It did sting. It stung pretty fucking bad, but that wasn't new. It'd been like that every time Kimberly had worked on her wound. She'd cope. She didn't even punch Erik. Anywhere else, she'd have considered taking him up on his offer, jest or no, but here she had to be tough. She had to grit her teeth and not show that this bothered her. Tough it out. Power through it. A little pain was nothing, right? You had to look strong here. Never show your fear or discomfort.
"I think I have a shirt in the bag," she said. She'd had one, back at the beach, and didn't recall doing anything with it. She'd taken it back then, thinking—man, who the fuck knew what she'd been thinking? She sure couldn't change into it. Maybe she'd still been assuming her arm would magically get better or something. She couldn't recapture a good deal of her past thoughts. All she had left were the feelings, the rage and fear and incomprehension. The thought that she was going to die on that beach had never quite faded from her mind. She'd screamed and she'd cried and she'd never gotten over it. Maybe that was what this was all about. Maybe that's what was at stake with Kris.
Maybe that was stupid and pointless. She'd die anyways. Sometime, somehow. It was inevitable, the only fucking certainty in life. She wasn't scared. Not anymore. Never of dying itself, maybe. That was how she chose to remember it, at least. It wasn't dying. It was the hows and whys. To die for something stupid, that would hurt a lot. That would be a waste of a life. Everything in her existence had built to right now, to sitting on this bench. Maybe some of her classmates would've found that depressing, but to her it was pretty fucking inspirational. It meant everything she did was the most important thing in her life, meant she should give each action her all, and it didn't fucking matter if she failed and died, as long as it was something worth failing and dying for.
"And, hey, at least shirtless blond men probably draw attention. I can trip Kris while she's ogling you."
She smiled in return. Something to do. Something to be. Something beyond revenge, just for a little. The embers of identity rekindled. A crack in purpose. A nice change. Being herself again.
She'd missed it.
Burn On
Open
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
"You're too kind. After -- however long it's been - I'm pretty sure there'd be less ogling and more gagging. I need a shower like you wouldn't believe." Except for the part where she probably would, because she'd been here just as long as him and been through worse to boot. Still, a smile played around his lips as he located the shirt and began methodically tearing the seams, ripping it into long, clumsy strips. "Lost my deodorant along with the rest of my pack too, so I'll try to keep my arms to my sides."
Tucking his tongue between his teeth, he quieted to concentrate on wrapping the makeshift bandage. It sure as hell wasn't beautiful, but by the time he'd finished it was firm and tight and he was pretty sure that any germ trying to get through it would have one hell of a time finding somewhere to set up housekeeping. "There." He sat back, looking decidedly pleased with himself. "That'll hold." Turning immediately to packing what was left of the supplies (more for something to do with his hands than anything else), he busied himself folding the remaining strips of shirt. "Just be careful with it, try not to get it wet, you know the drill."
She'd made it this far after all. She had to have a pretty good head on her shoulders -- that, or the kind of luck leprechauns would kill for. The kind of luck that he was sorely lacking in. Or hey, maybe not. Maybe it was lucky that he'd been on his own almost the whole time. He hadn't seen much death. He hadn't gotten in fights. He'd lost himself for a while, sure, and there had been the moment at the edge of the cliff where he thought he might just tip off the edge and soar -- but that had passed. And the first person he'd really bumped into seemed relatively sane, revenge motivation notwithstanding.
That was awkward. The first time some really damn good luck passed his way, and he didn't even have access to the lottery. Not that he really wanted money; at this point he'd settle for getting home in one piece. And maybe getting Kimberly home in one piece too, or as close to one piece as she already was. She had a pretty decent set of balls on her, getting this far and being this way, but he got a sense of something like lost off her, one that was maybe how she was feeling or maybe him reading into his own emotions because being with someone else, someone like this...
He'd forgotten. How to be human, maybe, and now it was all coming back and the realization that this was the happiest he'd been since Brendan almost ached.
Tucking his tongue between his teeth, he quieted to concentrate on wrapping the makeshift bandage. It sure as hell wasn't beautiful, but by the time he'd finished it was firm and tight and he was pretty sure that any germ trying to get through it would have one hell of a time finding somewhere to set up housekeeping. "There." He sat back, looking decidedly pleased with himself. "That'll hold." Turning immediately to packing what was left of the supplies (more for something to do with his hands than anything else), he busied himself folding the remaining strips of shirt. "Just be careful with it, try not to get it wet, you know the drill."
She'd made it this far after all. She had to have a pretty good head on her shoulders -- that, or the kind of luck leprechauns would kill for. The kind of luck that he was sorely lacking in. Or hey, maybe not. Maybe it was lucky that he'd been on his own almost the whole time. He hadn't seen much death. He hadn't gotten in fights. He'd lost himself for a while, sure, and there had been the moment at the edge of the cliff where he thought he might just tip off the edge and soar -- but that had passed. And the first person he'd really bumped into seemed relatively sane, revenge motivation notwithstanding.
That was awkward. The first time some really damn good luck passed his way, and he didn't even have access to the lottery. Not that he really wanted money; at this point he'd settle for getting home in one piece. And maybe getting Kimberly home in one piece too, or as close to one piece as she already was. She had a pretty decent set of balls on her, getting this far and being this way, but he got a sense of something like lost off her, one that was maybe how she was feeling or maybe him reading into his own emotions because being with someone else, someone like this...
He'd forgotten. How to be human, maybe, and now it was all coming back and the realization that this was the happiest he'd been since Brendan almost ached.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Erik had bandaged her up pretty well, and for that Kimberly was thankful. It was strange, letting someone touch her injured arm. She hadn't willingly done that since parting with the group. It was also strange to think that she was the last one left. Who'd have fucking guessed that the girl they all thought was gonna die would end up the last one around? It didn't make sense. Only thing she had going for her was sheer determination.
Then again, that's all this game was, wasn't it? Plenty of innocents had been gunned down, yeah, but it was rare for that to happen without any extenuating circumstances. How many people just walked up and popped someone? Not many. No, they stopped, they stopped and they tortured and they talked, and the only reason they got any kills at all was because they were lucky or their targets gave up. She'd seen it. She'd seen Brook and Dutchy. Had it been her in Dutchy's shoes, no rescue would have been required. The trick was to scream and claw and bite to the bitter end. Make them pay for everything, like she should've done with Jeremy. Fuck this peaceful acceptance Zen bullshit so many of her classmates seemed to have going on. That just meant they'd been thoroughly whipped by the system. It meant the last shred of hope had been wrung out of them.
