After the Twilight, Always a Sunrise
...but the glow of morning comes with small arms fire. (oneshot)
After the Twilight, Always a Sunrise
At no point in the day did she feel safe, or entirely relaxed. Alone, sure. Occasionally she found a spot that seemed immune to ambush, or surprises. Nowhere she'd recognize as a good place to pass out. Rest came only when every other option had been exhausted, and she was sure some light had appeared on the horizon when she finally passed out. Sound sleep was unfortunately, a distant memory.
Surely being deprived of those precious, long gaps in conscious thought was causing some deleterious effects on her psyche, but hopefully not on her aim. At the very least, Erika figured it was probably doing the same to everyone else.
Comfort. That’s rich.
At least everyone else is starving, sleep deprived, and desperate. Misanthropy was starting to become reflexive. She didn’t like it.
People were still dropping like flies, according to the morning’s announcements. Erika was mentioned enough to trust what Danya said by now, even if he often left a lot out. There were more familiar names now, though she felt numb to all but a few.
Ty killed Lorenzo. It couldn’t have been easy, or quick. It made her imagine once again what she’d do if he was in her sights. By now it wasn’t so clear what he’d do if it was the other way around. She didn’t want to think about it.
Quinn was dead, stabbed to death by Arizona. She didn’t expect that to give her pause, but it did. If the stray buckshot in her calf hadn’t already shattered any illusions of safety, Quinn’s death certainly would have finished the job. They were both prolific, both clearly taking the same path to escape. At least a few people mistook them for one another. Though she knew they never would’ve exchanged much other than violence, she still wondered what it was they shared.
Michael struck again. Seemingly attempting to keep up his end of their bargain, even if he did need help. Since their encounter, despite his armament, he’d killed only once more. At this point, it made more sense to end it if they ran into one another again. Letting him live was a half-measure she was only barely able to afford; the pistol would’ve been nice in the situation at the Infirmary. Yuka was still alive, and helped him kill Roxie.
She’s the only one left. That girl will hunt me to the gates of hell, of that I’m certain.
Luckily, it seemed like Justin was working quickly. Tirzah and Claude kept going, too. For whatever it was worth, there was no shortage of willing murderers on the island. The reward they gave Justin and Tirzah would no doubt prove to be something of an edge, just as hers had been. Short of striking a similar bargain with either, it made the most sense to stay out of their way and let others shoulder some of the burden.
“Burden.” That’s one hell of a euphemism.
Erika winced, stopping briefly as she approached the edge of the treeline.
Now that she was back on her feet, the Inner Circle seemed like the best place to head to. Her leg still hurt, but she could walk on it. Run, only if she absolutely had to. Between the Hi-Power and the A5 Shotgun she didn’t fancy picking fights past a hundred yards, at the absolute limit. Shelter was plentiful, and easy enough to fortify or flee from on short notice.
At least I’m not trembling anymore. Or at least, not all the time.
More than all that, she knew other people would be thinking the same when it came to where they chose to go.
People who might not have burned through their supplies so quickly, both food and first aid.
Lifesigns reading out to collars, which signaled back to their masters.
Dozens of locks on the door out of this place, waiting to be opened.
What if they just open on their own?
Looking down at her heavily-bandaged leg, Erika couldn’t help but keep repeating the encounter with Garnet over and over in her head. Too many regrets.
Letting her go, and not panicking that she was somehow going to impede her survival. Arming Garnet with a weapon hidden only as a backup in case the others failed her somehow, and therefore depriving herself of a vital contingency. Thinking somehow leaving her to her fate was a good thing, that it would balance out the monstrosity of whatever else she'd done in some small, significant degree.
She didn't even catch herself silently wishing fate would somehow end Garnet for her, just like she’d imagined it would for Tyrell. Part of her really wanted Garnet to survive, even though that necessarily meant her own death. That part of her didn't get to tag along. It didn't help here.
Yet, it persisted.
There was nothing else you could’ve done, and nothing else you can do. Move on.
No matter how hard she tried, instinct pushed her to dwell on her actions. Like a dog with a bone, part of her mind got into it again and again. Dug up every pull of the trigger and every lie. Questioning all of the choices she’d made in the last seven days. The things that drove her to the point where she’d be making the tactical choice to avoid the other killers and chase down the people still trying to be decent. As if only asking the right questions would make it all feel okay.
I didn’t even like getting Bad Karma in New Vegas. How did I get here?
