((Faye Xandora continued from Chill and Rigor))
Faye was thinking of home.
It wasn’t pleasant. It filled her with an aching sense of longing, for warmth that she wouldn’t find, for her soft bed and a fridge filled with food. It made her think that every sound in the distance was her parents calling to her. Each time she was convinced that was what it was, her heart would lurch one way, desperate to rush to their embrace, before it lurched the other, horrified at the prospect that they’d found their way to this place, this town of murder and fear.
They were bittersweet thoughts, emphasis on the bitter, the comforting memories of home fuzzy and obscured at the edges of her mind, like a distant dream.
But they were still preferable to thinking of Clover’s body again, or of each and every name rolled off on the announcements.
So Faye looked up at the apartment and thought about home. The two buildings couldn’t have felt more different. Undoubtedly, there was rose-tinted sweetness affecting her memory, but her house back in Denver felt like… well, a home. She thought of the bright white porch at the front of the building, the deep maroon of the front door, the front yard filled with slightly too many flowers. Her father had always been an enthusiastic yet absent-minded gardener. She thought of the sunlight streaming through the window in her top-floor bedroom and the smell of whatever brand-new hand soap her mom had bought for the kitchen and she thought of footsteps clumping up and down stairs as she was studying or reading in her room, and she thought of every little thing that she never even knew was a part of her house, and she missed home more and more.
This building in front of her wasn’t a home. It was a grey stucco box coated in tiny windows and with a mass of weeds dropped in front of it. It was a place to rest your head and regain your energy for another day of work, and rinse and repeat as you dreamed of an actual home to live in, and nothing more. There were no lights on, even in the windows that weren’t boarded up or smashed. There was nothing inviting about the place in the slightest.
It wasn’t actively oppressive, however. Not like the outside was. Not like the garden they were currently standing in, gnarled weeds and roots threatening to ensnare her legs and drag her down. Not like the curling shadows popping into view whenever she shone her flashlight on anything. Not like the pitch blackness in the alley beside the building or pressing at her back, the darkness that could be hiding somebody, or countless numbers of people, armed to the teeth and with nothing but murder on their minds.
“We should head inside…” Faye murmured, looking up at Mo, making no attempt to hide her fear.
Quietus
Phase 2 (13-24 Hours), Private
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((Muhammad Abbasi continued from Chill and Rigor))
Faye hadn’t spoken much since they’d departed from the market, seemingly deep in thought. Mo didn’t mind too much, it was certainly preferable to travelling alone, regardless of how much they happened to talk. It prevented him from getting caught up in his head so much.
Now, the two of them stood before an ominous-looking apartment, a place that might just have to serve as shelter for the night. Not that much of anything around here didn’t start to look ominous as shadows and darkness began to encircle it all. He stared into a window, wondering if perhaps he might catch a glimpse of someone or something within.
It was Faye’s voice, quiet though it may have been, that turned his focus away.
She wanted to go inside. The expression on her face, like the tone of her voice, was as frightened as ever. Mo was slightly disappointed that his presence had done little to comfort her, but he knew that any recovery from what she’d been through would take time, perhaps more time than they had.
“I’ll go first… but stay close.” He added the last part just in case. If there was someone inside, it’d be good to have an ally at his back.
Stepping through the doorway, Mo found it difficult to discern much about the interior, much of it being shrouded in darkness. He blinked forcefully, trying to help his eyes adjust better. Mattresses and other such furniture were strewn about the floor. Despite how little he could see, he got the sense of the place being filled with some sort of sickness, some sort of rot.
Mo tightened his grip on his hatchet, reaffirming its presence in his right hand. He definitely wasn’t fond of the location, but he couldn’t really afford to be picky. Craning his head around, Mo turned to face Faye once again.
“Anything catch your eye?” He asked quietly, hoping to lighten the oppressive atmosphere of the place.
Faye hadn’t spoken much since they’d departed from the market, seemingly deep in thought. Mo didn’t mind too much, it was certainly preferable to travelling alone, regardless of how much they happened to talk. It prevented him from getting caught up in his head so much.
Now, the two of them stood before an ominous-looking apartment, a place that might just have to serve as shelter for the night. Not that much of anything around here didn’t start to look ominous as shadows and darkness began to encircle it all. He stared into a window, wondering if perhaps he might catch a glimpse of someone or something within.
It was Faye’s voice, quiet though it may have been, that turned his focus away.
She wanted to go inside. The expression on her face, like the tone of her voice, was as frightened as ever. Mo was slightly disappointed that his presence had done little to comfort her, but he knew that any recovery from what she’d been through would take time, perhaps more time than they had.
“I’ll go first… but stay close.” He added the last part just in case. If there was someone inside, it’d be good to have an ally at his back.
Stepping through the doorway, Mo found it difficult to discern much about the interior, much of it being shrouded in darkness. He blinked forcefully, trying to help his eyes adjust better. Mattresses and other such furniture were strewn about the floor. Despite how little he could see, he got the sense of the place being filled with some sort of sickness, some sort of rot.
