I'VE GOT BLOODSTAINS IN MY BATHTUB I'VE GOT VOMIT ON MY FLOOR
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I'VE GOT BLOODSTAINS IN MY BATHTUB I'VE GOT VOMIT ON MY FLOOR
"Is that an ice cream truck?"
((Luanne Grasset continued from Electric Chair))
"Mmm, yeah. Or, um, a hot dog stand or something." She paused, scratching the back of her neck. "I don't think there's anyone here."
She stepped out into the sunlight from the shade left by the overhang of the deck above the swimming pool's. This part of the ship reminded her of a David Hockney painting.
"Do you think the pool's chlorinated?"
"Mmm, yeah. Or, um, a hot dog stand or something." She paused, scratching the back of her neck. "I don't think there's anyone here."
She stepped out into the sunlight from the shade left by the overhang of the deck above the swimming pool's. This part of the ship reminded her of a David Hockney painting.
"Do you think the pool's chlorinated?"
Pippi saw the blood.
"I don't think so."
She moved closer.
"It doesn't smell like it."
She had heard the gunshots from earlier. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know where they were from. Pippi swallowed hard.
"We could take a break here?" She said, rolling her ankle as she leaned over a wall. "My feet are getting sore. Pretty sure I got blisters."
"I don't think so."
She moved closer.
"It doesn't smell like it."
She had heard the gunshots from earlier. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know where they were from. Pippi swallowed hard.
"We could take a break here?" She said, rolling her ankle as she leaned over a wall. "My feet are getting sore. Pretty sure I got blisters."
Luanne took another couple of steps forward. To her, the pool smelled chlorinated, but it didn't really matter anyways. She didn't want to go into the water, nor did she want to cause a chlorine leak that would kill a bunch of people on the cruise ship (though imagine if she did, that would be really crazy). She still didn't know what they were doing. Another step forward. Something caught her eye. It was pretty small, and kind of orangish-red and brown, and it stood out against the white floor.
"Yeah. I'm tired."
It was so exhausting, hearing people hurting each other. Seeing the aftermath. Watching it happen from afar. None of it needed to happen, and there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it because the second they tried to stop it they just got dragged in.
She was so fucking sick of it all.
She shambled over to a pool chair and sat down. Her knees cracked like bubble wrap.
She slid her backpack off, set it next to her on the chair, and unzipped it.
"Pippi," she said, glancing up at the other girl. Even through the sunglasses, she looked like diamonds in the sun.
"What do you think SOTF-TV is about?" She asked. She looked back down and started rooting around in her pack. "Like, I mean, what's it really actually about? Um, under the surface."
"Yeah. I'm tired."
It was so exhausting, hearing people hurting each other. Seeing the aftermath. Watching it happen from afar. None of it needed to happen, and there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it because the second they tried to stop it they just got dragged in.
She was so fucking sick of it all.
She shambled over to a pool chair and sat down. Her knees cracked like bubble wrap.
She slid her backpack off, set it next to her on the chair, and unzipped it.
"Pippi," she said, glancing up at the other girl. Even through the sunglasses, she looked like diamonds in the sun.
"What do you think SOTF-TV is about?" She asked. She looked back down and started rooting around in her pack. "Like, I mean, what's it really actually about? Um, under the surface."
Mhm.
That was a good question.
“I think it’s a manifestation of late stage capitalism”
“Like the desperation of it” “Just to make a quick buck.”
“It gives the false hope
to people to break through the cycle of poverty”
“But in reality, even if you win this, you’re still so, so much poorer than the executives running the show”
“So I don’t know what’s it’s really about.”
That was a good question.
“I think it’s a manifestation of late stage capitalism”
“Like the desperation of it” “Just to make a quick buck.”
“It gives the false hope
to people to break through the cycle of poverty”
“But in reality, even if you win this, you’re still so, so much poorer than the executives running the show”
“So I don’t know what’s it’s really about.”
