Hell is Other People

[BlizzardeyeWonder]

She could have stepped back a little more, she could have raised her arm a little faster, but she didn't. It wasn't enough.

It felt white hot for an instant.

Camilla reeled back and held her cheek with a hand. It felt like her neck could have snapped in that instant. Her vision refused to steady. She closed her eyes. She opened her eyes a second later because closing them was a death sentence.

Slowly, she turned her gaze up to where Justin was. It was just a little clearer- not much.

Her breathing shook. Was something broken? She could taste blood in her mouth. Must have bitten her tongue or something.

She took another couple of steps away from the window.

"D-don't..." she pleaded for nothing in particular.

[MK Kilmarnock]

Did he get her?

It didn't feel like the solid death crack over the skull like with Benedict, which sounded and felt so profound and left Justin (and perhaps other people) dumbfounded when he stood up, at least for a little while. Kept on living his life, at least for a little while. At least for a little while. But he did hit, and Camilla was hurt, but she kept on living and speaking, at least for a little while.

Nobody he'd tried to kill or succeeded in killing had the chance to beg. Justin wanted to hurl, but he had to finish what he'd started. Like a mouse half-dead in a trap, the task needed to be done. This wasn't a kindness, this wasn't mercy, he failed to delude himself. But it was necessary. That second day, that third day. They all taught the same lesson. Winners win. Losers lose, and the person standing at the top of the pyramid of bodies gets to go on.

At least for a little while.

Justin ignored Camilla's pleading and began to climb in through the window, making sure to get his weapon arm in first while letting the other support his weight as he hauled himself inside. He kept his eyes up at her, because taking his eyes off of her, even for a moment, could reverse everything if she decided to run up and kick him. But she wouldn't do that. Her instinct to take flight was overcoming all else. So, for now, Camilla would probably keep running.

At least for a little while.

[BlizzardeyeWonder]

Oh no oh no oh nononono-

The door to the other room was blocked by something and Camilla knew with such short notice she couldn't push it out of the way. The beds that weren't essentially wreckage had corpses in them, and what use would a bed be here anyway?!

There was another room, more like a sectioned off corner. She was pretty sure it didn't have another way in, like the window.

Of course she could only stay there so long. But there was only so long before Justin would get to her.

She ran. The door swung open. Once she was inside she held it shut.

Her fingers held onto the handle a little tighter now, bracing for the moment Justin would pull at them again.

She mouthed the words of the prayer but no sound came out. The taste of blood in her mouth, was that to blame? No, no, she had to start before the panic set in, because she knew it would.

"Dear lord-"

[MK Kilmarnock]

"Camilla!"

Justin hoarsely called to his target, huffing and panting. "Camilla come on, I'm getting... ugh... t- I'm get-getting tired," he wheezed. He felt pathetic, trying to plead with the very person he was trying to kill, as if she was going to be okay with it and just come waltzing out with a smile on her face. 'Oh yes Justin, please kill me: here, I'll lower my head and close my eyes for your maximum comfort.' Yeah, yeah fucking right. He couldn't get this done when anybody actually had the inclination to fight back- no, not just fight back, the bare amount of resistance was all that was needed.

Pathetic. Fucking pathetic. He couldn't kill anybody who wasn't sleeping or still shaking off drugs. If he tried to kill somebody on life support he'd probably trip over the power cord at this rate. His future, the rest of his short life, would be spent trying to make the big play only for somebody with their shit together to swoop in, double tap, and then walk out like nothing ever happened, like nothing significant transpired. It happened before. It might happen again, only he wouldn't be walking away with his own life. He was going to die because he couldn't even. Do. THIS.

"FUCK!"

Justin stormed up to the door with a trembling countenance, beet purple with heat and with tension and stress. He raised his foot and kicked straight out with the sole against the door. It made a surprisingly solid thump and dust was displaced from the door's surface, but it didn't break. Justin screamed another swear and kicked again, nearly throwing himself off balance. He ran at the door with his shoulder; the meat and little padding he had on the uppermost part of his left arm took the impact that he hoped would be even greater, but the door still would not give.

