Closing In

[The Honeless Beard]

((Dougie Sharpe, Backing up))

"I'm a failure."

He tested the words out, muttered under his breath in the same volume he'd used to mumble an excuse about homework, or a side-remark aimed at his brothers but never meant for their ears. He tried listening to the foreign seeming sound of his own voice, stationed beneath the same camera that still had frosty bits of skittles staining the outside lens, the camera that likely viewed him through a haze of orange, green, and red.

He wasn't sure why he'd done that, in hindsight. He also wasn't sure why he'd sworn at his mentor, what he had planned to do with - to - Isabel. The only thing that he was certain of, in the long run, is that he'd spent an inordinate amount of time not thinking, analyzing, or critiquing his actions over the past couple of days.

Why?

He wasn't sure.

The blood was frosted, now, iced over as it stained his sweater in a myriad of reddish hues, as though rust had fallen and sprinkled the hoodie in pale colours. All that he had left of Lily - all that remained - was the images being recorded from this skittles-spattered camera. And all he was doing about it was standing here.

Being unsure.

Fuck everything about this.

[Maraoone]

((Cathryn Bailey continues from Going forward))

That night spent pacing around the spa in the cold, that night where Cathryn made a few fateful decisions that led to her smothering Nina, and eventually, to where she was now, she'd hoped for... a lot of things. She was supposed to be the monster in the dark of night, in the back of the closet. She was supposed to be a Jewel Evans, a Karen Ruiz. And now, especially now that she'd killed the two people on the island she hated the most, she was supposed to be in the fucking game.

Supposedly.

So, what happened?

In her mind remained the usual emotions, the rage, the terror, the regrets, these emotions that should have been long gone by now. What did the girl with four kills, four lives, four souls under her belt have to fear? What did she have to rage about now that Lucia was bleeding to death in the arena? But that was the less important part of the problem, the one she was used to. Or perhaps ignored for now, lest she be overwhelmed. Because among those three emotions, another crept in, one worse, more fatal than the previous three combined.

Doubt.

It had started creeping in the moment Zoe's foot shattered Cathryn's hand, and while Zoe's death fought it back for a while, a few moments after Lucia's death, after all that rage had boiled over, it came back full force. It came back with a single stray thought, while thinking over the events in the sports center. If Lucia hadn't forgotten her gun, if Cathryn hadn't been holding it in her hands the moment Lucia showed her face, would things gone the way they did? At first, it was a matter of praising luck for being on her side. But what if?

And so the doubt came back.

The past three days had been fueled by nothing but adrenaline and determination, a desperate desire to see herself getting flown out that resort, to see herself getting places. But that could only last so long. And now, with one hand and one arm non-operational, and not on the same side of her body, doubt crept in. That five-letter word encompassed every negative, every possibility that her mind had been trying to fight back. Those visions of freedom, of achievement, were they to be blocked by a single blade, a single bullet piercing her chest? Would she make one last mistake, taking too long to fight past the pain in her shoulder, or perhaps fumbling for the handle of her gun? Were her last moments not to be at some cozy house, after decades of life, but to be replaced by a few moments of confusion, followed by a quick descent into hell?

She waited for that big, resounding 'NO', the one that had pushed her through her fight with Zoe, the one that brought back her resolve. But it never came. And so it came to overwhelm every other emotion, that unholy trifecta, and she fell to her knees, in the middle of darkness, halfway between the sports center and nowhere.

She eventually picked herself back up, like she always did, but to call herself recovered would be a lie. The pieces of tape she'd used to put together the glass were picking up dust, loosening their grip, and sooner or later, they'd fail, and she'd shatter all over again. She knew it.

Cathryn stumbled towards another building. It looked vaguely like the same one she'd run from after Alice, but she paid that thought no mind. Any shelter was good now, especially in the midst of this storm. The snow frosted her clothes, maybe frosted her face, which she'd left exposed. The clothes now hung around her face, like this makeshift shawl, exposing, along with her mouth, the bandage on her cheek. She held the gun in her right hand, her good hand, finger always on the trigger, and walked towards the entrance.

After walking around a bit in the building, she saw a man, Dougie, sitting there under the camera, just staring out into the distance. He didn't seem to pay her attention just yet. She could've put up her gun, could've pumped him full of holes, added another name to the list of the deceased. Could've. But she didn't. And why not? Maybe doubt niggled at her, told her that maybe he had a gun, that maybe this could be her final mistake. Or maybe cause another need bothered her. She'd been looking for this with Norma, but the announcements had stolen that from her, gotten her this bitemark. But it was probably midnight. No chance of any announcements happening.

So, she looked at him, even if he didn't do the same. Didn't raise her gun, but made it apparent, just in case. And she got his attention with a simple 'Hey'.

