And All Because Of A Snail

[backslash]

Nastya was quick on the draw, figuratively speaking. Even as she acted, Rue wasn't sure that she had done the right thing, but she had bought them some time and an out, and Nastya was smart enough not to stand around questioning it.

There were three loud cracks that Rue only barely heard over the roaring of blood in her ears; something hit her back and she stumbled, but it was little more than a sting. Must have been debris thrown up by the shots, and oh God, one of her classmates had tried to shoot her. Adrenaline with a healthy dose of terror kept her up on Nastya's heels as they booked it away from the pub and around the nearest corner.

Rue flattened herself against the outside wall of the building they had taken shelter behind, gasping for breath.

"Sorry," she wheezed. "Sorry. We just had to- get out of there."

She coughed, and there was an oddly metallic taste in her mouth. God, she was thirsty.

[Laurels]

Nastya hurried around the corner and stopped once it looked like they were clear of the gunfire from the other girl. Nastya had heard the gun go off a few times, but considering she didn't feel her chest explode nor did she suddenly see her brain matter on the pavement, she was sure it meant she was in the clear.

Nastya panted, her hands on her knees. Man, she was out of shape. She should have worked on her cardio if she knew she was going to be put into a place like this. Well, she could work on that once she and Rue were in a safer place.

"Yeah, I think bailing was right," Nastya said. "We were almost-"

Nastya turned towards Rue, looking at her companion leaning against the wall. Before she could say much else, she noticed Rue's jacket starting to change color and spread out. Nastya's eyes widened a bit.

"Um, mate," Nastya began, pointing at Rue's chest. "I think we have a problem."

[backslash]

"Hm?" Rue was only partially paying attention to Nastya, instead fumbling with the zipper on her bag with her free hand. She hadn't had a drop to drink since waking up, and she'd ignored water in favor of seeking out something stronger. That had been foolish of her; she ached, and now an edge of dizziness encroached on her too.

"Are you hur-" Rue cut herself off as a shuddering cough worked itself up from the pit of her chest. Something wet welled up over her lips, and she covered her mouth with her hand, perturbed.

Her fingers came away red.

"...Huh?"

Rue's first instinct was to laugh. That didn't make sense. She didn't-

She hadn't been-

The laugh was another cough that became a choke. She tried to push herself away from the wall, but instead she just slid, and a dark smear followed her. The dizziness rushed in.

"Oh," Rue said. "It's not- does it look bad?"

Then she dropped, dragging a red stain down the wall in her wake.

F02 RUE VON SCHROEDER: DECEASED

[Laurels]

Nastya stared at the other girl as she slowly realized what had happened to her. Okay, it looks like it was going to be The Thick of It after all. The situation was almost comedic, if it didn't involve Nastya actually watching someone die right in front of her. The way Rue realized she was coughing blood and then sliding down the wall was pretty fucked up. Even her dying words were a bit ironic. Nastya did find herself chuckling a bit, but it was a quick chortle and then followed by her throat seizing a bit.

She hurried over to Rue after the girl fell silent and shook her.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, shaking her. "Come on, bitch. Say something."

Rue's body slumped over onto her side. She wasn't moving at all. She wasn't reacting at all. She was truly dead. And that crazy cunt actually killed her.

"Oh, fuck me," Nastya blurted. "Fuck fuck fuck."

Nastya quickly looked up. The other girl could be coming any second, and Nastya was still in no position to fight. She had to get out of there. She was about to back away and run when she noticed Rue's bag and weapon. Nastya gulped, and grabbed both items, her own bag and rifle flopping around her side as she struggled to get both bags on one shoulder and the tool in her non-rifle hand.

"Sorry, girl. Gotta run. Nice knowing ya'."

Nastya turned back and ran the hell out of the area. Things went to shit really quickly, and now it was clear Nastya wouldn't be able to just joke her way through the game. She'd have to get serious if she was to survive. Deadly serious.

((Nastya Zharkova continued in The Seagull))

[Cactus]

Shaking the stars out of her vision, Victoria grunted in pain as she dragged herself up off of the dusty floor of the bar. Those two girls had been unfriendly and when they'd attacked, it had flipped a switch of understanding in her mind about the situation they were in. The odds of rescue were so unlikely that people had already started to give in to their baser instincts. She had a fresh lump on the back of her skull that was the result of learning that lesson. Letting her hand find the still-rising knot, her expression turned to a scowl.