He was losing it. He was painfully aware of the fact as it was happening. Too much energy spent. He couldn't muscle that door down.

... But what if he didn't have to?

The atmosphere on the outside of the closet door calmed, leaving Camilla in silence to taste her own breath. Footsteps. A rumbling, squeaking... and then grinding until there was a more muted thud against the storeroom door.

Justin dusted his hands with an exaggerated gesture of a job well done and picked up the tire iron he had been briefly forced to leave on the bed that he shoved in front of the door. One of the unoccupied beds, fortunately... and one of the ones that still had a mattress, as he'd since discovered where exactly the mattress in the waiting room had been pulled from. More bodies. More bedsheets. He'd have to give Camilla the same treatment, once he was finished retrieving his things. Justin decided, with a slight smile of the humor found in exasperation, that he'd let her simmer in there for a while.

A few steps toward the door back to the reception area were taken before Justin remembered he'd blocked it with a mattress. He'd tried the same trick twice and it seemed to be working out so far, though it was a mild inconvenience in the moment as he'd have to climb back out through the window. Checking to make sure nobody had taken notice of all the racket, the boy managed to pull himself through and make a clumsy but serviceable landing. With every fourth step, the tire iron patted against his palm, as Justin went to fetch the saber with which he'd shed Camilla's blood.

[BlizzardeyeWonder]

Justin screamed and threw himself against the door. As Camilla felt each impact, there were a lot of things she wanted to do- continue praying, for she needed strength more than ever. Scream FUCK YOU, JUSTIN! at the top of her lungs because good god that would be cathartic. Or scream in terror. That would be pretty nice, wouldn't it? Screaming in general would be an awful idea but damn if it didn't seem a little appealing in its own way.

But she didn't do any of those. Not when it felt like a battle to just breathe.

Deep breaths, every adult she'd known had said that advice at some point. Lord be her heavenly witness she tried. Maybe it was just how much more cramped this... storeroom, yeah that, was.

Silence outside the door. Camilla froze. He hadn't given up, had he?

Something scraped across the floor, until there was a thump on the door. Footsteps, until she couldn't hear those anymore. If what Camilla thought happened just happened...

"Oh fuck me," she finally found the exasperation to say, as she tried the door. Justin did it again because she did- she barricaded herself in some room, and he blocked the way she got in, except now there was only one way in and out and was he planning on leaving her there to starve or something?

He seemed just a little more intent on spilling blood to do it like, well. That.

Well. The only thing he could have blocked the door with was one of the beds, wasn't it? Those couldn't have been too heavy. All she needed was enough of an opening to get through. Besides, it was either this or death.

It was too early for Camilla to die, even if some part of her wanted to.

She grasped the handle, pulled on it, and slammed herself against the door.

Did something budge?

Not yet.

Time to try again, harder this time.

Did something budge?

Just a little opening.

Just a little more.

[MK Kilmarnock]

It still confused, and perhaps disturbed him how little of Mackenzie's blood adhered to the blade. Justin held the saber in his hand and give it a once-over, noting how spotless it seemed. He had given it a wipe before leaving that cabin, but he still expected there to be something, some evidence of what he did. To see that there wasn't should have been a relief, but it seemed wrong. Unnatural.

The more time he thought about that would translate to less time getting things done.

Camilla was waiting for him just a couple rooms away. He'd considered the possibility that the bed wouldn't hold that door to God knows where shut forever if the girl suddenly found the drive to want to come out, so the trip back would need to be quick, lest Camilla find her own way out, maybe get her hands on a pipe of her own and they had a real fight on their hands. She was helpless, and she needed to stay that way for this to be quick and clean. Or at least... less tremendously messy than this already was.

