Yonder, a glint of gold...

[Namira]

((Quinn continued from I am the inferno in which heroes are born))

Another evening in the beautiful jungle.

Quinn was growing extremely tired of sleeping on damp foliage. She hadn't thought that she'd find herself missing a hard floor, and yet here she was. At least with the climate, the temperature wasn't so much of a problem, although the uncomfortable cloying heat was hardly pleasant, it wasn't likely to be lethal. Quinn wondered if there were disease carrying insects or venomous animals around here. Probably. She spent a few more seconds contemplating the idea of somehow enhancing the lethality of her improvised weaponry with toxins, but then discarded the idea. She didn't have the energy to burn on attempting to hunt wild animals, and she was no zoologist; there was no guarantee anything she found actually was venomous. Besides, so far she hadn't exactly required any additional boosts.

Her lack of equipment was beginning to grow frustrating, however. in spite of her ever-increasing body count, few of her victims had given her anything worthy of comment. Even the rifle, much as she disliked its use, had only a single bullet remaining before it reverted to little more than a glorified club. Quinn needed some form of upgrade or she ran the risk of being left behind by her better-equipped peers. The idea of having to retreat from a fight because she was outgunned was disgusting, a disgrace. Certainly she didn't need to immediately attempt to kill everyone she met and indeed, doing so was unlikely to be a good plan, but she couldn't stand the thought of missed opportunities.

Quinn folded her arms and looked up at the broad leaves overhead which blocked out much of the rain. Opportunity. All of this was one big opportunity when it came down to it. That was what her conversation with Daria earlier had boiled down to. Opportunity to make real the deeds she'd thought about for so long but had ever escaped her grasp. Was that all and everything? Bounce around from place to place on this island, killing and maiming until she was unlucky or unprepared and she, too died?

Her face twisted into an ugly grimace. No. She was not going to die. None of these people deserved to kill her. None of them deserved to survive in place of her. So she had to be better—better than each and every one.

Five kills was a lot. Beyond the wildest dreams of what she'd imagined she could ever get away with, back in Chattanooga. Here, five kills represented danger, and more to her than others. She was marked as somebody to be wary of, yes, but somebody who had to be killed without room for doubt or hesitation. Some, the weak and the uncertain, would hesitate nonetheless, but not all. Five was an impossibility for fluke chance and an impossibility for reason. She would be shoot on sight for a far greater proportion of the population. While she wasn't familiar to many of her classmates, she imagined that the body count would jog the memory. Simply enough, she couldn't rely on not being recognised, as welcome as that had been with Stepney. Perhaps the change of clothes—one of Stepney's checkered shirts hung loosely around her shoulders, over a tanktop—would benefit further subterfuge. Still, strategically, killing so many was a bad move.

Quinn couldn't help her mouth twitching at the corner as the three good ones played back in her mind. Okay, a bad move, but undeniably fun. Still, she couldn't quite bring herself to have the same fondness for the boy she'd shot or Rhonda. Perhaps the boy had even survived, though she doubted it. Rhonda was... Rhonda was something else entirely. Frustration. Had she just left well enough alone, Quinn wouldn't have had to stab her. Idiot. Quinn had already spared plenty of thought for the further implications and she was tired of it. Suffice to say, anyone who knew enough about the team to recall they were both members would be on heightened alert. A so-called betrayal captured the attention and the imagination. So... that meant that there was no point slowing down or stopping now, was there? Her threat was already maxed out, all that was left was to avoid picking fights she couldn't win.

She looked at the ground in front of her crossed legs.

Six fresh shivs, broken and jagged at wicked points. Not perfect, but proven.

A rock, one side smooth, the other rough and ragged. Heavy enough for some damage, if used correctly.

Then, laid out above the rest, a thicker stake. Paring off a proper point had taken a while, this was her third attempt. What could she say? The beach had sparked her interest.

She smiled out into the gloom.

((Quinn continued in Kids Run Through The City))