(Scout Pfeiffer continued from Unforgiven.)
It took Scout half a second to realize that someone drove one of the cars in the garage for a test drive. Fresh skid-marks on the pavement, an elevated platform that was empty. Scout was no expert about cars. She didn't even have her driving permit. That was the problem, wasn't it? If she were an expert, she might be able to confirm. But she did not. So the possibility that some nutcase was somewhere out there running people over. You don't bring a gun to a car fight. Or was that comparing apples to watermelons?
Whatever. The possibility of getting hit by a fucking car never occurred to Scout and it sent a sudden jolt of energy up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder ...
... Seriously? Did she think there was a Jalopy sneaking up behind her?
Scout said, "Christ. I'm losing my shit."
Sawlaska silently agreed.
The girl sneered to herself. Her life on Deadkid Island was made up of long spells of silence punctuated with short, graphic bursts of violence. It was easy to get on edge. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she scanned the area. It was coming down to the wire. Clarice was still alive. Scout was still alive. She had to be more careful. No zoning out, no stupid mistakes.
Scout looked towards the metal staircase. It was the only place she did not check before. She shrugged her bag off again, putting Sawlaska away. In you go. Out came the gun. She weighed it in one hand, zipped her bag back up. Then she began to walk up the staircase. She needed a place to rest, to change her bandages from yesterday. The pain in her side was almost gone but she wasn't going to trust her gut on this. She needed to be sure. The room at the top of the stairs was good enough. It wasn't a hunting cabin with decent beds, but whatever was in there, it would have to do for now.
Scout got to the top step. She reached for the doorknob, turned it and opened the door.
Gran Torino.
Open. Afternoon, Day 8.
((Blair Moore continued from The Plastic Ratio))
The vehicle depot had cars in it. An ingenious concept, to be sure, but they weren't paying Blair to provide insightful commentary. That was just a hobby.
Snark helped her feel better, distracted from the miserable situation she was in. Dead people, murderers, terrorists, the only thing that could make it worse would be like, zombies or vengeful ghosts or some spooky shit. At least that was unlikely.
Entering the office of the depot seemed reasonable. Nobody would look in there, or at least, if they did she'd see them coming from the window. So she'd found herself seated at the chair in the office, gun on the table, staring out that window.
She saw Scout Pfeiffer arrive, and it took a second to analyze the girl to realize a couple things. One, she'd killed Alvaro Vacanti, who himself had killed four people or something. Two, she'd also been involved in killing Isabel Ramirez, who had murdered herself to the highest killcount. Isabel had also killed Noah, so that earned Scout some respect.
However, four was that Scout was probably going after killers. She stood up and picked up the gun, considering aiming it through the window. No, that was reckless. Also stupid and did she mention psychotically murderous? Wait...
Scout had put it away, but she was definitely carrying Noah's sawblade contraption. Blair stood, trying to process the situation. Had Scout been with Noah before he died? It seemed likely. Then again, maybe she just looted his body, in which case Blair would probably want to kick her ass.
Still, Blair had spent all of yesterday shooting things. Maybe talking first might help. Blair stood still and watched as Scout opened the door. Suddenly, a familiar tightness in her chest.
"Sup." Was all she could muster before doubling over coughing.
The vehicle depot had cars in it. An ingenious concept, to be sure, but they weren't paying Blair to provide insightful commentary. That was just a hobby.
Snark helped her feel better, distracted from the miserable situation she was in. Dead people, murderers, terrorists, the only thing that could make it worse would be like, zombies or vengeful ghosts or some spooky shit. At least that was unlikely.
Entering the office of the depot seemed reasonable. Nobody would look in there, or at least, if they did she'd see them coming from the window. So she'd found herself seated at the chair in the office, gun on the table, staring out that window.
She saw Scout Pfeiffer arrive, and it took a second to analyze the girl to realize a couple things. One, she'd killed Alvaro Vacanti, who himself had killed four people or something. Two, she'd also been involved in killing Isabel Ramirez, who had murdered herself to the highest killcount. Isabel had also killed Noah, so that earned Scout some respect.
