We Own The Night

[Wham Yubeesling]

God, it felt like he was invisible, as if this conversation would have gone exactly the same way had he chose to stay away from this circle.

But, admittedly, that felt fairly ideal for Maxwell. It felt like death could claim him far more easily than at any other point in his life so he supposed, given the inevitability that this situation would eventually go to shit, that at the very least he wasn’t one of the two threatening to shoot the other. That gave him options. He could make a plan in his head to maximize the chance that death would not yet claim him when the shooting started, he could just opt to leave this conversation now so that he wouldn’t be around when one of Wendy and Bunny made an attempt on the other, but…

No, he had an obligation. For Chuck and for himself. He wanted to at least see if the five of them could actually have a conversation and all walk away from it relatively not dead. He wanted to see if there was a way out of this game that allowed more than one survivor.

And he had a plan for that. He’d shared it with Chuck only… god, it had only been a few hours ago when Saachi had fallen. He wasn’t sure whether the plan would work out at all, there was a very real chance that tonight would end with him and the other four all dead, but a part of him still felt that it was worth trying. A part of him did genuinely value the idea that all five of them could survive this.

...If only for himself, of course. The odds were that reducing their class to one only gave him a one-in-five chance of survival, so he was personally all ears for anything that would increase his odds or do away with that system altogether. It attracted attention — possibly made that one-in-five chance something less — but now being visible was to his liking. All-or-nothing on this bet felt enticing.

“I’d say that there’s worth in trying to talk our issues out,” he said, moving his head around so that he could address the whole group. “Victor said that people were coming for us earlier today, so maybe if we choose to we can wait until they arrive, allow the chance of all of us making it out of here alive.”

He paused. Briefly looked away from the other four. There was no way that he could make this next part sound appealing.

“Of course, there’s also the chance that Victor will blow our heads off the moment those people arrive, but it’s a risk I’m perfectly willing to take. I don’t see why we should let their game end the way they want it to.”

[General Goose]

This was not exactly a stable environment. It wasn't exactly conducive to a fruitful debate or permissive of reasoned and honest discussion. Chuck should not have been surprised by the barely masked vitriol, by the petty sniping and antagonistic back and forth that seemed to flourish whenever he wasn't talking. He didn't want to get too sanctimonious about his own level head and composure, but it was hard not to feel some sort of superiority complex, that he was the one most suited to adopt a leadership position to try and engineer some sort of rebellion against the schemes of the terrorists. It was, he knew, a measure of his own good fortune that he didn't have a personal vendetta against anyone here or wasn't, to his knowledge, hopelessly lost to PTSD or a bundle of neuroses and psychoses.

But he was clearly the most rational guy here, and so it was his duty not to be...sidetracked by these personal biases, these personal foibles, to keep in mind the bigger picture, the societal implications, the context of all the suffering and paucity and tests of character they had all endured. Chuck could see that his idea was, with the exception of Maxwell, likely viewed as stupid or unfeasible or folly by the others here. But that was no reason to back down. No. He would make one concession to the harsh reality of the island, and that was that he would not show weakness.

Except for physical weakness. He couldn't really help that, though, being all short and weedy.

Bunny and Wendy were...the worst. Which, you know, not surprising. He couldn't remember the exact names - Chuck had been sloppy in analysing and retaining the data here - but they had been prolific. Kris had a kill to her name, but only one if he remembered correctly. But Bunny and Wendy? Oh, going by the announcements, if they all did survive this, then a criminal inquiry into their behaviour would be in order. Sure, duress was a great excusing factor, but multiple kills and this level of animosity seemed to suggest going above and beyond the terrorist call of duty.

Chuck scratched his head through his hat at Wendy's words. And at Bunny's, he pushed his glasses up his nose, giving him the cover to roll his eyes. “When I suggested peace talks, that was before all the talk about face shooting.”

Chuck wasn't going to complain too much, though. They were talking. Even if for only a moment, his suggestion had won. And Maxwell...everything Maxwell was saying was right, but it was not helpful. These were not people who were in a fit state to weigh up the pros and cons and the pertinent ethical considerations about the 'wait and see strategy', so Maxwell, however innocently, planting in their minds the idea that conversing would merely be a stalling tactic until collars detonated and heads popped was not a helpful intervention. But Chuck didn't respond to it. Didn't want to draw attention to it. Talking about talking was a bad idea, and so he would, without comment, steer the conversation away. And so he said the first thing that came to mind.

"So, we can just...talk about our experiences. I killed Saachi."

[Cake]

"Not gonna lie. If there was anyone to warrant that kind of experience, it would be her. I mean, let's face the universal truth. Some people deserve to die."

A quick side eye.

"Saachi was one of them. Won't really know it til you experienced it firsthand, but I'm guessing you did, Chuck. Kay, I admit I didn't witness it. All I know is that my friend, Scarlett, warrior that she was and poster child for everything innocent and good died by the same terrible person who terrorized Yumi and Felicia, plus so many others. That's part of why I like you Chuck, aside from the fact you're so darn cute. Something needed to be done and you did it, cause I'm betting there would not be any real peace with someone like her around."

Another quick side eye. Folded hands as she looked at the others in their picnic turned 'support circle'. At the girl standing, staring at the fire. Wendy liked her.