Mo tightened his grip on his hatchet, reaffirming its presence in his right hand. He definitely wasn’t fond of the location, but he couldn’t really afford to be picky. Craning his head around, Mo turned to face Faye once again.
“Anything catch your eye?” He asked quietly, hoping to lighten the oppressive atmosphere of the place.
((Charlie continued from Junkyard Nights))
As it turned out, there was only so far that one could be carried by adrenaline, and as it turned out, Charlie had been subsisting primarily off of that for most of the day so far.
So as evening came around, she found that fatigue was setting in, and setting in hard. The Program was on a level beyond any of her drills or exercises she'd been through in the past. Even the most arduous of activities in the cadets didn't come close to the Program; the multi-day drills over the summers had always been broken up by breaks and proper mealtimes.
Her father had been disgruntled when he heard about that. 'The enemy isn't going to stop and wait for you to take dinner in the field,' he'd said, those pale pair of eyes piercing through Charlie like it was her fault for going along with the instructors.
Actually there were just rules against drilling youth cadets too hard. She'd researched it herself afterwards, though had still kept those findings to herself. It wasn't Basic.
One other aspect that training hadn't encapsulated was the very real threat of death. It hadn't covered the feeling of jangling nerves accompanying ever sound, every raised voice or distant crack of a gunshot. It hadn't prepared her for the feeling of fighting for her life and killing somebody else.
Charlie sat huddled in a tiny room in a dilapidated building, her back to the door. The house itself was spartan and unwelcoming, only really a few rooms large. Hardly the lap of luxury, but Charlie couldn't afford to be picky. It was sheltered, it was dry, and it was much warmer and much safer than blundering around in the dark all evening.
She'd considered securing the main area of the building, given there was both a front and back door, then eventually come to the decision that it was time and energy better spent resting and recuperating. Between what had happened with Dyne and the encounter in the scrapyard, along with the fact she'd been walking around all day, she was coming to the limits of her reserves.
Besides, this room was small, dark, and opened inward. Moreover, the single window to the outside was old fashioned, shuttered. Nobody was reaching her without her knowing about it first.
At some stage in the building's life, the room was used for storage. It was cramped, stacked with cardboard boxes and tightly stuffed shelves. Nothing especially useful at a cursory glance, and Charlie wasn't going to root through everything on the off chance she'd find something she could use. She had a knife already. Still, a box was a better place to sit than the floor, and placed up against the base of the door along with her back, there was enough weight to buy her a few seconds if someone somehow made it to her.
It wasn't until the whiff of chicken and soup hit Charlie's nostrils that she realised how hungry she was, and she tore into the MRE ravenously. She had to force herself to slow down and chew, take smaller bites. The last thing she needed was indigestion. She still ate quickly, however. Never knew when she might be interrupted and have to abandon the meal, regardless of the fact she was pretty well stocked at the moment.
After the day she'd had, this was practically gourmet dining.
Just as she was finishing, taking a few final sips of water, Charlie heard a sound that set her nerves alight once again.
Footsteps.
Someone was inside.
Charlie swallowed, glancing to the window. She had to leave.
Or... well, did she?
The objective here was to be the last one standing. She couldn't be the last one standing if she backed out of every encounter. It didn't matter that killing Dyne set her guts twisting, that she saw that ruined face whenever her thoughts wandered for a brief instant. The goal hadn't changed, even if her experiences had made stark the reality of that goal.
What if the intruder had a gun, or was better armed? What if they weren't alone, like Vaitaki in the junkyard? It was better to be prudent, wasn't it?
Except sooner or later, Charlie was going to have to face up to a gun, or someone else being in an advantageous position. Those that had drawn firearms weren't all going to obligingly shoot one another, and the longer she delayed making a move, the better equipped any potential rivals were going to be. She'd heard gunshots, even if the announcement hadn't made clear that some killers had shot others dead.
She couldn't delay this forever. Any rationale to retreat was nothing more than fear of doing what was necessary.
Stop looking away.
Charlie shifted the box out of the way of the door, and then crept her reach up to the handle. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled down, opened the door inch by inch. No sound, or so little as to make no difference.
The narrow beam of a flashlight was moving around the main room. Charlie edged back and then picked up a dusty and anonymous can, the label faded.
She took a breath, cocked back her arm, and then hurled the can across the room, in the approximate direction of the light.
As it turned out, there was only so far that one could be carried by adrenaline, and as it turned out, Charlie had been subsisting primarily off of that for most of the day so far.
So as evening came around, she found that fatigue was setting in, and setting in hard. The Program was on a level beyond any of her drills or exercises she'd been through in the past. Even the most arduous of activities in the cadets didn't come close to the Program; the multi-day drills over the summers had always been broken up by breaks and proper mealtimes.
Her father had been disgruntled when he heard about that. 'The enemy isn't going to stop and wait for you to take dinner in the field,' he'd said, those pale pair of eyes piercing through Charlie like it was her fault for going along with the instructors.