They had attacked, she had retaliated, and now? They were nowhere to be found.

She needed to get out of the area, immediately. There was a chance they could come back, and if either of them were hit by the rounds from the submachine gun, the odds were that they'd be looking to do more than just talk, or bop her on the head with whatever-it-was that the redhead had been carrying. The other girl's nasty-looking rifle hadn't escaped her observation.

As she took off through the interior of the bar, the lights in this back portion of the room were naturally off, and there was very little ambient light to go off of. Squinting, Victoria tried to make her way to what looked to be a door, making haste towards the front of the building. She was reminded that there were people within, and she couldn't imagine that the two people she'd overheard would have been the ones that attacked her. That wasn't feasible, so it meant that she was likely going to come face-to-face with more classmates whose names she never cared to learn.

Reaching an old knob with her hand, she turned and pulled the door open, stepping through with haste, still looking back towards the back of the bar to see if anyone was following. As she stepped into the main bar area, Victoria's eyes were still laser-focused behind her. Her peripherals enlightened her to the fact that she was no longer alone, but before she could react, she felt her legs become twisted with an old chair. Unable to catch herself, she took another hard fall to the dusty floor of the bar. If on nothing else but instinct, she rolled away from the mess of chair - now ignoring what was likely to be a bruise on her thigh - and pointed her weapon in the direction of the occupants of the bar, likely just as surprised at her appearance as she was at theirs.

Victoria said nothing, did nothing. The only sound she could hear was her own breathing and the pounding of her heart as she waited for one of them to act.

To dictate her action from here.

[Pippi]

Kat’s reaction to the sound of gunfire shouldn’t have been ‘Finally’.

It was wrong. It wasn’t normal for someone to think like that. She’d heard the sound of guns before, on the rare occasion she’d gone outside of Bellington with her parents. Larger but further away, huge anti-aircraft cannons pounding the sky, the blast echoing for miles around, causing everyone who heard it to share worried glances and knowing looks. Gunfire meant fear. It meant danger, destruction, running and cowering.

Gunfire, of course, meant death.

But as soon as Kat heard them, the three distinct cracks of someone’s life being threatened, her head whipped towards the back door of the pub, hand swiping the fake gun from the bar, glass bottle secure in her other hand, a very faint, wry smile flitting onto her face. Virgil was long gone and forgotten, as was their little charade of normalcy. What was the point in pretending when someone could have very well been killed right outside?

So yes, finally indeed. Finally, the world around Kat had shifted to fit the scenario she’d found herself in. Finally, she was feeling that rush of fear and adrenaline coursing through her body, blood pumping and heart pounding in her chest. Finally, everything The General had talked about was happening, and she was going to have to deal with it as it flew at her.

For Kat, The Program was starting right now.

She took one step, two steps, three steps closer to the bar door, bottle raised, gun pointing forwards. She moved to take another step, just as the door burst open and a girl stumbled through it, feet catching on a half-rotted chair, sending her for a spill. Kat couldn’t put a name to the girl’s face. Did that matter? It was supposed to matter. That was the point of this Program, to measure your drive and desire to live compared to your compassion and ties to your friends and classmates.

But Kat didn’t recognise the girl, so the only thing she cared about right now was the gun in her hands, the barrel of which was pointed right at her.

“Drop it,” Kat said, pleased that the shakiness in her stomach wasn’t reflected in her speech.

“Drop that gun and tell me what you just did outside, yeah?”

[Cactus]

"N-no."

Victoria's voice was unsteady, and it matched how she felt inside. Things had happened ever-so-quickly over the past few minutes, and now that she was laying once more on her back, gun aimed at a girl who was returning the favour, her brain was going at light-speed trying to determine the best course of action.

Dropping her own weapon wasn't an option.

By her calculation, the bulletproof vest she wore would be able to take at least a hit or two before causing her enough pain to debilitate her, and since she was holding a submachine gun, her odds of pulling the trigger and hitting something were a lot higher than those of the pistol-waving girl standing before her. Speaking of people standing before her; the other boy in the room hadn't moved a muscle, obviously paralyzed by the sudden goings-on. The lump on Victoria's head served as a reminder that things were moving all too fast, and losing focus - even for a moment - could be deadly.

Realizing that her stammer had been sitting in the air for a moment, Victoria slowly backed away from the girl, never taking the gun off of her. She didn't expect the boy to suddenly start moving, but if he did...

