Seek A Way Out!

[Pippi]

She kept moving forwards, kept striding towards the pile of scrap, kept putting one foot in front of the other, even when the flashes of impulse coursing through her body told her to turn around and run for the hills and never look back. She wanted to, everyone wanted to bar the few, twisted outliers, but then she’d be right back at square one, without a plan and without an ally, even one as tenuous as Derrick.

The realisation that Nanna-Fiora still didn’t know his name flashed through her mind quickly, before vanishing again.

She walked with baited breath, hands slick with sweat as she gripped tight to the shotgun and the flashlight to prevent them from dropping from her hands. She didn’t need to hold her breath. She could have been singing as she walked forwards; the guy behind the pile had already heard them talking, heard her footsteps, seen the flashlight. They knew she was coming. Some part of her still attached itself to that illusion of stealth, and she barely breathed as she moved.

She moved until she was on the verge of rounding the corner, and then she froze. Because she realised, when it was almost too late, that as soon as she stepped into view of whoever was sneaking up on them, that they’d be on her like a limpet, and they wouldn’t let up until she was dead.

She couldn’t move anymore. She had to act instead. And in that moment that her body and mind froze, instinct took over her actions instead.

Nanna-Fiora dropped the flashlight to the ground, the beam spinning and pointing off to the distance. In the time it took for the light source to fall, she had the shotgun in both hands.

Then she fired at the pile of scrap.

[MethodicalSlacker]

The sky exploded above Cybil, and noise flew everywhere in chunks. He leapt out from his hiding place from his frog-stance, making it only a few feet before a piece of shrapnel flew from the pile and grazed his skin, causing him to miss his landing. He hit the ground and skidded for a couple of feet before he picked himself up. Luckily, his assailant had aimed a foot away from where he was, so the noise and ringing in his ears wasn't quite as bad as it could have been, but he was still in shock from what just happened.

There they were, the two of them. Nanna-Fiora, and the other one. He could take either in a fist fight, but the circumstances were different.

But there was no time to analyze. No time to think.

If he was going to strike back before she reloaded, he'd have to do it now.

He grunted,

"Hmph!"

and with his sword pointed towards her, he lunged.

[Ohm]

She continued her trek towards the scrap with her back towards him till she rounded the corner from the noise area. If there was one thing Derrick could certainly give Fiora, she was pretty brave, that are stupid. A sudden stop and the flashlight made its fall towards the ground, he saw the rise of the shotgun in the dark and raised his left hand to shield his eyes.

Then he heard the explosion of scrap as the sparks of metal flew through the area as her flashlight thumped the ground and the distinct sound of another person making their presence known. Darkness surrounded them as the mystery figure came out of its hiding place.

How long had they been there? Watching and listening? Derrick had no clue, he did know, however they were no friendly. They made a dash for Fiora with something in their hands.

He didn't know Fiora that well from school, and from what she was saying earlier might be on the path to losing it altogether. No plan, losing friends, gun at the ready. Could be bad all around, but that didn't mean he could let this happen. Not after Stan.

He broke out into a sprint to close the distance between them and went for a shoulder tackle with his left on the shadow attacker.

[Pippi]

Instinct had given her a plan when she’d had nothing before. Not only that, but it had actually worked – the first part of it, at least. The flash of the shotgun’s muzzle lit up the crumbling tower of scrap for a second, freezing the image in Nanna-Fiora’s mind. She heard the shower of twisted metal as it hit the ground, and she imagined it raining down upon the intruder, and she allowed herself a small smirk of satisfaction.

She could give Instinct credit for that. But the plan had only been half-baked, and a split second later, she realised she didn’t know what her follow up was.

There was just enough time for her heart to leap into her throat and for her brain to realise that she needed to reload the shotgun, before she heard a new sound, a thumping sound, one alternating with the thudding in her head, the sound of the shadowy figure’s footsteps as it charged towards her.

She breathed in, sharply, cold air flooding her throat, as she scrambled backwards, just trying to get as far away as possible, and she almost made it, almost got to safety, almost able to reload her gun away from harm.

Almost, of course, wasn’t good enough. Not on the Program.