“Maybe they actually think they’re doing something good. Maybe they think they’re helping. Maybe they want to be good people. But they’re objectively not. They tease kids with a carrot filled with promises of a good life while we, the workers, have to throw everything away for them to make billions off us. Yeah.
SOTF-TV is just a symptom of late stage capitalism. That’s what it’s about.”
SOTF-TV is just a symptom of late stage capitalism. That’s what it’s about.”
"Mm. I guess I kind of agree?"
"I think it's about the other side of the camera. We're just the, like, um, the means to an end. We don't have any real power over the execs. If we escape, it's because they let us. We're what the viewers buy and the producers sell. We're the merchandise."
She rooted around in her backpack a little bit more. It said a lot that they were given condoms, rum, and aloe vera, but not sunscreen.
"I think it's about power, too. I think it's about normalizing things like this. They can take everything away from anyone they want, it doesn't matter who you are, and then they can murder you. And nobody will care, because it's on TV, and it's happened more than fifty times, and when you see that kind of thing over and over again, it stops having an effect on you. It becomes part of you. You stop thinking about it."
She sounded like Andy Warhol.
"We're old enough to kill, but not for voting."
"I think it's about the other side of the camera. We're just the, like, um, the means to an end. We don't have any real power over the execs. If we escape, it's because they let us. We're what the viewers buy and the producers sell. We're the merchandise."
She rooted around in her backpack a little bit more. It said a lot that they were given condoms, rum, and aloe vera, but not sunscreen.
"I think it's about power, too. I think it's about normalizing things like this. They can take everything away from anyone they want, it doesn't matter who you are, and then they can murder you. And nobody will care, because it's on TV, and it's happened more than fifty times, and when you see that kind of thing over and over again, it stops having an effect on you. It becomes part of you. You stop thinking about it."
She sounded like Andy Warhol.
"We're old enough to kill, but not for voting."
"We're not even merchandise."
"We're just the concepts."
"The raw idea."
"We're not even.... we're not even..."
She confessed.
"They didn't even edit us yet.
We're not even the manufactured product."
She shrugged.
"We might get discarded down the line.
"We might be cut from the final edit." She shrugged. "Despite everything."
She poked the chair.
"I hope one day these people pay for what they've done."
"We're just the concepts."
"The raw idea."
"We're not even.... we're not even..."
Pippi pantomime something.
A shape.
A square.
"We're not even the product." A shape.
A square.
She confessed.
"They didn't even edit us yet.
We're not even the manufactured product."
She shrugged.
"We might get discarded down the line.
if we're not marketable enough
so we might not even be a product yet."
"We might be cut from the final edit." She shrugged. "Despite everything."
She poked the chair.
"I hope one day these people pay for what they've done."
"..."
Luanne just sat in silence for a few moments, breathing quietly.
She lifted her left hand up to her face and took her sunglasses off, setting them beside her on the chair. Dried makeup trailed down from her bloodshot eyes.
She just wanted it to stop.
She closed her eyelids; hid her eyes.
She just - she didn't care if they paid. She didn't care about hurting them. She wanted it to stop. People hurt people just because they could and she wanted it all to just fucking stop.
...
"I think," she trailed off and inhaled softly through her nose. Then, she exhaled slowly, like she was blowing on a dandelion. "I think, at least, they thought we would be marketable."
...
"Because everything they do is calculated. Not the things they don't do, because some of those are probably just them forgetting. But what they do actually do, they do it on purpose."
Keep going.
"They're like modern artists, except instead of trying to lead people in the general direction of the conclusion they want them to come to, they're trying to lead, um, us, I guess, in the general direction of what they think is gonna make the most money for them. And I've noticed they've been doing a lot of leading for us. Like, we were the only two people who woke up on that boat, and we're on the same team. They wanted us together, and they didn't want either of us dead right away."
And why are you marketable?