However, four was that Scout was probably going after killers. She stood up and picked up the gun, considering aiming it through the window. No, that was reckless. Also stupid and did she mention psychotically murderous? Wait...
Scout had put it away, but she was definitely carrying Noah's sawblade contraption. Blair stood, trying to process the situation. Had Scout been with Noah before he died? It seemed likely. Then again, maybe she just looted his body, in which case Blair would probably want to kick her ass.
Still, Blair had spent all of yesterday shooting things. Maybe talking first might help. Blair stood still and watched as Scout opened the door. Suddenly, a familiar tightness in her chest.
"Sup." Was all she could muster before doubling over coughing.
Scout stood there at the threshold of the office. She pursed her lips. While it was not in the realm of possibility for someone to have been in the tiny room(in fact that was the reason she had her gun out in the first place), it was still a shock to walk straight into a room and walk right into someone with a gun. Someone who seemed to have been waiting for her. The gun on the table and the fact that the girl did not immediately reach for it was all the indication she needed. Something about all of this seemed of
If it had been Scout waiting in the office instead? Scout wanted to imagine that she would have had the gun pointed at the door. She wouldn't have been stupid enough to not keep it on her at all times.
Plans, fantasies rarely line up with reality, however. Scout learned that the hard way.
There was an awkward silence. That was beginning to become a theme, Scout realized. Awkward tension. The gentle chill running through a dead room. The single bead of sweat crawling down the side of Scout's face. The uncertainty of whether she and the girl were on the same page, mentally speaking. Being on Murder Island was bound to drive somebody crazy, after all.
The girl's name was Blair, or at least Scout thought that was her name. Scout wanted to ask her. To make sure.
Blair spoke first though. She said 'sup'. Then she keeled over and started hacking.
Scout's exhausted brain went numb in a sudden rush of fear. Her knees buckled. She gasped. What the fuck?? Her first instinct was to rush over to her, to see if she was alright. The part of her that wasn't an emotional idiot thought better. Because this could just as easily be a trap.
"... Are you okay?" Scout said. And for once she actually sounded worried. Don't get used to it.
If it had been Scout waiting in the office instead? Scout wanted to imagine that she would have had the gun pointed at the door. She wouldn't have been stupid enough to not keep it on her at all times.
Plans, fantasies rarely line up with reality, however. Scout learned that the hard way.
There was an awkward silence. That was beginning to become a theme, Scout realized. Awkward tension. The gentle chill running through a dead room. The single bead of sweat crawling down the side of Scout's face. The uncertainty of whether she and the girl were on the same page, mentally speaking. Being on Murder Island was bound to drive somebody crazy, after all.
The girl's name was Blair, or at least Scout thought that was her name. Scout wanted to ask her. To make sure.
Blair spoke first though. She said 'sup'. Then she keeled over and started hacking.
Scout's exhausted brain went numb in a sudden rush of fear. Her knees buckled. She gasped. What the fuck?? Her first instinct was to rush over to her, to see if she was alright. The part of her that wasn't an emotional idiot thought better. Because this could just as easily be a trap.
"... Are you okay?" Scout said. And for once she actually sounded worried. Don't get used to it.
((Bart Cappotelli continued from All Artists Talk to Their Creations))
Bart was still running off of the almost-definitely imaginary pep talk he had received from figments of his own imagination at the cliffside. However, finding the tire tracks leading away from the garage did quite a bit to test his newfound resolve. It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together. A car had departed from this garage, and a car had hit Jerry. Since there was only the one garage on the island, then it was pretty easy to assume that this was where the car that had nearly run him down originated from. Because of this, he was understandably shaky about heading inside. He stood outside the open door, catching his breath and preparing himself to face whatever may be inside.