"Thanks," she said. It was strange, this conversation. Medical shit aside, they could be back in Saint Paul, maybe having a slightly awkward chat about school enemies over lunch. Man, that Kris bitch, she nabbed my Prom date, so I'm gonna make sure to spill punch on her dress. That sort of stuff. Kimberly had never really been dialed into the pulse of the majority of the student body, except insofar as she had to be to rebel against whatever garbage passed for popular at the moment. She'd sat down the block from the school, smoking with all the other people with dyed blond locks and striped clothing. She kind of hated most of her old friends now. They hadn't had a clue what they were talking about.
Everything in her old life felt fake. Funny, that. She'd been so sure she was the only one who understood authenticity.
"So," she said, mostly because she was enjoying hearing another voice after days of silence, "what activities have you got planned for the rest of this little vacation?"
She didn't want to stick with Erik, of course. Well, not if he was searching for someone or planning something that would take her away from her hunt. He was nice, but not worth losing her purpose for. But, if he was drifting aimlessly, well, maybe they could drift aimlessly together for a little while, just as a convenience. He'd just have to know to get the fuck out of the way if they did catch up with Kris. But it'd be better than to hear that she'd killed him over the announcements. It was sheer pragmatism, that was all.
Fuck all that self deception.
Kimberly didn't lie to herself. She wanted to stay with Erik. She wanted to travel with him, maybe enjoy the rest of her life. The only issue, the only reason she didn't come out and say it, was that she wanted Kris more.
Then again, that's all this game was, wasn't it? Plenty of innocents had been gunned down, yeah, but it was rare for that to happen without any extenuating circumstances. How many people just walked up and popped someone? Not many. No, they stopped, they stopped and they tortured and they talked, and the only reason they got any kills at all was because they were lucky or their targets gave up. She'd seen it. She'd seen Brook and Dutchy. Had it been her in Dutchy's shoes, no rescue would have been required. The trick was to scream and claw and bite to the bitter end. Make them pay for everything, like she should've done with Jeremy. Fuck this peaceful acceptance Zen bullshit so many of her classmates seemed to have going on. That just meant they'd been thoroughly whipped by the system. It meant the last shred of hope had been wrung out of them.
"Thanks," she said. It was strange, this conversation. Medical shit aside, they could be back in Saint Paul, maybe having a slightly awkward chat about school enemies over lunch. Man, that Kris bitch, she nabbed my Prom date, so I'm gonna make sure to spill punch on her dress. That sort of stuff. Kimberly had never really been dialed into the pulse of the majority of the student body, except insofar as she had to be to rebel against whatever garbage passed for popular at the moment. She'd sat down the block from the school, smoking with all the other people with dyed blond locks and striped clothing. She kind of hated most of her old friends now. They hadn't had a clue what they were talking about.
Everything in her old life felt fake. Funny, that. She'd been so sure she was the only one who understood authenticity.
"So," she said, mostly because she was enjoying hearing another voice after days of silence, "what activities have you got planned for the rest of this little vacation?"
She didn't want to stick with Erik, of course. Well, not if he was searching for someone or planning something that would take her away from her hunt. He was nice, but not worth losing her purpose for. But, if he was drifting aimlessly, well, maybe they could drift aimlessly together for a little while, just as a convenience. He'd just have to know to get the fuck out of the way if they did catch up with Kris. But it'd be better than to hear that she'd killed him over the announcements. It was sheer pragmatism, that was all.
Fuck all that self deception.
Kimberly didn't lie to herself. She wanted to stay with Erik. She wanted to travel with him, maybe enjoy the rest of her life. The only issue, the only reason she didn't come out and say it, was that she wanted Kris more.
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
Such a fucking surreal conversation. Erik could almost fool himself into thinking he was just on vacation somewhere like maybe their class trip was to an island instead, and here they were all sitting up on a mountain trying to be deep and introspective but really just shooting the shit and tonight there'd be a campfire and marshmallows and discreet booze in hot chocolate that the teachers would ignore.
If only.
His hands were empty again. He turned back to his bracelets, alternately twisting the threads and flipping the buckles on the stained leather cuff. "Nothin' big." His voice was low. He didn't quite look at her. With the attempt at first aid completed, there wasn't a valid reason for them to stay together anymore. She was looking for Kris. She could leave, and that would be that, and he would be alone again and he shouldn't care about because he'd been alone the whole time, pretty much, but...
But. He shook the thought out of his head and found to his surprise that there were words in his mouth. "I'm looking -- I was looking for my boyfriend. Brendan Wallace." His voice was trying to break. He steadied it. He'd left his tears behind. Whatever was occupying the hole in his chest now wasn't grief, or at least not the kind that would try to tear him apart with sobs. "He was trying to escape. I guess he's gone."
Was it deliberately ambiguous? It was the only word he could think of to use. Vanished grief or not, he still couldn't bring himself to use the word 'dead'. It felt too final, too strong, too real. Gone could be any number of things.
He tried a smile. It didn't seem to fit, stretching his lips in all the wrong places, not reaching his eyes. "You want a bodyguard?" Bullet shield. "I hear there's some crazy people out there."
If only.
His hands were empty again. He turned back to his bracelets, alternately twisting the threads and flipping the buckles on the stained leather cuff. "Nothin' big." His voice was low. He didn't quite look at her. With the attempt at first aid completed, there wasn't a valid reason for them to stay together anymore. She was looking for Kris. She could leave, and that would be that, and he would be alone again and he shouldn't care about because he'd been alone the whole time, pretty much, but...
But. He shook the thought out of his head and found to his surprise that there were words in his mouth. "I'm looking -- I was looking for my boyfriend. Brendan Wallace." His voice was trying to break. He steadied it. He'd left his tears behind. Whatever was occupying the hole in his chest now wasn't grief, or at least not the kind that would try to tear him apart with sobs. "He was trying to escape. I guess he's gone."
Was it deliberately ambiguous? It was the only word he could think of to use. Vanished grief or not, he still couldn't bring himself to use the word 'dead'. It felt too final, too strong, too real. Gone could be any number of things.
He tried a smile. It didn't seem to fit, stretching his lips in all the wrong places, not reaching his eyes. "You want a bodyguard?" Bullet shield. "I hear there's some crazy people out there."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ifnotwinter. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Brendan Wallace. The name meant absolutely nothing to Kimberly, just one of many that had passed her ears once or twice. She'd kept up with the killers a little, way back at the start, but had given that up later on, choosing instead to rely on instinct and split-second recollections. Only, that wasn't quite right. The name wasn't totally nothing; it triggered something specific in her, like maybe he'd killed someone she knew or something. Whatever. Fuck it. It didn't matter. He was, as Erik said, gone. They'd all lost people they'd wanted to have final words with. Friends, enemies, lovers—it didn't matter which. She could hardly even tell the difference, these days. Maybe in some cases there was none.
