done anything to hurt this group. He knows more about a cappella than half the people in this room, he's been nothing but supportive, and you just humiliated him for having the audacity to be friends with his roommate."

The words tumbled out faster than she could filter them, driven by the kind of righteous anger that made strategic thinking impossible. She could feel Amy's awkwardly concerned gaze from beside her, could sense the other Bellas holding their collective breath as they witnessed what probably looked like group suicide in real time.

Aubrey's posture straightened to military rigidity, her hands clasping behind her back in a gesture that screamed barely-controlled fury. When she spoke, her voice carried the kind of icy precision that could freeze blood in veins.

"Since Benji was already auditioning for the Treblemakers and is friends with a current Treblemaker, he represents a clear security risk to our organisation." Each word was enunciated with surgical clarity, as if she were explaining basic mathematics to a particularly slow child. "He could compromise our competitive advantage by sharing valuable information and secrets with the enemy."

Valuable information and secrets. Beca felt a laugh bubble up in her throat—the kind of harsh, disbelieving sound that emerged when reality became too absurd to process normally. "Are you serious right now? We're a college singing group, not the fucking CIA."

Several Bellas gasped audibly at her profanity, but Beca was too furious to care about decorum or group expectations. The rage burning in her chest had found its voice, and diplomatic restraint was no longer an option.

"Benji and I have known each other since we were five years old," she continued, her voice rising despite her attempts to maintain control. "We went through kindergarten together, middle school, high school—everything. Jesse's known him for like—just a few weeks. If you think Benji's going to betray me for his fucking roommate—"

"Enough." Aubrey's voice cut through her protest like a blade through silk, sharp and final and completely uninterested in hearing alternative perspectives. "If you want to remain part of this group, you will be quiet and allow me to let you off with a warning."

The threat hung in the air between them like a loaded weapon, its implications crystal clear to everyone in the room.

Submit, or join Mary-Elise and Kori in the ranks of the expelled and forgotten. Accept authoritarian control, or lose everything you thought you'd gained by joining this organisation.

Beca felt the words building in her throat—a torrent of fury and indignation and fuck-you defiance that would feel incredible to unleash and would probably result in her immediate expulsion from the group.

For one crystalline moment, she balanced on the knife's edge between principled rebellion and pragmatic submission, her entire future at Barden hanging in the balance of whatever choice she made in the next few seconds.

The rational part of her mind—the part that sounded suspiciously like her father's voice—whispered about consequences and long-term planning and the importance of choosing battles wisely. She'd already made the commitment to try group membership, had already started talking to some of these people, had already begun imagining herself as part of something larger than her solitary musical pursuits.

But at what cost?

She looked around the room at her fellow Bellas—Jessica and Ashley nervously huddling together, Stacie examining her nails with studied indifference, Amy watching the confrontation with obvious fascination, Cynthia-Rose staring at her lap, Lilly sitting motionless as a statue. All of them waiting to see whether she would submit to Aubrey's authority or become the next cautionary tale about the consequences of challenging group leadership.

They're all terrified of her, she realised with dawning horror. Every single one of them is sitting there hoping I'll just shut up and stop rocking the boat because they're afraid of being next on the chopping block.

The weight of that understanding settled over her like a lead blanket, suffocating and heavy and nauseating in its implications. This wasn't a musical group—it was a psychological prison where individual autonomy got sacrificed on the altar of competitive success and organisational control.

But... she needed this. Needed to prove to her father that she could commit to something, needed to demonstrate that she was capable of being part of a team, needed to show that her music career wasn't just an elaborate excuse to avoid real responsibility and adult obligations. Walking away now would confirm every criticism he'd ever made about her lack of follow-through and commitment to anything beyond her own narrow interests.

So she made the choice that felt like swallowing broken glass.

She leaned back in her chair with deliberate slowness, her body language communicating reluctant submission even as her expression radiated barely-contained fury. Her jaw remained tight, her eyes still blazed with defiant fire, but she stayed silent and let Aubrey's threat hang unanswered in the oppressive air.

There, she thought with bitter self-loathing. I've officially become complicit in this authoritarian bullshit. Hope you're proud of yourself.

The victory in Aubrey's eyes was immediate and unmistakable—the satisfaction of someone who'd successfully broken down resistance and established dominance through superior psychological pressure. But before she could capitalise on her triumph with additional pronouncements about group discipline and behavioural expectations, Chloe's gentle voice cut through the tension with characteristic diplomatic grace.

"Aubrey," she said carefully, her tone carrying the kind of loving concern that suggested years of friendship and intimate knowledge of psychological breaking points, "don't you think you're being just a little harsh...?"

The question was posed with such delicate consideration that it barely registered as criticism, more like a gentle suggestion from someone who genuinely cared about finding balance between necessary discipline and basic human compassion. But Aubrey's reaction suggested that even the mildest challenge to her authority felt like a devastating betrayal.