Nanna-Fiora felt the tip of the sword sink into her, piercing her left side, and she cried out in pain, her movement backwards becoming even more clumsy and staggered, as a white-hot bolt lanced through her body. It wasn’t a deep cut, and her stumbling backwards meant the sword left her body easily enough, but her vision was already blurred with her tears as she fell.

She hit the ground and the impact barely registered, because it was nothing compared to the burning pain in her side. She furiously wiped her sleeve against her eyes, just in time to see another shadowy figure, Derrick she hoped, charging at her assailant. Good. That was good, that was something, that gave her time. Time to reload and rethink before he got cut down too.

Blinking back tears, Nanna-Fiora dug her hand into her pocket, trying to grab the shotgun shells that hadn’t fallen out and spun into the darkness, desperately doing her best to ignore her left side as it slowly grew damper and hotter.

[MethodicalSlacker]

And plunged.

The sword went in, and then came out. He barely felt it happen. He had seen this scene before, and no matter how many times he saw it on a television screen, it never felt entirely real to him. Now, he was standing in the middle of it, a participant, an instigator, and he didn't know what it was he felt but it was rising in his chest, a loose slippery ball, a green, yarny thing, dripping in strings. His breath caught in his throat. His vision would have started to dance now, his palms would have started to sweat, and his ears would have started to ring, had they not been like that already.

He made the mistake of stealing a glance downwards at the blood slowly seeping from Nanna-Fiora's shirt, but the repercussions for that mistake would have to wait.

The sword had gone in,

and then it came out.

He had no time to digest it, nor to follow up. The next assailant was a blink away.

Holding the sword vertical, tip pointed at an upward angle towards his attacker, Cybil braced for the impact of Derrick's tackle, hoping that the sheer mass of the boy wouldn't throw him off his feet.

[Ohm]

He heard Fiora cry out in the dark as he charged. He heard her fall to the ground with a whimper, none of the confidence she had earlier. She was hurt at the hands of this maniac hiding behind garbage.

She had been the first friendly face in this terrible place and Derrick was not going to let them get away with that.

If he could have seen in the shadows, he would have stopped his push and swung at him instead, but that moment passed when he felt the tip of the blade slash the side of his face and for a second could taste the metal before he pulled his face away with a scream while his shoulder collided with him.

"Fuck!" The boy almost didn't budge, having steeled himself for the blow, but he stumbled ever so briefly. Quickly anger took over and Derrick lifted his elbow and slammed it into their face.

[Pippi]

She heard the sound of Derrick and their assailant colliding, and for a moment, even instinct left Nanna-Fiora, fleeing her and leaving her sprawled in the dirt, panic freezing her to the ground. She gazed forwards at where the two were fighting, even though she could barely see them, shotgun shell slipping slowly from her grasp.

When instinct did return after what felt like an eternity, along with what remained of her rational thought, she realised she was crying, endless streams of tears flooding down her cheeks.

She thought she’d be able to deal with this, to stand up to whatever asshole tried to murder her for their own bullshit gains, but here she was. Just look at her. Just fucking look at her. Sprawled in the mud, panicking and helpless the first time she ran into any form of resistance. All that confidence, all those self-assured statements that she’d be able to think up a plan in time, gone in a flash. She didn’t know what to do.

But she knew she had to do something.

Nanna-Fiora whimpered as she sat up, feeling her side tearing and bleeding, feeling like it was about to split open and spill her guts all over the ground as she moved. Her hand trembled as she held the shell, fumbling in the dark with the shotgun, trying to crack it open and slot the cartridge inside. It took her several tries to do so correctly; she kept trying to put it in backwards, almost letting it slip from her hands each time, as all the while she heard the fighting raging in front of her.

Finally, the shotgun was loaded again. She aimed it forwards, readying herself for the knockback that would most likely send her sprawling again, and cause her side to set on fire. She couldn’t see who the barrel was pointing at, couldn’t see who she’d hit when she pulled the trigger. She could hit Derrick, her ally, the guy who’d come to her defence. She didn’t even know his name yet.

So be it. Right now, all she cared about was escaping this scrapheap alive.

Her finger curled, then tensed, and another explosion rang out.