"And, um, I think... what makes us look marketable is like... SOTF-TV can be pretty depressing, and sometimes people want a happy story where nobody dies. We're underdogs, and we look like the kind of people who would try to stay separate from all the killy stuff. We're supposed to be who people can cheer for without feeling guilty about it. Oh, and we're girls, and we're fighting against like, um, the establishment full of old rich white guys - the patriarchy - so it's like... people can point at the TV and say 'wow, feminism', and that's pretty marketable, and so is -"
She nearly snickered but coughed instead.
"- so is, like, socialism stuff. Socialism is pretty marketable, I guess. It appeals to the youth demographic."
She lurched forward and a squeak of a laugh broke through her throat.
And then she couldn't stop laughing. She didn't know why she was laughing. She didn't want to be laughing. It wasn't funny. It was sad. It wasn't funny at all. Everything about this was just so incredibly soul crushing.
But she fell sideways onto the pool chair and laughed until her stomach hurt so bad she was crying.
Luanne just sat in silence for a few moments, breathing quietly.
She lifted her left hand up to her face and took her sunglasses off, setting them beside her on the chair. Dried makeup trailed down from her bloodshot eyes.
She just wanted it to stop.
She closed her eyelids; hid her eyes.
She just - she didn't care if they paid. She didn't care about hurting them. She wanted it to stop. People hurt people just because they could and she wanted it all to just fucking stop.
...
"I think," she trailed off and inhaled softly through her nose. Then, she exhaled slowly, like she was blowing on a dandelion. "I think, at least, they thought we would be marketable."
...
"Because everything they do is calculated. Not the things they don't do, because some of those are probably just them forgetting. But what they do actually do, they do it on purpose."
Keep going.
"They're like modern artists, except instead of trying to lead people in the general direction of the conclusion they want them to come to, they're trying to lead, um, us, I guess, in the general direction of what they think is gonna make the most money for them. And I've noticed they've been doing a lot of leading for us. Like, we were the only two people who woke up on that boat, and we're on the same team. They wanted us together, and they didn't want either of us dead right away."
And why are you marketable?
"And, um, I think... what makes us look marketable is like... SOTF-TV can be pretty depressing, and sometimes people want a happy story where nobody dies. We're underdogs, and we look like the kind of people who would try to stay separate from all the killy stuff. We're supposed to be who people can cheer for without feeling guilty about it. Oh, and we're girls, and we're fighting against like, um, the establishment full of old rich white guys - the patriarchy - so it's like... people can point at the TV and say 'wow, feminism', and that's pretty marketable, and so is -"
She nearly snickered but coughed instead.
"- so is, like, socialism stuff. Socialism is pretty marketable, I guess. It appeals to the youth demographic."
She lurched forward and a squeak of a laugh broke through her throat.
And then she couldn't stop laughing. She didn't know why she was laughing. She didn't want to be laughing. It wasn't funny. It was sad. It wasn't funny at all. Everything about this was just so incredibly soul crushing.
But she fell sideways onto the pool chair and laughed until her stomach hurt so bad she was crying.
...
...
"Hey."
Pippi lurched closer, sitting next to the maniacally giggling and crying girl.
"Shhh, 't's'okay, 't's'okay." Her hand moved in circle against Luanne's back, rubbing in some warmth into the girl's body. Pippi didn't want to laugh. Pippi didn't want to emote.
"Let it all out, Lulu," she whispered. She wasn't good at being comforting. She usually just awkwardly laughed when people were crying. She didn't know what to do.
She didn't know what to do.
"Do you need a hug?"
...
"Hey."
Pippi lurched closer, sitting next to the maniacally giggling and crying girl.
"Shhh, 't's'okay, 't's'okay." Her hand moved in circle against Luanne's back, rubbing in some warmth into the girl's body. Pippi didn't want to laugh. Pippi didn't want to emote.
"Let it all out, Lulu," she whispered. She wasn't good at being comforting. She usually just awkwardly laughed when people were crying. She didn't know what to do.
She didn't know what to do.
"Do you need a hug?"
