((Phoebe Quincey continued from The Seagull ))
You know, the thing about patriotism is, it can be hard.
The troops hadn't rescued them yet. She wasn't sure what was taking so long, but she'd feel the heat on her bandaged wounds and wonder, was it worth waiting? Worth waiting among the pain, the fear, the sadness, the death and bloodletting, and madness?
Maybe she was going mad. She was becoming a madwoman. Sometimes Phoebe would pick at her bandages, remind herself it'd only make things worse, then just go back to doing it. Sometimes she'd remember Mom, and Dad, and Pippi, and everyone from school, and the typical Britain chill, and she'd wonder if it was something she'd dreamed up. It wasn't that long ago, was it? She had a little dog, and a family, and a house, and--
Was Pippi okay?
Had she managed to escape, or get rescued somehow? She was smart and stubborn. It was a trait of the Scottish Terrier, it seemed. But she wondered if, during the attack, Pippi had made it out. Her parents might have, she had no doubts about that actually, but Pippi, Pippi...
She'd curled into herself as she thought about it.
Phoebe had no idea if she, herself, was going to make it either.
She'd already laid Molly and Nastasia to rest. Just wrapped them up in sheets, hid them upstairs in a bedroom. She wondered if it was possible to do that for Margot. Probably not, at this point. Phoebe thought again of the seagull, and again of the poor fox laying in the middle of the road. That was going to be them, wasn't it? Rotten carcasses, just laying there, waiting for someone to pull them off the road or an animal to take them away.
Since then, Phoebe had hidden under the covers of a bed in a different room, trying to ignore the ache in her body and the ache in her heart.
She'd thought about it. The glass was still there, still littering the street. She knew for a fact it could cut you open. She thought about picking it up and pressing it deep inside herself. Her stomach twisted at the thought. But it made sense to do, didn't it?
Kind of.
But she didn't move.
At some point, she fell asleep, though.
She dreamed of Pippi.
____
Pippi was running across the road unbound again, her nails clicking and her tongue lolling. Phoebe chased after her, calling her name, looking for her.
Eventually, Pippi stopped, standing in space.
Phoebe caught up with her.
“Pippi--”
Then, she realized it.
Pippi was dead. She was standing, but she wouldn't move. Her body had become a taxidermy figure, her bones stiff, her fur pulled over a frame, her eyes replaced with glass. She'd seen taxidermy before, there were plenty at the museum back home, plenty when she went to others' houses when she and her parents were invited to family friends'. But Pippi?
Phoebe picked her up, holding her deep to her chest. She wanted her to move, but she couldn't. Phoebe heard the helicopter over her head, humming like bees in a jar.
When Phoebe finally woke up she sobbed into the sheets. It wasn't the first nightmare she had here, but it was painful in its own way.
____
She looked down into the street.
Could she do it like that? Could she jump from the window onto the pavement, go splat? And be left outside to rot, like the seagull.
She'd thought of smashing the window open or finding a way to open it. What if she failed, though? She'd probably break her limbs, and then what? She'd be more useless.
She'd be more useless.
So instead, she sat on the floor, staring up at the dimming light from the window.
____
Victoria had killed again.
She'd killed Yian. Phoebe knew Yian. She was sure she saw him right before Margot... went away. He'd killed someone, didn't he? Rajni was there, too, and it didn't go well. The helicopters had come in, and... it happened.
And they split up.
And now he was dead.
She kind of bitterly chuckled at that.
Victoria had killed another person, too. Samuel Rosen, he'd been shot full of bullets. It just kept coming, didn't it? And she'd remembered that Nastasia wanted Victoria dead.
When the announcements clicked off, Phoebe just sat and digested the info.
____
She thought of back home a bit more.
Phoebe had lived a fairly normal life, hadn't she? Her parents had wanted her to be well-educated and put together, and that's why she knew calligraphy and cello. She read a lot, too. She liked reading about ghosts, and vampires, and monsters, and even wrote a little herself. Nothing special, of course. She'd inserted what she liked about what she'd read before. There was something kind of appealing about a tragedy, admittedly. Someone trying to surmount the odds, only to fail because of human error or a simple bad draw. It was kind of intriguing, in its own way.