She considered chiming in, sharing her little tale about Sarah and Bridget. Really, though, it wasn't something Erik needed to know. Why would he give a fuck that her secondary targets had slipped through her fingers? No, she was determined, but she wasn't crazed. She'd had her final words with her erstwhile allies. They were done. They were dead to her.
Maybe really dead. She was still pretty damn sure they'd slipped away, but she'd been wrong before. Erik didn't seem to view it like that, but she didn't care. No need to enlighten him. It wasn't as if her little conspiracy theory was actually good for anything. Odds were, both of them were fucked. She'd tell him if it ever looked like they weren't, maybe. Give him a reason to keep living. Until then, though, let him think whatever he wanted.
And then, he dropped the bombshell.
His smile was false this time, as he offered to be her bodyguard. Kimberly didn't even try to force a grin. Her face went pretty sour, probably. Oh man, that pissed her off. It'd been going so well, too, but now it was back to "Let's protect helpless Kimmy". Fuck that. Any other time, she'd have told Erik to fuck off on the spot. He was different, though. Something about him was keeping her more grounded than she'd been since this began. So she didn't tell him to fuck off. She opened her mouth and she did what she should've done ages ago, what she should've done with her first group.
She told it to him completely straight.
"Sorry, Erik. I'm not down for any bodyguard bullshit. I've kept myself alive this long, and I don't think that's gonna change here anytime soon. I'm pretty fucking sure I'm at least your equal in that respect."
She paused for a second. It was self indulgence and drama, no two ways about it, but maybe he'd be the sort to appreciate it.
"Thing is, though, I'm pretty sure you're my equal too. You're here, after all. And, fuck it, you're a pretty damn good guy compared to everyone else I've met. So, what say we say 'fuck bodyguards', and instead try something else?"
She held out her good hand.
"Partners?"
She considered chiming in, sharing her little tale about Sarah and Bridget. Really, though, it wasn't something Erik needed to know. Why would he give a fuck that her secondary targets had slipped through her fingers? No, she was determined, but she wasn't crazed. She'd had her final words with her erstwhile allies. They were done. They were dead to her.
Maybe really dead. She was still pretty damn sure they'd slipped away, but she'd been wrong before. Erik didn't seem to view it like that, but she didn't care. No need to enlighten him. It wasn't as if her little conspiracy theory was actually good for anything. Odds were, both of them were fucked. She'd tell him if it ever looked like they weren't, maybe. Give him a reason to keep living. Until then, though, let him think whatever he wanted.
And then, he dropped the bombshell.
His smile was false this time, as he offered to be her bodyguard. Kimberly didn't even try to force a grin. Her face went pretty sour, probably. Oh man, that pissed her off. It'd been going so well, too, but now it was back to "Let's protect helpless Kimmy". Fuck that. Any other time, she'd have told Erik to fuck off on the spot. He was different, though. Something about him was keeping her more grounded than she'd been since this began. So she didn't tell him to fuck off. She opened her mouth and she did what she should've done ages ago, what she should've done with her first group.
She told it to him completely straight.
"Sorry, Erik. I'm not down for any bodyguard bullshit. I've kept myself alive this long, and I don't think that's gonna change here anytime soon. I'm pretty fucking sure I'm at least your equal in that respect."
She paused for a second. It was self indulgence and drama, no two ways about it, but maybe he'd be the sort to appreciate it.
"Thing is, though, I'm pretty sure you're my equal too. You're here, after all. And, fuck it, you're a pretty damn good guy compared to everyone else I've met. So, what say we say 'fuck bodyguards', and instead try something else?"
She held out her good hand.
"Partners?"
((Kris continued from Livebait))
Stumbling on the uncertain footing of the mountain trail, Kris's stomach lurched and then tumbled over the tipping point. She collapsed to her knees on the hard ground and choked out a string of bile. Yellow. Ropey. It barely even qualified as vomit. When... when had she eaten last? Kris could barely remember, barely even think straight. Couldn't tell whether the gnawing at her stomach was hunger or guilt or pangs of illness. Flies buzzed around the darkly caked blood staining her hair and face, matting it into clumps. Her clothes were little better off, despite her change of outfit earlier. Lying down in the massacre in the hall of mirrors had drenched Kris in it all over again.
And why not? Someone like her... she might as well look as horrific as she acted. Back there... why had she done that? Kris couldn't even begin to form words, hazard the slightest expectation. There had been an opportunity for murder, an opportunity to remove one more threat to the game... and she'd taken it.
Like a good little player.
Kris choked again as her stomach endeavoured to empty itself even further, the substances dripping down her chin and onto her shirt. She barely had enough togetherness to wipe her face with her sleeve. It hardly mattered. The clothes were as filthy as her face. Even the pristine gift gun she'd found was now smeared with blood and grime. Literal and figurative.
Cradling the gun close, Kris's head jerked up like a marionette. There were figures, not far away. Vague instincts were telling her to be on guard, to be ready to fight. Others...
Take them. Easy. Pull the trigger.
She shuddered and sagged down.
Can't... not... can't keep.
Dad...
Stumbling on the uncertain footing of the mountain trail, Kris's stomach lurched and then tumbled over the tipping point. She collapsed to her knees on the hard ground and choked out a string of bile. Yellow. Ropey. It barely even qualified as vomit. When... when had she eaten last? Kris could barely remember, barely even think straight. Couldn't tell whether the gnawing at her stomach was hunger or guilt or pangs of illness. Flies buzzed around the darkly caked blood staining her hair and face, matting it into clumps. Her clothes were little better off, despite her change of outfit earlier. Lying down in the massacre in the hall of mirrors had drenched Kris in it all over again.
And why not? Someone like her... she might as well look as horrific as she acted. Back there... why had she done that? Kris couldn't even begin to form words, hazard the slightest expectation. There had been an opportunity for murder, an opportunity to remove one more threat to the game... and she'd taken it.
Like a good little player.
Kris choked again as her stomach endeavoured to empty itself even further, the substances dripping down her chin and onto her shirt. She barely had enough togetherness to wipe her face with her sleeve. It hardly mattered. The clothes were as filthy as her face. Even the pristine gift gun she'd found was now smeared with blood and grime. Literal and figurative.
Cradling the gun close, Kris's head jerked up like a marionette. There were figures, not far away. Vague instincts were telling her to be on guard, to be ready to fight. Others...
Take them. Easy. Pull the trigger.
She shuddered and sagged down.
Can't... not... can't keep.
Dad...
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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
He looked at her for a long time, head cocked to one side.
His hair was greasy, dirty, spotted through in places with pine needles. Most of it was still caught back in a knotted ponytail, but strands had escaped and fell across his forehead, obscuring his eyes. Looking at her through the tangled blonde locks, Erik found that he wanted nothing more than to say yes.