That meant dislodging the mattress from the bloodied lobby door, which Justin attempted to do with just his foot so he could continue holding the saber and pipe in each hand without interruption. When a significant amount of straining revealed his calf and knee weren't exactly up to the task, he took a look at his tools of the trade and sighed in decision. Letting the saber plop to the mattress for just a moment, Justin hunkered down and pushed, bracing his foot against the wall for extra leverage to help slide it away. Just enough for the door to swing open, and the saber was back in his hand.

Inhale. Exhale. Focus and try to block out the screams, they'd surely be louder than the sounds the others made. Justin strained with the same fingers that held the tire iron in order to grasp the pull-handle of the door and swung it open.

[BlizzardeyeWonder]

Just a little more.

The door moved again. Now the gap was enough for her to get through- and she did, dragging her bag after her.

The window was still open. All she had to do was climb over the bed she'd moved, and get there before Justin got in.

Her bag slung over her shoulder, she lifted herself up, one knee on the window's edge.

Something moved in the other room. A handle was turning.

She had no time to lose- she brought both legs over the edge, and jumped down.

The moment she could properly feel solid ground beneath her, she ran.

[Camilla Bell continued in Surface Tension]

[MK Kilmarnock]

Justin saw the shape of something moving through the window. Just the corner of something, and he had two guesses as to what it was.

The door of that other room was open, the bed pushed out of the way. One guess. He had one guess what it was.

"Ffffff-fuckfuckfuckfuckFUUUUUUCK COME ON!" Justin wailed, running for the window. He stopped up against it, with each of his hands gripping a different weapon, and looked out to view Camilla who would live another day. Or at least like, another hour. Another few minutes if somebody packing heat who wasn't friendly happened to be right over the ridge. But she would not die here, not by his hand. He'd wasted enough energy and was still huffing and puffing, two wonderful activities that increased as the rush of adrenaline left him. Justin chewed on his lip, halfheartedly smacked the windowsill with his tire iron, and trudged back to the reception area to retrieve his bag. Camilla didn't even have the decency to drop hers and give him some extra food to work with, which meant his rations stayed somewhat limited.

He opened up one of the calorie bars and began to chew sullenly, sitting in the corner.

[Tonyksin]

[Lorenzo Tavares Continued From Still Waiting]


It hadn’t been long since they’d left the commissary. Lorenzo in the lead, keeping an eye on his tracker as Diego followed dutifully behind him. Lorenzo had to admit, the other boy wasn’t annoying him as much as he’d thought he would. They hadn’t spoken much since they woke up this morning, and the silence between them didn’t feel awkward at all. This wasn’t a friendship. They weren’t bonding. This was simply a business transaction. They each had a use for the other, and that was as far as it would go. No emotion, no care for each other. Should Diego end up fucking something up and get himself killed, Lorenzo would simply move on unperturbed.

The nature of their cooperation was simple.

Lorenzo needed simple right now.

The day before had tested much of Lorenzo’s remaining resolve and patience. His fight with Emil had left him with a few new aches and pains, and what happened with Demetri had been emotionally draining. Lorenzo wouldn’t admit it, not to Diego and least of all to himself, but having someone else to take some of the burden of his path off his shoulders for a while was a much needed blessing. Lorenzo had been going almost nonstop since day one, and his body was hurting more than ever before in his life. He needed a chance to recuperate. Diego’s presence offered the chance for him to take a backseat for a bit and act as a bit of a spectator.

The boys moved through the village cautiously. If anything more than one dot entered the edge of the screen, the would change direction. Better for now to try and find people who were on their own. Easier to pick off. Lorenzo frowned at the thought. He’d already killed two of his classmates. If possible, he would rather avoid having to kill anyone else for a while. His family would no doubt see everything that happened here, even if he desperately wished for the opposite. His sister Marina, at least, would watch every minute of his imprisonment here. If he could avoid having to kill another person for a while, maybe he could spare her some heartache.