Kind of funny that actually living out was different, huh?
____
It was kind of weird to say this now, but she wasn't that big on Nastasia or Molly back home?
It was no secret that Phoebe wasn't fond of troublemakers. And Nastasia-- Nastya-- she had been a massive gadfly back then. It felt like she always had to mouth off to the teachers, or shout down others, or agitate everyone. It was nothing a prefect couldn't do to shut her down, but it was still frustrating. And Molly... Molly... Phoebe knew Molly didn't like her. Molly was a notorious bully and gossip, and it didn't help her brother was dreadful in his own way.
That said.
Was it alright to say she missed them?
___
At some point, Phoebe had huddled under the covers again, and at some point, she pulled herself back out.
She'd remembered.
Before she saw the seagull, before she saw Nastya, before she saw Molly, she had a plan. It wasn't really a plan, as much as it was the understanding she had a duty.
Phoebe was Head Girl. It wasn't just a position for show. The way people talked about it, they acted as if it was just some fancy title, nothing more, nothing less. Thing was, it wasn't. It meant that you could be trusted to help make the school a better place and enforce rules and help the teachers. It was a strict set of values that were given to prefects, even if many of them didn't follow the rules to the letter. They were role models, counselors, a bridge between teacher and student. If someone needed anything, she could direct them to it. If there was a new student, she could help them out. If someone had an issue with a different perfect, she'd talk it over with them. She was there to represent the school.
And now was the ideal time to represent the school.
Phoebe had remembered now. She'd just forgotten after all the chaos that happened here.
So she'd pulled herself up, taking in a deep breath.
____
But what if she failed?
What if she didn't figure out what it meant, to represent the school?
It seemed like every time she stepped out, something bad happened.
She and Margot had been safe until they decided to step out from the upstairs apartment of the restaurant. Then the helicopters came. She'd been safe inside the house in the north, but when she stepped out and began searching, she found the seagull, got herself all cut up, and then watched Nastya and Molly kill each other.
Would it be the same? More of it?
Maybe it was better to stay at home.
'Home.'
Ha. Maybe it wasn't the right term she was going for.
But then again... Molly broke in. The sledgehammer and gun were still downstairs, at least from what Phoebe remembered. Maybe it would be better to at least move them, so if someone broke in again, they wouldn't have them at their arsenal.
So she went back downstairs.
Found the gun and sledgehammer, still sitting on the ground among puddles of blood--
Picked them both up--
And took them upstairs with her.
___
Eventually, Phoebe found her resolve, and went back downstairs with her bag slung over her shoulder.
Her footsteps thumped horribly on the stairs, but she knew, she knew, she had to get out. It was safe, but she didn't want to sit idle any longer.
Thing was, she remembered again.
St. Edwards' was a community. As a community, especially in wartime, they needed to band together. You could kill them, torture them, make them hate each other, but you couldn't break their spirit. As Head Girl, she needed to exemplify that. No matter how many people you killed or kidnapped, you could never truly destroy them.
So she went to the front door, hesitated when her hand landed on the handle. But she kept her face firm as she opened.
Deep breath.
She wondered if anyone was here.
Phoebe stepped outside.
((Phoebe Quincey continued--
Phoebe fell to the ground, shaking. That gunshot had missed, she was sure, but the harsh ringing in one ear told her it was a close call. She pushed herself up with her arms, only to see--
“Oh no.”
She sat up and scrambled backward, her eyes wide.
Running Up That Hill
End of Phoebee
"Fuck!"
Oliver never considered a week ago that he would be firing at the Head Girl of his class.
He also never considered an hour ago that he might miss such an easy shot.