Kimberly. She'd gone on and on about it while she was in one of her nihilistic phases. How people were all motivated by instinct and biological urges meant to protect the species - love is just another way of getting people to fuck, Erik - and how they were naturally pack animals. We don't have any natural defences so we band together. All the strongest predators are alone. But we're naked little wusses without claws or fangs and so we have to be together. He'd probably have given her more credit for an interesting though if she hadn't followed it up by shrieking about how the best form of rebellion was ignoring her biological imperative and shunning all human contact. At the time he'd just rolled his eyes and tried to figure out what was really going on to make her so upset, but now he found that the thought had stayed in his mind.
Should he? The pros and cons, his usual way of examining a problem, ran in dizzy circles through his head. He wanted to be with someone. He wanted to be able to talk again and laugh again and if it came down to fighting, as it inevitably would unless the rescue team came back in force, he wanted to be able to have someone at his back. Someone to protect. Someone to save. Someone to complete him, because alone he was just another naked little wuss with nothing to protect himself with. But he'd seen the look shadowed at the back of her eyes. He'd heard her talk. She was clinging to sanity with her blood-slick fingertips, he thought. If she lost her grip, did he want to be there? If she took a bullet and went to the ground in front of him with her life bubbling through his fingers in great crimson gouts, could he handle it?
She was still watching him. Her hand still waited.
It's because we're animals. We breed and we fight and we join together like animals, Erik. It's disgusting. We should be better than that.
But what was wrong with animals?
The smile that curved his lips was somehow more real than the one before it. He clasped her hand in his own, giving it a firm shake and a light squeeze. He nodded once. Raised his other hand to brush the loose hair from his face and away from his clear blue eyes.
"Yeah. Okay. Partners."
His hair was greasy, dirty, spotted through in places with pine needles. Most of it was still caught back in a knotted ponytail, but strands had escaped and fell across his forehead, obscuring his eyes. Looking at her through the tangled blonde locks, Erik found that he wanted nothing more than to say yes.
Kimberly. She'd gone on and on about it while she was in one of her nihilistic phases. How people were all motivated by instinct and biological urges meant to protect the species - love is just another way of getting people to fuck, Erik - and how they were naturally pack animals. We don't have any natural defences so we band together. All the strongest predators are alone. But we're naked little wusses without claws or fangs and so we have to be together. He'd probably have given her more credit for an interesting though if she hadn't followed it up by shrieking about how the best form of rebellion was ignoring her biological imperative and shunning all human contact. At the time he'd just rolled his eyes and tried to figure out what was really going on to make her so upset, but now he found that the thought had stayed in his mind.
Should he? The pros and cons, his usual way of examining a problem, ran in dizzy circles through his head. He wanted to be with someone. He wanted to be able to talk again and laugh again and if it came down to fighting, as it inevitably would unless the rescue team came back in force, he wanted to be able to have someone at his back. Someone to protect. Someone to save. Someone to complete him, because alone he was just another naked little wuss with nothing to protect himself with. But he'd seen the look shadowed at the back of her eyes. He'd heard her talk. She was clinging to sanity with her blood-slick fingertips, he thought. If she lost her grip, did he want to be there? If she took a bullet and went to the ground in front of him with her life bubbling through his fingers in great crimson gouts, could he handle it?
She was still watching him. Her hand still waited.
It's because we're animals. We breed and we fight and we join together like animals, Erik. It's disgusting. We should be better than that.
But what was wrong with animals?
The smile that curved his lips was somehow more real than the one before it. He clasped her hand in his own, giving it a firm shake and a light squeeze. He nodded once. Raised his other hand to brush the loose hair from his face and away from his clear blue eyes.
"Yeah. Okay. Partners."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ifnotwinter. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
They shook. It was the best Kimberly had felt in days. Maybe more. Fuck, when had she last had this sort of understanding with someone? Not Rhory, for all the twisted camaraderie they'd attained. Not Liz, for their mutedly respectful antagonism. Not any one of Sarah's cohort, with their quiet and caring condescension. Fuck, had it been back at school? She couldn't even remember all that well. It was hard to grasp anything but the highlights of her lost life. It was easy to recall the parties, the drama, but it was nigh impossible to remember what it was like to lie in her bed on a rainy Sunday afternoon and work on algebra homework.
Somehow, that was what she missed more.
But that wasn't important. The past was the past, and mourning it was a waste of the present. They were here to the death. It was that simple. She and Erik were a team now, partners, and that meant she had a new future to look to. It wasn't going to be happy. She was pretty sure of that already. She could imagine him dying in front of her, dying in her lap like Dutchy had.
Thing was, she could cope. She'd fucking deal. She'd done it before. She could do it again. Nothing could break her, not now. And, hey, if she died first, maybe he'd be there to hold her. Maybe she wouldn't have to die alone.
But dying alone wouldn't be so bad, in the end. Dying was dying. It was the only sure thing left. They'd all face it, players and pacifists, winners and losers.
She released her grasp on Erik's hand. No need to think of those things. No reason to get off topic. She had a partner, and she had a goal. That was all she needed, all she wanted. Let the future bring what it would. She'd take it.
So she stood. She was sunburned and stiff, and she was going to be ready to move, soon, unless Erik was tired. Having a partner meant listening to other people, not egging them on or berating them for their failings. It was going to be an interesting change of pace. She hoped she'd be up to it.
"Hey," she said. "Do you feel l—"
but she'd turned, and she'd seen a figure in the distance, and she couldn't be sure, not really, not entirely, but she was sure enough, and all of a sudden everything was wrong, and she wasn't feeling happy or satisfied or vindicated or excited but just a little sad and a little scared.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
But she could act. She could keep her fucking cool. After all these days, after all these near-death experiences, it was one of the few things she could say with certainty.
So she forced a tiny smile, and she said, almost whispered, "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
Somehow, that was what she missed more.
But that wasn't important. The past was the past, and mourning it was a waste of the present. They were here to the death. It was that simple. She and Erik were a team now, partners, and that meant she had a new future to look to. It wasn't going to be happy. She was pretty sure of that already. She could imagine him dying in front of her, dying in her lap like Dutchy had.
Thing was, she could cope. She'd fucking deal. She'd done it before. She could do it again. Nothing could break her, not now. And, hey, if she died first, maybe he'd be there to hold her. Maybe she wouldn't have to die alone.
But dying alone wouldn't be so bad, in the end. Dying was dying. It was the only sure thing left. They'd all face it, players and pacifists, winners and losers.
She released her grasp on Erik's hand. No need to think of those things. No reason to get off topic. She had a partner, and she had a goal. That was all she needed, all she wanted. Let the future bring what it would. She'd take it.
So she stood. She was sunburned and stiff, and she was going to be ready to move, soon, unless Erik was tired. Having a partner meant listening to other people, not egging them on or berating them for their failings. It was going to be an interesting change of pace. She hoped she'd be up to it.