Luanne had never laughed like that before and that scared her a lot but also she kind of felt okay about it for reasons she was too tired to parse. She was still crying a little bit, but it was more like... her eyes hadn't caught up to the fact that she wasn't sad. And they weren't sad tears, they were kinda like the tears that showed up after you sneezed really hard.
Pippi said something. She was still there. Luanne had half expected her to just, um, excuse herself, because Luanne was pretty sure she looked like she had just lost her mind. But she was pretty sure her mind was still there.
She felt Pippi sit down behind her. A left-over tear rolled down the waterproofed canvas surface of the chair. She watched it.
She felt like she was drunk or on drugs or something, but also she'd never drank alcohol or done drugs ever in her life, so she wasn't sure. She was pretty sure Pippi hadn't, like, roofied her, since that wouldn't make sense.
She knew something was happening but she didn't know what it was. She felt fuzzy and warm and numb and ill-defined and the side of her face was sticking to the chair kind of.
This was the most stress she'd ever been through in her life and she didn't have her sketchbook to cope with it. That was what was happening.
They said that people lost themselves on this show, but Luanne didn't think that was true. She just thought people found different versions of themselves.
Someone touched her back. She froze for a second. Then she remembered Pippi was right there. Then she was still frozen, but not panicking.
...
Do you need a hug?
She tried to say something but nothing came out because she didn't know the answer.
She sniffled.
"I'm think I'm okay now," she said, trying to turn her head to look at Pippi, but stopping midway because the other girl was sitting on some of her hair and it hurt to move her head around too much. She was ninety-nine percent sure these chairs weren't designed to have more than one person sitting on them at a time.
"Do you need a hug, Pippi?"
She had other questions like 'Do we even actually have a plan?' but that one was what felt most appropriate.
Pippi said something. She was still there. Luanne had half expected her to just, um, excuse herself, because Luanne was pretty sure she looked like she had just lost her mind. But she was pretty sure her mind was still there.
She felt Pippi sit down behind her. A left-over tear rolled down the waterproofed canvas surface of the chair. She watched it.
She felt like she was drunk or on drugs or something, but also she'd never drank alcohol or done drugs ever in her life, so she wasn't sure. She was pretty sure Pippi hadn't, like, roofied her, since that wouldn't make sense.
She knew something was happening but she didn't know what it was. She felt fuzzy and warm and numb and ill-defined and the side of her face was sticking to the chair kind of.
This was the most stress she'd ever been through in her life and she didn't have her sketchbook to cope with it. That was what was happening.
They said that people lost themselves on this show, but Luanne didn't think that was true. She just thought people found different versions of themselves.
Someone touched her back. She froze for a second. Then she remembered Pippi was right there. Then she was still frozen, but not panicking.
...
Do you need a hug?
She tried to say something but nothing came out because she didn't know the answer.
She sniffled.
"I'm think I'm okay now," she said, trying to turn her head to look at Pippi, but stopping midway because the other girl was sitting on some of her hair and it hurt to move her head around too much. She was ninety-nine percent sure these chairs weren't designed to have more than one person sitting on them at a time.
"Do you need a hug, Pippi?"
She had other questions like 'Do we even actually have a plan?' but that one was what felt most appropriate.
"Yeah."
She replied.
Honesty was a virtue.
At least, she thought.
It was something better than lies.
A white lie never hurt anyone though.
But this wasn't the situation.
She knew better.
"Yeah, I need a hug." She confessed. "I always need one lately."
She replied.
Honesty was a virtue.
At least, she thought.
It was something better than lies.
A white lie never hurt anyone though.
But this wasn't the situation.
She knew better.
"Yeah, I need a hug." She confessed. "I always need one lately."
Okay.
So...
How was this gonna work? Because Luanne was kinda laying down on the chair, on her side, facing away from Pippi, with her torso along the chair's incline, and Pippi was sitting about halfway down the chair, and Luanne was also kinda stuck laying how she was because if she moved too much it would pull on her hair.
