Chain of Sorrow

[MurderWeasel]

The first shot told Karen all she had to know: her position was still unknown to her opponent. The girl fired into a bush a ways away from Karen, startling some ducks. After that, she went to the docks, stood on them, presenting a perfect target, and waited.

Patience had always come fairly naturally to Karen. Sure, she could have started shooting right there, taken the girl out, but that would have been inefficient and risky. Had she missed, she'd have been dealing with a ready, able opponent. More than that, she didn't know where Vincent was. The best result here would be to get him in her sights too. She could eliminate them both in a couple of seconds. The girl was posing, grandstanding, spreading her arms. Karen sat. Waited. Patience.

The taunting was odd. She didn't understand this girl, didn't understand the need to have contact here. They were opponents, enemies. They had nothing to talk about. Addressing Karen was silly. Did the girl think this was a game? Did she think her threats did anything but help Karen prepare? Karen had never really watched this show, but she was learning very quickly that it made people stupid. Perhaps it was the stress. Perhaps it was the cameras. The fear of looking weak, or cowardly, or somehow underhanded. Karen had none of that. The cameras were a minor irritation, a reminder of who was really to blame, who her real opponents were. The collar was the same. They did nothing to change her tactics, though. She couldn't exploit them, so they were simply extraneous information.

The girl got on her walkie talkie, calling out for Vincent. This was inconvenient. It looked like they'd be coordinating again. They were smarter together, calmer and more collected together. That changed things.

Karen raised her Glock, sighted. Her hands weren't shaking so badly now. Her breathing had normalized. This she understood.

She fired half a dozen times at the girl. Hit with maybe half of them. Her opponent tipped off the docks, dropping her walkie talkie to the ground. She fired into the bushes, making Karen tense, but the bullet missed her by several feet. Hard to aim when you were busy dying. Something to remember. The girl hit the water with a splash, staining it red. Her gun was now soaked, and presumably useless. Karen did not need more guns. She wanted the bandanna, but she did not need it. She wanted the walkie talkie, too, but it was just a passing desire.

Still, she could have all these things.

Something stopped her, though. The girl had said she could hear Vincent. That meant Vincent had just heard the gunfire. He'd be here soon. He'd probably check his ally, make sure she was dead, if she had even slipped away already. Perhaps he would loot her belongings. He seemed the type. Karen had a good angle of attack on the dock. She had all the time in the world. She was calm again. She was not prey for two hunters. She was the most dangerous person in the area, because she knew what she was doing, knew when to fight and when to hold. She didn't need to hurry. After she dealt with Vincent, she'd have plenty of time to rummage through the belongings of both her opponents.

[Cake]

Good Morning New Diary!

It looks like I might be getting out of this cesspool after all! (and back to the other cesspool that is Detroit Central, but I digress.) I met up with a fellow Orange team person, Vincent. He's killed some people, but that should be ok since that sort of thing is a 'good' thing here. He's not a bad guy really. I can deal with that. We had a plan right? To make orange team into a cohesive unit to, how should I put this? "Eliminate" people. Weird right?

But eh. I'm not the one who put myself here. In fact I don't really like this show all that much, not my cup of tea. I'm just playing by the rules, so I can go home. This show has been on for a long time anyway. People are used to it. Watching high school kids kill each other. It's generally accepted by society already. No shame in that. In fact some of those people? The ones who won... they killed too. When they got back, what happened? They became famous! Rich even! I bet that Jared Clayton boy who I saw win that one time I actually watched one of the season's Finales is rolling in dough! I heard that even some of the popular, but dead contestants had their families receive much money for their kins' appearance on merchandise and media and so on.


I'm not going to ENJOY this. NO. I won't take pleasure in wiping out other teenagers, but the fact remains that I have to do what I can to win, not just for me, but for my family too.


It's not like I'm doing anything wrong.


In fact this is all encouraged by the public. What is one logically supposed do in this situation so they may live and prosper after it's over? See my point? *Sigh*


Well Vincent's sleeping in the other room right now and I'm just keeping watch... bored. When he wakes up, we'll work on getting out of here alive. I know we can do it... but in the highly unlikely event that I somehow get killed in action I guess I should write down a few messages. Like a goodbye or something. Hoping a producers finds this and immortalizes my written last words. Ugh, so... what's the word? Depressing? Solemn? Somber? Well you get my point... but still, I wouldn't want to die without feeling like I could say my... last rites?

