Nessun Dorma

[Shangela†]

((G074- Brianna Battaglia continued from Pianificazione))

Just being in the Urgent Care Ward made the hairs on Brianna's nape spike. Dried blood slowly flaked off the surgical tables; the surgical scalpels were caked in congealed blood. It was a truly nauseating sight.  Out of instinct, Brianna tried to turn the nozzle on the side of the table in order to drain out the blood. Of course the terrorists had turned off the water flow to this room, leaving Brianna with the pulpy, wretched mess of browned blood.

Brianna recognized the sight of blood all too well these days. The blood leading into the second floor begged the group to follow it's red stained trail. Three people, three students that Brianna only knew in passing were laid about the grounds. The suggestion of sure death had been all around that group. Brianna wasn't naive enough to think that nobody was dying around them, but last afternoon marked the first time they'd actually seen the aftermath with their own eyes. Brianna had tried to fight against the anguished tears that stubbornly tried to mar her mascara, but it was a losing battle.

There's so much blood.

In similar regards to that afternoon, this room was equally marked by pain and anguish. The only real difference here was that the blood shed here was being treated. The blood upstairs was intentionally drawn. All the pain for a chance at surviving under their terms.  Brianna decided after she'd grieved that she'd never lose herself. The people responsible for the massacre upstairs – they'd lost themselves to the fear.  They felt no other option existed, other than to surrender their humanity and play like their captors demanded of them. Brianna mourned for their losses too.

"There's a better way." Brianna thought. "They just don't realize it."

Brianna scanned around the room with her flashlight, making note of the chaos around the surgical room. Whatever sterility had protected the wounded and dying earlier was broken when the terrorists ripped the practicing surgeons out of the room. Brianna still felt like she wasn't supposed to be in the operating room, though.  However, she'd needed to walk around the floor and scan for whatever tools they could use.

She'd spent an indiscernible amount of time wandering these halls on her watch. She couldn't stay still in one of the offices, closing her eyes and sleeping while, undoubtedly, people were dying.  She'd let the boys sleep after a long, arduous day of travel, but now she regretted the offer of company during her shift. Being alone didn't give Brianna and peace of mind; in fact, quite the opposite. It let the anxieties well up inside of her, clenching down on her lungs.

Thankfully, though, she wouldn't be left alone for too much longer. As Brianna rounded the corner, a familiar, friendly face, greeted her. A bit too suddenly, especially after she'd been subjected to a room full of decaying blood, but a welcomed amount of company nonetheless.

"Ah. You scared me." Brianna apologized for her adverse reaction. "Everything's so full of death these days, I'm still surprised by what's alive."

[Deamon]

((Christopher Harlin continued from Pianificazione.))

The hospital just worsened Chris's feelings of apprehension. As he swept his flashlight over the abandoned room's shivers ran over his body. Hospitals were depressing places at the best of times and having to walk around an abandoned one at night just added another layer to his stress. It was creepy; the bodies only compounded the edge the place had. If any of his classmates had been looking for sanctuary they hadn't found any in the hospital.

Luckily for the group whoever else had been involved in the deaths had moved on, letting them explore more of the hospital. Chris had quickly regretted the choice. There was nothing positive to be found just more negative feelings. If anything Chris wanted to go and hide in one of the offices, just to escape from everything for as long as he could. That wasn't an option however, he had an obligation to the group and he was going to pull his weight.

The metallic smell of blood made the hairs on his arms stand on end as he move through the hospital, there was death everywhere. No matter where they went they always found it, or it found them.

Chris was snapped out of his thoughts when a flashlight shone in his face. He tensed instinctively but luckily it was just Brianna.

"Sorry. I got restless and decided to go for a walk. I'm wishing I didn't though, there wasn't anything pleasant to see."

[Shangela†]

Chris. It was just Chris after all. No boogeyman lurking in the shadows, no demon in the depths. Chris was someone she'd grown to trust over the last few days on the island. So much so, that Brianna was immediately comfortable tucking the gun back into the waistband of her skirt.

"You don't need to apologize. I did the exact same thing on Jesse's shift. We didn't find much outside of the emergency rooms and the pharmacy." Brianna paused briefly to reach into her sweater pocket. She fiddled with something that rattled at her touch. "Still, it's not a very nice walk to take this late at night." Craning her head back, Brianna could note all of the blood and gore scattered across the abandoned emergency room. Wherever the students of Aurora High were, the terrorists had cleared for them expeditiously.