"Hey," she said. "Do you feel l—"
but she'd turned, and she'd seen a figure in the distance, and she couldn't be sure, not really, not entirely, but she was sure enough, and all of a sudden everything was wrong, and she wasn't feeling happy or satisfied or vindicated or excited but just a little sad and a little scared.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
But she could act. She could keep her fucking cool. After all these days, after all these near-death experiences, it was one of the few things she could say with certainty.
So she forced a tiny smile, and she said, almost whispered, "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
Kris slumped over. Backwards. Her finger jerked on the trigger-
Click.
Empty.
She hadn't reloaded it after last time.
She exhaled. It might have been relief. Maybe it was disappointment. Maybe the ragged breath was just as it had seemed, the skater forcing herself to keep going when every fibre of her body was screaming to just lie down and give up.
Well, Kris was halfway there, anyway.
Unfocused eyes stared up into the sky. Her vision swam. Somehow lying sprawled out on the gravel felt almost... comfortable. It would be so easy, so easy just to lie here and let it all fade away...
No.
The force of the thought was like a slap to the face.
Up.
She... what would be the point of all this if she just lay down and threw in the towel?
Up.
Kris didn't deserve to still be here, but if some part of her wanted it enough to kill for it, some part of her wanted it enough to get up.
C'mon.
She gritted her teeth, made a fist, then rocked to the side.
Again.
Harder this time, she rolled onto her front.
Up.
Kris had stained her soul from the second she refused to throw her gun into the depths of the swamp. Give up, and the blood on her hands was for nothing.
Do it.
The grenade launcher clattered to the ground, Kris put both hands out in front of her, stones digging into her palms hard enough to leave marks. She forced herself up off the floor.
Keep going.
First one knee underneath her, then the other.
Up.
There was no way back, but staying still was no worse than continuing along this same path. At least...
Nearly there.
Kris forced one foot up onto the ground, pushed as hard as she could, got a second, unsteady trainer in place once again.
Weapon...
She reached down for it, snagged it in her hand, stumbled back as she straightened up.
Go. C'mon.
At least... if she made it...
She could give a justification.
Click.
Empty.
She hadn't reloaded it after last time.
She exhaled. It might have been relief. Maybe it was disappointment. Maybe the ragged breath was just as it had seemed, the skater forcing herself to keep going when every fibre of her body was screaming to just lie down and give up.
Well, Kris was halfway there, anyway.
Unfocused eyes stared up into the sky. Her vision swam. Somehow lying sprawled out on the gravel felt almost... comfortable. It would be so easy, so easy just to lie here and let it all fade away...
No.
The force of the thought was like a slap to the face.
Up.
She... what would be the point of all this if she just lay down and threw in the towel?
Up.
Kris didn't deserve to still be here, but if some part of her wanted it enough to kill for it, some part of her wanted it enough to get up.
C'mon.
She gritted her teeth, made a fist, then rocked to the side.
Again.
Harder this time, she rolled onto her front.
Up.
Kris had stained her soul from the second she refused to throw her gun into the depths of the swamp. Give up, and the blood on her hands was for nothing.
Do it.
The grenade launcher clattered to the ground, Kris put both hands out in front of her, stones digging into her palms hard enough to leave marks. She forced herself up off the floor.
Keep going.
First one knee underneath her, then the other.
Up.
There was no way back, but staying still was no worse than continuing along this same path. At least...
Nearly there.
Kris forced one foot up onto the ground, pushed as hard as she could, got a second, unsteady trainer in place once again.
Weapon...
She reached down for it, snagged it in her hand, stumbled back as she straightened up.
Go. C'mon.
At least... if she made it...
She could give a justification.
-
ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
The thought running most clearly through Erik's mind, overshadowing the beginnings of panic and the familiar too-clear feeling of adrenaline dumping into his system, was a simple one.
This isn't fucking fair.
The world slowed and compressed to the space between heartbeats, a moment of surging anger because it wasn't, he'd just found someone, things had finally started to look up, he'd been able to think that everything would be okay and believe it, at least for a moment or two -- and now this. Kris. Out of nowhere, like a bad dream, like a nightmare, like some sick irony. He wanted to scream. For one fleeting second he wanted to kill her himself just for destroying the fragile semblance of normality he had found.
But then the world expanded once more and Erik was still standing there, watching Kris on the ground.
His stomach twisted. She didn't look dangerous. She looked pathetic. Like a fish out of water, flopping awkwardly forwards. Unconsciously he took a step back and then just as quickly forwards again, sideways, shifting his body so that he was between Kris and Kimberly. Partners, she'd said, not bodyguard or meat shield but the wounded animals were the worst and he hesitated, words dying on his lips as he stood in the stretched-out seconds of a moment which could go either way.
This, he thought dimly.
This could be it.
Oh.
This isn't fucking fair.
The world slowed and compressed to the space between heartbeats, a moment of surging anger because it wasn't, he'd just found someone, things had finally started to look up, he'd been able to think that everything would be okay and believe it, at least for a moment or two -- and now this. Kris. Out of nowhere, like a bad dream, like a nightmare, like some sick irony. He wanted to scream. For one fleeting second he wanted to kill her himself just for destroying the fragile semblance of normality he had found.
But then the world expanded once more and Erik was still standing there, watching Kris on the ground.
His stomach twisted. She didn't look dangerous. She looked pathetic. Like a fish out of water, flopping awkwardly forwards. Unconsciously he took a step back and then just as quickly forwards again, sideways, shifting his body so that he was between Kris and Kimberly. Partners, she'd said, not bodyguard or meat shield but the wounded animals were the worst and he hesitated, words dying on his lips as he stood in the stretched-out seconds of a moment which could go either way.
This, he thought dimly.
This could be it.
Oh.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ifnotwinter. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Kimberly waited. Kris was stumbling, staggering, looking beat to hell. This was, this was fucking wrong. This was a fucking disgrace, a complete and total violation of everything Kimberly knew. Kris wasn't weak. She wasn't wounded. She wasn't the sort to be beaten and broken after only a week and a half. Kris was the grinning demon. Kris was her Moriarty, her Darth Vader, her Walter O'Dim. She wasn't supposed to turn up like this, at the one moment Kimberly could be normal again. Certainly, she wasn't supposed to turn up like this, a wretched wreck.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
But it was. It was happening, and it worked, it worked well enough. It was enough, this failure to meet expectations, to fan Kimberly's fury once more. It was enough for Erik to step in front of her, reminding her why she was doing this, what everyone else thought of her capabilities now. It was enough to carry her a step forward. It was enough to clench her fist.
"Hey," she said under her breath. "This'll just take a couple minutes. I don't think you'll wanna help with this shit."