Actually there were just rules against drilling youth cadets too hard. She'd researched it herself afterwards, though had still kept those findings to herself. It wasn't Basic.
One other aspect that training hadn't encapsulated was the very real threat of death. It hadn't covered the feeling of jangling nerves accompanying ever sound, every raised voice or distant crack of a gunshot. It hadn't prepared her for the feeling of fighting for her life and killing somebody else.
Charlie sat huddled in a tiny room in a dilapidated building, her back to the door. The house itself was spartan and unwelcoming, only really a few rooms large. Hardly the lap of luxury, but Charlie couldn't afford to be picky. It was sheltered, it was dry, and it was much warmer and much safer than blundering around in the dark all evening.
She'd considered securing the main area of the building, given there was both a front and back door, then eventually come to the decision that it was time and energy better spent resting and recuperating. Between what had happened with Dyne and the encounter in the scrapyard, along with the fact she'd been walking around all day, she was coming to the limits of her reserves.
Besides, this room was small, dark, and opened inward. Moreover, the single window to the outside was old fashioned, shuttered. Nobody was reaching her without her knowing about it first.
At some stage in the building's life, the room was used for storage. It was cramped, stacked with cardboard boxes and tightly stuffed shelves. Nothing especially useful at a cursory glance, and Charlie wasn't going to root through everything on the off chance she'd find something she could use. She had a knife already. Still, a box was a better place to sit than the floor, and placed up against the base of the door along with her back, there was enough weight to buy her a few seconds if someone somehow made it to her.
It wasn't until the whiff of chicken and soup hit Charlie's nostrils that she realised how hungry she was, and she tore into the MRE ravenously. She had to force herself to slow down and chew, take smaller bites. The last thing she needed was indigestion. She still ate quickly, however. Never knew when she might be interrupted and have to abandon the meal, regardless of the fact she was pretty well stocked at the moment.
After the day she'd had, this was practically gourmet dining.
Just as she was finishing, taking a few final sips of water, Charlie heard a sound that set her nerves alight once again.
Footsteps.
Someone was inside.
Charlie swallowed, glancing to the window. She had to leave.
Or... well, did she?
The objective here was to be the last one standing. She couldn't be the last one standing if she backed out of every encounter. It didn't matter that killing Dyne set her guts twisting, that she saw that ruined face whenever her thoughts wandered for a brief instant. The goal hadn't changed, even if her experiences had made stark the reality of that goal.
What if the intruder had a gun, or was better armed? What if they weren't alone, like Vaitaki in the junkyard? It was better to be prudent, wasn't it?
Except sooner or later, Charlie was going to have to face up to a gun, or someone else being in an advantageous position. Those that had drawn firearms weren't all going to obligingly shoot one another, and the longer she delayed making a move, the better equipped any potential rivals were going to be. She'd heard gunshots, even if the announcement hadn't made clear that some killers had shot others dead.
She couldn't delay this forever. Any rationale to retreat was nothing more than fear of doing what was necessary.
Stop looking away.
Charlie shifted the box out of the way of the door, and then crept her reach up to the handle. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled down, opened the door inch by inch. No sound, or so little as to make no difference.
The narrow beam of a flashlight was moving around the main room. Charlie edged back and then picked up a dusty and anonymous can, the label faded.
She took a breath, cocked back her arm, and then hurled the can across the room, in the approximate direction of the light.
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Pippi
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Faye nodded, at first, still struggling to find her voice and rip it from her throat without opening the floodgates with it. A moment passed before she realised that, in the shade of the night, Mo almost certainly hadn’t noticed the action, small and sudden as it had been. Faye could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she murmured “Okay,” and followed Mo into the building.
It was a subtle kind of torture, sticking with Mo. The longer she spent by his side, the more she’d feel safer and more secure with each passing minute, until she once again wanted nothing more than to hold tightly to him and never let go. Then the doubt would start to sink in, the fear and realisation that there was no-one, nobody at all that she could trust, and she’d start wondering when the next ambush would happen, when they’d next get attacked, when her erstwhile ally was going to backstab her.
And then she’d desperately search around for some form of comfort, some rock to cling to, and she’d see Mo there, and the entire cycle would start over again.
Was it better than struggling out there by herself? That was something Faye could answer, even if the answer was only ‘slightly’. The images of Clover’s body had stopped popping up so frequently, for a start. She still didn’t feel right, but something was better than nothing. Small comforts were still comforts.
The inside of the building was just as inviting as the outside. Faye’s nostrils tingled, every surface coated in a fine layer of dust, particles hanging in the torch beam. She stepped carefully, the floor covered in more mattresses than carpet in places, many of them with jagged springs poking out, at least three in every one of the tiny rooms. She gingerly stepped over them, avoiding a pile of cardboard boxes and whacking her ankle on a long-dead potted plant in the process. She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, the copper taste filling her mouth. Better that than giving her location away to anyone hiding in here.