Her mind shifted to what might have happened to these people. One day the residents of this island were living their lives fully. Doctors worked on patients here, businessmen had taken breaks at the clubhouse, students sat around in the busses, waiting for class. These people all had their lives flipped upside down by these terrorists who'd forced people out of the comfortable lives they once lived. In this respect, they weren't so different from Aurora High's senior class. The only difference was that these people could start anew. The crushing reality for Brianna was that a great majority of them wouldn't have that chance, no matter how much she tried to save everyone.

"Chris. May I. May I talk to you about something?" Brianna hesitated slightly, but continued. "Do you remember Michael Battaglia, at all?"

[Deamon]

Chris relaxed once Brianna dropped the flashlight out of his eyes. He blinked a few times as his eyes readjusted to the darkness of the hospital. Good thing it was Brianna, any other people he met could have reacted in a much deadlier way when surprised like that. He'd gotten lucky with the fact that they still seemed to be the only people on their floor of the hospital.

"No it isn't." Chris agreed. It had been a bad idea to go for a walk since he'd just become more tense but then again the same thing would have happened if he'd have stayed where he was. Neither option was a good one but he'd been left with no choice but to pick one because sleep wasn't going to return.

The hospital itself was a creepy and depressing place that reminded Chris more of a horror movie set than an actual hospital. Maybe that was because of how empty it was especially considering a lot of things had been left relatively untouched. It was as if everyone had just up and left. The fact he'd seen a nuclear power station labelled on the map only strengthened his feeling that something terrible had happened and everyone who had lived on the island had been forced to leave. No time to pack or say good-bye to anyone who was stuck in a hospital bed. It was heart-breaking.

"Michael...your brother?" Chris guessed it was Brianna brother based off the surname but it was probably best to check. "Ummm can't really say I do remember him that well, sorry."

What more could he say?

[Shangela†]

Of course Chris hadn't remembered him at all. Bullies don't remember what they say, but remember the high they get from tormenting. There were plenty of Michael Battaglia's in Chris Harlin's life. What made her brother special to him?

"Yeah." Brianna kept hesitating.

"In sophomore year, Mike accidentally bumped into you. It was an accident really. But you lashed out at him. You called him such hurtful, mean things." Briefly pausing to let out a sigh, Brianna continued. "He was so miserable that year. And you know what? I hated you for it. I hadn't known you more than those words, and yet I hated you to the bone." I wished you were dead.

Brianna peered up to the camera. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that eventually someone would see her last days. Dad. Mom. Michael? What were they going to think about when that did happen too? What was Brianna doing with someone who'd made her brother cry late into the night? Someone who'd made Michael's stomach churn in deeply rooted anxieties? Someone who'd contributed to making every day a day that should have been spent in bed instead? How could she trust someone like that with her life?

"Sorry. I didn't mean to come off like such a bitch." Brianna tried to rope back the causticity of her words. "I just wanted to apologize to you, Chris. You kept me hopeful this whole time. You gave me a weapon to defend myself with. You held my hand when it all got so real. You're not who you were in high school, Chris. You're a good person. I just wish it didn't take this for me to realize that."

A rogue tear escaped from Brianna's waterline, traveling down the apple of her cheek. Left unchecked, the tear streaked down to her lower lip; the bitter saltiness alerted her to the whimpering mess she devolved into.  

"I miss him so much, Chris. He's going to do so much with his life after this." Her pocket rattled in response to her shaking grip. "And I'm never going to see it."

[Deamon]

Brianna explained who her brother was and what Chris had done to him. It wasn't something Chris was proud of looking back and now that he'd had time to reassess everything on the island he had come to regret a lot of his actions back at Aurora. Not that it justified them or made them any better, but he had come to realise how badly he had been treating everyone for no reason. That was why everything that Brianna was saying was like hearing everything he had already told himself again.

Hearing it from another person hurt though and Brianna was laying it on thick. Chris just stood there dumbfounded. He had no idea what had brought any of it on. She stopped after saying she hated him.

"I..."