Not a rejection. Not exactly. Fuck, she liked Erik. She really did like him. That made this hard. She didn't want him to see. Everyone else, the world, her grandparents, Bridget and Sarah, they could all watch and Kimberly wouldn't give a damn. She was about to torture a girl, and the only person in the world she didn't want to watch her do it was right here.
Tough shit. She'd explain when she was done.
It was a simple plan, really. Fuck Kris up. The girl had staggered to a standing position. Kimberly would run to her, and she'd hit Kris in the face, and she'd knock her down, and she'd sit on Kris' chest, just like she had with Rhory, and she'd put her knife to Kris' throat and she'd say, "Kris, you're gonna fucking die, you know? Nothing you can do about it. But because I'm not a bitch like you, I'm going to let you say goodbye," and she'd let Kris say her tearful goodbyes and all that shit, and she'd drag her knife across the girl's throat, just enough to leave the slightest stinging cut, and she'd laugh, then, yes she would, and while Kris was wondering why she wasn't dead, Kimberly would slam the knife into her shoulder and she would twist, and once Kris had stopped screaming, why, then Kris would ask Kimberly to kill her, and Kimberly would say, "Kris, this was never about killing you. You hurt me. You made me live with some awful shit these past few days. You think I'd do anything less than return the favor?" and when it sunk in and Kris begged, Kimberly would drop the knife in front of her and she would say, "Fucking kill yourself, then, but if you want me to do it, find me in two days. When you come crawling over the ground, broken and bleeding, with that knife in your teeth and murder in your eyes, fuck, maybe then I'll deign to kill you."
Of course, she wouldn't. Not even then.
And it would be beautiful. It would all be so pretty, so poetic, the poetry she had never captured with her pen. It would be a show of exactly what Kris had done to her. Kris would be forced to bare herself to the world, to lie there, powerless and scared and alone, and then she would have to work damn hard to survive, and she would do it, she would try, Kimberly knew she would, because she had so far, and in the end, it wouldn't mean shit, because someone would kill Kris anyways.
So Kimberly stepped around Erik, and she flashed him a quick smile and said, "Be right back," and before he could do anything, she was running at Kris, not the clean run she'd wanted, but a stumbling, staggering jog, hampered by her stiff joints and her fatigue and the fact that she'd been sitting in the sun for hours.
It didn't matter. She wound back her fist, her one good fist, and, as she drew close to Kris, she prepared to launch the first real punch of her life.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
But it was. It was happening, and it worked, it worked well enough. It was enough, this failure to meet expectations, to fan Kimberly's fury once more. It was enough for Erik to step in front of her, reminding her why she was doing this, what everyone else thought of her capabilities now. It was enough to carry her a step forward. It was enough to clench her fist.
"Hey," she said under her breath. "This'll just take a couple minutes. I don't think you'll wanna help with this shit."
Not a rejection. Not exactly. Fuck, she liked Erik. She really did like him. That made this hard. She didn't want him to see. Everyone else, the world, her grandparents, Bridget and Sarah, they could all watch and Kimberly wouldn't give a damn. She was about to torture a girl, and the only person in the world she didn't want to watch her do it was right here.
Tough shit. She'd explain when she was done.
It was a simple plan, really. Fuck Kris up. The girl had staggered to a standing position. Kimberly would run to her, and she'd hit Kris in the face, and she'd knock her down, and she'd sit on Kris' chest, just like she had with Rhory, and she'd put her knife to Kris' throat and she'd say, "Kris, you're gonna fucking die, you know? Nothing you can do about it. But because I'm not a bitch like you, I'm going to let you say goodbye," and she'd let Kris say her tearful goodbyes and all that shit, and she'd drag her knife across the girl's throat, just enough to leave the slightest stinging cut, and she'd laugh, then, yes she would, and while Kris was wondering why she wasn't dead, Kimberly would slam the knife into her shoulder and she would twist, and once Kris had stopped screaming, why, then Kris would ask Kimberly to kill her, and Kimberly would say, "Kris, this was never about killing you. You hurt me. You made me live with some awful shit these past few days. You think I'd do anything less than return the favor?" and when it sunk in and Kris begged, Kimberly would drop the knife in front of her and she would say, "Fucking kill yourself, then, but if you want me to do it, find me in two days. When you come crawling over the ground, broken and bleeding, with that knife in your teeth and murder in your eyes, fuck, maybe then I'll deign to kill you."
Of course, she wouldn't. Not even then.
And it would be beautiful. It would all be so pretty, so poetic, the poetry she had never captured with her pen. It would be a show of exactly what Kris had done to her. Kris would be forced to bare herself to the world, to lie there, powerless and scared and alone, and then she would have to work damn hard to survive, and she would do it, she would try, Kimberly knew she would, because she had so far, and in the end, it wouldn't mean shit, because someone would kill Kris anyways.
So Kimberly stepped around Erik, and she flashed him a quick smile and said, "Be right back," and before he could do anything, she was running at Kris, not the clean run she'd wanted, but a stumbling, staggering jog, hampered by her stiff joints and her fatigue and the fact that she'd been sitting in the sun for hours.
It didn't matter. She wound back her fist, her one good fist, and, as she drew close to Kris, she prepared to launch the first real punch of her life.
Kimberly.
It was her. The girl that all those days ago...
"Oh, hi, Kris!"
...She'd shot.
The bag. Wrong name. They saw.
She'd tried to kill her.
"I mean, Kris kinda looks like Reika, right?"
Kris hadn't... she hadn't meant to... she was just...
Afraid. They know. Guilty. They know.
Kimberly was moving.
Steve was moving. Planning! Couldn't trust him!
She'd broken into a run.
"Don't worry, guys. Kris won't hurt us."
Kris won't hurt us.
Kris won't
Don't w-w-w-worry
Kris won't hurt us
Don't -wyis- hurt us
Don't hurt us
It was... she hadn't meant to... it had been accident, just... just an accident.
Reika. Accident #1. How many more?
Kimberly was closing in now.
Didn't mean it.
The sway might have been intentional, it might simply have been Kris's weariness playing havoc with her balance. Kimberly's punch went wide, and the first time in a while, Kris's eyes... focused. The other girl stumbled into her, and Kris suddenly stood firm, and with a blur of motion, slammed her knee into Kimberly's stomach before launching a wild overhand punch with her free hand. It was sloppy, but the blow connected with Kimberly's face, knocked her back. Something might have crunched, but Kris was so numb that might have been her own knuckles for all she knew.
~Murderrerrr~
The life went out of Kris's eyes and so too the energy from her body. She stumbled and nearly fell, propping herself up on the grenade launcher. A hand went into her pocket... searching fingers finding ammunition. A grenade.
What are...?
It was her. The girl that all those days ago...
"Oh, hi, Kris!"
...She'd shot.
The bag. Wrong name. They saw.
She'd tried to kill her.