“Ugh…”
She spat the blood out onto the ground before answering Mo.
“Nothing really,” she whispered. “I guess that’s, like… a good thing, though. This place just looks like a rundown old house. Hopefully that means that nobody-“
She hit something again, even though she wasn’t moving, and this time she couldn’t mask her cry of pain as the heavy can hit the exact spot that she’d smacked her ankle a few moments prior. She could feel tears in her eyes, even as she shoved her flashlight into Mo’s hands so she could get both her hands firmly on her crossbow.
There was somebody else in here. Somebody who wasn’t content to just stay in their hiding place, or even to stay open and upfront and not hide at all, someone whose way of greeting was to throw something at whoever encroached on their ‘territory’. Somebody who meant trouble.
There was only one entrance to the room, and Mo and Faye had just walked through it. Faye stepped forwards, moving in front of Mo, and walked deeper into the room, ready to swing her crossbow at the first sight or sound of anybody.
It was a subtle kind of torture, sticking with Mo. The longer she spent by his side, the more she’d feel safer and more secure with each passing minute, until she once again wanted nothing more than to hold tightly to him and never let go. Then the doubt would start to sink in, the fear and realisation that there was no-one, nobody at all that she could trust, and she’d start wondering when the next ambush would happen, when they’d next get attacked, when her erstwhile ally was going to backstab her.
And then she’d desperately search around for some form of comfort, some rock to cling to, and she’d see Mo there, and the entire cycle would start over again.
Was it better than struggling out there by herself? That was something Faye could answer, even if the answer was only ‘slightly’. The images of Clover’s body had stopped popping up so frequently, for a start. She still didn’t feel right, but something was better than nothing. Small comforts were still comforts.
The inside of the building was just as inviting as the outside. Faye’s nostrils tingled, every surface coated in a fine layer of dust, particles hanging in the torch beam. She stepped carefully, the floor covered in more mattresses than carpet in places, many of them with jagged springs poking out, at least three in every one of the tiny rooms. She gingerly stepped over them, avoiding a pile of cardboard boxes and whacking her ankle on a long-dead potted plant in the process. She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, the copper taste filling her mouth. Better that than giving her location away to anyone hiding in here.
“Ugh…”
She spat the blood out onto the ground before answering Mo.
“Nothing really,” she whispered. “I guess that’s, like… a good thing, though. This place just looks like a rundown old house. Hopefully that means that nobody-“
She hit something again, even though she wasn’t moving, and this time she couldn’t mask her cry of pain as the heavy can hit the exact spot that she’d smacked her ankle a few moments prior. She could feel tears in her eyes, even as she shoved her flashlight into Mo’s hands so she could get both her hands firmly on her crossbow.
There was somebody else in here. Somebody who wasn’t content to just stay in their hiding place, or even to stay open and upfront and not hide at all, someone whose way of greeting was to throw something at whoever encroached on their ‘territory’. Somebody who meant trouble.
There was only one entrance to the room, and Mo and Faye had just walked through it. Faye stepped forwards, moving in front of Mo, and walked deeper into the room, ready to swing her crossbow at the first sight or sound of anybody.
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Catche Jagger
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As Mo looked back at Faye, he saw her step forward awkwardly before stopping and spitting. The act seemed odd, but the boy decided to ask her. Still the questions came to his mind. Did she hurt herself? Swallow a bug?
As the girl began to answer his question, Mo saw something fly through the air, followed by a thud as the object made contact with Faye’s ankle, a metallic sound of something clattering to the floor, and finally Faye letting out a strained cry. He instinctively moved to check on his companion, only to be stopped in his tracks as she shoved her flashlight into his hand and proceeded forward.
Faye seemed dead set on finding the source of the errant metal… thing, and Mo immediately knew that this was a terrible idea. He really wanted to put his trust in Faye, but it was clear that the Program had taken a toll on her psyche and she was liable to escalate a situation that didn’t seem past salvaging to the boy. In addition, Faye’s name had come up over the announcements fairly recently, identifying her as a killer, which would further add to their troubles if someone recognized her.
“Faye… Faye!” He called in hushed tones as he rushed to step in front of the girl, almost tripping over one of the mattresses as he did. When he managed to catch her, he took a deep breath and handed he the flashlight back, whispering “Please… Let me handle this.”
He tried to give a reassuring grin like he knew what the fuck he was doing, even though his own ideas seemed like a long shot. The announcement had confirmed that many of his classmates had turned to playing, though it was possible that some had forced like Faye or had been some kind of mistake. Or maybe that’s just more wishful thinking. Beginning to step forward, Mo cleared his voice before speaking up and addressing the can-thrower.
“Hello.” he spoke in as reasoned a tone as he could muster, “We’re not looking for any trouble, just some place to camp out for the night. Look, you threw that thing instead of rushing out and attacking us, which makes me think you’re not looking to play. Well, neither are we.”
