As Above, So Below

[VoltTurtle]

((...))

Marceline found herself sitting on one of the cushions to one side of the temple, her back against the wall, her pistol, ammo kit, and bag sitting on the ground next to her. Her movements were punctuated by the gentle clicks of bullets being loaded into the magazine clutched tightly in her hands, while the malodorous scent of blood still hung in the air, but less fiercely than it had just minutes prior. Nick's body had been covered up by the various moldy cushions that decorated the temple's floor, with the strange, enormous pile of marshmallows having been disturbed and partially scattered in the process. The doors to the temple were still shut tight, serving as a warning system against any potential intrusions. She wasn't about to allow someone else to do to her what she did to them.

With one last click, she finished loading the new ammunition into the extra magazine, now refilled with all sixteen rounds. She stowed it back into her pocket before turning her attention to her bag and the case of ammunition. Picking the latter up, she heard the familiar rustle of bullets jostling around inside, before tucking it inside her somewhat cramped bag. As she did so, she spotted the unusual water bottle she had pilfered from Amelia, the one with the black marking on its cap.

Reaching inside her bag, she pulled it out, holding it in her hand as she tilted it from side to side in examination. She had been wondering since the morning why it had been marked. Initially she had almost drank out of it without a second thought, but had decided otherwise when she noticed the cap. It didn't visibly appear to have anything wrong with it, but certainly it had to have been marked for a reason. Amelia's other water bottles hadn't been marked, which suggested that it hadn't just been her way of differentiating her own supplies. So, why then? Had it been spiked with something?

Marceline uncapped the bottle, giving its contents a cautious sniff and detecting nothing of note. Assuming the water bottle had been tainted with something, whatever it was didn't have any kind of noticeable odor. That ruled out somewhat obvious potential adulterants, like alcohol. Had it been poisoned? Kelly's poisoning of Mercy showed that as being a reasonable concern, but Marceline didn't take Amelia to be a poisoner, and her weapon had presumably been the AF2011 anyway. So did that mean that she had obtained it from someone else? Maybe someone that had been trying to poison her? Why mark it, then, if that was the case?

So many questions about the bottle swirled in her head, none of them she had answers to. For now she would assume that it had been poisoned, and leave it at that. She saw no reason to dispose of the bottle just yet, and perhaps she could eventually find a decent use for it. She put the bottle away, refusing to spare it another thought.

Now was the time to figure out her strategy, going forward. She hadn't given it much thought just yet, exactly how she would approach her situation. If she wanted to stand tall as the sole survivor out of well over a hundred of her peers, she didn't just need to be cautious, she needed to be ready for anything, prepared for any eventuality. Anything less could easily get her killed.

She reached down to pick up her handgun, her eyes following its curves and edges, examining its intricacies. A handgun wasn't exactly the perfect weapon for her to have, under the circumstances. Even with her knowledge and skill, trying to hit anything beyond about twenty meters away would be wasted effort. A rifle, on the other hand, would be able to easily and consistently strike a target several times that distance, putting her at a considerable disadvantage if she was out in the open facing a classmate with one. Until she managed to obtain a rifle of her own, she would ideally want to stay out of the open and stick to close quarters whenever possible.

Besides the intricacies of modern combat, her grand strategy could also use some consideration. She had walked into the temple prepared to open fire on all three of its occupants, but was that really the best plan for every situation? The element of surprise was arguably her most valuable asset, as getting the first shot on someone potentially dangerous could leave no chance for them to fire back, but taking that approach with everyone was arguably a bad idea. A body count naturally creates enemies, and both Marco and Kirkpatrick were now liable to attack her on sight due to what she just did. Maintaining a lower profile and choosing her battles more carefully might be more to her advantage. She should only target threats, like the names on her ever growing list, or those with valuable assets, like Amelia.

Also, if she were to take a more peaceful—or at least cautiously optimistic—approach with others, it would potentially be possible for her to gain another ally. She didn't need anyone else so desperately like she had needed Dolly and Roxanne, but having an extra pair of eyes and ears on the surroundings would be advantageous. That being said, trusting others under the circumstances would be tenuous at best, especially this late in the game, and something like the prisoner's dilemma would become an issue—why wouldn't her ally betray and try to kill her when it was most convenient for them? She would reluctantly do the same, should their demise improve her chances more than if they had otherwise remained alive, so she should expect that. Thus, even if an ally would be nice to have, she would need to choose carefully, if she ended up seeking one out at all.

Marceline leaned her head back against the wall, staring at the dilapidated ceiling of the temple. She almost couldn't believe that she was beginning to think like that, framing everything in terms of its context on the island and ignoring anything that didn't have to do with improving her chances. She said that she would be ruthless, but it all seemed to be happening so fast. She had murdered Amelia yesterday night, and yet the morning after she was already putting herself in the brutal, amoral mindset of someone who wanted to survive above all else.