He headed inside once he was good and ready, finding the garage to be filled with the vehicles and machines that one would expect, minus the obvious missing car. More interesting was the sight of someone ascending a metal staircase. He was not alone here. The other person was a girl, but she didn't look much like Clarice or Kizi. He couldn't tell who she was at all, actually. It was sort of hard to tell from a distance, though.
He walked over to the staircase, trying not to do anything to startle the other person in the room. By the time he got near the stairs, she had already made it to the top. He waited a few moments before placing a hand on the railing to step up. He hadn't spoken to anyone since the ill-fated confrontation in front of the gym, so he had to psyche himself up with hopes that this would end in a less terrible fashion. He took a breath and raised his hand, hoping to call up to the top floor and try to get a response.
Well, he would have called had he not heard a fit of violent coughing coming from the top of the stairs. Not even weighing the risks of the situation, he ran up the stairs, the loud impacts of his footfalls on the metal steps alerting everyone within earshot to his presence. He continued his charge until he saw the girl standing at an open door, staring at something inside.
"I-is everything okay?" Bart tried to sound confident, but his nerves had already kicked in, bringing the shakiness back to his voice.
Bart was still running off of the almost-definitely imaginary pep talk he had received from figments of his own imagination at the cliffside. However, finding the tire tracks leading away from the garage did quite a bit to test his newfound resolve. It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together. A car had departed from this garage, and a car had hit Jerry. Since there was only the one garage on the island, then it was pretty easy to assume that this was where the car that had nearly run him down originated from. Because of this, he was understandably shaky about heading inside. He stood outside the open door, catching his breath and preparing himself to face whatever may be inside.
He headed inside once he was good and ready, finding the garage to be filled with the vehicles and machines that one would expect, minus the obvious missing car. More interesting was the sight of someone ascending a metal staircase. He was not alone here. The other person was a girl, but she didn't look much like Clarice or Kizi. He couldn't tell who she was at all, actually. It was sort of hard to tell from a distance, though.
He walked over to the staircase, trying not to do anything to startle the other person in the room. By the time he got near the stairs, she had already made it to the top. He waited a few moments before placing a hand on the railing to step up. He hadn't spoken to anyone since the ill-fated confrontation in front of the gym, so he had to psyche himself up with hopes that this would end in a less terrible fashion. He took a breath and raised his hand, hoping to call up to the top floor and try to get a response.
Well, he would have called had he not heard a fit of violent coughing coming from the top of the stairs. Not even weighing the risks of the situation, he ran up the stairs, the loud impacts of his footfalls on the metal steps alerting everyone within earshot to his presence. He continued his charge until he saw the girl standing at an open door, staring at something inside.
"I-is everything okay?" Bart tried to sound confident, but his nerves had already kicked in, bringing the shakiness back to his voice.
Blair waved a hand dismissively and stood upright again after a moment, clearing her throat. "Yeah, I'm fine." Scout's look of momentary concern surprised her, and was to an extent reassuring. If she was after Blair's blood, there was no way she'd have acted that way, right?
The loud footsteps from outside put Blair back on alert, though. She picked up the gun, did not remove the safety and definitely did not point it at anyone but the floor. Still, it was a show of force, if anything. Blair couldn't tell who was behind Scout, and couldn't make out what they'd said. Probably not about to murder either of them, but people had probably thought that about her.
Ugh. Okay, stick to the present.
"Who's your friend?" Blair tilted her head, but still couldn't quite tell who was standing there.
The loud footsteps from outside put Blair back on alert, though. She picked up the gun, did not remove the safety and definitely did not point it at anyone but the floor. Still, it was a show of force, if anything. Blair couldn't tell who was behind Scout, and couldn't make out what they'd said. Probably not about to murder either of them, but people had probably thought that about her.
Ugh. Okay, stick to the present.
"Who's your friend?" Blair tilted her head, but still couldn't quite tell who was standing there.
Scout blinked. She looked over her shoulder. Wait, when the heck did Bart show up? That was his name, right? Bart? It was difficult to forget a name like that. Scout exhaled through her nose. Jesus, she didn't even hear him walking up the stairs. She was losing it, as much as she wanted to believe otherwise. Was it the lack of sleep? Or something else entirely?
