Cracking

[Brackie]

((Aston Bennett continues from No Such Thing as a Perfect Plan))

A pair of knuckles flexed and cracked, before Aston kicked at the sand in frustration. She slung her bag to the ground beside her, and tried to get it through her head.

Her rightful kill had been taken from her. Tiffany Chanders, one of the people responsible for killing Josh, had her beautiful blonde head shot off by a Felicia Carmichael. Felicia Carmichael stole something from Aston, one of the only two things she rightfully had left here.

It was only a few minutes ago, nay, probably only seconds ago since she met that group of 4. 4 losers. 4 people who she couldn't fathom why they made it when everyone else stronger than them had failed. 4 people deserved to live over them, 4 people who should be living now. No Aaron Hughes, just Ben Powell. No Aileen Borden, just Superbitch. No Milo Taylor, just Joshua. No Charlotte DuClare, just Robert. Jacob. Lowe.

What kind of god of randomness decreed that those four deserved to live over everyone she'd ever met?

And it really was that kind of reality. Except for only a few people, everyone she'd ever met so far had died. Marion, Katelyn, Marty, Josh, Michelle, Robert, all those people were dead. That goth girl, Josh's killers, and that stupid Japanese girl were all still alive. Those people who all followed Aaron were still alive, even though they should have been long dead. This was just a screwed up place.

Understatement of the fucking century right there.

So there really was only one reason she was fighting to survive here, and that was to see Quincy Jones die by her hands.

It was her only short-term goal, and considering that the game could probably end in just under 3 days, she really didn't have much time to fulfil it. It wouldn't be that hard, once she was given the opportunity. Point and shoot. If he could find it so easy, then what was stopping her? She could do better than that, no sweat.

...no sweat.

But there was the here and now to focus on. Here she was, sitting on a log on a partially abandoned beach, all to keep her company were the random corpses. Now she had nothing. No allies, nowhere to go, and not a single lead. Not to mention the 15 bullets only that remained. So she was alone now. It was all heaped upon Aston's shoulders to take down a killer. Her and her alone.

Or at least until she did another glance around the area, and had a slight rejig of where she lay.

To her south lay a church, somewhere she had never been before. Parents weren't religious, so why bother going to church? Part of her mind nudged her towards that location, but she knew all to well why her feet didn't lift and hover her right over there. Danger zone. It was only a danger zone so the recipient of a certain contest could come collect it unhindered.

...but said recipient was outside right now, looking at her.

She turned her head and faced the girl, one whose name escaped her. Funny how all you really had to think about was the little things and little things such as someone's little name couldn't even grace one's lips. But if memory served her correctly, not from school but from the only recent announcements...Alice Boucher. French girl, killed one of the early killers. Something like that was likely to get attention, even from the wrong kinds of people.

So...would Aston be the wrong kind of person?

She was staring at the girl, and the girl seemed to notice this, so...it was time to see.

Aston stood up straight, cracked her neck of all its little cricks, and decided what she was going to do. Her steps brought her forward towards the perimetre of the beach, right towards the girl holding her own gun. Aston only remembered in those fleeting few moments that her own gun was still clenched in her hands. Should she have let it dow-
Beep.
Just a warning beep, Aston had overstepped her boundaries. She quickly stepped backwards to rid herself of that danger, and her eyes met the girl once more.

"...hello."

Her voice was cold, and it was now where to see what kind of person really had the guts to make it as a killer among the best. Who was Alice Boucher, really?

[storyspoiler†]

((Alice Boucher continued from Me And A Gun))

And you wanted to see the killer, didn't you?

But Alice wasn't a killer. She was holding a Nazi gun too big for her frame, a souvenir of her mixed legacy. She wanted Sarah back, her boss, her purpose, because you're crazy, she would have snapped, she would have killed you eventually. She didn't know how to react to this girl, this new girl, tall and fierce, Aston Bennet. She looked like she had a plan. She looked like she knew what she was doing. She looked like she might snap Alice in half, with her glare and her fire and her visible purpose that Alice envied, that Alice had lost long ago.

The wind was bitter. She felt blown away.

"Hi." She said. It was English. It was hard to speak, this second language. It will be alright. It will be alright. I promise you, Sarah. I will not leave you.

"I'm Alice." She said. "You're Aston. I have a gun. And I don't know what to do."

She wished, vainly, that she could crack. Go insane. She could be Danya's pet, then, like Sarah was, like Maxwell was. Terror of the island. Away from her mind.

But you could never crack. Not even when Sarah got you. You wished so hard you were deluded then, when you had to film Brock, when you had to watch her kill him, but you saw it all, like she never did. And when you slit her throat, you saw it too. And you aren't anything else now.

So she was just empty. Devoid of will. Hollow. Butterflies in her stomach. She should do something now. Finish Sarah's job. Murder Maxwell Lombardi. The rest of the island was trying to do it. It should be easy. See your justice done.

But she couldn't move.

Aston was staring at her.

Tell me what to do.