"I mean, Kris kinda looks like Reika, right?"
Kris hadn't... she hadn't meant to... she was just...
Afraid. They know. Guilty. They know.
Kimberly was moving.
Steve was moving. Planning! Couldn't trust him!
She'd broken into a run.
"Don't worry, guys. Kris won't hurt us."
Kris won't hurt us.
Kris won't
Don't w-w-w-worry
Kris won't hurt us
Don't -wyis- hurt us
Don't hurt us
It was... she hadn't meant to... it had been accident, just... just an accident.
Reika. Accident #1. How many more?
Kimberly was closing in now.
Didn't mean it.
The sway might have been intentional, it might simply have been Kris's weariness playing havoc with her balance. Kimberly's punch went wide, and the first time in a while, Kris's eyes... focused. The other girl stumbled into her, and Kris suddenly stood firm, and with a blur of motion, slammed her knee into Kimberly's stomach before launching a wild overhand punch with her free hand. It was sloppy, but the blow connected with Kimberly's face, knocked her back. Something might have crunched, but Kris was so numb that might have been her own knuckles for all she knew.
~Murderrerrr~
The life went out of Kris's eyes and so too the energy from her body. She stumbled and nearly fell, propping herself up on the grenade launcher. A hand went into her pocket... searching fingers finding ammunition. A grenade.
What are...?
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JamesRenard†
- Posts: 238
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
((Garry Villette and Saul Fetteralf continued from Mistaken Identity))
Garry knew that Saul was not the best navigator in the world. The disastrous journey that Saul had lead on the first day was testament to that. In fact it pretty much contributed to Cyrille's death (and, by extension, Miranda's) and the entire group splitting up. Not that Garry would blame him for the deaths and the break-up, that would be a dickish move on his part.
But when it came to leading the group in the right direction, Saul had failed spectacularly, which was why Garry had decided to navigate their way from the houses to the fair instead.
Except he turned out to be just as terrible at map reading and directions as his friend had been. Since they'd left the residential area, they'd nearly entered two danger zones - the southeastern woods and the southern felled forest respectively - and almost ended up right back where they started from. At which point Garry had said "screw this" and decided to climb the mountain to just see where to go next.
Garry had first heard the voices as he and Saul approached the summit. He turned his head to try and gauge where the sounds were coming from, and the proximity as well.
"You hear that?" Garry asked, getting a nod from Saul as a response. "That sounded pretty close, too close for comfort," he announced, checking his gun. It was reloaded, safety on so he didn't accidentally blast his foot off, he was all good to go. "Stay here, I'm going to check it out," he said to Saul.
"Wha-Garry, what the hell are you doing? We should stay where we are, it's safe," Saul protested. He paused a moment to reconsider what he just said. "Okay, it's mildly safer, but still..."
"I just want to see what's happening. Besides, if they're a threat to us... well, I'm not exactly defenseless, am I?" Saul didn't look happy at hearing Garry's last sentence. The way it was phrased, it sounded as though he was deliberately looking for trouble. 'He's not a cold blooded killer, he's not like that, so don't think those kind of things,' he told himself. Garry was a good person at heart, he knew him better than anyone else on the island.
"Alright, alright, like I'm going to be able to dissuade you or anything. Just don't do anything stupid. Take a peek and come right back, got it?" he stated.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya," Garry replied, heading off towards the summit. The voices were clearer and easier to make out the nearer he got. Eventually he was close enough to finally see what was going on. "What in the world?" he whispered to himself, crouching down low next to a tree stump as he surveyed the scene.
It was a couple of girls having a fist-fight of some sort. The black-haired female threw a weak punch at the blond, who simply dodged it and delivered a couple of hard blows back. It was pretty brutal, enough to make Garry wince. 'Dammit, I know Saul said to just take a look, but I can't just sit here doing nothing, someone could get killed if this carries on.' So he decided it was best to intervene before the situation deteriorated any further than it already had.
"Hey, HEY! Anyone mind telling me just what the fuck is going on here?" he demanded, walking out from his cover, holding the gun down by his side. No sense in threatening anyone with it just yet. Only if things went to hell would he raise it. Only in self defense. That was how he was operating.
And then he saw what the blond girl was leaning on. 'What is that,' he wondered, glancing down at the weapon, 'is that some kind of massive gun? Looks more like a rocket launcher or-'
The memories came flooding back.
Thunk.
Grenade.
Explosion.
The announcement.
"Kris Hartmann continued her explosive kick by blasting Sunil Savarkar to pieces."
...
'No. Fucking. Way.'
"Hey, you," he said, pointing his left finger at the blond girl, keeping his gun pointed down. "What's that thing you're leaning on and where did you get it?" he asked, starting to tremble ever so slightly. "No, in fact, better yet, I got a different question for you. What's your name?"
The strange thing was that Garry didn't know which he wanted more; finding out that he wasn't face to face with Kris Hartmann, or discovering that he was.
Garry knew that Saul was not the best navigator in the world. The disastrous journey that Saul had lead on the first day was testament to that. In fact it pretty much contributed to Cyrille's death (and, by extension, Miranda's) and the entire group splitting up. Not that Garry would blame him for the deaths and the break-up, that would be a dickish move on his part.
But when it came to leading the group in the right direction, Saul had failed spectacularly, which was why Garry had decided to navigate their way from the houses to the fair instead.
Except he turned out to be just as terrible at map reading and directions as his friend had been. Since they'd left the residential area, they'd nearly entered two danger zones - the southeastern woods and the southern felled forest respectively - and almost ended up right back where they started from. At which point Garry had said "screw this" and decided to climb the mountain to just see where to go next.
Garry had first heard the voices as he and Saul approached the summit. He turned his head to try and gauge where the sounds were coming from, and the proximity as well.
"You hear that?" Garry asked, getting a nod from Saul as a response. "That sounded pretty close, too close for comfort," he announced, checking his gun. It was reloaded, safety on so he didn't accidentally blast his foot off, he was all good to go. "Stay here, I'm going to check it out," he said to Saul.
"Wha-Garry, what the hell are you doing? We should stay where we are, it's safe," Saul protested. He paused a moment to reconsider what he just said. "Okay, it's mildly safer, but still..."
"I just want to see what's happening. Besides, if they're a threat to us... well, I'm not exactly defenseless, am I?" Saul didn't look happy at hearing Garry's last sentence. The way it was phrased, it sounded as though he was deliberately looking for trouble. 'He's not a cold blooded killer, he's not like that, so don't think those kind of things,' he told himself. Garry was a good person at heart, he knew him better than anyone else on the island.
"Alright, alright, like I'm going to be able to dissuade you or anything. Just don't do anything stupid. Take a peek and come right back, got it?" he stated.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya," Garry replied, heading off towards the summit. The voices were clearer and easier to make out the nearer he got. Eventually he was close enough to finally see what was going on. "What in the world?" he whispered to himself, crouching down low next to a tree stump as he surveyed the scene.