The other girl said she was fine. Scout wasn't so sure about that. Maybe that was enough to quell Bart's fears, sure, but Scout was in the room when she decided to double over coughing. Or maybe that was Scout's pessimism talking. She did a double-take, looking between Blair and Bart. Scout did not like the position she was in. It made her feel claustrophobic. She took a step back and away from the door, giving Blair enough room to see Bart in the doorway.
"... well you look like shit, but, if you say so." Scout said. She made a face.
Blair asked about Bart. Was he a friend? Hardly. Hell, she had no idea he was even here! So the shock of his arrival was mutual, at least she assumed as much.
"I dunno," Scout said with a tense shrug. Whatever remnants of concern were gone. "Your name is Bart, right? How long have you been skulking about?"
'How long have you been following me' was the question Scout really wanted to ask. But. She held her tongue.
The other girl said she was fine. Scout wasn't so sure about that. Maybe that was enough to quell Bart's fears, sure, but Scout was in the room when she decided to double over coughing. Or maybe that was Scout's pessimism talking. She did a double-take, looking between Blair and Bart. Scout did not like the position she was in. It made her feel claustrophobic. She took a step back and away from the door, giving Blair enough room to see Bart in the doorway.
"... well you look like shit, but, if you say so." Scout said. She made a face.
Blair asked about Bart. Was he a friend? Hardly. Hell, she had no idea he was even here! So the shock of his arrival was mutual, at least she assumed as much.
"I dunno," Scout said with a tense shrug. Whatever remnants of concern were gone. "Your name is Bart, right? How long have you been skulking about?"
'How long have you been following me' was the question Scout really wanted to ask. But. She held her tongue.
There was another visible through the doorway. She didn't look like she was having an easy time of things, seeing as she was the source of the coughing fit he had just heard, but the gun in her hands gave Bart more than enough reason to be concerned for his own wellbeing as well as hers. He held his tongue out of caution, not wanting to say anything that could spur anyone to do anything regrettable. To further that goal, he focused on the question that had been directly asked of him, seeing as it was probably the quickest and easiest way to make himself more familiar and less of an unknown threat.
"I, uh... just got here, actually." He answered truthfully. 'It's been kind of a rough couple of days for me, and I'm trying to find some friends that I lost. I was, um..." He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to gauge their possible reactions before remembering how bad his social perception was and moving forward anyway. "I was kinda hoping that maybe you had seen them. Then I heard someone coughing and kinda freaked out, so I ran up here to see what was wrong."
He leaned over to get a better view through the doorway and pointed to the girl with the gun. "Are you sure you're okay, though? I've got some extra water if you need some."
"I, uh... just got here, actually." He answered truthfully. 'It's been kind of a rough couple of days for me, and I'm trying to find some friends that I lost. I was, um..." He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to gauge their possible reactions before remembering how bad his social perception was and moving forward anyway. "I was kinda hoping that maybe you had seen them. Then I heard someone coughing and kinda freaked out, so I ran up here to see what was wrong."
He leaned over to get a better view through the doorway and pointed to the girl with the gun. "Are you sure you're okay, though? I've got some extra water if you need some."
Oh, it was Bart.
Blair knew his face, but almost nothing about him aside from people saying nasty stuff about him or his hygiene. Poor guy looked scared stiff.
"Depends. Who are they? They got names?" Blair looked between the two intruders. It was uncomfortable to be in a corner like this, even if nothing had indicated there was any violent intent. To make things even worse, Blair was the best-armed person in the room, which theoretically gave her a position of power.
That was a mixed blessing. Blair was happy to be in control, sure, but so far that hadn't worked out for her. The most sensible thing to do was avoid any confrontation before it could go down. Violence was risky, reckless, and reprehensible.
Cautiously, Blair fumbled the safety of the gun while holding it at her hip, and hoisted her daypack onto her shoulder. She started towards the door, moving with some hesitance but trying to appear confident, her expression blank.