In the end, he’d still do whatever necessary to survive, but it was a nice lie he could tell himself for now.

They were approaching what the map said was the infirmary now, and as they got closer, a dot appeared at the edge of his screen. Lorenzo held out his arm to signal Diego to halt, and he turned the screen of the tracker to the other boy so he could see. Closer still they creeped, and as they did, it became apparent that the dot was all alone, somewhere inside the building ahead. The two ducked down and approached the building slowly, coming alongside a wall with a window.

The tracker was clear, the person was just on the other side of this wall.

There was a small window, and Lorenzo approached it cautiously, peering inside to try and get a look at whoever was inside. When he saw the person, sitting alone in the room, he couldn’t help but grin. Justin Greene. Another killer. Lorenzo remembered hearing his name on the announcements. Another possible threat to them. Another possible threat removed. Lorenzo backed off from the window and returned to Diego’s side.

“It’s Justin.” He stated with a sly smile.

“He’s playing too. Said so on the announcements.” He grabbed the other boy by the shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“Here’s your chance. Show me how much I need you.” He pulled the other boy closer, until they were almost nose to nose.

“Draw his attention, leave the rest to me.” So much for wanting to avoid killing. Unfortunately Justin was a threat Lorenzo couldn’t leave be. He was just like him, someone who decided to kill. Which meant he was too dangerous. And he was armed well enough to take someone’s life, which meant Lorenzo wanted whatever he had.

“We get his supplies and weapons, that’s what matters.” He narrowed his eyes and cupped the smaller boy’s face with his hand.

“Ready?”

[Maraoone]

((Diego Larrosa continues from Still Waiting))

Anyone watching the duo, unaware of the tracker they had, would find little logic in their movement. Every ten minutes, they would suddenly, quietly shift direction, a million hairpin turns in the path made by their footsteps. There was boredom to be found in the consistency of the chaos, but it was an active kind of boredom, the type to be welcomed on this island. It was enough to keep Diego's mind occupied, enough to distract from the silence.

Silence was painful to stew in. From a very young age, Diego had always had an innate urge to fill it with words, as if the silence itself was asking Diego to end it. But, in middle school, words had brought Diego nothing but isolation, alienation, so, Diego learned to partake in the silence, contribute to the sonic void that resulted when no one else had anything of meaning to say. It was what was asked, expected of Diego as someone who drifted from one lunch table to another. And it was what Lorenzo presumably expected of him, too, given that the two just walked in silence, zigzagging between decayed wooden shelters.

Diego wanted more, obviously. That urge to speak had never left him. He longed for quiet conversation scenes, pages of dialogue traded between him and Lorenzo, small talk about what they wanted to be after this, as if both of them would make it off, half-jokes half-meant. But, that was asking too much. Again, Lorenzo expected silence of him, so he would provide that. And, Diego couldn't think of any words to be said, anyways. He hadn't thought beyond the pitch, their first meeting. Everything after was improvisation. The fact that he was even in his vicinity was a miracle in itself. And, Diego remembered, small talk wasn't the point. Lorenzo was a mean to an end. A convenient one, a pleasant one to be around, yes, but a mean to an end nevertheless. Once Diego adapted, once he learned the ways of this island, he would find a way to leave.

But that wasn't now. So, no need to think about it.

Their winding path through the village came to an end abruptly, and Diego almost bumped into Lorenzo. On the tracker was a single dot, all by its lonesome. Prey.

A classmate.

As Lorenzo approached, Diego couldn't stop himself from wondering who it would be, who he wanted it to be. He knew their target was a boy, B064, whoever that was. Most people in the gardening club were boys. If Diego was to make it off the island, then they couldn't, he knew and accepted this, but this was something he hoped others would take care of. He had hoped for a less direct role.

It wasn't one of his friends. Justin Greene, player, Lorenzo said. He sang country songs, Diego remembered. Mike Brown, another Filipino in GHHS, sang country songs.