Blah.


James: Hiya kid! It's your older sister. If I'm gone, please just stay strong, ya hear! I don't wanna see my brother be a weakling without me there to watch out for you. Haha... I'm kidding. Maybe. Don't be a pushover. Be like me! You have all the tools I have and then some! James, make mom and dad proud. Make me proud.... Oh and you can have my laptop and all my other nice things.

Mom + Dad: I love you. Just keep on carrying on. You guys are the best parents ever. Cliche as that may sound, I mean it.

Brennan Lee 'O Brian: Hey there study buddy! Thanks for being an incredible friend. There isn't many in Detroit like you. You're going to make something of yourself someday, I know it. Oh and that girl, Alicia? I wish the best for the two of you. I just really hope you're not in this game as well. You don't deserve this. But if you are, I hope you're on orange. That way I'll know you can make it out of here. Keep fighting!

Sterling Odair: Another study buddy! Hey Sterling. Well um, thank you. For everything. Just like with Brennan, thanks for being a friend, and not just with me, but my brother James too. I really appreciate it. Keep watching out for him. Oh and if you're reading this, it probably means I'm dead anyways so might as well... Crap this sounds so silly, but... Sterling I... "like you like you" grah... that was nauseating.

Odile Jones: I always hated you and I'm sure you feel the same way but you know what? In times of crisis you proved to be not such a bad person after all. Yeah, thanks for helping me. Appreciate it and stuff. I'm being absolutely sincere. Freak. *Winks*

Amber Lyons: For some reason I just thought of you. Yeah, you and me haven't exactly seen eye to eye and if you're sitting at home watching, you'd probably enjoy watching me suffer, but if Odile can show that she isn't so bad, maybe you aren't so bad either... I gotta admit I didn't really give people a chance back home. But yeah... I just wanted to say. You have Impeccable fashion sense! Much like my own, even if you are a little trampy. Oh well. Take care of Sterling, I know he's you're friend too.

Reverend Harold: I hope you die painfully, like from a kick to the balls or something. Creep.

Eloise Winterburn: Okay this is a little secret Eloise. But if I'm dead I might as well say it. I don't know exactly what he sees in you, but my brother James 'has a thing' for you. First time he's ever shown attraction to a girl, that I'm aware of. I kind of did my best to be less of a bitch to you when I found out. Well, yeah I guess that's all.

Girl who waved baseball bat at my face: FUCK YOU!

Anna Hitchins: Sorry about Anthony. I hope you're at home instead of here. That way you get to eat our delicious sandwiches at the Cafe! Glad that our parents are friends since we were young and stuff. I'd never have gotten to know an entertaining loud mouth girl like you. I normally hate loud mouth girls... Love ya!

Vincent and Orange team: Vincent, if I'm killed and you're still around, I'd like to wish you the best. Make it out of here. You and the rest of Orange team. Steam roll this place. Show them not to fuck with Tiffany Dexter's team mates! Good luck.


Damn it feels like I'm writing a Will!

Anyway! I'm still planning on LIVING, so the above may as well be void. Should only be a few hours until the noon announcements. Take care for now Diary!

Sincerely yours, XOXO

<3 Tiffany Grace Dexter <3!



Orange #4: Tiffany Dexter, Deceased. 50 students remain.

[Fenrir]

A couple of minutes passed without incident before Vincent realised that Karen probably wasn’t going to be walking out onto the dock any time soon. Not that he could blame her; if she knew he was still walking around the lake somewhere she probably wouldn’t run the risk of being caught out in the open. In fact, she was probably hiding out somewhere just like he was trying to catch him in the open just like he was trying to do to her. Stalemate.

Problem was, he was just stubborn enough and she was most likely just patient enough that this stalemate could last for the rest of the game if need be, he would need to do something to tip things in his favour; namely, finding out where she was hiding and flushing her out.

The numerous cabins around this side of the lake were an obvious bet, but finding out which one would take time. There was also the bushes around the docks themselves but going over to check them would leave him exposed to the cabins if she was in one of the buildings instead.