Blair knew his face, but almost nothing about him aside from people saying nasty stuff about him or his hygiene. Poor guy looked scared stiff.
"Depends. Who are they? They got names?" Blair looked between the two intruders. It was uncomfortable to be in a corner like this, even if nothing had indicated there was any violent intent. To make things even worse, Blair was the best-armed person in the room, which theoretically gave her a position of power.
That was a mixed blessing. Blair was happy to be in control, sure, but so far that hadn't worked out for her. The most sensible thing to do was avoid any confrontation before it could go down. Violence was risky, reckless, and reprehensible.
Cautiously, Blair fumbled the safety of the gun while holding it at her hip, and hoisted her daypack onto her shoulder. She started towards the door, moving with some hesitance but trying to appear confident, her expression blank.
Scout didn't like being boxed in. Call her paranoid, but she didn't like that Blair's weakness could so easily be faked and that Bart had just so happened to appear behind her as she was distracted either. She took a few more steps back. Better to have her back to the wall than to a stranger.
"I've seen a few people," she told Bart. "Most of 'em are dead now, so if they were your friends you're probably shit out of luck."
Bart flinched. He knew that finding Clarice, Kiziah, and Lili again might be a long shot, but she didn't have to say it like that. "Were, uh... were any of them Clarice Halwood, Kizi Saraki, or Lili Williams, by any chance?"
Scout started at the mention of Clarice's name. "You saw Clarice? Where?" She demanded.
"We were together for a few days, until we got separated when the library caught fire..." Bart was surprised that this other girl seemed to know Clarice; he didn't recognize her, and he couldn't remember if Clarice had mentioned anyone like her. "Is she a friend of yours?"
"She's my stepsister." Scout crossed her arms as she looked Bart over once again, wondering why Clarice had decided to hang around with someone like him. Did he always smell? "Name's Scout, by the way."
"Scout..." Try as he might, he couldn't remember Clarice mentioning a Scout. He could remember someone else mentioning her name though: Danya. "You... you're a killer." He wasn't sure if he ought to take a step back from the doorway or not. Running might make her angry.
Scout scowled. She glanced back over at Blair to see if there was any negative reaction to Bart's words, but she still seemed to be recovering from her coughing fit. "Don't get any ideas. I'm only going after the people who deserve it. I killed Vacanti and Ramirez, remember?"
Bart still looked uncertain. Scout didn't really care about mincing words any longer; she wanted out of this room, which now felt way too small and stifling. "Where did you last see Clarice?"
Bart swallowed. "The library. I haven't been back there since it burned down though... do you think she'd go back?"
Scout shrugged. "Hell if I know. Maybe she'd go back to look for you and whoever else." She adjusted her things and edged towards the door, careful not to turn her back to the other girl while she dealt with Bart. "I'm going now. Let me through."
Bart stepped back so Scout would pass, not eager to antagonize someone with so many weapons. He glanced between her and Blair. Blair didn't seem as intimidating as Scout, but he didn't know her well enough to be sure. Scout was Clarice's sister, and she had taken on two killers and won.
Bart wanted to stay alive, if he could help it, and even if she was a bit rough, Scout seemed like a good potential ally. "Wait," he called before she could leave. "Do you want to look for her and the others together?"
Scout frowned at him. True, she hadn't had any worthwhile company since Noah, and now Noah was dead. Bart didn't look like he'd be much in a fight, but he was big at least. She didn't know if he'd be any help, but he had been good enough for Clarice and he didn't seem like trouble. She sighed. "Fine, whatever. But don't slow me down. I won't wait for you."
Bart nodded rapidly in agreement. He looked back at the girl in the office, feeling somewhat guilty for suddenly abandoning her, but he didn't want Scout to leave him behind. "Here," he said, fishing one of his extra water bottles out and setting it down for her. "Sorry."
He turned and hurried out of the vehicle depot after Scout.