Chris had no idea what to say. It was unexpected and hurtful. Maybe Brianna realised that because she immediately apologised to him and thanked him for everything he'd done. Chris just stood there feeling awkward and confused. She'd changed so quickly from talking about how much she had hated to apologising to thanking him and then to crying.

In the end Chris did the only thing he could think of that made sense.

He pulled Brianna into a tight hug.

"I...I'm sorry...For what I did to your brother. I'm sorry about everything..." He didn't have anything else to say. So he just stood there hugging the crying girl for what seemed like an age. Eventually he released her.

"I'm going to head off back to sleep...you look...I think you...need some time alone."

Chris gave Brianna a small smile and pulled her for an embrace with one arm before turning and heading off back the way he had come through the hospital. What Brianna had said had made him feel terrible. When he got back to the room he had been sleeping in he leaned against the wall with his arms and hung his head. He'd made his bed with his actions at Aurora and he would have to work against the perception he had built up every time he met someone. He sighed and wiped his eyes.

Turning off the flashlight he settled himself down for what was sure to be an unpleasant rest.

[Shangela†]

((This is going to be broken up over three posts for the sake of anyone who's reading this))

The hug was unexpected. Who was this guy consoling Brianna in her darkest, deepest period of need? This wasn't Chris Harlin, the guy who'd consistently bullied Michael Battaglia. This wasn't Chris Harlin, the caustic football jock that scored more enemies than touchdowns. This wasn't Chris Harlin, the bully that the Battaglia family cursed for a myriad of their hardships. He wasn't who he was back home.

"T-Thank you Chris." That was all she could say as she stood, stunned in stasis.  With that, Chris took his leave. Maybe he'd get some sleep tonight. But for Brianna, sleep was a fleeting concept.

Instead, she cried.

Brianna slumped her way out of the surgical room, citing too much death in the air as the catalyst for her sobbing. She tried to find her way to the offices. She needed space. She needed comfort. She needed something. Anything to stop constantly reminding her that she was here, Michael was there, and it unless she did something, it would stay that way.

"What do I do?" She moaned pathetically to no one in particular. As she slumped to her knees, face buried into the crux of her elbow, she mulled over her options in despair. She trusted Jesse and Chris sure enough. They'd kept her alive. They'd kept her going when she'd lost Matt. Lost everything. But what Jesse proposed? That was crazy. She could imagine a thousand scenarios of how their plan could play out. The longer this "game" played on, the less and less she saw them winning.

"Don't you know, Jesse? They'll blow us up if we try anything. We're fucking stuck."

There wasn't a way out. She'd seen those bodies down the hall. Three people who she'd never get to know. The girl on crutches. She was so helpless. She had probably begged for help, begged for a reprieve. But whoever had come in and ended their lives showed nothing. For the first time, Brianna could imagine what it took to become like that. Someone who'd given into such a state of despair. So divorced from their humanity. Someone pressed past their breaking point.

Someone with something to fight for?

Maybe Brianna had vilified those who played. Rightfully so, but she could understand it all now. They all had Michael's back home. Someone who they cared for more than anything. They all had parents who'd grieve for them. When she thought about it like that, how could she really blame them?

Maybe Jesse's plan would work out. Maybe one-in-a-million would happen here. But Brianna couldn't count on that. Michael would have such a life ahead, and Brianna couldn't imagine not being there. She was his ally, his confidante. He'd shared so much with her. Without her, who would he talk about his first college play with? His first boyfriend? His first job? His family?

--------

Brianna breathed exclusively through her nose. Her mouth might disclose an anxious yelp as she did this. With ginger care, Brianna started to slither into the adjacent office. Chris was a heavy, laborious breather. If he didn't wake himself up after such deep, bestial breaths, what chance did he have of hearing Brianna's soft, devious steps.

The gun faltered in Brianna's unsteady grip. She'd held onto that pistol since the day she'd claimed it, but never thought she could actually use it. The gun aligned neatly towards Chris's ear. He wouldn't even feel it.

She stood mere feet away from Chris Harlin as he slept. He slept unsoundly. Maybe Brianna was projecting, but she could see the same worries on his face that hung on hers. He'd had family just like she did. Maybe he had a brother or sister. Definitely, he had parents. People would miss him.