--
((Oliver Davies continued from Something To Believe In))
It had been quite some time since Oliver left Virgil to his devices at the wet markets, and Oliver took the opportunity to find himself some privacy and go over everything he had, and it was quite the mighty collection. He found a house, a small living room in a tiny workers house, and laid out everything he owned once he barred the door. Samuel's belongings, Victoria's weapons and utilities, and Galahad's water bottle. Enough food to last a week, enough rounds of ammunition to effectively mist anyone he met, a vest powerful enough to take at least one shot before becoming useless weight, and a water bottle he had no way of filling up.
All things considered, he was doing fairly well for himself.
--
But as he sat on the musty couch, fingertips massaging his temples in a futile attempt to relieve the godawful headache, he couldn't help but notice how inconsistent he'd been in his own head. He wasn't sure whether it was the concussion Anvi gave him, the ever present headache that intruded upon most of his thoughts, or something else entirely, but things that were planned in his own head went remarkably to shit five minutes later. He made an oath to keep quiet after the encounter with Rajni at the beach, yet not too long later he was telling Virgil the three point outline of his plan. He told himself he would be the killer that everyone now thought he was thanks to Anvi, yet the moment he had an easy shot at Virgil he failed to take it, even after the high of successfully taking down the most dangerous person out there. If he didn't know any better he'd say he probably just wanted to knob Virgil, and that's probably what all of his friends would say if they were there, but they weren't, and Oliver was as straight as the Americans tyrannical, so what was the deal? Was he losing his mind? His memory? Was he just not up to killing his classmates if they weren't trying to kill him first?
It had to be one of the above, right?
He couldn't even tell if what he'd told himself back when Virgil began grandstanding was remotely true. Statisically, it made sense, because he had a better chance of making the end, being the last of his class standing, and killing himself to give this game no true winner, if the people he stood against were less Victoria and more Galahad and Rajni, people with no kills under their belt. But that itself didn't match what he'd told himself before, the whole thing about becoming the murderer they thought he was, which itself didn't match with the gameplan he had in place before he ran into Anvi.
Oliver shouldn't have been slipping around on the ice like this. He was smart, with Samuel gone he was the smartest person left in the game, and smart people made their decisions based on facts, and logic. There was no logic in so constantly changing his gameplan or his decisions based on whatever whim he was feeling at that moment, so why was he doing it?
And then it all made sense.
He needed to stay true to his own words. There was no going back to the person he was before he killed Anvi, but he could be the Oliver he wanted to be at the beach. The murderer who was out for his classmate's lives, someone who would take an innocent life. That meant, of all things, he needed to find one more person and kill them, just like he said he would, and then everything would fall into place. The world he'd created for himself would make sense again.
The muscles under his eyes strained to keep them open as he got his belongings together. Strapping the vest back onto his body over his school uniform, with Victoria's gun in his hands, his own original gun holstered in his back pocket, and his bag hung haphazardly across his back, he returned to the outside.
--
The empty streets contained no easy classmate for Oliver to gun down. In fact, they contained no classmates at all. He didn't know how many were left, how many people stood between him and the simple action which could save the world, but none of them were running into the streets to help with that, so there was only so much Oliver could do. Sure, he checked streets before he walked down them, making sure nobody was standing at high windows or he was being funneled into a trap or anything he'd seen in his gaming experiences, but every careful choice felt like a careful waste of time. There was just nobody there.
Well, so he thought. As he walked by a pile of broken glass below what looked like used to be a window, he heard loud footsteps, and it took all of Oliver's power to not freeze in place. Footsteps meant a person, possibly even people. He prefered the former, wouldn't especially mind the latter, but either way he'd done what he set out to do. Now he just needed to follow it through.
Oliver looked around his immediate area, and saw that the only cover afforded to him was a faded blue post box, something that Oliver almost didn't recognize since it wasn't bright red. He crouched down for no reason in particular, and crept behind the box so that if the person inside came out and decided to take out the world, he wouldn't be immediately annihilated indiscriminately.
He waited there, gun drawn and aimed at the doorway. Moments passed, and Oliver's left lower eyelid twitched slightly. He was tired, he knew that much. But he couldn't afford to sleep any more than he already had. Were it not for the audible doorknob turn and the door of the house opening to reveal a classmate with her bag, Oliver would have began to doubt his sanity, but luckily for him Phoebe Quincey stepped through the doorway into the open and Oliver, having already made sure the gun was on semi-auto, aimed down the sights and fired.