((Bart Cappotelli and Scout Pfeiffer continued in The Long Goodbye))
"I've seen a few people," she told Bart. "Most of 'em are dead now, so if they were your friends you're probably shit out of luck."
Bart flinched. He knew that finding Clarice, Kiziah, and Lili again might be a long shot, but she didn't have to say it like that. "Were, uh... were any of them Clarice Halwood, Kizi Saraki, or Lili Williams, by any chance?"
Scout started at the mention of Clarice's name. "You saw Clarice? Where?" She demanded.
"We were together for a few days, until we got separated when the library caught fire..." Bart was surprised that this other girl seemed to know Clarice; he didn't recognize her, and he couldn't remember if Clarice had mentioned anyone like her. "Is she a friend of yours?"
"She's my stepsister." Scout crossed her arms as she looked Bart over once again, wondering why Clarice had decided to hang around with someone like him. Did he always smell? "Name's Scout, by the way."
"Scout..." Try as he might, he couldn't remember Clarice mentioning a Scout. He could remember someone else mentioning her name though: Danya. "You... you're a killer." He wasn't sure if he ought to take a step back from the doorway or not. Running might make her angry.
Scout scowled. She glanced back over at Blair to see if there was any negative reaction to Bart's words, but she still seemed to be recovering from her coughing fit. "Don't get any ideas. I'm only going after the people who deserve it. I killed Vacanti and Ramirez, remember?"
Bart still looked uncertain. Scout didn't really care about mincing words any longer; she wanted out of this room, which now felt way too small and stifling. "Where did you last see Clarice?"
Bart swallowed. "The library. I haven't been back there since it burned down though... do you think she'd go back?"
Scout shrugged. "Hell if I know. Maybe she'd go back to look for you and whoever else." She adjusted her things and edged towards the door, careful not to turn her back to the other girl while she dealt with Bart. "I'm going now. Let me through."
Bart stepped back so Scout would pass, not eager to antagonize someone with so many weapons. He glanced between her and Blair. Blair didn't seem as intimidating as Scout, but he didn't know her well enough to be sure. Scout was Clarice's sister, and she had taken on two killers and won.
Bart wanted to stay alive, if he could help it, and even if she was a bit rough, Scout seemed like a good potential ally. "Wait," he called before she could leave. "Do you want to look for her and the others together?"
Scout frowned at him. True, she hadn't had any worthwhile company since Noah, and now Noah was dead. Bart didn't look like he'd be much in a fight, but he was big at least. She didn't know if he'd be any help, but he had been good enough for Clarice and he didn't seem like trouble. She sighed. "Fine, whatever. But don't slow me down. I won't wait for you."
Bart nodded rapidly in agreement. He looked back at the girl in the office, feeling somewhat guilty for suddenly abandoning her, but he didn't want Scout to leave him behind. "Here," he said, fishing one of his extra water bottles out and setting it down for her. "Sorry."
He turned and hurried out of the vehicle depot after Scout.
((Bart Cappotelli and Scout Pfeiffer continued in The Long Goodbye))
Well. That was interesting and lucky.
Blair relaxed and fiddled with the safety of the gun again until it was turned off. As the two hurried out of the room, apparently in search of Clarice Halwood (a name Blair was unfamiliar with but she might be wrong), she sat back down in the chair at the desk.
There wasn't any paper or pencils as far as she'd found, which was unfortunate. She hadn't really given much thought to her hobbies back home, but sitting at a desk reminded her of scrawling or typing some kind of poem or something while scrolling through Tumblr or watching videos. That got her thinking about home, something she'd been unconsciously avoiding.
For one, she was probably never going to do any of that again. No more skating, no more BBC, nothing. Hell, for all she knew back home a miracle scientific breakthrough was rocking the world and she would never witness it. Would her online friends even realize what'd happened to her? People vanished from forums all the time. Surely a few remembered her name and hometown, enough to put it together. As for her parents and siblings...