But then again, Brianna would be missed. Michael would lose his confidante, his best friend, his sister. Her parents would lose their tessoro. My Little Lamb. Brianna could hear her father call her a plethora of pet names. If this was how she had to make it back home, could she do it? Jesse's plan was a certain maybe, but too unlikely. If she did this, she could at least have a shot.

A shot at seeing her father take public office after a surprise, yet universally well received public campaign. A shot at her mother finally saying it was okay that she dropped violin after all these years. A shot at seeing Michael in his first performance at The Paramount. Brianna could have all of that.

All she had to do was pull the trigger.

[Shangela†]

The sight failed to line up with Chris's head. Brianna tried to shift her stance. Steady her arm with the other hand. It still didn't line up. She arched her back. Puffing out her chest for a fleeting chance of bravery.

Her gun arm craned violently down to her side.

She could barely wait until she was out of Chris's room before she fell to her knees. She crawled away, trying to gain distance, but her arms stopped responding. She was locked into place. Condemned to wallow in her weakness on that hospital floor.  She could see the mascara-marred tears flutter onto the linoleum floor. The ugly gray tears blended with the heinous filth of dirt and dust that coated the formerly sterile hospital floor. She was conscious of the camera watching her devolve into the pathetic crying mess on the floor, but she was helpless to put on a braver face.

After what seemed like hours of crying, she finally ran out of tears. When the strength returned to her, Brianna picked herself up and clumsily swayed over to an office. For the last day, she called this room "home." It did come equipped with one of the many cameras patrolling the movements of the students. It was the closest link any of them had to home now.

"Mike, I'm so sorry." Brianna stared up into the camera, fully aware that everyone would see them soon. "I can't."

No matter how much they tried to change her, Brianna couldn't do what they wanted her to do. She couldn't be who they wanted her to be.

Sorrow turned to frustration. Brianna's face twisted into anger.

"I'll never be what you're trying to make me!" The camera wasn't Mike anymore. It was those terrorists. Every single one of them that laughed behind the screen while they suffered and died. Brianna threw her gun across the office, hearing the pistol ricochet off the wall and onto the floor. The force at which the gun struck the wall made a satisfying thud. But the throw also produced another sound. A rattling.

How could she forget? Brianna reached into the pocket of her sweater, pulling out a prescription bottle. The label had faded to the point of recognition, but Brianna could recognize the contents inside. It was a little blue pill with seemingly arbitrary numbers and letters written on the side. Prozac. It seemed like such a long time ago, but Brianna remembered this pill well. After her father had lost the election, he'd felt more down that Brianna had ever seen him. He wasn't the kind, boisterous, jovial man he once was, but this sullen, husk of a man. She couldn't recognize him from his former self.

After a few months, her father had overcome that depression that crept up on him. When he felt the most hopeless, these helped him find hope again. Could that work for her? Brianna wondered as she emptied the bottle of a single blue pill.

She grabbed for a bottle from her daypack and twisted the top off. She had to place blind faith in this bottle. This blind faith was becoming more and more rare as these days went on. She could at least hope, couldn't she?

[Shangela†]

Five minutes passed. Ten. Thirty. Nothing had happened. The terrorists hadn't switched the pills for poison. There wasn't a trick this time. She had found something to find some comfort in. Brianna rested her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

She could see Michael now. He would still be awake. Probably video calling that boy he'd met back at school. Before Brianna would have known all about him, but she couldn't quite remember his name anymore. Nick? That was probably it.

She mouthed her thoughts upon her lips. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

Brianna wouldn't make it home. She couldn't go through with it. No matter how much she wanted to be back with her family, she couldn't do it on these terms.  At least, not yet.

That scared her most. She'd come so close to giving up on the one thing she still had here. Her humanity. The very core of her morals and ethics were tested on this island, but she'd held steadfast. But there was only so much she could take before she'd try again. Maybe she'd actually do it that time.

She cast a glance at the gun. Dangerously, it beckoned to be held back in her grip. It wanted her to play the way the terrorists demanded of them. It had already taken two lives, and it had the potential for so many more. She'd counted the bullets. She knew exactly what it could do.

Instead, her grasp held a bottle of this medication. She had a clear choice here. Give in and play the way they wanted?