Of course, he hadn't fired the gun before, so the shot went wild, and Oliver fell on his ass.
"Fuck!"
--
He quickly pulled himself up from the ground, having noticed that Phoebe had done the same. Good old Phoebe Quincey, judgemental busybody back home and who even knew what in this arena. Her name hadn't appeared on the announcements, yet, so she wasn't a prolific murderer, which was good enough for him.
As Oliver got stable on his feet, he saw that the girl he'd shot at was gone.
At least, he thought she was gone, until he saw her shoe disappear inside the building from which she came.
With his goal still in mind, Oliver took a long, deep breath, and began to walk towards the doorway.
Oliver never considered a week ago that he would be firing at the Head Girl of his class.
He also never considered an hour ago that he might miss such an easy shot.
--
((Oliver Davies continued from Something To Believe In))
It had been quite some time since Oliver left Virgil to his devices at the wet markets, and Oliver took the opportunity to find himself some privacy and go over everything he had, and it was quite the mighty collection. He found a house, a small living room in a tiny workers house, and laid out everything he owned once he barred the door. Samuel's belongings, Victoria's weapons and utilities, and Galahad's water bottle. Enough food to last a week, enough rounds of ammunition to effectively mist anyone he met, a vest powerful enough to take at least one shot before becoming useless weight, and a water bottle he had no way of filling up.
All things considered, he was doing fairly well for himself.
--
But as he sat on the musty couch, fingertips massaging his temples in a futile attempt to relieve the godawful headache, he couldn't help but notice how inconsistent he'd been in his own head. He wasn't sure whether it was the concussion Anvi gave him, the ever present headache that intruded upon most of his thoughts, or something else entirely, but things that were planned in his own head went remarkably to shit five minutes later. He made an oath to keep quiet after the encounter with Rajni at the beach, yet not too long later he was telling Virgil the three point outline of his plan. He told himself he would be the killer that everyone now thought he was thanks to Anvi, yet the moment he had an easy shot at Virgil he failed to take it, even after the high of successfully taking down the most dangerous person out there. If he didn't know any better he'd say he probably just wanted to knob Virgil, and that's probably what all of his friends would say if they were there, but they weren't, and Oliver was as straight as the Americans tyrannical, so what was the deal? Was he losing his mind? His memory? Was he just not up to killing his classmates if they weren't trying to kill him first?
It had to be one of the above, right?
He couldn't even tell if what he'd told himself back when Virgil began grandstanding was remotely true. Statisically, it made sense, because he had a better chance of making the end, being the last of his class standing, and killing himself to give this game no true winner, if the people he stood against were less Victoria and more Galahad and Rajni, people with no kills under their belt. But that itself didn't match what he'd told himself before, the whole thing about becoming the murderer they thought he was, which itself didn't match with the gameplan he had in place before he ran into Anvi.
Oliver shouldn't have been slipping around on the ice like this. He was smart, with Samuel gone he was the smartest person left in the game, and smart people made their decisions based on facts, and logic. There was no logic in so constantly changing his gameplan or his decisions based on whatever whim he was feeling at that moment, so why was he doing it?
And then it all made sense.
He needed to stay true to his own words. There was no going back to the person he was before he killed Anvi, but he could be the Oliver he wanted to be at the beach. The murderer who was out for his classmate's lives, someone who would take an innocent life. That meant, of all things, he needed to find one more person and kill them, just like he said he would, and then everything would fall into place. The world he'd created for himself would make sense again.
The muscles under his eyes strained to keep them open as he got his belongings together. Strapping the vest back onto his body over his school uniform, with Victoria's gun in his hands, his own original gun holstered in his back pocket, and his bag hung haphazardly across his back, he returned to the outside.