"Harsh??" The word exploded from her lips with volcanic fury, her carefully maintained composure finally cracking under the pressure of organisational responsibility and competitive desperation. "We need to rebuild the Bellas from ashes, Chloe! The entire campus still remembers what happened, everyone thinks we're a joke, and I can't—I can't let that happen again, I won't—"

Her voice cracked on the final words, the authoritarian mask slipping to reveal raw vulnerability underneath. For just a moment, she looked less like a terrifying dictator and more like a traumatised young woman carrying the weight of institutional expectations and personal humiliation that threatened to crush her beneath their combined pressure.

And then her body betrayed her completely.

The gagging sound that emerged from her throat was harsh and wet and unmistakably biological, the kind of involuntary noise that preceded digestive disasters and public humiliation. Aubrey's hand flew to her mouth with desperate speed, her eyes widening with horror as her body rebelled against the psychological stress she'd been carrying like a toxic burden.

She doubled over slightly, her perfect posture crumbling as waves of nausea crashed over her with devastating intensity. The sound of her distress—part gag, part whimper, part terrified prayer—echoed through the rehearsal room with shocking intimacy, stripping away every layer of authority and control she'd worked so hard to maintain.

A lot of the Bellas made confused faces, recoiling at the sight but unable to look away as if overtaken by morbid curiosity.

"This is reminding me of my Uncle Tammy after he eats too much of the stuffing at Christmas dinner," Amy whispered, leaning in closer to Beca.

Beca blinked, offering a mere side-glance to Amy before returning her gaze to Aubrey.

"Oh no," Chloe breathed, immediately abandoning her position at the front of the room to rush to her co-captain's side. Her voice dropped to an urgent whisper as she placed gentle hands on Aubrey's shoulders, trying to provide physical support and emotional grounding simultaneously. "It's okay, just breathe. Deep breaths. We don't want a repeat of last year, okay?"

Last year? Beca's anger temporarily receded beneath a wave of confused curiosity about whatever traumatic event Chloe was referencing with such obvious concern and delicacy.

Lilly's whispered question from the front row perfectly echoed her own thoughts: "What happened last year..?"

The words were so quiet that they barely registered as sound, more like a ghost's murmur than actual human speech. When nobody acknowledged her question, she tried again with slightly more volume: "What happened last year??"

This time her inquiry was (barely) heard, and the effect was immediate and electric. Jessica's phone appeared in her hands as if summoned by magic, her fingers flying across the screen with the kind of practiced efficiency that suggested extensive experience in rapid-fire information gathering.

"Oh my God," Jessica breathed, her voice carrying the kind of shocked fascination that characterised the discovery of particularly devastating gossip or social media catastrophe. Her voice dropped to a low hiss as if to try and prevent Aubrey from hearing. "You guys need to see this."

The phone was immediately surrounded by curious Bellas, their earlier tension temporarily forgotten in favor of whatever digital disaster Jessica had unearthed. Beca found herself craning her neck along with everyone else, morbid curiosity overriding her lingering anger about Benji's treatment.

The video that filled the small screen was clearly from some kind of formal performance venue—stage lights, professional sound equipment, an audience that stretched beyond the camera's range. And there, center stage in what looked like some kind of flight attendant uniform, stood a slightly younger version of Aubrey Posen.

She looked radiant in the opening moments, her voice soaring through what appeared to be a solo of "The Sign" by Ace of Base, with the kind of technical precision and emotional investment that spoke of months of preparation and genuine artistic dedication. Her posture was perfect, her expression joyous, her entire being radiating the kind of professional competence that belonged on national television rather than college competition circuits.

And then, right in the middle of the "I saw the sign" part, it happened.

The vomit came without warning—a projectile explosion of digestive contents that erupted from Aubrey's mouth with horrifying volume and spectacular trajectory. It was the kind of comprehensive biological disaster that defied description, covering significant portions of the stage and several nearby performers in what appeared to be everything she'd consumed in the previous twenty-four hours.

But the truly devastating part wasn't the initial eruption—it was what came after. Instead of a single discrete incident that could be quickly cleaned up and forgotten, Aubrey continued vomiting with relentless persistence, her body apparently determined to empty itself completely regardless of the audience, the competition, or the complete destruction of everything she'd worked for.

The camera captured every mortifying detail: her keeling over between waves of nausea, the horrified expressions of her fellow Bellas, Chloe rushing forward with her hands flailing as she clearly didn't quite know what to do, the screams and chatter of an audience watching someone's dreams die in real time, the way she finally collapsed to her knees in a pool of her own humiliation while phones where frantically whipped out.

Beca's mouth had dropped open.