[Brackie]

((Whoops, sorry about forgetting this >_<;;))

She didn't know what to do?

She didn't know what to do?

What kind of person just...picks up a gun, and has no idea what to do with it?

Alice's sentences were brief, short. Like she was lost, somewhere in her own head, her own damn problems. What kind of problems were so big, so cumbersome, that it just cut out instinct? This...stupid, stupid girl. What, did she just take out some stupid player chick, come get her gun, then earn herself a slack jaw and utter "U-DUUUUUH, WHAT NOW, DUUUUUUH?"

Of course, you couldn't really tell that was what Aston was thinking, since after her few, fleeting words, Aston's eyes narrowed slightly and she responded in turn.

"...what do you mean, you don't know what to do? You took out Atwell, aren't you just gonna keep on going with that? Not many other players like her have weapons like...well, like that," Aston said, gritting her teeth as she just tried, pondered, if there really was any plausible way of getting that gun.

...nope, that was fast. Danger zone, vastly inferior weaponry, and the fact that she had no inclination to risk her life just for a rifle told her "Hell no, do not risk your fucking life and your fucking revenge just for some dumb shit like that". Yep, swears and all.

So...let's see what she had to say for herself. Why she 'didn't know what to do'. Why she wasn't doing what every other sane person was doing, going after people. Come on, she had to know.

[storyspoiler†]

"...what do you mean, you don't know what to do? You took out Atwell, aren't you just gonna keep on going with that? Not many other players like her have weapons like...well, like that."

-----------

It took Alice a moment to parse.

Aston thought she was a player-killer.

Oh.

"I'm not--I'm not a player-killer." Alice tried to explain. "I never wanted to kill anyone."

But here I am, holding a gun.

"Sarah was my friend." She said, slowly. She wasn't sure if she said it in English or in French.

Lick her lips. Keep talking. Make the words come out not broken. "Sarah was my friend. And then I killed her. I'm not sure--I'm not sure I want to talk about it now." Yes. That was good. Then she wouldn't have to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about it.

Aston looked unfocused. Her lips were grey. Was the shore here sapped of color? Maybe Alice just hadn't eaten in a long time. Strange things were happening to her eyes.

But Alice had a gun now, which meant she had responsibility. So she should do something to Aston. With Aston.

"Is there someone--is there someone you want to kill?" Alice asked carefully. "I could help kill them. If you want."

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Alice Boucher should be the leader. Taking charge. The French would say she ought to redeem herself. She didn't want to redeem herself. She wanted Sarah back.

But it was this girl, Aston Bennet, who was here, with her scarred face and her eyes that snapped and crackled, alive like Sarah had been. And she had a mission, she must have a mission and she had orders, and she had a plan.

Here's a lullaby to close your eyes.

"What should I do?"

[Brackie]

So the girl wasn't a player killer. That...was a genuine surprise to Aston. Of course, it just looked that simple from the outside, without asking. The girl was responsible for the death of one of the island's early players, one who had dropped off the radar so quickly and so early, yet she claimed to be one of her friends. Friends in what design? Were they partners in crime? Did she help Sarah kill anyone?

Either way, it was water under the bridge at this point, since Alice didn't want to talk about it regardless. Aston's eyes unfocused, just watching a lone crustacean, tiny and insignificant compared to the land they stood on, scuttle into a small hole possibly its habitat, and disappear.

But there did seem to be a certain subject which regaled her interest.

"Is there someone--is there someone you want to kill?"

Aston raised her eyebrow at this, mainly because of the unpredictability of the way the conversation swung. It went from Alice to Aston in the blink of any eye...the way it should have gone, really.

"Now that you mention it...yes. There's one person, and one person alone, who I want dead on this island."

She refocused on the French girl, who was surrounded by a glass wall. A wall Aston couldn't even reach through. Alice could break down the wall herself just by stepping forward, away from the church. But Alice hadn't said yes yet. The invisible wall stood strong, impenetrable, while the girl stood there like a soldier, ready for duty.

Aston was enlistment.

"His name is Quincy Jones. He killed one of my friends, and...I don't have anything else to do. The other girl responsible for my friend's death...died yesterday."

She stared right into Alice's eyes, and wore a smile of pride. Aston never looked away, and only stood there, her arms crossed, waiting for the girl with the gun to say what she had to say.

[storyspoiler†]

"His name is Quincy Jones. He killed one of my friends, and...I don't have anything else to do. The other girl responsible for my friend's death...died yesterday."

Alice hadn't been paying attention to the announcements; she didn't know who the girl could be. Still, Aston wore a smile, an unnerving smile, a smile because she knows what she's doing. She had killed the girl, killed the girl maybe, and she knew what she was doing, and she was just, more just than Sarah, killing the killers, good girl, like you're supposed to. But who was this killer, this Quincy Jones? Alice had vague recollections of him, but nothing came into focus. Thinking tall, dark-haired, murderer only put her in mind of Maxwell Lombardi.

No. But she had to know, she had to know one thing. Just to make sure she wasn't making a mistake.