--
The empty streets contained no easy classmate for Oliver to gun down. In fact, they contained no classmates at all. He didn't know how many were left, how many people stood between him and the simple action which could save the world, but none of them were running into the streets to help with that, so there was only so much Oliver could do. Sure, he checked streets before he walked down them, making sure nobody was standing at high windows or he was being funneled into a trap or anything he'd seen in his gaming experiences, but every careful choice felt like a careful waste of time. There was just nobody there.
Well, so he thought. As he walked by a pile of broken glass below what looked like used to be a window, he heard loud footsteps, and it took all of Oliver's power to not freeze in place. Footsteps meant a person, possibly even people. He prefered the former, wouldn't especially mind the latter, but either way he'd done what he set out to do. Now he just needed to follow it through.
Oliver looked around his immediate area, and saw that the only cover afforded to him was a faded blue post box, something that Oliver almost didn't recognize since it wasn't bright red. He crouched down for no reason in particular, and crept behind the box so that if the person inside came out and decided to take out the world, he wouldn't be immediately annihilated indiscriminately.
He waited there, gun drawn and aimed at the doorway. Moments passed, and Oliver's left lower eyelid twitched slightly. He was tired, he knew that much. But he couldn't afford to sleep any more than he already had. Were it not for the audible doorknob turn and the door of the house opening to reveal a classmate with her bag, Oliver would have began to doubt his sanity, but luckily for him Phoebe Quincey stepped through the doorway into the open and Oliver, having already made sure the gun was on semi-auto, aimed down the sights and fired.
Of course, he hadn't fired the gun before, so the shot went wild, and Oliver fell on his ass.
"Fuck!"
--
He quickly pulled himself up from the ground, having noticed that Phoebe had done the same. Good old Phoebe Quincey, judgemental busybody back home and who even knew what in this arena. Her name hadn't appeared on the announcements, yet, so she wasn't a prolific murderer, which was good enough for him.
As Oliver got stable on his feet, he saw that the girl he'd shot at was gone.
At least, he thought she was gone, until he saw her shoe disappear inside the building from which she came.
With his goal still in mind, Oliver took a long, deep breath, and began to walk towards the doorway.
It was from Oliver. Oliver was here, and he had a gun, and--
He was trying to kill her.
Of course he was trying her.
Phoebe continued scrambling backward, attempting to pull herself back inside. The door slammed behind her, and she took a breath. However, she heard footsteps at the door.
He knew where she went.
Phoebe's eyes darted and widened when she realized the gun and sledgehammer were upstairs, left next to Nastya and Molly. She hadn't even thought to grab them on her way out. Running upstairs was going to give him extra time, he was right there already. Running out a different door?
She did the first thing that came to mind.
And slid out the bees from the bag. She could still feel them buzzing under her fingertips.
Phoebe took a few more steps backward, looking around for a place to run.
He was trying to kill her.
Of course he was trying her.
Phoebe continued scrambling backward, attempting to pull herself back inside. The door slammed behind her, and she took a breath. However, she heard footsteps at the door.
He knew where she went.
Phoebe's eyes darted and widened when she realized the gun and sledgehammer were upstairs, left next to Nastya and Molly. She hadn't even thought to grab them on her way out. Running upstairs was going to give him extra time, he was right there already. Running out a different door?
She did the first thing that came to mind.
And slid out the bees from the bag. She could still feel them buzzing under her fingertips.
Phoebe took a few more steps backward, looking around for a place to run.
The door slammed in front of him, and Oliver took pause. He gripped the gun slightly tighter in his hands. The other person gave themselves opportunity to ambush with closing the door, and Oliver wasn't sure whether to immediately follow. There were so many things he could do in this situation, but none of them came up as the obvious first step.
Oliver rolled the odds in his head. If this person had a gun, there's a chance they wouldn't have walked outside without it. Rather than thinking on it any longer, he rotated the door handle and pushed the door open, before stepping back with his gun raised. Nobody attacked him with a blunt weapon, so rolling the odds again, he walked inside.
He could see Phoebe disappearing.
Oliver followed. At some point, he'd get a shot.