[MethodicalSlacker]

The first blow from Derrick, he had been prepared for. His heels dug into the dirt, he skidded back just a touch, but Cybil landed fine. The elbow, however, caught him entirely by surprise. The impact itself felt like a dull thud, a loud door slammed in a neighboring household, remote and unconcerning. However, the sting that followed just a few seconds removed nearly threw him off of his feet. He stumbled backwards, reeling, his feet fighting for purchase on the ground. The sword grew heavier in his hands with every staggering footfall.

But not too heavy.

Though momentarily displaced, Cybil managed to take up another stance, this one more defensive than the last. Holding his sword in both hands, the blade pointed towards the ground, Cybil turned his body so that his left side was facing Derrick, his body ready to curve inwards and away at any moment. He'd have to count on Nanna-Fiora being too wounded to fire off another—

"BANG!"

—shot.

As far as Cybil could tell, the shot went wide and hit nobody. Careened off and collided with another pile of scrap.

He didn't stick around to find out.

What mattered was that Nanna-Fiora was not incapacitated. He couldn't do it. Was the sword in his hands anymore? All he knew was that he was running. Whatever air the sword usually displaced now stung his hands like the whipping wind. He had left his bag by the gate to the yard, but passed it. He couldn't do it. His mouth was dry, and his spit tasted like steel. There'd be nothing but ringing in his ears for the rest of his life, given how long he gave himself. He couldn't do it at all. If he had to guess what Derrick's face looked like right now, it would be a mixture of confusion and disappointment. The only thing he could hope for was that Nanna-Fiora had bled out, spilled all she had on the floor, cradled in Derrick's arms, and that he would hear some pained animal scream echo through the night and down the alleyways of the Cabeza, because he couldn't do it.

He couldn't—

even—

let the word cross his mind, let alone carry out it's meaning.

Shoes pounding on pathway, Cybil ran away from the scrap yard, sword in tow, under the cover of night and beneath a blanket of stars.

[Cybil Price continued in Leaving The Other Half Undone.]

[Ohm]

The elbow made it's impact known and the boy couldn't steel himself against it. He staggered somewhat before he took a stance against Derrick, ready to try whatever shenanigans he had at mind to counter him.

But before he could do anything, a loud bang entered his ears and the sudden eruption of light and fire on some scrap beside them before vanishing as quickly as it appeared. But silence didn't get the chance to fill the area around them yet before the footsteps of his opponent hit the pavement further and further away from him.

He shook as he stood there and the sounds left and the ringing was gone and all that was left was the darkness around them and the hurt feelings returned. His face ahadn't yet recovered from the fight with Stan and his new friend had left him with ana ddition to that.

"Fi-fiora? You al-alright?" He tried to breathe in, but the feeling that entered almost made him choke as he felt himself fall down on his ass trying not to hyperventilate. His left hand reached to his cheek, a finger entered the side. He could feel the air with his tongue.

He wanted to scream.

[Pippi]

Her ears were ringing. Her whole body was numb. Her vision, exposed directly to the blinding flash of the shotgun’s muzzle, was now completely blank. As far as she was aware, the world outside of her body didn’t exist. She was just… there. Standing? Sitting? Kneeling? Floating. Floating and existing.

Maybe she was dying. Maybe she was dead, and this was purgatory. If that was the case, she owed Yvonne an apology, whenever she saw her again. Because there was only one person getting out of this alive, and it wasn’t going to be Yvonne. She was too sweet, too harmless, too much of a soft, easy out. And it wasn’t looking like it was going to be Nanna-Fiora herself, either. At least this way, she’d actually get a chance to say sorry to her best friend for everything she’d done. Maybe they could actually make things up in the afterlife.

That is, of course, if they both went to the same place.

She wasn’t going to find out the answer to that today, though. The ringing in her ears was slowly dying away, the sound of the wind running through the night air replacing it, and as she blinked, the black void in front of her eyes grew a little less dark, and little white stars dotted themselves all over it. She was lying flat on her back; she could feel the mud in her hair, and the detritus and debris sticking into her back.

Nanna-Fiora sighed, and the moment she did, her body ceased to be numb, and the bloody mess that was her side grabbed her attention with full force. She gasped in pain, hand instinctively shooting to the wound, coating her fingers in hot blood, another spasm tearing through her body as she did so. She heard Derrick calling out to her, just about, calling to see if she was okay, and she cracked her lips open to reply.

