Vioectrolysis

[Hollyquin*]

Ryan Montoya really didn't like anyone right now, which is generally happens when you just found out several of your best friends are dead. She assumed it was generally what happens, anyway. Wasn't like she had anyone to ask. But in all honesty Jethro deciding to run out of the room like a fucking crazy person wasn't giving him any extra points in her book and she doubted she'd appreciate it any better if Henry and Chanel were breathing.

Fuck.

She wanted to stay here. She wanted to hole up in a corner and not move for a few hours. Maybe scream and break some things, that was always fun. But no, there were people outside the door and goddammit they could kill her. Anyone could given that she had a fucking cardboard box for a weapon and Chanel and Henry were dead and Jesus fucking Christ. This is for real. This is the fucking Program and we're all going to die.

She hesitated and that moment of hesitation left her entirely alone. Jethro had ran like a fucking madman, he was gone in seconds, and she'd lost her bodyguard. Not that she trusted him, not that she liked him, not that she gave a shit about him but still, still, it was nice to not be alone, what with her friends dropping like fucking flies apparently and fuck she didn't even remember who killed them, who she had to get revenge on, because she was a fucking idiot not paying attention and panicking and shit like a pathetic fucking little girl.

Ryan ran. At least mostly to escape her own thoughts and only partially to escape whatever lay in wait for her here. She was finding some serious difficulty in giving two fucks about anything, but at least she could take comfort in the fact that she wasn't dead. Yet, anyway. But-

If it can find them, it can find me.

[[Ryan Montoya continued in Hell on Bare Feet]]

[Courtography]

Out.

Right. He really should have been able to figure that one out on his own, but he was tired, and stressed. Just like everyone else in the Program. Well, not everyone else, some people out there had to be lucky enough to just hide away and not get in any trouble. He wasn't lucky like them, he had been forced to kill someone.

Come on, get moving already.

(Benjamin Latimer continued in Nice Morning for a Shootout)