Oliver rolled the odds in his head. If this person had a gun, there's a chance they wouldn't have walked outside without it. Rather than thinking on it any longer, he rotated the door handle and pushed the door open, before stepping back with his gun raised. Nobody attacked him with a blunt weapon, so rolling the odds again, he walked inside.
He could see Phoebe disappearing.
Oliver followed. At some point, he'd get a shot.
Phoebe saw him step inside.
The bees hummed and darted inside the jar. She took a deep breath, her heartbeat running at a rabbit's pace. As her eyes darted around for a potential exit, she saw the door to the kitchen.
The kitchen and dining area was relatively big, though not as big as the den she was in now. But she knew there was a backdoor. She looked to Oliver, then to the door, and ran against, slamming the door to the kitchen open.
She ran past the stove, past the counter and cabinets and pantry, and found the way to the backdoor. It was narrower here, with a wall on one side and the counter on the other, and claustrophobic. Her hand jumped to grab the handle--
It was stuck.
Phoebe looked down, and saw a chair from the kitchen propped against it.
Her other hand grabbed it and tossed it aside. The sound of the chair hitting the floor filled the kitchen. Phoebe turned around and lost her breath.
The bees hummed and darted inside the jar. She took a deep breath, her heartbeat running at a rabbit's pace. As her eyes darted around for a potential exit, she saw the door to the kitchen.
The kitchen and dining area was relatively big, though not as big as the den she was in now. But she knew there was a backdoor. She looked to Oliver, then to the door, and ran against, slamming the door to the kitchen open.
She ran past the stove, past the counter and cabinets and pantry, and found the way to the backdoor. It was narrower here, with a wall on one side and the counter on the other, and claustrophobic. Her hand jumped to grab the handle--
It was stuck.
Phoebe looked down, and saw a chair from the kitchen propped against it.
Her other hand grabbed it and tossed it aside. The sound of the chair hitting the floor filled the kitchen. Phoebe turned around and lost her breath.
As Oliver rounded the corner, he immediately saw Phoebe, but didn't process what she was doing until the chair clattering interrupted his internal attempt at focus. He looked down at the chair, up at the girl standing near the back door of the building, and put it together in his head.
And suddenly, in a visible moment of hesitation, he felt a lot less confident in what he was doing.
She was trying to escape. She wasn't going to stay and fight, she was trying to get the hell away from him. He didn't know what she had on her, all she seemed to be holding was a jar in one of her hands filled with...something, and that seemed to be it. No gun, no knife, no club, no cricket bat, no polo mallet, nothing. She was running away from him because he was...well, he was.
It didn't feel right.
Anvi had at least tried to attack and disarm him. Victoria shot at him in the darkness. Samuel...well, he could figure that out later, but Phoebe wasn't any of the previous three. She looked scared. Even back at home, Oliver had never done anything to a girl who hadn't started something with him first, including but not limited to his sister. And yet, here he was, trying to gun down his Head Girl in cold blood. He suddenly regretted his bad aim. If he'd taken her down in one shot, not given her the chance to run away, he wouldn't have been given all this time to think everything over. His feet were encased in ice now, and he wasn't sure he could will them warm.
So he did what he could do, considering everything he'd done up to this point. He swallowed, aimed at the door right next to Phoebe, and pulled the trigger several times.
And suddenly, in a visible moment of hesitation, he felt a lot less confident in what he was doing.
She was trying to escape. She wasn't going to stay and fight, she was trying to get the hell away from him. He didn't know what she had on her, all she seemed to be holding was a jar in one of her hands filled with...something, and that seemed to be it. No gun, no knife, no club, no cricket bat, no polo mallet, nothing. She was running away from him because he was...well, he was.
It didn't feel right.
Anvi had at least tried to attack and disarm him. Victoria shot at him in the darkness. Samuel...well, he could figure that out later, but Phoebe wasn't any of the previous three. She looked scared. Even back at home, Oliver had never done anything to a girl who hadn't started something with him first, including but not limited to his sister. And yet, here he was, trying to gun down his Head Girl in cold blood. He suddenly regretted his bad aim. If he'd taken her down in one shot, not given her the chance to run away, he wouldn't have been given all this time to think everything over. His feet were encased in ice now, and he wasn't sure he could will them warm.