He frowned. A reminder of the consequences of filling the silence with unnecessary words. Awkward spaces, cut-off glances in the hallway, nights spent awake in bed thinking about it.

Justin was a player, Justin felt too familiar, yet was unfamiliar enough. He would do.

Here's your chance, Lorenzo said. Time to put substance in all those big promises he'd made last night. Diego nodded.

He was supposed to draw Justin's attention. So, he was supposed to be bait. The idea felt vaguely insulting, but he accepted it. He needed to face danger, eventually. This way, with backup, was as 'safe' as it could get.

All of a sudden, Lorenzo's face was inches away from Diego's, his hand cupping his cheek. Diego felt conscious of his own breathing, a gradual, slowed intake of air.

He nodded again, in reply to Lorenzo. As ready as he could be, he didn't say.

He lowered his bags, shovel, silently. He then held out a hand, his bandaged, wounded hand, palm facing Lorenzo. 'Wait,' he meant. He walked crouched, silent, away from the building, from Lorenzo.

He was terrified. This encounter was as safe as it could get, but he was well aware that safety was a relative term on this island. Tremors coursed through his body, air went in out in out in out, walls closed in on his mind.

Diego wrote mostly as an outlet for his negative emotions. He wrote as soon as he felt sad, scared, hateful. A lot of the stories, essays he wrote, were attempts to capture the essence of these emotions, as if to show them to someone else and say that these existed, that someone should know exactly how he felt. His prose changed over the years, he learned more words, more rhetorical devices, but these were newer, fancier ways, means to the end of the same project he had had since he first started writing, this Sisyphean task of actualizing feelings.

Writing could be likened to acting, but with words. A poor metaphor, a faulty one, an unnuanced one, one he would never include in his own pieces, but one that worked its purpose all the same. Acting was writing, but with feelings. He felt fear, terror, all he needed to do was put it to good use.

Once he had walked a hundred feet, he ran towards the entrance, clutching his hand. A second after entering the infirmary, he tripped, crashed onto the floor. He looked over and saw Justin, sitting in the corner. He turned onto his back, pushed himself backwards on his hands a few feet, eyes wild.

"Please d- Please don't hurt me," he stumbled. He continued to shake, unsure of whether he was still acting or not.

[MK Kilmarnock]

He hadn't even finished the bar. What even WAS today, Justin silently lamented, setting the bar atop its wrapper in the cleanest part of the floor that was within reach. He picked up the saber. The tire iron was already across his lap, he just had to wrap his hand around it.

Before he'd made headway to standing up, the person who stumbled into his spot had announced himself in a decidedly less-than-intimidating way. It took him a moment of brainsearching, but Justin finally attached a name to the face: Diego... Mendoza? No, his last name started with an L, he distinctly remembered a 'Diego L' in one of his class rosters. Whatever. The guy's name was Diego, and Diego had apparently had a bad time out there on the island. What else was new, they were all having horrible times.

Justin finished rising to his feet with the sword in one hand and the weapon that had been there from the beginning in the other, trying to make sense of it all. Diego didn't seem to have anything on him, which meant he'd probably been accosted by somebody. The bandages told him he'd been hurt, but that had to be from a while back. This was recent, and meant Diego was bringing trouble. Justin looked around himself nervously, but Diego was forced to be the center of his attention. After blinking in rapid succession in the hopes it might kickstart his brain, Justin tried his hand at interacting.

"G... not gonna, uh... like, I'm- wasn't thinking of hurting you," Justin finally spat out. "What happ-" He started to ask, but he realized at least part of Diego's fearful reaction was not due to whatever he was running from previously, but from seeing him. He sighed sharply, maybe sounding angrier than he'd intended, but it was just to reset his breath and steel himself more than anything. "Benedict was an accident, so just like... take it easy?" The lie was getting easier to tell each time he said it.

Justin took another quick look back at the door Diego had burst through. Just what exactly WAS he running from?