Who would have thought that, with a girl like Faye and a situation like this, Mo would have to be the friendly face?
It’s because you’ve perfected the art of kissing the asses of people who are offended by your existence. The thought came unbidden. No, he had to focus, be present. Right now, he wasn’t just responsible for his own well-being, but Faye’s as well.
“Come on, this place is big and I’m sure we can give each other enough space, if that’s how it has to be.”
As the girl began to answer his question, Mo saw something fly through the air, followed by a thud as the object made contact with Faye’s ankle, a metallic sound of something clattering to the floor, and finally Faye letting out a strained cry. He instinctively moved to check on his companion, only to be stopped in his tracks as she shoved her flashlight into his hand and proceeded forward.
Faye seemed dead set on finding the source of the errant metal… thing, and Mo immediately knew that this was a terrible idea. He really wanted to put his trust in Faye, but it was clear that the Program had taken a toll on her psyche and she was liable to escalate a situation that didn’t seem past salvaging to the boy. In addition, Faye’s name had come up over the announcements fairly recently, identifying her as a killer, which would further add to their troubles if someone recognized her.
“Faye… Faye!” He called in hushed tones as he rushed to step in front of the girl, almost tripping over one of the mattresses as he did. When he managed to catch her, he took a deep breath and handed he the flashlight back, whispering “Please… Let me handle this.”
He tried to give a reassuring grin like he knew what the fuck he was doing, even though his own ideas seemed like a long shot. The announcement had confirmed that many of his classmates had turned to playing, though it was possible that some had forced like Faye or had been some kind of mistake. Or maybe that’s just more wishful thinking. Beginning to step forward, Mo cleared his voice before speaking up and addressing the can-thrower.
“Hello.” he spoke in as reasoned a tone as he could muster, “We’re not looking for any trouble, just some place to camp out for the night. Look, you threw that thing instead of rushing out and attacking us, which makes me think you’re not looking to play. Well, neither are we.”
Who would have thought that, with a girl like Faye and a situation like this, Mo would have to be the friendly face?
It’s because you’ve perfected the art of kissing the asses of people who are offended by your existence. The thought came unbidden. No, he had to focus, be present. Right now, he wasn’t just responsible for his own well-being, but Faye’s as well.
“Come on, this place is big and I’m sure we can give each other enough space, if that’s how it has to be.”
There was a dull thud and a yelp of pain, feminine and alarmed. The beam of the flashlight jerked wildly, although it didn't come too close to illuminating her. Wouldn't take much to light her up, though. The slightest flick of the wrist and Charlie was a deer in the headlights.
Her heart was pounding. She crept forward again, sliding smoothly between door and frame, every nerve in her body alight, ears straining for the slightest of sounds she could be making.
Her unwelcome guest was not making any such efforts to be stealthy as they marched forward. A shadowy figure only visible by silhouette, backlit by the flashlight--
--Behind them.
Shit.
There was more than one person in the room.
No sooner had the thought arrived than a voice spoke out. A name first—Faye—and then a greeting. The beam of light moved again. Definitely not a woman's voice. Measured, surprisingly calm. Still not somebody she could identify by speech alone, although there was certainly a familiarity to him. If she had a face, Charlie didn't doubt she could match up voice to person immediately.
The question was whether she wanted to.
Charlie knew Faye. Better than she'd known Dyne. Better than Vaitaki, actually. Sweet girl, outgoing.
Also, Charlie reminded herself, someone who had killed.
The male voice was still talking. Charlie closed one eye, attempting to protect her night vision from the beam of light and the potential for being dazed if she caught it in the face.
She slid out along the wall, keeping her left shoulder tight against it. Who could Faye's partner be? Another killer, like Whitman or Sexsmith? She couldn't rule out the possibility.
She had to be smart and decisive. They knew she was here. That had taken retreat off the table, but not stealth. The flashlight was still pointing towards the far side of the room, not the wall Charlie was continuing to advance along. She was very close to flanking them both, now.
She drew the knife silently from its sheath, grasped it backhanded.
She barely dared breathe.
There wasn't enough space for more than one. That was what the Program was.
Charlie sprang into action, launching herself up from her crouch. A vicious backhanded swipe aimed first for just behind the beam of the flashlight, attempting to knock it away and wound the holder's grip.
Keep-moving-just-go-don't-think.
Charlie twisted around and kicked out and down, angling a stomping attack towards the other student's knee area.
Her heart was pounding. She crept forward again, sliding smoothly between door and frame, every nerve in her body alight, ears straining for the slightest of sounds she could be making.
Her unwelcome guest was not making any such efforts to be stealthy as they marched forward. A shadowy figure only visible by silhouette, backlit by the flashlight--
--Behind them.
Shit.
There was more than one person in the room.
No sooner had the thought arrived than a voice spoke out. A name first—Faye—and then a greeting. The beam of light moved again. Definitely not a woman's voice. Measured, surprisingly calm. Still not somebody she could identify by speech alone, although there was certainly a familiarity to him. If she had a face, Charlie didn't doubt she could match up voice to person immediately.