[The Honeless Beard]

It was a familiar script, but the character names were switched around - cast and crew credits shuffled into an overfull deck. This time, he was the player on stage, waiting in full view for the scene to come to him. This time, he waited for the cue to come to him, tired of stumbling upon murders and glimpsing at corpses. This time, he was alone.

Fear was an odd thing, when mixed with adrenaline. It was a constant in these situations - situations of extreme stress simultaneously stretched and compressed into a few days of butchery. You only truly felt the fear when the adrenaline abated, and it only went away when the adrenaline kicked back in. You went from feeling blood pump in your veins at threats and gunfire to those being the status quo, while words, voices, footsteps - they became the sounds to truly fear, cues and moments where you learned who you were in the darkness, what kind of monsters you fought.

Cathryn said a single word, a word that Dougie had leaned on throughout his entire experience during the production.

"Hey," he echoed, rising to his feet. She carried a gun, but that meant nothing. What mattered more was that she spoke first, and he wasn't dead.

"You alone?"

((Due to inactivity, this character has no further posts in this thread. His story is concluded here.))

[Maraoone]

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Cathryn saw him rise, her jaw tensed a bit. She stood there for a couple seconds, looked at the sword at his side. Her right foot took a half step back, without her knowing. She waited. Finally, after half a minute, she took a few steps forward. Took a seat two arm lengths away, her gun still in view.

The script was familiar, yes, but also alien. Before, she knew the end result of all these remarks, of all these witty comebacks and sweet nothings. Or, in the case of Jackson, at least she thought she did. She'd gotten a chance to practice these words with Norma, these sincerities, but any good intention went out with the crackle of a collar. So, still alien.

She tested a few phrases, questions in her head, trying to conserve. Conserving words, that was a new one. But it was a necessity, since every word, every move her lips made hurt. She decided on a phrase after a few more seconds. Just to be safe.

"Are you?"

[Maraoone]

The seconds passed and no words were shared between the two. Part of Cathryn, the part of her that endured every sting, every ache, every nerve spasm, liked this, enjoyed this. But the part of her that knew better tensed, knowing that perhaps Dougie said nothing because he was planning things, treacherous things. Perhaps he could lunge two arm lengths before she even realized anything was happening.

She looked at his face and moved back a couple seats.

[Maraoone]

((To be edited, actions still generally the same.))

And then that relief just disappeared entirely, and Cathryn knew that Dougie had been silent for too long to say that he had been just thinking of something else, or of how to answer. The script started to lose any trace of familiarity as the silence stretched on even more and more, and she couldn't let it go on indefinitely. She needed an answer.

"Hello, there? Dougie? Are you alone too?"

[Maraoone]

The loudest sound in the building right now, aside from the distant howling wind, was her own breath, and her own heartbeat. It was not supposed to be this way. When she approached him, when she made a stupid risk with seemingly no reward, despite her mind's doubt telling her to run far, far away, it was not to be ignored for minutes upon minutes. The reason why she'd risked her own safety, why she put the gun away when she could've gotten one step closer to the end, was because she was craving another human being's voice.

That tiny bit of doubt, no matter how much she tried to bury it with other thoughts, and even with her three demons, reminded her of one possibility. If she didn't win SOTF, then the end was very, very near for her. A few hours, if she was being optimistic. It meant anything she did could be her last. This would be the last uniform she'd wear. The sandwich she'd eat an hour later would be her last meal. Last words and last thoughts were still up for grabs. Everything she did had a sense of finality, of mortality. And all she wanted now was one last conversation, one last human moment. A moment where the person she faced didn't hate her or want her dead just yet. But Dougie wouldn't grant her that.

She repeated her question a few more times, but her words fell on deaf ears, it seemed. Doubt welled up within her, and she tried to ignore this. She hated herself for it. Four lives taken by her hand, and she was scared by nothing?

No, she told herself, it wasn't fear. Not fear, she couldn't be scared now. It was the fact that he offered her nothing. No words, no hopes of any alliance, nothing. Why stay?

So, she left him behind without a single word. An eye for an eye, right? She stayed in another theater on the other side of the building, put on an extra layer of clothing, just to be safe, and ate her sandwich before emptying her bag of everything except a first-aid kit, the two guns, and her spear. It's not like she'd need to eat again, or have a change of clothes no matter what happened, right?

The announcement came by morning and woke her up from a brief nap. She noted Bella's death and felt a twinge of sadness, if only at the fact that she'd be on her own in endgame. She also noted the fact that Jackson was still alive, and cursed to herself. Her right arm seemed to flare up as soon as his name was mentioned. As soon as it ended, she ran out into the blizzard, towards the end.

((Cathryn Bailey continues in Production Costs))