In her head she saw her own body contorting to hug Pippi from behind, her shoulders dislocating like she was being torn apart by Picasso. She imagined she looked a little like Dora Maar and Pippi looked a little like Marie-Thérèse Walter. The producers were Picasso. They broke teenagers like he broke women.
Luanne did not like Picasso. She could appreciate his art aesthetically. She could appreciate his art historically. She found his art interesting. She thought he was a disgusting human being, and thus she could not appreciate his art artistically.
Picasso was a womanizer who left most of his lovers psychologically destroyed. He disfigured them mentally like he twisted them apart in his paintings. He was physically and emotionally abusive. He pit Walter and Maar against each other, and then painted them into Guernica. He'd started his affair with Walter when she was seventeen and he was fourty-five, and she'd devoted herself entirely to him. Maar was an accomplished surrealist photographer. Picasso took away her camera and forced her to make cubist paintings instead. Most of his portraits of her were of her in tears. Walter hanged herself in 1977. Maar died a recluse in 1997.
So yeah.
Luanne kind of ineffectually waved one of her arms around behind her, and then all of a sudden, Pippi must have shifted her weight or something, because Luanne's hair was no longer trapped. She pushed herself upright and turned herself around to face Pippi.
She didn't think she'd ever hugged anyone out of something other than familial obligation before.
It was kind of scary.
She went for the hug anyways.
So...
How was this gonna work? Because Luanne was kinda laying down on the chair, on her side, facing away from Pippi, with her torso along the chair's incline, and Pippi was sitting about halfway down the chair, and Luanne was also kinda stuck laying how she was because if she moved too much it would pull on her hair.
In her head she saw her own body contorting to hug Pippi from behind, her shoulders dislocating like she was being torn apart by Picasso. She imagined she looked a little like Dora Maar and Pippi looked a little like Marie-Thérèse Walter. The producers were Picasso. They broke teenagers like he broke women.
Luanne did not like Picasso. She could appreciate his art aesthetically. She could appreciate his art historically. She found his art interesting. She thought he was a disgusting human being, and thus she could not appreciate his art artistically.
Picasso was a womanizer who left most of his lovers psychologically destroyed. He disfigured them mentally like he twisted them apart in his paintings. He was physically and emotionally abusive. He pit Walter and Maar against each other, and then painted them into Guernica. He'd started his affair with Walter when she was seventeen and he was fourty-five, and she'd devoted herself entirely to him. Maar was an accomplished surrealist photographer. Picasso took away her camera and forced her to make cubist paintings instead. Most of his portraits of her were of her in tears. Walter hanged herself in 1977. Maar died a recluse in 1997.
So yeah.
Luanne kind of ineffectually waved one of her arms around behind her, and then all of a sudden, Pippi must have shifted her weight or something, because Luanne's hair was no longer trapped. She pushed herself upright and turned herself around to face Pippi.
She didn't think she'd ever hugged anyone out of something other than familial obligation before.
It was kind of scary.
She went for the hug anyways.
The hug felt exactly as she expected.
Crafted. Sown. Stitched. Attached.
Felt like she wanted. Felt like she knew it.
Pippi smiled. It felt like this.
It really felt like this normally.
But she didn't mind.
It felt better than the usual hug.
Since the usual hug was scared, the usual hug was hidden; this hug was in the open for the world to see.
Maybe it was an act of rebellion.
But Pippi loved it all the same so her arms wrapped around her back. Luanne felt good against her chest despite the uncomfortable-comfortable shirt. She was glad it wasn't see through so she would able to keep some modesty despite the ass-less chaps. Her breath was steady and her heart was following up with the same slow and steady beat.
Calm.
Peace.
Silence.
She broke it.
"Thank you."
Crafted. Sown. Stitched. Attached.
Felt like she wanted. Felt like she knew it.
Pippi smiled. It felt like this.
It really felt like this normally.
But she didn't mind.
It felt better than the usual hug.