She could’ve given up on everyone. Ignored them. Hid. Defended herself if she had to. Entertained the thought of a rescue. Punched her ticket with one person, someone who provoked it, and let that one be the only weight on her conscience. There was a difference between trying to accelerate the game and just enduring it. The former at least made her feel like she was doing something. It didn’t seem any more or less amoral. Still one for a hundred and fifty-plus others.
But it’s kind of a dumb fucking reason to kill people, isn’t it? Just to feel like my choices make a difference?
Erika sighed, taking a few moments to stretch; careful not to upset the makeshift stitches in her arm or the wound in her leg. Days of sleeping on hard surfaces meant a few more cracks in her joints than she was used to. Self-loathing was getting exhausting, despite her compulsive desire to indulge it. It never seemed to leave her. It was hard to chase it away, when she’d made so much effort to maintain an awareness of what she was doing. Cursing herself the same way over and over again, it made no difference.
It was done. This was the path she took to the rest of her life, or to its end. There had to be some way to walk it with some dignity. Some ownership. That meant accepting it. Maybe she wasn’t ready to do that, she thought, given her inability to just move on.
Not ready? Fucking really? Ten lives. Twice as much and I still won’t be out of here. Come on, get it together.
She absolutely was, Erika reminded herself. There may have been another path, but it's time had come and gone. Garnet walked it, now. A nearby camera bored a hole into the side of her head with its mechanical gaze, but she avoided giving it more than a passing glance.
“Fuck it.”
Erika sighed, taking a short drink of water from the half-empty bottle in her daypack. Shorter than she would’ve liked. It was supposed to be refreshing, but she was dehydrated enough it felt a little bit painful.
Her goal had been to be numb to violence by now. Contain her emotions, compartmentalize them. She needed to be efficient. As ruthless and savage as she had to be in a situation that demanded it. In the moment, she knew she could be. Clearly it hadn't been enough. The quiet time in between, when the fight wasn't going on - that was when everything hurt. That was when she felt fear most acutely. Fear wasn't acceptable here. It wouldn't save her.
There was something about all of this she didn't understand, and it held her back. Kept her in her head, tending to an injury that seemed to just get worse. Like the lead pellet had been. Whatever this was, this guilt - she just didn't know how to take it out, how to leave it behind.
This has to stop, and yet it can't stop.
Looking ahead to one particularly ostentatious house, she caught a glimpse of someone. Faintly familiar; the island had left visible impressions on everyone, and faces weren't so easy to recognize anymore. This person was important, though. They were the first, they acted before Erika could even admit to herself where she was and what had to be done.
Erika pulled out the Hi-Power and checked the chamber. Placing it back in her waistband, she readied the Auto-5 as well. Both were ready whenever she needed them. She'd used shoelaces to makeshift a one-point sling for the shotgun, letting it hang off her shoulder. It was enough to keep it at the ready, and to keep her from dropping it. Otherwise, she let it rest in the crook of her arm. If it came to it, she was capable enough to defend herself in an enclosed space; the butterfly knife still sat in her back pocket if things got out of control. If things went the way they were supposed to, both were fast enough she wouldn't have to wait and watch for the results; she had no intention of repeating her experiences with Blake and Oliver and Tanisha, given how she'd processed those encounters.
There's nothing good about this. There's no way to make death better, or easier. It invalidates any considerations to pain or relief or rest. Those are all things that belong to people who are alive. You can't give anyone anything if they're dead. I'm taking everything from them.
"I know what I'm doing."
What I'm doing makes me worse.
"I'm saving myself. If dying is the only thing to consider, then this is what I am. This is all I get to be. Can't worry about things I can't change."
I did it once. I can change. There's another way.
"I don't get to choose what I get to be now. Only if I make it out of here. Then I'm free. Then I'm alive again. Come on. Let's go talk to Paloma. Come on, move.."
Erika broke from the treeline, walking unsteadily towards the houses. As much as she lived inside of her head, she didn't know herself well enough to understand if she was looking for some kind of reassurance, or if she just needed to do something other than stand around and hate herself and this place. It was a sick, twisted version of the choice she used to have to make when faced with fear and anxiety - get mad, or cry. Let her emotions break her, or force it outward and break something else. Entertaining the idea that she'd just been taking out her despair on everyone hastened her step, and tightened her grip on the shotgun. She didn't know if that was right, either.
I can't choose my path anymore. Maybe with some help, I can at least choose how to walk it.
((Erika Stieglitz continued in Don't Stop Dancing))