The question was whether she wanted to.
Charlie knew Faye. Better than she'd known Dyne. Better than Vaitaki, actually. Sweet girl, outgoing.
Also, Charlie reminded herself, someone who had killed.
The male voice was still talking. Charlie closed one eye, attempting to protect her night vision from the beam of light and the potential for being dazed if she caught it in the face.
She slid out along the wall, keeping her left shoulder tight against it. Who could Faye's partner be? Another killer, like Whitman or Sexsmith? She couldn't rule out the possibility.
She had to be smart and decisive. They knew she was here. That had taken retreat off the table, but not stealth. The flashlight was still pointing towards the far side of the room, not the wall Charlie was continuing to advance along. She was very close to flanking them both, now.
She drew the knife silently from its sheath, grasped it backhanded.
She barely dared breathe.
There wasn't enough space for more than one. That was what the Program was.
Charlie sprang into action, launching herself up from her crouch. A vicious backhanded swipe aimed first for just behind the beam of the flashlight, attempting to knock it away and wound the holder's grip.
Keep-moving-just-go-don't-think.
Charlie twisted around and kicked out and down, angling a stomping attack towards the other student's knee area.
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Pippi
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There were so many things Faye wanted to say as Mo stepped in front of her, so many words trapped in her throat and just stuck behind her lips. So many things she wanted to say that never came out, as everything spiralled out of control in front of her, and she did nothing but shake with terror, limply taking the flashlight back into her hands.
There was no point in trying to reason with people out here, because sooner or later, everyone was going to realise the same thing; no help was coming. There would only be one person walking out of here alive. No matter your decision, that fact wasn’t going to change, so you had to either get busy dying or get ready to kill. There were already people out here who’d killed, or were planning on killing; that ‘sooner’ part had already happened. And poor Mo, poor, brave, stupid, stupid Mo, had got everything completely backwards.
Faye could feel her breathing growing faster and more out of control, the beam of light from her hand shaking wildly as she tried to keep her focus on both Mo and at the far side of the room. It didn’t matter that whoever was in this room hadn’t immediately tried to gun them down, or rush them with a sword or club. They’d still tried to hide out of the way and hurt them, keep out of sight even as Mo was delivering his peace treaty. This wasn’t someone who wanted company. This wasn’t a friend. This was someone who wanted to drive away anyone who got near their nest.
Crouching predator or cornered prey, either one was equally dangerous.
She had to move. She had to do something, something more than Mo’s ineffectual words, words like throwing ball-bearings at a tank. Actions spoke louder, but only if you were prepared to act.
Faye stepped forwards, but Charlie had been prepared to act before she had even stepped inside the building.
She saw the faint outline of movement in front of her, before blinding pain etched into her hand and shot through the rest of her body, blade and fist ramming into her grip and sending the flashlight spinning out of sight, the beam pointing into a corner of the ceiling.
Faye stumbled and fell, collapsing onto her back, a whimper escaping her lips as tears flooded her vision. She could feel blood pouring down her wrist, streaking down her arm and dripping to the floor, and she couldn’t move her ring or little finger, couldn’t even feel them anymore. She choked, sobbed, desperately scrambled up as she heard the sound of more movement, and of bodies hitting each other.
She should have acted quicker, should have been stronger, should have pushed Mo aside and riddled this person full of arrows. But ‘could-have-beens’ and ‘what-ifs’ did nothing for her. Actions did. There was still time to act.
With her left arm still shaking, Faye squeezed the trigger, firing the pistol crossbow in the direction of her attacker.
There was no point in trying to reason with people out here, because sooner or later, everyone was going to realise the same thing; no help was coming. There would only be one person walking out of here alive. No matter your decision, that fact wasn’t going to change, so you had to either get busy dying or get ready to kill. There were already people out here who’d killed, or were planning on killing; that ‘sooner’ part had already happened. And poor Mo, poor, brave, stupid, stupid Mo, had got everything completely backwards.
Faye could feel her breathing growing faster and more out of control, the beam of light from her hand shaking wildly as she tried to keep her focus on both Mo and at the far side of the room. It didn’t matter that whoever was in this room hadn’t immediately tried to gun them down, or rush them with a sword or club. They’d still tried to hide out of the way and hurt them, keep out of sight even as Mo was delivering his peace treaty. This wasn’t someone who wanted company. This wasn’t a friend. This was someone who wanted to drive away anyone who got near their nest.
Crouching predator or cornered prey, either one was equally dangerous.
She had to move. She had to do something, something more than Mo’s ineffectual words, words like throwing ball-bearings at a tank. Actions spoke louder, but only if you were prepared to act.
Faye stepped forwards, but Charlie had been prepared to act before she had even stepped inside the building.
She saw the faint outline of movement in front of her, before blinding pain etched into her hand and shot through the rest of her body, blade and fist ramming into her grip and sending the flashlight spinning out of sight, the beam pointing into a corner of the ceiling.