Vincent stepped out from behind his cabin slowly and – when he wasn’t immediately shot down – began moving in the direction of the next closest cabin. The wood cabins would shield him from the bushes if he stayed around the back of them while the bushes would not shield him from the cabins, making this the safer option. When he got behind each cabin he would stand up and cautiously peek through the windows of each one, assuming Karen would be focusing on the docks if she was indeed still around.

As he was passing between buildings however he looked over and remembered Tiffany’s radio still sitting on the dock no more than twenty feet from the bushes that may still turn out to contain his prey. Realising that the walkie-talkie would still be on from when Tiffany spoke to him as she was shot he got an idea; pulling out his own walkie-talkie he pressed the button down to transmit and held it up to his mouth. He whistled obnoxiously into the receiver to attract attention and hoped that the volume on Tiffany’s radio was turned up high enough to be heard from the bushes.

“Karen, I’m going to take a wild stab in the dark and assume you are hiding in those bushes by the docks; I can’t tell where exactly but you seem like the type to cower in the undergrowth rather than make a last stand in one of these cabins”, it was all a bluff of course, Vincent didn’t have the first clue where Karen might be hiding but while he searched the cabins he might as well insure himself against the fact Karen was indeed hiding in the bushes with a little psychological warfare.

“My count by the last announcement tell me you’ve got at least two kills, though if Tiffany was right you also bagged yourself Marvia and her submachine gun. Add in Tiffany herself and you’ve got yourself four kills so far. Congratulations on making it this far, no really, but your little killing spree ends now”

Another peek in the windows and another empty cabin; it was starting to look more and more like Karen was actually in the bushes after all. God he hoped she could hear him and he wasn’t just talking to himself like an idiot.

“You killed my teammate, that doesn’t sit well with me. How many of those kills did you have to fight for Karen? How many of your victims died just because you got the drop on them and you got lucky with your shots, like Tiffany? My record may not be as impressive as yours but I’ve had to fight just as hard to survive as you have”

It had started as just taunting but now Vincent was starting to get a little fired up; he did have to fight to get this far – several times in fact – and he had the marks to prove it. He keep moving from cabin to cabin but now with much more force behind each step, practically marching across the lakeside; the last cabin was now in front of him and a quick glance inside showed it to be empty like all the others. Either Karen had already fled or she was in those bushes and hearing everything he was saying. Ducking behind the cabin again he began to consider his next move.

Part of him wanted to just find Karen and put a bullet in her, no matter what the means of it were as long as she was dead; but he was a fighter by nature, not the kind of person to sneak up and shoot them in the back like he was planning on doing right now. Part of him – a foolish, reckless and most likely testosterone driven part of him – wanted to face Karen out in the open, see which one of them was better and which one of them would survive. It was this part of him that spoke next.

“Let’s see how well you do when your target knows your coming”, he pulled the slide back on the Desert Eagle dramatically, popping out the bullet that was already in the chamber but he could fix that and reload later. “I’m challenging you to a dual. I’m behind one of the cabins right now, I’m coming out in five minutes and if you are not standing out in the open I am heading into those bushes and I am gunning you down”

His part said Vincent let go of the walkie-talkie’s button, not realising until now just how hard he had been squeezing the plastic device. He dropped to a knee and set is pack down on the ground and opened it up; time to check out his ammo situation more properly.

[MurderWeasel]

The silence stretched. It seemed Vincent wasn't stupid. That he was the brains of the team was somewhat surprising to Karen. It shouldn't have been. She shouldn't have taken anything for granted. Assumptions led to death. She wasn't dying here. She had to fight smart. That meant knowing exactly what was going on at all times. She listened: no sounds of movement, at least, none approaching her. The ambient noise had gone a bit quieter, though. He was still somewhere in the area.

She peeked between the branches of the bushes. Nothing. He was doing something. Time to move.

She moved slowly, carefully. There was danger here. She kept the Glock ready. If Vincent peeked out, she'd eliminate him. If he was far away, she'd switch to the assault rifle, use a burst to scare him off, buy some time.