“I’m al… I’m… I’m alr…”

Was she? Was she anywhere close to fine? She couldn’t even pretend she was okay. She was bleeding, close to bleeding out, desperately in pain, far away from anyone she loved. She’d had half a plan, a half plan she’d half-assed, and she’d failed at doing even that. Maybe losing all consciousness and drifting off to the long sleep would have been preferable.

She didn’t care if their attacker was still there, or if she was bleeding out, or even that she was doing this in front of a near-total stranger. She started bawling, ugly tears rolling down her face, sobs wracking her body, as the universe looked down at her, cold and gentle and moving so slowly.

[Ohm]

He could hear Fiora somewhere in the dark, but the voice was different. It lacked the conviction and the confidence from earlier. It was cracking and weak in tone, she couldn't even finish her words. She was crying, he didn't need to look to know that. The only sound in the area were the cries of a girl having been stabbed

He got up, hand still clutching his face and started looking around for the flashlight. Once he saw the light beam, he made his way for it. Once he picked it up, he scanned the area for her.

It didn't take long for him to find her. His knees felt weak when the light shined upon her. It was worse than he had thought. He knew it would be bad just on the screams alone, but there was a lot more red than he thought there would be.

"Ho-holy shit." He uttered as he stepped over to her, slowly and carefully through the dark, light stuck on her.

He squatted down and with a trembling hand reached for the hem of her shirt to pull it back, to see fully what had happened.

It wasn't better under the shirt. It was far, far worse.

[Pippi]

Sometimes, clarity could only be found in the face of adversity.

She was still crying and shaking as Derrick approached her, and in the low light, and in her terrified, paranoid mind, she couldn’t tell whether it was him or whether it was her would-be killer. A panicked, high-pitched gasp escaped her mouth, and she shrank backwards, trying to scramble away, the gash in her side flaring up the second she did so and stopping her in her tracks.

But he didn’t have a sword in his hand. Only a flashlight. And he wasn’t moving like someone about to finish her off. He was tentative, furtive, almost as scared as Nanna-Fiora felt. It had to be Derrick. He must have scared their attacker off, and now he was coming to check on how badly Nanna-Fiora had been messed up. She lay still again, and her harried, shaky breathing slowed.

Slowed to a point, because her head still felt light, and blood was still pouring from her side into the earth, and she knew she was on the very cusp of dying if she didn’t do anything. She flinched as Derrick knelt down to take hold of the hem of her turtleneck and shirt, but nothing more than that. She didn’t care at this point. Normally she’d have kicked Derrick in the balls if he’d tried a stunt like this, but this was the only way she had a chance of living now.

And as the night breeze hit her bare skin, her clothing being peeled away to reveal the gaping wound in her side, that little bit of clarity finally hit her. She’d thought she’d be okay with letting her injuries take her and slipping away, but if that was true, why had she tried to scurry away from what could have been someone coming to put her out of her misery? Why was she letting Derrick see to her injuries?

Clearly she didn’t wanna die, not even as she was bleeding out. Maybe that would have to be her new goal. Living. It was the simplest goal she’d set for herself, and even so, it seemed near impossible in her current state.

But then, nothing in life worth striving for had an easy path to it.

“Is it…” Nanna-Fiora barely managed to get those two words out, voice cracking and weak, breathing heavy, every word a strain. “Can you… do anything? To… help?”

She breathed in, then let out a long, shaky breath, craning her neck to look into Derrick’s eyes.

“If you can’t… tell me. Don’t lie to me… Tell me if you think I can survive this…”

[Ohm]

Could he do anything to help? That was the question swirling in his mind as Fiora stared at him with eyes, dull and pale. She was less and less in control. Just breathing seemed difficult for her at the moment, let alone talking. She was fighting for the chance of both. Words did slowly come out as he struggled at keeping eye contact with her.

Could he? It was deep cut and a lot of blood had seeped out, covering her sweater in the stuff. Hell, he could barely take care of himself. One look at his face could tell you that. The worst part was he could have brought her attacker with him? Staking him out from his injuries? He had been frantically running this entire time so he hadn't checked. He didn't know, which was the worst part.