"How did Quincy Jones--how did Quincy Jones kill your friend?"

Because we have to make sure the killers are guilty, and the killers of the killers are innocent. Because we're not going to kill somebody who killed in self-defense. Because we're better than that.

Mixed legacy.

But this girl was better than that. Better than Sarah.

And since when did that stop you?

And she knew what to do.

No. Alice couldn't put it to herself like that, because even now, she wasn't deluded. She has something to do. Not she knows what to do because there was nothing to do on the island, nothing that would get them out. No right answer. You can obey all the rules and it won't help you in the end.

Yes. They were dead people walking, both of them.

And they needed something to do.

No. Alice needed something to do. Alice needed something to distract her from her kill, from that sour taste in her mouth, from Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. And Aston needed to do this thing, kill this man, Quincy Jones, because people who were not Alice felt hot rage, and wanted people to die, and not only die, but die by their own hand, because it is right, somehow.

But she would have some standards. She would not, she would not kill a man who had killed out of self-defense, only out of self-defense, and she couldn't remember Quincy Jones, couldn't remember his name.

Mama, Papa, be proud of me now.

But there was precious little to be proud of.

[Brackie]

Inquisitive little bitch, wasn't she? No, it was no time to be flinging mental insults at the untouchable girl. Imagine if she caught a whiff.

Aston stiffened her lip, and took in a few deep, silent breaths, her eyes flickered absently towards a rock. The beach, the sand, everything to try and keep her from remembering pain...remembering loss...remembering how much she wished Josh was still alive.

There, it was said. Aston cared about someone who she had no reason to care about. Let it never be said again, because it brought to question her purpose, her ambition for spending the last few days alive on this island in vengance.

But she had no words, which was why she took those breaths instead of answering directly, truthfully, and without hesitation. Everything that gave Alice room to question.

"Quincy shot him. He had him down on the ground, he had nothing, no way of harming him-" Aston tried to remember everything she saw as she remembered her body hunched over the corpse of Joshua Krakowski "-he had a rifle to his head, and..." Aston once again impeded her speech for those precious few moments, and could have sworn she felt her lower lip tremble.

"Bang."

Her eyes shot back to the girl behind the wall, and her proud smile was gone. Replaced with an expression blunt enough to sharpen the most faded dagger. Her arms were fallen from her cross, clenched into balls at her side, the gun cutting into the calloused skin of her right palm. Were it any tighter, it would have bonded with her fingerprints, become one with the metal.

But it didn't. Her tale finished, and now she had no reason to parade through unwanted memories. The muscles in her hands loosened, and released her.

Is that good enough for you, Alice? I don't know what the fuck you expected me to say, but that's all I had to.

[storyspoiler†]

"Quincy shot him. He had him down on the ground, he had nothing, no way of harming him--he had a rifle to his head, and--bang."

No more smiles from Aston Bennet. Is that how you describe a death? --he had a rifle to his head and--bang. It sounded cartoony, somehow. I had a knife to her throat and--slit. But it was no use thinking like that. There was no better way to describe a death.

But this girl was honest. Hesitant, but honest. Alice was good at sniffing lies.

Probably angry with Alice.

Alice didn't care.

She had something to do, now. To live, on the island. She would kill this man, this Quincy Jones, kill him--bang--because killers should be killed. Killers should be killed. Yes, killers should be killed. That was a good thing. That's what Sarah would have wanted. Redeem ourselves.

That was somewhat psychotic.

Yes.

Alice Boucher was nothing if not self-aware.

"I'll do it."

Her response to Aston was numb. There was no enthusiasm there, no boiling desire for implicit revenge, or to complete a mission that she had never entirely bought in to. There was just...something that tasted strangely like duty, a reason to stay alive on the island for the next few days, until her inevitable death. Something that needed to be done.

Such a fatalist. And to think, three days ago, you would have done anything to survive.

But that was then.

(Alice Boucher continued in So Give Me Something To Believe)

[Brackie]

She was going to do this for her.

Aston didn't know this girl. Aston had no reason to put her trust so heavily into someone so distant in the curtains of her mind. Aston didn't even know who this new person inhabiting her was, one that wanted to put her life, her responsibilities into the hands of someone she barely even knew the name of.

But the days of the Aston Bennett she knew were long gone. It wasn't like she could really be herself anymore, one of the many vices of the game. Not being who the game wants you to be is the quill to your own admission of death. If you didn't trust anyone, you couldn't be with anyone. If you trusted people, or at least learned to start doing so, your chances of living were marginally better in the long run. At least until they turned the tables on you, or proved to be not so trustworthy after all this time.

Still, Aston was indefinitely more capable than Alice. Alice got lucky. Alice just happened to win the hearts of some terrorists. When it came down to it, Alice's life was on the line far more than Aston's was. She was expendable. When the tables turned...it was Alice who was going down, not Aston.

Still, she didn't need to know that.

There was a long silence, during which the narcisstic girl regained her composure.

"Alright then. Let's go."

((Aston Bennett continues in So Give Me Something To Beleive))