So he did what he could do, considering everything he'd done up to this point. He swallowed, aimed at the door right next to Phoebe, and pulled the trigger several times.
Three more cracks and Phoebe fell to the ground, hiding behind the counter.
She tightly squeezed her eyes for a moment. Opened them again. Became more aware of the buzzing, humming jar in her hand.
Phoebe sat up. Felt herself suck in more air, felt her heartbeat race. Her hands shook. She bit down on her lip. Her ears rang even more.
“Stay back--!”
And on cue, she tossed the jar.
She meant to toss it away as far as possible, enough to give her time. But her aim was off. It clipped against the counter and onto the floor next to the chair. The sound of shattering glass filled the room.
She tightly squeezed her eyes for a moment. Opened them again. Became more aware of the buzzing, humming jar in her hand.
Phoebe sat up. Felt herself suck in more air, felt her heartbeat race. Her hands shook. She bit down on her lip. Her ears rang even more.
“Stay back--!”
And on cue, she tossed the jar.
She meant to toss it away as far as possible, enough to give her time. But her aim was off. It clipped against the counter and onto the floor next to the chair. The sound of shattering glass filled the room.
Phoebe fell out of sight, but it wasn't the kind Oliver needed. But even the sight of Phoebe falling from the fright of the gunshots made him feel as though his stomach had taken a fall from the middle of the sky. Oliver began taking deep breaths, acutely aware that Phoebe had no escape beyond killing him with a weapon she probably didn't have, but also aware that she wasn't going to die unless he walked over to the counter and riddled her prone body full of bullets.
He had to do it now. There was no choice, no going back. He was finally going to have to kill an innocent person, the Head Girl of their school, and it was all that stood between him and the person he needed to be to get through to the end.
Oliver took a step forward, ready but not ready at all, and to his surprise he heard Phoebe's voice, yelling at him to stay back. It was to be expected, obviously, but it still chilled him. She was literally pleading for her life now, and he had to kill her.
But what Oliver wasn't expecting was seeing the jar that he assumed was the one previously sitting in Phoebe's hands fly upwards, clip the counter, spiral sideways, land next to the chair and shatter a million ways into the end of the week.
And he was expecting even less, with his stomach now having begun to spin out of control in midair, to see what emerged from the remaining glass, as all pretenses of composure left his body and he fell backwards onto the kitchen floor himself in nothing but base fear.
He had to do it now. There was no choice, no going back. He was finally going to have to kill an innocent person, the Head Girl of their school, and it was all that stood between him and the person he needed to be to get through to the end.
Oliver took a step forward, ready but not ready at all, and to his surprise he heard Phoebe's voice, yelling at him to stay back. It was to be expected, obviously, but it still chilled him. She was literally pleading for her life now, and he had to kill her.
But what Oliver wasn't expecting was seeing the jar that he assumed was the one previously sitting in Phoebe's hands fly upwards, clip the counter, spiral sideways, land next to the chair and shatter a million ways into the end of the week.
And he was expecting even less, with his stomach now having begun to spin out of control in midair, to see what emerged from the remaining glass, as all pretenses of composure left his body and he fell backwards onto the kitchen floor himself in nothing but base fear.
Phoebe could only remain frozen as a swarm of abnormally large, furious hornets started to seep out from what was left of the jar.
The giant Japanese hornets-- not bees-- had been agitated from being bustled around inside a tight dark space, unable to get out until the jar broke. Angry, territorial, and confused, they quickly found what to take their anger out on.
Phoebe started to scream. She felt pain, unbearable, burning pain, as they bit and stung everywhere they could find. It felt like someone was flicking her with a lighter, only to treat it by cauterizing it with burning oil and nails. Her hands sweep across her body, trying to push them away, but nothing worked. They kept biting and stinging.
Some even got into her mouth as she screamed and gasped, piercing her tongue and lips. Her screams gurgled and became more incoherent. At some point, she tried to turn around to open the door, escape, give herself a moment of reprieve, but as she tried to lift herself enough to open the door, her hand would slip away.