Faye stumbled and fell, collapsing onto her back, a whimper escaping her lips as tears flooded her vision. She could feel blood pouring down her wrist, streaking down her arm and dripping to the floor, and she couldn’t move her ring or little finger, couldn’t even feel them anymore. She choked, sobbed, desperately scrambled up as she heard the sound of more movement, and of bodies hitting each other.
She should have acted quicker, should have been stronger, should have pushed Mo aside and riddled this person full of arrows. But ‘could-have-beens’ and ‘what-ifs’ did nothing for her. Actions did. There was still time to act.
With her left arm still shaking, Faye squeezed the trigger, firing the pistol crossbow in the direction of her attacker.
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Catche Jagger
- Posts: 743
- Joined: Tue May 28, 2019 7:40 pm
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
Mo swallowed, his throat beginning to feel a bit dry. No reply had come to his pleas for some sort of discussion or peaceful coexistence.
What more could he say? Was he missing something? Even with the assistance of Faye’s flashlight, his view of the room was quite limited, and had no idea where the stranger might be. He couldn’t even be certain that there was just one of them.
Then, from out of the darkness came a blur of furious motion that seemed more projectile than human in the force and precision that it seemed to exhibit as it blasted past Mo and towards Faye. He began to turn to face whatever it was, but he barely had the chance to crane his neck before Faye’s light seemed to go out and he felt a powerful force blast into the back of his left leg, knocking him off balance and ending him down on one knee.
In an instant, everything had gone wrong. This wasn’t another frightened classmate, like Faye had been, but something more akin to a cornered animal, thinking only of survival. Mo had been wrong, and now he and Faye might just pay the price for his mistakes.
The boy’s mind buzzed with thoughts, feelings, regrets, none of which managed to form much in the way of coherency. All that could be clear was that he needed to stop this attack and keep Faye safe. He’d made a promise to her, to himself. Until the very end.
Mo forced himself to his feet and spun on the spot, free hand reaching out to grab a hold of their assailant. A single word came forth from his mouth: “Wait!”
The cry was raw, one final plea that things not go this way, though the boy did not know himself who the call was directed at. Was it for the unknown assailant, who had seemingly already lost themselves to the Program? Was it for Faye, the girl on the verge of losing herself who might be forced to kill again? Was it it instead a command to his own hand as it gripped his hatchet, trying to prevent himself from doing what now seemed necessary?
Then, he heard something whistle through the air, followed by a soft thunk. Faye had fired her crossbow, but had she hit. Mo’s mind was already to busy to question whether that was a good or a bad thing.
What more could he say? Was he missing something? Even with the assistance of Faye’s flashlight, his view of the room was quite limited, and had no idea where the stranger might be. He couldn’t even be certain that there was just one of them.
Then, from out of the darkness came a blur of furious motion that seemed more projectile than human in the force and precision that it seemed to exhibit as it blasted past Mo and towards Faye. He began to turn to face whatever it was, but he barely had the chance to crane his neck before Faye’s light seemed to go out and he felt a powerful force blast into the back of his left leg, knocking him off balance and ending him down on one knee.
In an instant, everything had gone wrong. This wasn’t another frightened classmate, like Faye had been, but something more akin to a cornered animal, thinking only of survival. Mo had been wrong, and now he and Faye might just pay the price for his mistakes.
The boy’s mind buzzed with thoughts, feelings, regrets, none of which managed to form much in the way of coherency. All that could be clear was that he needed to stop this attack and keep Faye safe. He’d made a promise to her, to himself. Until the very end.
Mo forced himself to his feet and spun on the spot, free hand reaching out to grab a hold of their assailant. A single word came forth from his mouth: “Wait!”
The cry was raw, one final plea that things not go this way, though the boy did not know himself who the call was directed at. Was it for the unknown assailant, who had seemingly already lost themselves to the Program? Was it for Faye, the girl on the verge of losing herself who might be forced to kill again? Was it it instead a command to his own hand as it gripped his hatchet, trying to prevent himself from doing what now seemed necessary?
Then, he heard something whistle through the air, followed by a soft thunk. Faye had fired her crossbow, but had she hit. Mo’s mind was already to busy to question whether that was a good or a bad thing.
The slash landed well, the impact resounding hard and fast, the light source pinwheeling off and away, scattering until it cast nothing more than a faint glow on the far wall. There was a cry and a heavy impact, a fall.
Kick next. The connection was good, and she felt her classm—the target's—leg buckle from the force. Had the element of surprise caught him out? Would it leave him out of the game long enough?
Keep moving. Stop thinking.
There was a shout. Charlie blocked it out.
Then there was a thwip, and Charlie certainly could not block that out.
Excruciating pain burst out from her side as a hot white lance slammed into the edge of her abdomen. Charlie yelled out, a yelp that was somewhere between anger and fear, stumbled, nearly fell. Wetness spread out from the point of impact, warm and cloying.