It was a couple of girls having a fist-fight of some sort. The black-haired female threw a weak punch at the blond, who simply dodged it and delivered a couple of hard blows back. It was pretty brutal, enough to make Garry wince. 'Dammit, I know Saul said to just take a look, but I can't just sit here doing nothing, someone could get killed if this carries on.' So he decided it was best to intervene before the situation deteriorated any further than it already had.
"Hey, HEY! Anyone mind telling me just what the fuck is going on here?" he demanded, walking out from his cover, holding the gun down by his side. No sense in threatening anyone with it just yet. Only if things went to hell would he raise it. Only in self defense. That was how he was operating.
And then he saw what the blond girl was leaning on. 'What is that,' he wondered, glancing down at the weapon, 'is that some kind of massive gun? Looks more like a rocket launcher or-'
The memories came flooding back.
Thunk.
Grenade.
Explosion.
The announcement.
"Kris Hartmann continued her explosive kick by blasting Sunil Savarkar to pieces."
...
'No. Fucking. Way.'
"Hey, you," he said, pointing his left finger at the blond girl, keeping his gun pointed down. "What's that thing you're leaning on and where did you get it?" he asked, starting to tremble ever so slightly. "No, in fact, better yet, I got a different question for you. What's your name?"
The strange thing was that Garry didn't know which he wanted more; finding out that he wasn't face to face with Kris Hartmann, or discovering that he was.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler JamesRenard. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Kimberly's fist never connected. Instead, a knee caught her in the gut, just to the side of the Molotov stuffed into her hand warmer. It knocked the wind out of her, killing her momentum entirely.
Better.
Then the fist to the face. It sent her staggering away, her vision blurring for half a second. Her legs weren't cooperating yet. She stumbled around Kris, finally collapsing on the ground a few yards behind her.
Better.
It hurt. She hurt. This was serious. Kimberly hadn't been on the receiving end of anything of this sort since Aislyn, and even that had been less extreme. She struggled to breath, to speak, but her chest hurt and her face hurt and nothing was working quite right. She raised her hand to her face, wiped it. It came away with some red specks. Mouth or nose? Hard to say. Hard to care. Nothing felt broken, but, then again, aside from a generalized pain, nothing really felt at all. She couldn't see well. The world was a blur.
Her glasses were gone.
Better still.
This was more like it. This was what she'd wanted. This was Kris Hartmann, mass murderer, worthy adversary, personal nemesis.
Kris wasn't really staying standing that well, though. Dammit. All this, and she still couldn't fucking stand on her own two feet?
And who the hell was asking her to identify herself? Whoever it was, they were mighty interested in Kris, and didn't give a fuck about Kimberly—at least, that seemed to be the case from what she could discern of the blurs. Kimberly absolutely hated being ignored. That was good. She could pin that on Kris, too. Kris was stealing her show. Kris was to blame.
She couldn't quite believe it. It made her sick. Maybe it made her cry a bit, or maybe that was the pain and trauma near her eyes. She couldn't even be mad about that. She was just confused, her head spinning, her face and stomach aching, her breath now coming in gasps and sighs.
She just hoped Erik would keep his head down. He seemed to be. She couldn't see him. Didn't know what he was doing. Making his way around to her, maybe, or getting an angle on the other guy. Maybe looking for a way to get the drop on Kris. She didn't even know if he was armed. Some fucking partner she was being. She tried to give a little thumbs up with her good hand, in case he was watching. She couldn't quite tell if it worked.
Stay back, all of you. Just stay away. I can do this. I can.
I can still make her pay.
Better.
Then the fist to the face. It sent her staggering away, her vision blurring for half a second. Her legs weren't cooperating yet. She stumbled around Kris, finally collapsing on the ground a few yards behind her.
Better.
It hurt. She hurt. This was serious. Kimberly hadn't been on the receiving end of anything of this sort since Aislyn, and even that had been less extreme. She struggled to breath, to speak, but her chest hurt and her face hurt and nothing was working quite right. She raised her hand to her face, wiped it. It came away with some red specks. Mouth or nose? Hard to say. Hard to care. Nothing felt broken, but, then again, aside from a generalized pain, nothing really felt at all. She couldn't see well. The world was a blur.
Her glasses were gone.
Better still.
This was more like it. This was what she'd wanted. This was Kris Hartmann, mass murderer, worthy adversary, personal nemesis.
Kris wasn't really staying standing that well, though. Dammit. All this, and she still couldn't fucking stand on her own two feet?
And who the hell was asking her to identify herself? Whoever it was, they were mighty interested in Kris, and didn't give a fuck about Kimberly—at least, that seemed to be the case from what she could discern of the blurs. Kimberly absolutely hated being ignored. That was good. She could pin that on Kris, too. Kris was stealing her show. Kris was to blame.
She couldn't quite believe it. It made her sick. Maybe it made her cry a bit, or maybe that was the pain and trauma near her eyes. She couldn't even be mad about that. She was just confused, her head spinning, her face and stomach aching, her breath now coming in gasps and sighs.
She just hoped Erik would keep his head down. He seemed to be. She couldn't see him. Didn't know what he was doing. Making his way around to her, maybe, or getting an angle on the other guy. Maybe looking for a way to get the drop on Kris. She didn't even know if he was armed. Some fucking partner she was being. She tried to give a little thumbs up with her good hand, in case he was watching. She couldn't quite tell if it worked.
Stay back, all of you. Just stay away. I can do this. I can.
I can still make her pay.
Kimberly faded away, gone.
A voice called out.
Name?
Killer's name.
Kris swung around, the grenade launcher coming up. Her finger jerked on the trigger again.
Psychopath
Another click.
Almost as if she'd never seen it before, Kris stared at the grenade in her other hand.
This isn't...
There was an ear-shattering bang.
Gun!?
Something whizzed somewhere past Kris's left ear.
She tipped the grenade launcher up, dropped the projectile into it with a clunk.
Lock and load.
Kris let out a despairing parody of a laugh.
This is wrong.
Wrong for who?
She pulled the trigger anyway.
A voice called out.
Name?
Killer's name.
Kris swung around, the grenade launcher coming up. Her finger jerked on the trigger again.
Psychopath
Another click.
Almost as if she'd never seen it before, Kris stared at the grenade in her other hand.
This isn't...
There was an ear-shattering bang.
Gun!?
Something whizzed somewhere past Kris's left ear.
She tipped the grenade launcher up, dropped the projectile into it with a clunk.
Lock and load.
Kris let out a despairing parody of a laugh.
This is wrong.
Wrong for who?
She pulled the trigger anyway.