Then the radio came to life. It was on the docks. She jerked, but didn't fire. It took nearly no time for her to figure what was happening. Vincent was trying his hand at basic strategy. He was trying to keep her still, keep her scared, while he worked his way into a better position. Presumably, he was afraid she was going to cut and run while he was out of her sight. He thought he knew a lot about her. Maybe he did. It wasn't for her to judge. She just knew that he talked too much. Also that he was afraid. He was afraid, and he wasn't even really talking to her. He was trying to talk himself up, convince himself that he was really capable of taking her on.

It gave her the confidence to quickly make her way to the end of the dock. The body was floating there, in the water. Karen had to be sure the girl was dead. No surprises.

A glance made it very clear that she was. Her gun had sunk out of sight. Her blood was spreading. It was different, a corpse in water. Karen thought it looked almost pretty.

She didn't know how she felt about that. A little sickened, perhaps.

She leaned over, set her gun down, allowed herself one moment of weakness. Vincent wasn't subtle. He'd telegraph an incoming attack. It only took her a couple of seconds to get the bandanna free. She stuffed it into her pocket, pulled herself back into a crouch. Time enough to tie it on later. For now, she grabbed her pistol again, turned and scanned the houses. Nothing. This had taken a couple of seconds.

Then: the offer.

A duel. Killer on killer. Menace on menace. Five minutes to prepare, to get herself as ready as she could, figure an approach, get the drop on Vincent, get onto the roof and shoot him from ambush. She didn't even have to think about it.

She was leaving in seconds, walking backwards at first, in the opposite direction Vincent had told her, walkie-talkie stuffed into her pocket.

She thought for a second that the whole thing was a trap, to get her to drop her guard. She thought he'd come careening around the cabins, gun blazing. Soon, though, it became clear Vincent was as good as his word. Five minutes to get clear, then. No reason to fight. She'd made enough of an impression on one of the bigger threats on the island. She'd broken up a potentially-dangerous team. She was uninjured, and had expended relatively little ammunition. Mission accomplished. She'd even gotten the walkie talkie. At the moment, it was useless, so far as she could tell, but she might be able to find some way to make use of it later. It provided her with access to Vincent, at least.

So she left. She could probably have beaten Vincent. She wasn't scared. She'd had a plan. He'd been playing stupid, giving her time, trying to formalize things. He was scared, like she'd been at the start. He was trying to limit her options. He knew she was creative, knew she was a danger when given free reign. He'd probably be jumping at shadows once the five minutes passed. She hoped it took him a long, long time to work his way out of hiding. She hoped he'd think twice if he saw her again.

But, for now, what was important was that she was away from them, and moving on. She'd find somewhere safe, set up shop, and wait this out. Deal with anyone who stumbled upon her, then blaze through the finals, when everyone else was starved, wounded, weakened, and out of ammo.

Sounded like a plan.

((Karen Ruiz continued in The Mourning After))

[Fenrir]

He probably should have gotten around to doing this sooner, sorting out his ammunition that is, because if he had needed to get into a gunfight before now he might have been very surprised to find out how few bullets his gun actually held. Four bullets weren’t going to be enough to win any fight unless he got ridiculously lucky with his aim.

Still, since the Desert Eagle held at most seven bullets in its clip at one time it seemed like Isaac had only ever fired the gun once when Vincent grabbed him followed by the two that Vincent put in his head, so as far as ammo supply went he was pretty well set.

Once Vincent had fiddled around with removing the half full magazine from the pistol and fiddled some more with refilling it with the oversized .50 calibre rounds from the box provided, he was happy to find that they had been so kind as to provide him with a second empty magazine as well which he also filled up. Fourteen bullets didn’t sound like much on paper but it was hopefully more than he would ever need to fire at one person.

He’d get around to counting exactly how many bullets he had later, but for now he settled on sliding the full magazine back into the Desert Eagle with a snap and put the other one in his left pocket. It occurred to him now that giving Karen five minutes to prepare would have gone better if he actually had a watch, but he assumed that him messing with the gun had taken that much time and stepped out from behind the cabin, pistol held up on front of him while he held the boat oar on his left side.