"No. I am not this game." In a fluid motion, Brianna emptied a small cluster of these blue pills and placed them into her mouth. The chase of water afterward marked her final decision.

Brianna hoisted herself onto the couch, casting away the bottle onto the floor. A small trail of blue sprawled into a crescent by her feet. She could lie down with ease for the first time in days. Finally each night wasn't marked by the dread of what morning would say. She knew that she'd done all that she could. She'd fought against the game from the very beginning. Would her father be proud of that? Would Michael? She wondered if she'd made them proud in her last moments alive on camera.

At the very least, she was proud of herself. She was never in the system. She was never Girl-Number-Seventy-Four.  

She was always Brianna Battaglia.

G074 Brianna Battaglia - Eliminated

[D/N]

(Jesse Jennings continued from Daddy Long Legs and Dead Things)

Oh, and when Jesse got back in that night? Yeah, Brianna was dead.

He knew. He knew by her position and by the pills by her feet and by the fact that she wasn't, y'know, breathing. And he knew because he'd gone off on some mindbending, dazed walk outside the hospital for a half hour after the realization hit him, one that he couldn't even remember now that he was back in the lobby, and he sure as shit wouldn't have done something like that if she'd been alive.

Chris was still asleep. Jesse had no fuckin' clue whether he should wake the guy up or not. He'd been careful so far to keep quiet, because he was still trying to plan things out, but right now his mind was still like half-glazed over or something and all he could think was...

"Too fucking bad," Jesse whispered, staring back at her body.

He backed slowly out of the hospital's entryway, and crouched back against the wall just outside the door, weight on the balls of his feet. Tried to clear his mind. Yeah, too fucking bad. This whole trip was getting too fucking bad by now, and even someone as eternally confident as Jesse Jennings would freely admit that his initial hopes of saving most of the class were wildly optimistic. But did that mean that what he'd accomplished so far was for nothing?

No. Fuck no.

He still knew what to do next.

Now he just needed to find the gun.

[Deamon]

Sleep was anything but peaceful. Fitful was a better way to describe it. Chris fell in and out of different dreams all with different images, none of them pleasant. Death, fear and blood were the things he could remember when he woke up. In a strange bout of irony he felt more refreshed then he had before he went to sleep. So it wasn't a nightmare so much as his subconscious trying to make sense of what was going on...or something along those lines.

He slowly pushed himself up. His neck ached from the rest, which was to be expected. Chris rolled his head around and got a satisfying click from his neck in response. His mind then moved onto the two most important issues that he was facing: was Brianna OK and how long had he been out? His stood up using the wall to keep himself centred. He grabbed his pack next and swung it over his shoulder. All he had to do was find where Brianna had been last. That wasn't going to be easy because all the corridors in the hospital looked the same.

He drew his flashlight out of the pack and clicked it on as he stepped into the corridor. Everything seemed to be as it was when he went to sleep so nothing major could have happened. He would have woken up if something important had happened wouldn't he? Chris shook the feeling away, he would have woken up it was just the hospital making him tense. It had put him on edge earlier as well. It just seemed to be a natural response to the building. He started moving through the corridors heading in the general direction of the place he'd seen Brianna.

She wasn't there. Chris didn't think too much of it. She had probably just moved somewhere else; he hadn't expected to find her straight away anyway. He sighed to himself, he didn't want to explore any more of the hospital but it looked like he had no other choice. He moved at a steady pace sweeping the flashlight from room to room as he passed them. There didn't seem to be any sign of Brianna, and then he got a break. He spotted someone lying down on a couch in one of the offices. As Chris moved closer and swung the flashlight over them he recognised Brianna's face. He breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had happened while he was asleep after all.

Chris stepped a little but closer and swung the flashlight over the office, everything seemed to be in order. He decided he'd just go on watch and let Brianna sleep. He turned to leave but stopped halfway. There was something on the floor by Brianna that had caught his eye. The flashlight had just passed over it while he turned. He pointed the flashlight down and scanned the floor. There was a bottle of pills open and some of the contents had spilled out over the floor.

A lump rose in Chris's throat. He stepped across the threshold and into the office. Moving closer to Brianna, she wasn't moving. He ended up in front of the sofa before he realised she wasn't breathing.

She'd killed herself.