If she died here, all that'd remain of her was her memory and what she'd written during her life. No great accomplishments, not even many fond memories. Miley didn't hate her enough to be pleased by her death (probably), but she didn't exactly have a close bond with Blair. She and Cynthia would be sad, probably feel bad, but they'd get over it. Her parents would struggle, but they were strong enough to handle this.
...Was this supposed to be reassuring? That they could live on without her? Fuck that. She wasn't some kind of cherished pet whose entire life was just a chapter in theirs. A footnote? Bullshit. She was her own person, and she deserved a proper existence too.
Did that mean murder? Well, yes and no. As disgusting as it was to think of it as such, she'd met the prerequisite for winning and going home. Georgia Lee and Rene's deaths meant if she was the last one left, they'd probably let her go. They'd done it to all the previous survivors, so she doubted that'd suddenly change.
That all meant she never needed to hurt anyone else. Yay. Of course, assuming arbitrary events didn't align in her favor, eventually it'd be her and one other person, right? If she had to kill them, could she? On one hand, what was one more victim here, and if it was her or them...
On the other hand, that mindset was more than a little fucked up. Did she value her own being over someone else's, especially if they had another fifty-plus years and she only had twenty or thirty?
Blair stood back up and closed the door. She'd rest here for today, then go somewhere else. It was too cramped in here to hang around forever, and she'd probably go stir crazy. Because more people needed to develop some kind of stress-induced homicidal tendencies on this godforsaken rock.
Blair leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, hands clasped across her stomach, still holding Rene's gun.
((Blair Moore continued in Origin of Symmetry))
Blair relaxed and fiddled with the safety of the gun again until it was turned off. As the two hurried out of the room, apparently in search of Clarice Halwood (a name Blair was unfamiliar with but she might be wrong), she sat back down in the chair at the desk.
There wasn't any paper or pencils as far as she'd found, which was unfortunate. She hadn't really given much thought to her hobbies back home, but sitting at a desk reminded her of scrawling or typing some kind of poem or something while scrolling through Tumblr or watching videos. That got her thinking about home, something she'd been unconsciously avoiding.
For one, she was probably never going to do any of that again. No more skating, no more BBC, nothing. Hell, for all she knew back home a miracle scientific breakthrough was rocking the world and she would never witness it. Would her online friends even realize what'd happened to her? People vanished from forums all the time. Surely a few remembered her name and hometown, enough to put it together. As for her parents and siblings...
If she died here, all that'd remain of her was her memory and what she'd written during her life. No great accomplishments, not even many fond memories. Miley didn't hate her enough to be pleased by her death (probably), but she didn't exactly have a close bond with Blair. She and Cynthia would be sad, probably feel bad, but they'd get over it. Her parents would struggle, but they were strong enough to handle this.
...Was this supposed to be reassuring? That they could live on without her? Fuck that. She wasn't some kind of cherished pet whose entire life was just a chapter in theirs. A footnote? Bullshit. She was her own person, and she deserved a proper existence too.
Did that mean murder? Well, yes and no. As disgusting as it was to think of it as such, she'd met the prerequisite for winning and going home. Georgia Lee and Rene's deaths meant if she was the last one left, they'd probably let her go. They'd done it to all the previous survivors, so she doubted that'd suddenly change.
That all meant she never needed to hurt anyone else. Yay. Of course, assuming arbitrary events didn't align in her favor, eventually it'd be her and one other person, right? If she had to kill them, could she? On one hand, what was one more victim here, and if it was her or them...
On the other hand, that mindset was more than a little fucked up. Did she value her own being over someone else's, especially if they had another fifty-plus years and she only had twenty or thirty?
Blair stood back up and closed the door. She'd rest here for today, then go somewhere else. It was too cramped in here to hang around forever, and she'd probably go stir crazy. Because more people needed to develop some kind of stress-induced homicidal tendencies on this godforsaken rock.
Blair leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, hands clasped across her stomach, still holding Rene's gun.
((Blair Moore continued in Origin of Symmetry))