The conversation from earlier was in his mind. She had fought with a friend and thought of killing herself. She had been alone till he'd showed up asking for Stan. He'd brought his bad luck to her.

He knew one thing though, he could do something for her now, he couldn't for those Stan had hurt earlier. He could help her.

"Yo-you can. Trust me."

He stood and swung the flashlight around, looking for her bag. He ran as he did so and tripped over it in the dark and landed on his face. Over the stings of pain, he picked himself up, he picked the bag and ran back towards her.

Dropping it beside her, he slid the zipper open and rummaged through it for the medkit. Once he did, he dragged it out and forced it open and looked for what he needed. But first, he knew the wound needed to be clean before it was covered and her having laid here for god knows how long was definitely not clean.

So he took her water bottle out along with some ibuprofen and bandages. His idea was to clean it before swirling the bandages around her. It would be awkward to apply for sure, but he didn't know what else to do.

Before that though.

With ibuprofen and water bottle in hand, he put one hand behind her head and pushed into a position like she'd been sitting before opening her mouth for the 2 pills put in followed by the bottle.

[Pippi]

Her head was swimming.

She was struggling to see anything at all now, and the more she tried to focus, the harder her head pounded, so she kept her eyes shut, tilting her head back so it was resting in the dirt. She tried to focus on that, the cold earth beneath her, the cool night sky. The gentle, calming coolness enveloping her, distracting her from the wet, warm mess in her side that was slowly killing her.

Derrick had left her again. She thought she heard something over the thumping of her head and her heart. It would be so easy for him to just run and abandon her here to die and to never look back. She was in no state to get up, no state to fire her gun anymore, no state to even see anymore. He could leave her, and in the morning they’d rattle off her name and the mystery assailant as her killer, and nobody would know that he could have saved her.

But he’d said to trust him. And loathe as Nanna-Fiora was to trust any white boy, to trust damn near anyone bar herself, she had to. She was aiming to live? She had to believe in the tools she was using to help her live.

So she trusted Derrick.

And in no time at all, he was back.

She tried to open her eyes again, but as soon as they cracked open and she caught a glimpse of the flashlight’s beam, it felt like she was being punched in the head repeatedly. She screwed them shut again, allowing Derrick to sit her upright, her body little more than deadweight in his arms. She coughed, choked and spluttered as he poured the water into her mouth, but somehow, she managed to keep it down.

Now for the crux of the issue. She had no idea what Derrick had planned, but she was just lucid enough to have one, single coherent thought regarding it;

This was gonna sting.

“Okay…” Nanna-Fiora mumbled, barely able to get her words out, pulling her turtleneck further up, ready to bite down on her collar, preparing for the worst. “I’m ready…”

[Ohm]

It was working, somewhat. She didn't choke on it so Derrick assumed that so far it was a success to make the pain lesser. Fiora was cooperating with him and making things easier in her own way. She was holding her own shirt up towards her mouth as a few choice words spilled out. The words small and unsteady they were, but clear intent. She was ready.

Derrick wasn't sure if she really was, or himself for that matter, but he carried on.

Before setting her back down, he peeled off his jacket and placed it where her head would lay. It would give her some support. He slowly lowered her head back down before getting himself ready for what he was about to do. A breathing exercise as the life of another person was in his hands, even as the feeling of air in his mouth from his own wound emanated from him.

He forced himself to be calm. He could have a freak out once Fiora was safe.

Firstly, he put on the gloves he'd found inside the kit. Then with shaking hands used the soap he'd found inside the kit to soap around the wound. Putting the soap back, Derrick placed his left hand onto her with as he started splashing water onto the wound. He could hear her in pain, but he knew this wasn't the worst part. Far from it.

"That's alright. Just a little bit more." He didn't know how long he had to do this, but a few minutes was good. That's how they treated anything at home was to hold it under the sink for a few minutes. Too bad he has to use valuable drinking water to do this, but it's either that or finding a source around here and that was probably infested with lord knows what.

After a few minutes had passed or so it had felt to Derrick. He made a grab for the emergency blanket along with the bandages. He wasn't sure if adding alcohol to a stab wound would help her so he put the blanket on top of the wound and pressed with it.

This got more of a reaction than before. More than just a few moans of pain.

"Y-you can do this Fiora, just hold on."