Since the usual hug was scared, the usual hug was hidden; this hug was in the open for the world to see.
Maybe it was an act of rebellion.
Maybe it was an act of love.
Maybe it was an act of kindness.
But Pippi loved it all the same so her arms wrapped around her back. Luanne felt good against her chest despite the uncomfortable-comfortable shirt. She was glad it wasn't see through so she would able to keep some modesty despite the ass-less chaps. Her breath was steady and her heart was following up with the same slow and steady beat.
Calm.
Peace.
Silence.
She broke it.
"Thank you."
Luanne held Pippi close, staring out over her shoulder with her neck bent downwards to avoid her head colliding with the other girl's cowboy hat.
...
...
It was nice, she guessed. It was kinda... it was hard to think about, because there was every chance someone was going to step around the corner and shoot them both in the head with one bullet. At least it would be painless. It sounded painless. Neither of them would have the time to stare death in the face, and that face-staring was the part of dying that Luanne was most afraid of. The physical impossibility of it in her living mind absolutely terrified her. She liked existing. She liked being able to perceive, and she liked being able to think. She liked being, because being was all she'd ever know. And, as a living person, looking at the concept of death was kind of more... looking at the facsimile of death. It was like a book you could only ever judge by its cover, because every page looked like the cover. But then, one day, the pages stop looking like the cover, and then you can't close the book. All you can do is read. You can't process the fact that you're reading, nor can you process any of the information that you read. You're just reading and the pages don't end. And you stop existing.
That still wasn't quite right, was it? She was having a hard time putting it into words. When something really meant something to her, she started forgetting how to phrase it, and then the words she thought up weren't ever the right ones. She envied poets and lyricists and classical artists. It was very difficult for her to tell people things in a direct way.
She thought of a relevant piece of art, but then she noticed the train of thought she was on was bound to send her into a death spiral loop, so she focused on Pippi's heartbeat again. She could feel it through the girl's back.
She noticed the beats were slowing down.
She smiled lightly, without noticing. It was the tiniest, tiniest smile.
She noticed that she was smiling. She stopped smiling.
She noticed her own heartrate speeding up.
She noticed -
just
stop
Don't be anxious just because you're letting someone in.
That's not why I'm anxious.
Then why?
Because when people know people are paying attention, they start to unconsciously turn into plastic. I'm turning into plastic. Pippi might already be plastic, I don't know. We don't even know each other's last names. We've known each other for what, six hours? We aren't real friends. We can't ever be real friends. Anything that starts on this show can't ever be something other than synthetic.
Okay. Well, it's all synthetic, but it's all you've got. And now that you're synthetic, it's all you'll ever have. So get over it and let yourself pretend you feel like a person for the first time in your life.
Pippi broke the silence, thanking her.
She wasn't sure why Pippi was thanking her. She didn't want thanks just for human decency. Because thanks were a reward, and rewarding something made people act like that thing was above the baseline for whatever it was. And she would have liked to live in a society where basic human decency was supposed to be the baseline.
She wasn't sure when she was supposed to end the hug. She wasn't even sure if she was supposed to end it.
So she just kept hugging Pippi. She figured the other girl would let go when she was ready.
...
She leaned in close and whispered into Pippi's ear.
"The collar cameras. I think if the point with them was to get good footage, they wouldn't have told us they were there. I don't think anyone would notice them if they weren't pointed out to us."
Even quieter.
"Gotta think like a modern artist."
...
...
It was nice, she guessed. It was kinda... it was hard to think about, because there was every chance someone was going to step around the corner and shoot them both in the head with one bullet. At least it would be painless. It sounded painless. Neither of them would have the time to stare death in the face, and that face-staring was the part of dying that Luanne was most afraid of. The physical impossibility of it in her living mind absolutely terrified her. She liked existing. She liked being able to perceive, and she liked being able to think. She liked being, because being was all she'd ever know. And, as a living person, looking at the concept of death was kind of more... looking at the facsimile of death. It was like a book you could only ever judge by its cover, because every page looked like the cover. But then, one day, the pages stop looking like the cover, and then you can't close the book. All you can do is read. You can't process the fact that you're reading, nor can you process any of the information that you read. You're just reading and the pages don't end. And you stop existing.