The weapon had a mind of its own, it seemed. She still didn't recall pulling the trigger out back.

"I'm going to leave." She shook her head softly. This situation called for more eloquence than she could give on a good day, and the back of her head still throbbed.

"Don't follow me."

The insinuation was clear, and Victoria's voice was stronger on those three words than it had been up to this point. She had regained agency over that, at least. A small part of her felt regret - she'd never been any good with names, but living in disinterest about the lives of her classmates felt like a disadvantage right now. She didn't know either of these two kids. Her attackers at the back of the bar hadn't been familiar, either. Whomever's body had landed at the foot of the stairs back at the house hadn't been someone she'd recognized either, and that one in particular irked at her, considering that classmate's loss had been her fortune.

At this point, names weren't important. Appearances and keeping track of people? Absolutely. If she saw the girls who attacked her at the back of the bar again, she'd probably not be as tentative. These two hadn't done anything yet, but the girl seemed at least a little sure of herself.

Plus, she hadn't yet fired. So perhaps, there was a chance to get out of this unscathed.

The trigger under her finger felt like a pinprick, and Victoria was careful not to move a muscle, lest something happen that she regretted. Slowly, she made her way to her feet, and started backing up toward the front door of the bar.

[Polybius]

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The unmistakable sound of gunfire came from just outside their little stage. The conversation was broken immediately, the gun resting so close to him was snatched away before he knew it. The scene was over, and whatever chance he'd had to write his own ending was taken.

Victoria was a runner. He'd never heard her speak but he'd seen her run before, on those days when he sat and worked out in the air next to the track. She ran into their bar and tripped over and table, waved a gun around. Before he knew what was what Victoria was pointing a gun at Virgil and Kat, and Kat was pointing a gun at Victoria. His life, in only a few seconds, had turned from a casual conversation to a standoff. And he was powerless as he'd ever been, and his thoughts were struggling to catch up with the pace of events.

(Virgil was never a quick thinker. He liked to wait, to contemplate. To replay actions again and again in his mind until he fully understood them. Where had she came from? What was he supposed to do? Was he going to die right here? If so, what kind of fate was that? He couldn't figure it out.)

It all slowed down. Victoria said she was going to leave, but she didn't run. Just got up and stepped, inch by inch, to the door. She could have shot them, but she didn't. But she had fired her gun just before. Why?

(He wanted to scream.)

Virgil stood up as she was backing away. He couldn't do anything, but he wanted to know, at least a little. That would help him, somehow.

"Victoria. What are you doing?"

[Pippi]

Goddamnit. She’d gotten ahead of herself here.

Kat felt a bead of sweat trail down her forehead, and she quickly blinked, trying to dispel it and keep her vision locked onto this girl. Both their guns were trained on each other, unwavering. Kat hoped that the other girl wasn’t playing close enough attention to notice that her finger wasn’t anywhere close to the trigger. She hoped that they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between their very real gun, and her shitty plastic gun filled with soap water.

Above all else, she hoped that this girl wouldn’t just decide to add two names to her tally of kills before she fucked off.

It had been a goddamn stupid move to pull the gun on this girl. Kat had thought she could get the upper hand on this fleeing, stumbling mess, make her lose her cool and drop her weaponry. But she’d heard gunshots outside, and then seconds later, someone with a gun had turned up. Didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and shouldn’t have taken a genius to realise that they weren’t gonna give up their gun after already pulling the trigger.

The smart move now would be to lower the gun and hide behind the bar until everything blew over. But… Kat couldn’t find herself willing to move. There was something about this situation she enjoyed, something that was helping to temper her thumping heart. It wasn’t the threat of life or death, because she wasn’t a suicidal twat. It was the fact that she had some measure of control here, that this girl – Victoria, if Virgil was correct – surely wouldn’t be willing to fire at someone who could fire back. Obviously, she wasn’t gonna pull the trigger here. If she had an actual gun, though?

Still no. But that wasn’t the point of having it.

She wasn’t fully in control, though, and so she couldn’t be fully calm and move herself off of the edge. She watched as Victoria moved towards the exit, gritting her teeth, powerless to stop her.

She lowered the gun. Threats hadn’t worked this time. Move on to another plan.

“Just tell us what happened out there before you fuck off,” Kat said. “I just want to know the truth.”