[Maraoone]

The abrupt blast of air from Justin's lungs, the flash of irritation, startled Diego, he pushed himself back a step, the hint of a yelp from his throat. The flash of any single emotion would be the signal of the end, the prelude to a single lunge with that sword, and maybe this had been a mistake, Lorenzo should've done this, but that was not the point, he was supposed to be acquainted with danger, and this was danger, looking down on him, staring him in the face.

Draw his attention, Lorenzo said. 'Buy time,' he implied. Stall, waste the seconds away, in a place where each second literally meant life and death. Prove yourself.

Answer him, first. Conversation, small talk, big meaning.

"I- sorry, I just- I've been through a long day. I just, uh, I..."

What happened, next. Cover story, think of a threat, Justin, no, right in front of him, Lorenzo, no, he'll be zeroed in on immediately, too close, best lies are mixed with the truth, threat, throat run raw bled dry

"Long hair, dude with long hair, scarred face, I... god"—chills, arms shaking, voice shaking, involuntary, genuine—"I saw him kill first day, he killed my fr- he killed my friend in front of me, I thought I'd lost him, but he- I saw him again today, he saw me, I don't know if I lost him or not, I've been- I've- I've been running for hours, I'm so tired, I..."

ran out of words, the story ran out, but improvise, play it off, make it genuine,

he looked to the door—Lorenzo where are you—he looked back at Justin, he tried to get up but he fell, again, fake this time thank god,

"You won't hurt me?"

((skipping with permission))

[MK Kilmarnock]

"Tall... scarred face?" Justin repeated, a worried expression creasing his brow. Diego's last question didn't get a response, since Justin had already answered it and so it wasn't worth the breath. He might have spared the reassurance to put Diego at ease, if not for Diego raising a new, very frightening issue. Tall. Scars all over the face. There was only one boy Justin could think of who fit that description, and it was a name he'd heard several times over the announcements: Tyrell Lahti. Diego had brought Ty here, and now he was coming to kill them both! Justin knew that wasn't a fight he could possibly win if it was on fair terms. He'd need to outgun the opposition to stand the slightest bit of a chance, and having the numbers advantage wouldn't hurt either.

Deception had only briefly crossed his mind, and the thought was dismissed nearly as soon as it came. Diego seemed to be legitimately terrified, and not without good reason supposing what he said was true. Diego didn't appear to have a weapon either... which was as much a blessing as it was something of a problem, because while it meant Diego couldn't very well attack him, it meant he would be little to no help without Ty, either. 'Hey, do you have a weapon?' Justin wanted to ask. He ran the question in his head a few times, sitting on the fence about whether or not to ask it.

But the follow up to that was either being asked for one of his two weapons, either the tire iron or the saber. Or if Diego didn't ask, Justin would still feel some strange pressure to hand one over or leave the boy to his doom. And in all honestly, leaving Diego to die was probably the smartest decision.

But it didn't have to be option A.

"There's a cl-... cl... closet," Justin sputtered, jerking his sword in the direction of the still-slightly-ajar door, complete with that bed in front of it. "We can hide in there, doe-doe-does he have a gun?"

[Tonyksin]

Lorenzo was sitting impatiently at the edge of the doorway.

Diego’s plan had confused Lorenzo at first, but once the other boy charged through the door he started to understand. Lorenzo was almost impressed by how good of an actor Diego was. He really made it sound believable. Apparently being as pathetic looking as he was seemed to be paying off. Not that it was hard for most people out here to look extra pathetic. It had been days. None of them had showered, most people hadn’t changed their clothes. They all looked extra sympathetic, he imagined. It helped that seeing someone supposedly running for their lives had seemed to spark something in Justin akin to nervousness. He was sputtering, and he immediately made it clear that his one murder was unintentional.

Not that that mattered.