Chris stood there looking at her body.

He had only just seen her. How long had she been planning to kill herself? How had he not noticed? When had she done it? Questions just poured forth from Chris's mind as he stood looking at the girl's body. He breathed out slowly. He didn't say anything at first, he couldn't find the words.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled eventually. It meant nothing anymore, just two words he was saying to himself. Trying to relieve the guilt he felt. He turned away and screwed his eyes shut. Taking great effort to keep himself calm and his breathing steady. Eventually he opened them again. Something was reflecting the light of the flashlight back. He moved closer and saw that it was Brianna's gun.

He crouched down and picked it up. It was heavier than he expected but it was made of metal after all.

Chris felt like a scavenger as he walked out of the office with the pistol in his hand. He had to ignore those feelings though, he had to find Jesse so they could either put his plan into motion. If not...the lighthouse was the first place he remembered being mentioned as somewhere to go. Chris severely doubted that Matt would still be there but he still felt like he needed to go there. As things stood though, he'd have to find Jesse.

He looked at the gun in his hand. The next steps were going to be much harder.

He started walking through the hospital.

[D/N]

"Chris! It's Jesse!"

Walk in slowly, non-threatening, make sure your friend with the gun doesn't do anything stupid like shoot you. Jesse had this down pat by now.

"I... I saw Brianna."

And wasn't much he could say beyond that, really. This wasn't the time to be bullshitting or trying to hang a positive slant on something that was unequivocally fucking awful. Jesse was all about silver linings and straw into gold, remember, but he sure as hell had his limits on that.

Besides, the ultimate silver lining was coming right up.

"Look, I've got something big. I got it planned. Can you help me?"

[Deamon]

Chris tensed as he heard someone call out his name. He relaxed once the voice confirmed that they were Jesse and then slowly walked into view. Chris thought that yelling in a place like the hospital after someone had died was a bad idea, but he kept it to himself. He didn't want to over-complicate the situation.

Jesse skipped past all of Chris's potential responses by just stating that he had seen Brianna. Which...made things slightly easier; Chris didn't have to break the news about the death to Jesse at the very least which was something he was thankful for. He had never been very good with dealing with emotions or reacting to other peoples.

Jesse didn't give him any time to respond to the statement either; he just went straight on through. He had something planned. Chris knew they had been discussing a plan to escape before they had entered the hospital but since then he hadn't put any real thought into it.

From the sound of it though Jesse had it all figured out and was ready to go. Chris didn't have to think long and hard about his choice, he made it surprisingly quickly.

"I'll help."

Chris wasn't sure what made it such an easy decision; the terrorists had been very clear at the beginning of the game what going against their rules resulted in. He looked back at the office Brianna was in. But at the same time Chris didn't have anything else.

"We're going now right?"

[D/N]

"Yeah. Just a minute."

Jesse could've done what he needed to do right here in the hospital of course. The location didn't matter as much as the materials did. And hell, he had a ready source right here in front of him.

But, well, fuck. Jesse was what you might call a pragmatist, but that didn't mean he wanted to use Brianna, especially seeing as how she was still warm, and that thought was just hitting a bit too close to home for him. He needed to be able to separate his emotions from the job, and that wasn't any kind of unreasonable request, now was it? No.

Besides, this place was a bit too open. And a bit too spooky, for that matter. He needed somewhere he could get a bit of a blind spot from the cameras.

"I... look Chris, I don't want to explain too much. You know, obvious reasons. But I promise you that I've got something. I need some broken glass, or anything sharp."

The fish tank. That'd be a start.

---

And Jesse was careful not to slit his fucking wrists on any of the glass shards that they'd gathered into Brianna's duffel bag. The glass on the tank had been too thin and fragile to suit Jesse's purpose, but the office windows had yielded some dagger-like pieces that would be absolutely perfect.

"Alright," he said, lifting the bag up carefully. "Now we're going."

He didn't look back at Brianna. She was gone. She was good, really fucking good, but she was gone now, and Jesse Jennings was not what you'd call someone who dwelled on the past. And when the army swooped and and President McAllister pinned that medal on his shirt a few days and weeks from now, well, he'd add her to the list of people to thank.

(Jesse Jennings continued in 'Cause When You Try Hard)