[Cactus]

They were scared. Victoria didn't blame them for that, after all - she was the one pointing a loaded weapon at them. She felt fear too, she decided, but it was manifesting itself in a wholly different way. Instead of processing the world with its usual serenity, her mind was in emergency mode, assessing threats and perceiving action in a wholly different manner.

It wasn't a feeling she particularly enjoyed; it unnerved her.

Her eyes darted back and forth between the two occupants of the bar, and the boy finally broke his silence, snapping himself out of his shock. There wasn't much to him, the skin basically fell off his bones and he looked like a strong wind might push him over. It was a surprise that he'd managed to summon the courage to say anything, let alone ask a question. He'd used her name, as well. It hadn't been a guess, or an assumption, he'd spoken with a degree of conviction - about that, anyhow. Yet to her, he was just another nondescript student. Had she spoken to him in class? Had they worked together?

It was yet another moment in which Victoria lamented her lack of focus upon interpersonal relationships. To his query, she didn't need to think much to give him an answer. What was she doing? The word left her mouth almost instinctively.

"Surviving."

Perhaps it was the adrenaline wearing down, or perhaps it was the fact that they could all see one another for the very first time, but as she answered the boy, the girl with the gun lowered hers. Her pulse slowed a little, though Victoria didn't budge with her weapon. After what had happened, trust was very hard to come by, and when guns were involved she didn't plan to be caught off guard.

Not again.

Having been backing up the entire time, Victoria felt the wall of the bar against her back, allowing her to relax a little. The girl asked a question this time, resigned a little at the situation and obviously hopeful that she wouldn't squeeze the trigger and send the both of them into the next world. That wasn't her plan. Not now, not ever.

But she'd fired already.

The two pieces of information were contradictory and Victoria still hadn't managed to recoincile them. That she'd been defending herself meant nothing. Her mind and her body weren't in sync with one another, which was an issue she needed to solve immediately. Bracing the submachine gun on her hip, she took her left hand and reached around to the back of her head, to the bump that still screamed at her. When she brought it back, she saw the answer that the girl was looking for.

Holding her palm up into the light to show the two, her fingers were stained bright red.

Once she was sure they had both seen what she was showing them, Victoria wiped the blood onto her jacket, and resumed her grip on the submachine gun. The business-end of the weapon peered at the floor this time, instead of at the two bar-goers.

"We aren't who we think we are. Not anymore."

Her words were matter-of-fact but laced with a twinge of sadness. The Americans had forced them into a hell of their own creation, and it would strip them down of all that they were before it forced them to pay the ultimate price. This was only the first day. Victoria's heartbeat started to race again and suddenly all she could smell were the musty floorboards, the old wood, and the dust-covered countertops. She needed to get out of here. Now.

As she reached the door to the bar, Victoria gave both of her fellow students one last look. She didn't wish them ill; truly, she didn't. But anyone could be an enemy and anyone could be the harbinger of her demise. Her brothers had always joked that trust was earned rather than given, unless you were a twin - in which case it was thrust upon you. Victoria had always had a difficult time understanding any of that. These two seemed to be trusting one another, at least for the time being. But how could you truly trust anyone in a situation where only one person could survive?

She hoped they wouldn't have to find out.

Grasping the door handle, Victoria turned the knob, slowly opened the door, and then disappeared out of the bar without a sound. She made haste away from the decrepit building, content to put as much distance between her and it as she could. The woods were seemingly all around, and there were treelines in a few directions, so she sprinted towards the closest one and disappeared into the underbrush.

As she ran, she couldn't help but wonder: how had that boy known her name?

((Victoria Amaro continued in For What It's Worth))

[Polybius]

We aren't who we think we are. Not anymore.

The words rattled around the inside of his head, even after Victoria had left. He couldn't deny it. Virgil had known himself as a writer, an artist, a man who would create a great piece of art in the future. Now he had no pen, no paper, and no future. What was he, here in this pub, with no direction and no control?

(He'd have to figure it out soon...)

The question of immediate importance still hadn't been answered, however, but Virgil thought that at the very least he should be able to do something about that. Virgil crossed the bar and went over to the back door, where Victoria had originally entered. Kat chose not to kill him as he did it, so he was able to open the door and step back outside.

It didn't look like the scene of a shootout at first, just a dusty ramshackle town. But there was a sour smell in the air. and there was a flash of red at the side of his vision, just a few drops on the ground. He followed, and turned a corner, and she was there, on the ground. Rue von Schroeder was someone who'd draw attention wherever she was. A towering, beautiful figure. Smooth, cascading red hair that stood out in a crowd. Now there were spots of red around her mouth, around her stomach. A line of red smeared on the wall from where her hand rested. As he had before, with the dusty bar, he pressed his fingers on the wall. It was wet, and when he pulled away, the red was on his hand, too.