Eventually, her screams stopped.
Female Student #018 Phoebe Quincey- ELIMINATED
___
And in what was left of Bellington, a small Scottish Terrier whimpered. Pippi knew things were different ever since all the noise had happened. She knew that a member of her pack-- her family-- had gone missing, and the other two had started barking and packing things up. Eventually, they took her for a ride. Pippi usually liked rides, but the car felt cramped from all the boxes. She didn't always understand the rest of her pack, but she did understand that it probably meant they'd be gone for a while. Pippi had been on trips before. But, the whole thing was confusing.
The mistress, she'd be home soon, right?
The giant Japanese hornets-- not bees-- had been agitated from being bustled around inside a tight dark space, unable to get out until the jar broke. Angry, territorial, and confused, they quickly found what to take their anger out on.
Phoebe started to scream. She felt pain, unbearable, burning pain, as they bit and stung everywhere they could find. It felt like someone was flicking her with a lighter, only to treat it by cauterizing it with burning oil and nails. Her hands sweep across her body, trying to push them away, but nothing worked. They kept biting and stinging.
Some even got into her mouth as she screamed and gasped, piercing her tongue and lips. Her screams gurgled and became more incoherent. At some point, she tried to turn around to open the door, escape, give herself a moment of reprieve, but as she tried to lift herself enough to open the door, her hand would slip away.
Eventually, her screams stopped.
Female Student #018 Phoebe Quincey- ELIMINATED
___
And in what was left of Bellington, a small Scottish Terrier whimpered. Pippi knew things were different ever since all the noise had happened. She knew that a member of her pack-- her family-- had gone missing, and the other two had started barking and packing things up. Eventually, they took her for a ride. Pippi usually liked rides, but the car felt cramped from all the boxes. She didn't always understand the rest of her pack, but she did understand that it probably meant they'd be gone for a while. Pippi had been on trips before. But, the whole thing was confusing.
The mistress, she'd be home soon, right?
Oliver hated insects. More than that, he hated flying insects. When he was seven years old, he was getting something out of the shed in the backyard for dad when he accidentally hit a wasps nest behind the mower, unleashing several angry residents that stung him many times on the arms and neck. For one thing, he could never go into that shed again, and for another he visibly flinched when he saw bees, let alone little creatures that only seemed to exist on planet earth to hate humans.
So when Oliver saw the tiny swarm of angry wasps emerge from the broken jar and immediately disappear behind the counter, followed by Phoebe's screams, he started scrambling backwards. He didn't know whether they even knew he was there, but he wasn't staying in that room any longer.
He almost slipped in the hallway, but caught his balance mere seconds before flying into a cabinet. And then he realized the door to the kitchen was still open, so he didn't stop. He could have stayed, should have searched the house, especially considering that he almost fell into the entryway of a livingroom which, to his quick glance, contained two dead girls within it, but all that entered Oliver's mind was getting out of the house that now contained a swarm of wasps.
And when he reached the front door he didn't stop there. He slammed it shut behind him, and briefly under the illusion that wasps could bust through walls, kept running and didn't stop until he was well away from the house.
((Oliver Davies continued elsewhere))
So when Oliver saw the tiny swarm of angry wasps emerge from the broken jar and immediately disappear behind the counter, followed by Phoebe's screams, he started scrambling backwards. He didn't know whether they even knew he was there, but he wasn't staying in that room any longer.
He almost slipped in the hallway, but caught his balance mere seconds before flying into a cabinet. And then he realized the door to the kitchen was still open, so he didn't stop. He could have stayed, should have searched the house, especially considering that he almost fell into the entryway of a livingroom which, to his quick glance, contained two dead girls within it, but all that entered Oliver's mind was getting out of the house that now contained a swarm of wasps.
And when he reached the front door he didn't stop there. He slammed it shut behind him, and briefly under the illusion that wasps could bust through walls, kept running and didn't stop until he was well away from the house.
((Oliver Davies continued elsewhere))