He wasn’t surprised not to see Karen waiting for him on the dock; instead he felt a mixture of disappointment and relief that was difficult to sort through. He took a quick glance around the clearing in front of the cabins and saw nothing. He checked each of the windows for movement he saw nothing there either. He pointed his gun straight at the bushes where he had determined his adversary to be hiding earlier and charged straight in, swinging his oar like a machete to churn to foliage up and found nothing.

For a moment he panicked; the idea of an opponent being somewhere around him he didn’t know with a gun trained on him was not one he was comfortable with. He spent a few seconds looking frantically around him, his eyes moving from shadow to shadow, window to window while he tried to look outwardly calm. The fact he had not yet been shot – and the knowledge that Karen was not one to turn down an open target like this – calmed him down however. Karen must have already left.

She must have fled after his little challenge, deciding to use that five minute prep time to get her shit and leave before he came looking for her; the fact that the walkie-talkie was no longer on the dock gave credence to the theory.

Exhaling and relaxing slightly, though not letting up his grip on the gun even a little bit, Vincent decided to follow her example and leave as well. Once he had taken care of some business of course.

First up, finding Tiffany’s body. He walked out onto the dock, his heavy footfalls sounding out loudly from the wooden surface, and looked down into the water. His former teammate’s lifeless body floated face down in the water, her arms and legs submerged and her face hidden. Grimacing he crouched down on the edge of the dock and grabbed a hold of the fabric of her cardigan, bunching the material into his hand and pulling her up.

She was a light girl, much lighter than Vincent himself and she came up out of the water with ease, her body settling onto the dock as Vincent took a few steps back to make room and set her down. He rolled her onto her front and stepped back for a better look; she had three bullets holes bored through her cardigan and into her torso, the blood having mostly avoided staining the material and instead running into the water around her.

Vincent turned to look up at her face before turning away; he reached out to pull her eyelids closed more out of a desire not to have to look into those lifeless eyeballs rather than out of respect. As he was doing this he noticed that something was missing from her attire, the bright orange bandana that had previously adorned her bicep was now missing. He wondered if maybe Karen had something to do with that since he doubted the knot would have come loose by itself; that certainly seemed like something she’d do, take a trophy from each victim like a psychopath.

His gaze moved further down and he noticed something that Karen hadn’t taken, presumably because it had been submerged when she had found Tiffany while the bandana was not. Still clutched in Tiffany’s cold, wet hand was the Colt Anaconda that served as her main weapon. It took some time to wrangle it from her deathly grip but soon Vincent had another weapon to add to his collection – weapon collection, not trophy collection.

He felt a little bad about robbing from someone who was supposed to be his partner in this game, but he justified it with the fact that Tiffany would want him to have this and unlike in most uses of the phrase it wasn’t bullshit. Tiffany was the practical type of person, Vincent might not have known much about her but he knew that much. He would want him to take whatever supplies he could from her for the benefit of the team as a whole, rather than have them buried with her out of some sense of respect. Which reminded him, he needed to go find her pack after this.

He opened the chamber on the revolver with a click, the four bullets falling from the gun and onto the dock. The weapon was soaked, not necessarily a problem for such a simple, uncomplicated gun; he just needed to dry it out before putting any more bullets in it and it would be fine. The rounds on the other hand were screwed, the gun powder probably soaked solid and with a serious chance of blowing up in his face sound he try and use them.

Shaking the weapon a bit to loosen the water on it a bit, he placed it in his right pocket and left it to dry for now. Standing up he looked down at the body in front of him and wondered what to do with it; couldn’t just leave it out her on the dock and pushing it back in the water just seemed wrong. Not to say he wouldn’t do it anyway if it was someone else but his teammate deserved a little more respect than that. Looking around he quickly reminded himself that there were several perfectly good building right behind him and bent down to scoop up the girl in front of him.

He hurried over to the nearest cabin before it could occur to him that he was carrying a wet, dead corpse bridal style and kicked the door open with a bang, walking over and settled Tiffany down on the bed. Considering his duty to her now done Vincent turned and walked away, grabbing his pack from where it lay and beginning to walk the long way around the lake once again. He would swing by a pick up Tiffany’s pack on the far side of the lake and then get the hell out of here.

Find his other teammates, force them to work together, win the game. And if possible, grant Karen a slow and painful death along the way.

(Vincent Sullivan ORA1 continued in Reflection)