Rue was popular, pretty, smart. Now it turned out that all of that was a pointless diversion, because her fate was to die here because of geopolitical struggles that had nothing to do with her. Unknown to her, her whole existence (nine months in the womb, six or so years of direct care by her parents, twelve years of formal schooling) had always just been building up to this, bleeding out against a wall.

Well, that was that.

Virgil clasped his head. His hair clumped between his fingers. His nails dug into his scalp, and he felt ten little jabs of pain. His legs shook, and then they gave out under him, and then he was on his knees. His eyes were wide open, and he couldn't close them, as if his eyelids were bolted in place. The world was a blur around him, but he still saw it, though all her could hear was the pounding of his heart, and then-

Virgil screamed.

[Pippi]

“Great. Thanks.”

Kat didn’t even bother to hide the sarcasm dripping from her words as she muttered in retalitation to Victoria’s parting remark. Bitch. It had been a simple question. She’d wanted a simple answer. Not dressing words up in finery to hide their true meaning, or ominous statements to make them all feel even worse about their situation. Even the most braincell starved moron could figure out that ‘surviving’ meant ‘killing’ out here. And as for not being who they thought they were anymore? Maybe when your very first instinct, right out of the gate, was to murder, that was the case.

But Kat, oh, Kat was very certain of who she was right now. More so now, perhaps, than ever.

She didn’t let any of this slip, of course, not even letting the two words escape her lips until she was sure Victoria had left the pub. Call it cowardice if you liked. Kat didn’t give two shits. Try being brave when you were staring down the barrel of a pistol, see how well that served you.

She could afford to be braver now, though, because now was the smart time to be brave. Victoria had left, so Kat now had sole control of power in the room. She watched as Virgril traipsed from one side of the pub to the other, pushing open the door Victoria had burst through originally, following his every movement like a hawk. She didn’t know whether he was going to stick around, or make a break for it, and frankly she didn’t really care. It didn’t matter to her either way. It didn’t look as though he had anything useful he could give her, after all.

Kat waited for a few moments after the door closed behind Virgil, before opening her bag and slipping one of the bottles inside. She glanced at the other one, frowning at its dusty surface, then reared back and slammed it against the counter. It was fortunate, really, that Kat had barely watched any film or TV; she didn’t have any misconceptions as to how hardy a glass bottle could be, and no reason to get frustrated when it took three tries before it finally smashed. The shard of glass that sliced across her thumb, causing her to hiss in pain and stick it in her mouth, on the other hand, was definite cause for frustration.

“Mother fucker…” Kat seethed, bending down to rip open her first-aid kit and grab a plaster or two. She heard Virgil’s piercing scream as she placed the plaster over the bright red line crossing her thumb horizontally. Guess he’d found the body. She could see to that shortly. Right now, she needed to take inventory. She looked down into her bag, a tiny smile tugging the corner of her lips upwards. One bludgeoning weapon, and one stabbing weapon. Just in case the threat of a gun – or a gun-esque object – wasn’t enough to demand control. They weren’t perfect, but they’d do, for now. Kat zipped the bag back up, hiding them out of sight. The bubble gun went into her pocket, barrel pointing down, at arm’s reach to pick up whenever she needed to. She didn’t really need to worry about gun or trigger safety when the worst thing that would happen was someone getting a little bit damp.

She slung the bag back over her shoulders, then headed out the back door of the pub, clambering over the upturned barstools and other debris standing between her and the alleyway outside. She spotted Virgil first, curled up and screaming on the ground, looking like he was trying to sink into the ground itself. She looked to the right, and her stomach lurched as she saw the long streak of blood, cascading down the wall, like a particularly macabre paint job, with a body as the paintbrush.

She leaned in closer, getting a better look at the body lying in a crumpled mess in front of her. Rue von Schroeder, if she wasn’t mistaken. She stared, and stared for longer still. It took her a couple of seconds to realise that the only thing she was thinking about was that it was a shame her bag and weapon were both missing.

“Mmf.”

She hadn’t liked Rue back at school. She was stuck up, and had a tendency to snap at people over nothing, and needed an intervention, stat. Kat hadn’t cared for the girl in life, and she didn’t particularly care now that she was dead.