Keep-moving-keep-moving-keep-moving.
Charlie dove forward for the source of the pained whimpers, drove down her knife, stabbing in a overpowering motion, pulled back, down again, down again.
Kick next. The connection was good, and she felt her classm—the target's—leg buckle from the force. Had the element of surprise caught him out? Would it leave him out of the game long enough?
Keep moving. Stop thinking.
There was a shout. Charlie blocked it out.
Then there was a thwip, and Charlie certainly could not block that out.
Excruciating pain burst out from her side as a hot white lance slammed into the edge of her abdomen. Charlie yelled out, a yelp that was somewhere between anger and fear, stumbled, nearly fell. Wetness spread out from the point of impact, warm and cloying.
Keep-moving-keep-moving-keep-moving.
Charlie dove forward for the source of the pained whimpers, drove down her knife, stabbing in a overpowering motion, pulled back, down again, down again.
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Pippi
- Posts: 1121
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- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Faye still couldn’t see anything in the near total darkness, mind swimming with pain and fear, but she heard it. She heard the soft, muted, damp sound of the crossbow bolt hitting its target, even through the cacophony of movement, she heard the sound of her attacker crying out in pain. Elation flooded Faye’s mind, relief and righteous glory filling it up before she could realise she was mentally celebrating hurting, maybe even killing, somebody again.
She had to. She had to kill to survive. She might shoot first, if she had to, but she’d never draw first.
Faye instinctively relaxed momentarily, sitting herself up. She lowered her crossbow and attempted to stand up.
And in that moment, everything ended. She felt her attacker, still not dead, wounded, but alive, and angry, crash into her, knocking her back down again, and she screamed in terror, crossbow ripping free from her loosened grip and clattering to the floor. She could feel the other person on top of her, pressing into her, keeping her pinned to the floor.
Faye had time to breathe, once, before the knife came down and she was screaming in terror and pain again, a burning sensation searing through her chest, and then another one driving into her stomach, and again, and again, blood spilling out of her and pooling down her sides and into her mouth, her mouth that was desperately screaming out, begging for her attacker to stop, pleading for Mo to run, nothing but fear in her mind now, as the knife sank deep into her, again, and again, and again.
Finally, it pierced Faye’s heart, and she coughed up blood one final time before everything mercifully stopped.
[[F16: FAYE XANDORA – DECEASED]]
She had to. She had to kill to survive. She might shoot first, if she had to, but she’d never draw first.
Faye instinctively relaxed momentarily, sitting herself up. She lowered her crossbow and attempted to stand up.
And in that moment, everything ended. She felt her attacker, still not dead, wounded, but alive, and angry, crash into her, knocking her back down again, and she screamed in terror, crossbow ripping free from her loosened grip and clattering to the floor. She could feel the other person on top of her, pressing into her, keeping her pinned to the floor.
Faye had time to breathe, once, before the knife came down and she was screaming in terror and pain again, a burning sensation searing through her chest, and then another one driving into her stomach, and again, and again, blood spilling out of her and pooling down her sides and into her mouth, her mouth that was desperately screaming out, begging for her attacker to stop, pleading for Mo to run, nothing but fear in her mind now, as the knife sank deep into her, again, and again, and again.
Finally, it pierced Faye’s heart, and she coughed up blood one final time before everything mercifully stopped.
[[F16: FAYE XANDORA – DECEASED]]
Good connection. Better connection.
And 'connection' was a much better way to think about it, an easier way to phrase things than describing it as feeling hot blood spurting out from Faye—Xandora as the blade pierced into her again and again.
Faye screamed. Charlie tried to close her eyes and then forced them open again. At least look. At least have the guts and the basic goddamn decency to look at what you're doing.
Who you're killing.
Her side was burning with agony and every additional movement sent another burst of hot flames across her stomach and back as the object piercing her was jostled.
She was going to be sick. She told herself it was from the pain.
How many times had she stabbed Faye? Enough to stick. She wasn't struggling so much any longer.
Charlie wouldn't be able to take on the other one in this state.
She forced herself up, stumbled, and then darted for where she knew the exit was. Out, she was out.
((Charlie Cade continued elsewhere))
And 'connection' was a much better way to think about it, an easier way to phrase things than describing it as feeling hot blood spurting out from Faye—Xandora as the blade pierced into her again and again.
Faye screamed. Charlie tried to close her eyes and then forced them open again. At least look. At least have the guts and the basic goddamn decency to look at what you're doing.
Who you're killing.
Her side was burning with agony and every additional movement sent another burst of hot flames across her stomach and back as the object piercing her was jostled.
She was going to be sick. She told herself it was from the pain.
How many times had she stabbed Faye? Enough to stick. She wasn't struggling so much any longer.
Charlie wouldn't be able to take on the other one in this state.
She forced herself up, stumbled, and then darted for where she knew the exit was. Out, she was out.
((Charlie Cade continued elsewhere))