Lorenzo hadn’t planned on killing Sapphire. That didn’t make her any less dead. Or his hands any less covered in her blood. Justin had taken someone’s life. That meant he had a ticket home as long as he waited out the rest of the competition. Even if that was by accident, most people wouldn’t see it that way. Had to kill someone to go home, after all. He and Lorenzo were the same. People tainted by the blood of their classmates. He couldn’t even own up to it. Pathetic. Lorenzo would be able to take some joy in removing this piece from the board. If you were going to kill, at least own it. At least admit to yourself what you’ve done. What you’re going to do.

People who tried to shirk the blame pissed Lorenzo off.

At least Lorenzo was owning his awful behavior. At least Lorenzo wasn’t lying to himself. At least he had the balls to admit he wanted to go home, no matter what that meant. Everyone else were just a bunch of liars and fakes. If push came to shove, if it was between going home or letting someone kill them, they’d all take that shot. They’d all give in to the game. To pretend anything else was just a lie.

Diego was doing his part, talking and keeping Justin’s attention. Lorenzo almost let out a chuckle. The man he described sounded awfully familiar. The bruises on his sides ached in remembrance. Tyrell Lahti. Friend turned foe. If that was who was after him for real, he’d never have escaped. Lorenzo barely escaped with his life, after all. This seemed to throw Justin off completely. He was scared, Lorenzo could hear it in his voice. A closet? So he wanted to hide?

No, no, no, that wouldn’t do at all.

Diego had done enough. Justin was off his game. A sudden attack wouldn’t be expected. Lorenzo had to strike now, before the boy could lock himself away. Lorenzo peered down at the maul in his hand and smiled. Well, even if he did try and hide, a door in one of theses houses wouldn’t hold up for long against him. Lorenzo stood from his position slowly and silently. He dropped his bag to the ground slowly, checking the tracker quickly to make sure no one else was around. Not a soul for 100 yards in any direction.

Perfect.

A fast as he could, Lorenzo kicked the door open and pushed through into the house, already in mid-swing, aiming for where the other boy had been on his tracker.

“Heads up, bitch!”

[MK Kilmarnock]

And just like that, they had company. Not the company they were expecting, but whether or not Lorenzo was a marked improvement over Tyrell, Justin couldn't be readily convinced.

Thankfully, Lorenzo had been polite enough to loudly announce his presence with a kick of the door and loudly proclaiming his intent to clobber somebody. Justin had enough time to stare at Lorenzo with what must have been a classic 'deer-in-headlights' gaze, finding the wherewithal to get the hell out of the way before he lost his head... or a significant chunk of his skull, whatever that heavy looking axe thing was going to do to him. Justin scampered to the other side of Diego, taking another look at his attack and said attacker's weapon now that the urgency wasn't so instantaneous. Lorenzo had gotten himself a splitting maul, Justin could recognize it now. He'd swung one of those things to split wood a few times. It had more range than the tire iron, and probably more durability than the saber. Their wielder probably had more strength. In short, Justin knew he was in trouble.

Running away wasn't looking very good right now. Camilla had only gotten away through the window because Justin hadn't been in the room when she started to make her grand escape, and was mostly through by the time he cottoned on to what she was doing. Lorenzo had come in through the door, and obviously stood in the way of that, forcing Justin to run by him if he wanted a chance at getting out. The beds arranged around the room made it too easy to corner him. But fortunately, it seemed that they outnumbered Lorenzo 2-to-1. Where leaving Diego to take the brunt of Lorenzo's rage might have been the smart option in other situations, here Justin figured playing the numbers game would help.

"Diego! Take it!" Justin yelped, turning the saber to the side in his grip as to push out the handle and offer it to the other boy's grasp. Now he'd actually have something to swing, and if they got on opposite sides of Lorenzo... well, maybe barring anything else, they could drive the boy off. Arming Diego meant he'd be harder to kill but the way Justin drew it up, killing Diego was off the table in light of survival. Making it to another day was more important than anything. He could worry about the logistics later.