Was that kinda a psycho thing to think? She didn’t think so, not really. Seeing the body was, obviously, horrific, and her stomach still felt like it was doing huge loops inside of her, churning upside down at the sheer amount of blood coating the wall and seeped out from underneath Rue’s body. But she couldn’t force herself to feel sadness over the passing of a girl she hadn’t cared one jot about.

Kat folded her arms, and looked down at Virgil, thankful to, at the very least, not have to look at the body anymore. Hmmm. Actually, there was something he could still, potentially do for her, now she was thinking about it.

“Hey,” she said, firmly, trying to be heard over his wails. “Get up. Anyone else with a gun and a desire to be on the right side of the kill lists is gonna hear you at this rate.”

[Polybius]

There was a loud ringing in his ears. A piercing, ugly, mindless sound. Then he heard a voice, calm and firm, above the sound, telling him to stop, and he remembered that he was a still screaming, and he stopped, and he raised his head. She came into focus. It was Kat. She was still here, as was Rue.

Kat was speaking complete nonsense. Virgil steadied himself, planting one hand on the ground and pushing hair from his eyes with the other. He studied her expression, wondering if there was a purpose in speaking to her again. He didn't know, but he decided to do it, anyway.

"What does it matter?" Virgil said, his voice more strained than he remembered. "We can die now or we can die in an hour, in a day."

His eyes drifted to Kat's pocket. The gun was stuffed in there, its handle bulging out. It gave her the power between them. He wondered now, though, hows exactly the Kats and Victorias of this place were in a different position from the Rues and Virgils.

"What do you plan to do with that? We're all going to die here. It's already decided. What's there to do about it?"

[Pippi]

Kat looked down at Virgil, and her expression twisted into a familiar sneer, as her assessment of the boy shifted back to her initial opinion; no, he had absolutely nothing that he could offer her. He was worthless, in every sense of the word. He couldn’t even help himself; what hope did he have of being able to help her?

“Go ahead and die then. See if I care.”

She shrugged, scratching her neck, shifting her bag to distribute the weight more evenly.

“Not all of us are gonna die, Virgil. One person gets to live, and I’m gonna fight for that. I got dealt a bad hand when I got born. I’m used to fighting. And, to be honest, I care about myself way more than anybody else here. Call it selfish if you want, I really don’t care.”

She was fully aware that, at some point, she’d run into someone she did actually care about. Fine, whatever. She’d just have to cross that bridge when she came to it, and hope that someone had burnt it down long before she got there.

“And hey, even if you are right-“

Which he wasn’t, because if Kat wasn’t getting out of this alive, she was going to drag everybody else down with her.

“If the only difference between me and you is gonna be a matter of hours or days, then at least I actually tried, and didn’t just sit on my arse and wait to rot.”

Kat took another glance at Rue’s body, regretted it instantly, then turned around to walk away from the pub and from Virgil.

“Later, buddy. Can’t wait to hear you on the announcements.”

If Virgil did have anything worth value on him, she could just scavange it off of his corpse.

((Kat Locke-Baldwin continued in When A Curious Hate Oozes Calamity))

[Polybius]

Virgil thought he knew most of his classmates. He thought he could watch them, listen to them, contain all of who they were into one picture. But he was wrong, he was prideful and foolish. He knew this well, but he couldn't help being this way, and every time the wound was reopened it felt like it was brand new. When Kat unleashed a torrent of cruelty on him, it hurt, not because it mattered what she thought of him but because he thought he knew what to expect from her. Rebellious, bitter, but not cruel.

(We aren't who we think we are. Not anymore.)

She had said something that resonated, however. She was going to try. She was going to fail and die, he knew, but she was going to try. Was a futile struggle against death more admirable than a peaceful acceptance? More heroic?

Virgil pushed himself upwards, shaking as he stood on two feet again. He turned to Rue, still in the same place he'd left her. In the place she'd be. For whatever reason, he could now look at her without feeling the need to scream. He studied her, imprinted the image into his mind as well as he could, before turning back and walking in the opposite direction. He'd always known, but now the thought overwhelmed his mind. Kat was right, in a way. Sitting around wouldn't do anything. Virgil was still in control of his actions, if not his ultimate fate. He had a burning desire in his heart, in his mind, in his soul. He had to make something of the time he had remaining.

((Virgil Raeburn continued elsewhere))