It was unfair that she was having to think like this. If the terrorists hadn't intervened in the lives of herself and her classmates, she would be home right now. Maybe she would've been reading a nice book, or going to band practice, or playing a new RPG, or maybe she would be on a date with Dolly. It wasn't just Dolly's promise, on some level she did truly want to go home. A return to business as usual would be so nice, but the home she wished for had been stolen away from her. It would never be the same if she got back, and anyone pretending otherwise was mistaken. She persisted not because she believed anything would be normal after she got back, but simply because Dolly saw something in her worth protecting. That had to mean something.

It had to.

It wasn't just her that this whole ordeal was unfair to, either. All of her still living classmates were likely struggling with the same feelings, and the ones who had already perished likely grappled with them before their deaths, too. All of them holding the same common interest: the wish for normalcy, the desire to go back. Yet, only one of them could have anything approaching that. She intended it to be herself of course, but she couldn't help but acknowledge the frankly dizzying scope of the tragedy on display. She barely knew over half of her class, but she was still aware that they were people with their own lives and desires before all of this. Even if they were merely obstacles on her path forward, now, she had to acknowledge their fundamental humanity.

Yes, it was definitely unfair—she even hoped each and every one of the people responsible for their current predicament would eventually be lined up against a wall and shot—but unfortunately, as unfair as it all was, she was still here. She had no other option than to play their game and dance to their tune if she wanted to live. She had spent her time here up to this point trying to resist that reality, first by refusing to participate in the whole ordeal and simply attempting to wait it out with her girlfriend, and then when that failed she fought it instead by actively trying to stop it, wanting to kill those that were keeping it going. Time and again she failed, until she finally stopped trying to resist. Now that she had, she had finally found success, and had even been rewarded for it by her captors.

She lowered her gaze, staring at the pile of cushions that she had buried Nick under some time prior. Now that she had a chance to cool down, she knew that the reason she hadn't hesitated prior to shooting Nick had definitely been due to rage at what he had said to her. Considering the idea of doing it all again, replaying what happened in those last few moments over and over in her head, she knew that if it hadn't been for that, she would've frozen up. Maybe it would have only been for a moment, but it would have been there, and that was important. She had been cursing her hesitation before, but in its absence she realized that she didn't want the act of killing to be effortless, she needed that difficulty to be there. That way, she would know that she wasn't too far gone, that she was still herself, despite it all.

Of course, killing a man with no hesitation just because he pissed her off wasn't exactly that much better than killing him because she didn't care if he lived or died, and she was under no illusion to the contrary, but it was a small grace that she could cling to on her rapid descent into the depths of depravity.

Marceline continued staring at the pile of cushions, her thoughts drifting to the man buried underneath them, now devoid of her anger. She refused to forget that Nick had been a person with his own hopes, dreams, and loves, despite her active attempts at distancing herself from him in the moment. Even if he had been nothing but an obstacle to her, his death was still a tragedy, one that others would likely feel much more intimately than she did. Marco, for his part, probably felt the same way about her as she felt about D'Aramitz. He probably wanted her dead, and she understood why. If he came before her again, she would still kill him for her own sake, but she wouldn't begrudge him if he made an attempt on her life.

She slumped against the wall behind her, her head and back slowly sliding down against it. Nick's parting words to her kept echoing through her head, refusing to leave her. She had dismissed much of them in the moment, but now that she was alone with nothing but her thoughts to comfort her, they kept coming back. One part in particular stuck out, when he had said that the people back home who cared about her would be fucking ashamed. All this time, she had been trying to avoid thinking of home to protect herself, but perhaps he had been right about that. People were hurting because of her, people had been hurt because of her, and that had never been something she had wanted before all of this. Knowing what she knew now, she would probably be ashamed of herself, too.

She had been trying not to think about them all this time, but her dear little brother and both of her parents were presumably worried sick about where she was. They might even believe that she was already dead. If she actually made it home alive to them, would they be able to understand why she did what she did? Would they be able to empathize with the almost insurmountable challenge she had been faced with? Or would they be embarrassed of her and what she had become? Knowing what she did and the blood she had on her hands, would they shun her, and treat her like the pariah she likely deserved to be? Would they see her as still being herself, or would they view her as some creature that was merely wearing the skin of the girl known as Marceline? Maybe she would be dead to them, either way. Maybe getting to go home wouldn't be worth it.

But... Dolly had wanted her to live, so that had to mean that something in her was worth saving.

It had to.

What else would there be for her to cling to?

With a start she sat up, her cheeks wet with tears yet again, staring at the ground in front of her. Just how long had she just been lost in thought? Had it been a few minutes, or hours? She didn't know, and she supposed it didn't matter. Sluggishly, she began to stand up and silently gather her belongings. However long it had been since she got to this place, she had plenty of time to rest, and she was already beginning to be sick of it.

((It was time for her to go elsewhere, for a while.))