Jesus fucking Christ, she thought with genuine sympathy cutting through her earlier anger. No wonder she's completely neurotic about group discipline and competitive success. She literally vomited her way out of what was probably the biggest performance opportunity of her life.

The video ended with Aubrey being helped off the stage by medical personnel, her face a mask of devastation and shame that made Beca's stomach clench with empathetic horror. It was the kind of public humiliation that could destroy someone's confidence permanently, the sort of trauma that would haunt someone's dreams for years and transform every subsequent performance opportunity into a potential nightmare scenario.

Yikes.

"Wait," Stacie said with characteristic bluntness, breaking the shocked silence that had fallen over their group, "click on 'guy pukes on cat'."

"Stacie!" several voices protested simultaneously, though Beca couldn't help but appreciate the attempt to lighten the mood through absurdist humour, even if the timing was spectacularly inappropriate and probably unintentional.

Aubrey, who seemed to have finally managed to recollect herself, cut through their disturbed fascination with sharp desperation: "Yes, that happened. But it was last year, and it's in the past now."

Her words carried the kind of forced brightness that suggested she'd rehearsed this explanation countless times, probably in front of mirrors while trying to convince herself that repetition could somehow transform devastating trauma into manageable history. But the tremor in her voice and the way she clutched Chloe's supporting hand betrayed the ongoing psychological impact of an experience that was clearly far from resolved.

She's definitely still completely fucked up about it, Beca realised with dawning understanding of the psychological forces driving Aubrey's authoritarian control and desperate need to prevent any possibility of competitive failure or public embarrassment. I know I would be. An experience like that would make me paranoid about other possible future humiliations.

The revelation recontextualised everything that had happened during rehearsal, transforming Aubrey from a power-hungry dictator into a traumatised young woman whose psychological survival depended on maintaining absolute control over variables that might lead to public failure. It didn't excuse her treatment of Mary-Elise or Benji, but it explained the desperate intensity underlying her seemingly irrational responses to perceived threats and competitive challenges.

Still doesn't make it okay, she thought with renewed anger about the collateral damage Aubrey was inflicting on innocent people in service of her own psychological protection. But at least now I understand why she's completely lost her mind about maintaining group discipline and competitive advantage. God.

The rehearsal room had fallen into uncomfortable silence as everyone processed the implications of what they'd witnessed—both the historical video and Aubrey's current vulnerability. The authoritarian leader who had terrified them into submission just minutes earlier now seemed fragile and desperate, her mask of control slipping to reveal the kind of deep psychological wounds that transformed routine stress into potentially devastating triggers.

Chloe continued providing quiet support and gentle encouragement, her whispered reassurances creating a bubble of intimacy around Aubrey's distress that felt both protective and deeply private. The rest of the Bellas sat in awkward witness to their leader's breakdown, uncertain whether they should offer help, maintain respectful distance, or pretend they hadn't seen the devastating vulnerability hiding beneath her tyrannical facade.

This is so fucked up, Beca thought as she watched Aubrey struggle to regain composure while surrounded by the very people she'd been terrorising with threats of expulsion and public humiliation. I have got to tell Benji all about this later.

The absurdity of the situation—a bunch of college freshmen trying to navigate complex group dynamics under the leadership of someone whose own psychological stability was clearly compromised—struck her with the force of genuine revelation. This wasn't what she'd signed up for when she'd agreed to audition for a singing group. This was more like accidentally joining a psychological experiment designed to test the limits of human social tolerance and institutional loyalty.

Maybe Bumper wasn't as crazy as I thought, she thought with a quiet amused snort, wondering with about technological solutions to seemingly impossible social and competitive challenges. If only there really was something that could help navigate this kind of psychological minefield without constantly feeling like I'm one mistake away from complete social destruction.

The thought felt treacherous even as it formed, a betrayal of her rational scepticism and hard-earned independence. But sitting in a room full of traumatised young women being led by someone whose own trauma was actively destroying the group dynamics they were supposedly trying to build, the appeal of external guidance and optimisation support was becoming increasingly difficult to dismiss entirely.

Six hundred dollars, she remembered with growing temptation. Six hundred dollars for the possibility of actually knowing what I'm doing in situations like this, instead of just stumbling around hoping I don't accidentally destroy everything I'm trying to build.

...

Jesus, shut up, Beca, she mentally chided. That's all just some sci-fi bullshit. I'd rather not make my day even worse by blowing a bunch of money on a tictac.

The rehearsal room remained suspended in uncomfortable tension as Aubrey fought to regain her composure and the rest of the group tried to process the psychological complexity of what they'd witnessed. Whatever happened next would likely set the tone for everything that followed—either they'd find a way to move forward from this moment of shared vulnerability, or the entire enterprise would collapse under the weight of too much trauma and too little trust.

Either way, Beca thought with grim determination, I need to figure out how to survive this experience without losing my mind in the process.