That still wasn't quite right, was it? She was having a hard time putting it into words. When something really meant something to her, she started forgetting how to phrase it, and then the words she thought up weren't ever the right ones. She envied poets and lyricists and classical artists. It was very difficult for her to tell people things in a direct way.
She thought of a relevant piece of art, but then she noticed the train of thought she was on was bound to send her into a death spiral loop, so she focused on Pippi's heartbeat again. She could feel it through the girl's back.
She noticed the beats were slowing down.
She smiled lightly, without noticing. It was the tiniest, tiniest smile.
She noticed that she was smiling. She stopped smiling.
She noticed her own heartrate speeding up.
She noticed -
just
stop
Don't be anxious just because you're letting someone in.
That's not why I'm anxious.
Then why?
Because when people know people are paying attention, they start to unconsciously turn into plastic. I'm turning into plastic. Pippi might already be plastic, I don't know. We don't even know each other's last names. We've known each other for what, six hours? We aren't real friends. We can't ever be real friends. Anything that starts on this show can't ever be something other than synthetic.
Okay. Well, it's all synthetic, but it's all you've got. And now that you're synthetic, it's all you'll ever have. So get over it and let yourself pretend you feel like a person for the first time in your life.
Pippi broke the silence, thanking her.
She wasn't sure why Pippi was thanking her. She didn't want thanks just for human decency. Because thanks were a reward, and rewarding something made people act like that thing was above the baseline for whatever it was. And she would have liked to live in a society where basic human decency was supposed to be the baseline.
She wasn't sure when she was supposed to end the hug. She wasn't even sure if she was supposed to end it.
So she just kept hugging Pippi. She figured the other girl would let go when she was ready.
...
She leaned in close and whispered into Pippi's ear.
"The collar cameras. I think if the point with them was to get good footage, they wouldn't have told us they were there. I don't think anyone would notice them if they weren't pointed out to us."
Even quieter.
"Gotta think like a modern artist."
"Yeah," she replied, "been thinking the same thing."
She swallowed.
Her neck felt weird.
Her everything felt weird.
Maybe it was the fatigue.
Or the fear.
But she knew she didn't have long for this world
So her breath slowed down.
She was going to be okay, whether or not she lives.
"It's a clear weak point."
"It's a big target.
"A red dot surrounded by a white circle."
Literally. Literally. It literally was.
She smiled.
Her plan was still unfolding. Ongoing. It was creating in front of her. She needed things, and she needed time, and she needed to use her brain. She was good at using her brain. It was undeniable, but she didn't know if she were that good. Water was present all over the arena, but it was too obvious. There was electricity, but that was also too obvious. She swallowed hard. Again. She swallowed hard so many times today. It felt like rocks and sand.
"There's three states of matter, Pippi. What if... the answer wasn't liquid." She nodded. "Wanna' keep moving?"
She swallowed.
Her neck felt weird.
Her everything felt weird.
Maybe it was the fatigue.
Or the fear.
But she knew she didn't have long for this world
So her breath slowed down.
She was going to be okay, whether or not she lives.
"It's a clear weak point."
"It's a big target.
"A red dot surrounded by a white circle."
Literally. Literally. It literally was.
She smiled.
Her plan was still unfolding. Ongoing. It was creating in front of her. She needed things, and she needed time, and she needed to use her brain. She was good at using her brain. It was undeniable, but she didn't know if she were that good. Water was present all over the arena, but it was too obvious. There was electricity, but that was also too obvious. She swallowed hard. Again. She swallowed hard so many times today. It felt like rocks and sand.
"There's three states of matter, Pippi. What if... the answer wasn't liquid." She nodded. "Wanna' keep moving?"