"As for my experience, well I've been looking for a decent pair of pants, sadly no luck," Wendy chuckled a little at her own misfortune. "Flower meadow was nice, saw a bunch of butterflies there, beautiful orange ones, but they were all over Panya's face. Bridgette stabbed her there you see, right in the neck. Then Bridgette tried to do the same to me, but unlucky for her the tar pit swallowed her up. Sure loved those tar pits."

Wendy stared off dreamily for a second, still examining G19's behavior in wonder. This one was different, unique, something to truly admire for the curiosity it was. If she could just merely observe G19 she would, but she was currently on the spot. Priorities within their circle of course. However the fire had taken the girl's priority, as much as previous flames had taken Wendy early on. A similar awe or enthrallment in a certain force of nature which she could relate and recognize.

"I met with Scarlett and my friend Everett at the scorched ruin, while looking for help, cause my other friend, Kasumi was hurt real bad. Oh and Bunny was there too. Not sure why she was pretending she wasn't shooting people at the lake, but she totally was shooting people at the lake. She spat a nasty loogie at me for telling the truth and then... Then she gunned down Everett for me and Scarlett to see."

One deep breath as Wendy stopped with the side eyes and turned for a clear-as-day glare.

"People do the craziest things - when you kill their friends," Wendy gritted out. "Or people they respect. Especially when it's right in front of them."

The image of the Shadow Man, flashed into Wendy's mind, the bus, their teacher's face, the terrible power in the terrorist's hand. The sound. The splatter. Inches from her seat.

"Just like what happened on the bus, to our- to our teacher." There was a tremble within her, what felt like a tear forming in her eye at the memories, which she quickly wiped away in favor of a ditzy smile she attempted to wear as per normal. However, it was cracked, distorted from the rush of emotion.

Something needed to be done about the terror man too. That monster was one of them, one of the some, in the universal truth.

"I'm all for singing Kumbaya in peace near the fire boys. Heck, all I wanted was a picnic anyway. I know most of you think I'm a dumb blonde cheerleader, but even I'm not dumb enough to believe we can pull this off with all these weapons tempting those trigger fingers."

Right Bunny?

"We should get rid of that temptation."

Wendy lifted the Dragunov, but quickly dislodged the clip, scattering the few bullets to the ground before stepping up and placing it into the barrel bonfire, making brief eye contact with G19: Kristina Hartmann, as she did so. Wendy lifted a hand 'hi' in acknowledgement. Not really expecting one in return.

[Deamon]

She watched. She watched as the girl monologued and recited her tale. Fluid, coherent and precise. Save one detail. Her own presence, disrupting the speech. The looks made her way. As she watched she saw the slip, the play falling away. The actor falling out of character.

There was some truth in it all but the conclusions were wrong. The end they desired was not the one they could receive. It sat out of reach, too high but low enough for them to try. The entire image a trick of the fire, flicking in and out of existence with the dancing of the flames.

The fireflies hummed in her ear and she assuaged their complaints. The others listened as the gesture was made. Their eyes met and she grinned. She saw her.

Grin still present she moved closer, gaze fixed, seeing through everything.

"My experience?"

Her hand formed into a fist and was raised just above the flames. The feeling splashing over her fingers and running down her arm.

She opened her hand and let the nothingness fall out.

[Pippi]

Ugh. What a drag. This was going a lot more smoothly than she had thought it would.

She narrowed her eyes as everyone spoke in turn, all nice and polite and orderly, talking about their experiences, about staying peaceful, about their experiences on the island, about inane crud that made it sound like they’d just had a pleasant weekend out camping on the island or something. Well, aside from the fact that they’d been talking about all the people they’d murdered, but the tone was the same! And, hey, Bunny had never been camping before, maybe this was exactly how it usually went.

But all that aside, Maxwell had decided to stop being an irrelevant buzzing noise in her ear, and had said the most pertinent thing he’d, well, probably ever said; that if nobody started killing soon, then nobody won. Everybody’s collar got pulled, everybody died, the only thing the terrorists would be collecting would be discarded weapons, and maybe a few bulky bodybags if they were feeling generous.

And what was everyone’s reaction to that? To ignore it. No, not even that, to actively fast-forward their own demise. Maxwell accepting they might all get killed for their stupid dumb moronic peace talks, Wendy dumping the bullets out of her – Bunny’s – sniper rifle, still trying to pull the innocent waif card. And nobody was falling for it, and rather than the chaos she had been expecting from everyone trying to talk peace after days of hiding from each other and killing each others friends… everyone was just accepting it. Talking as if shooting your best friend in the back was just something that happened, every now and again.

She would give it a little longer. See if the powderkeg would spark into life. If not, she had the tinderbox ready and waiting in her hands.

Bunny looked for a moment at the bullets, scattered on the floor, then at the burning bit of firewood that used to be a rifle, then up at Wendy, eyebrow raised, lip curled into a smirk.

“Nah,” she said, adjusting herself so the machinenpistole was perfectly visible to all and sundry. “I’m not an idiot.”

She stretched and yawned, keeping one eye open and one hand firmly on the grip of her gun as she did so. She cast a long look around at each of the other members of the final five, before speaking again.

“Y’see, the issue with all this is that you’re, like, trying to justify the shiznits you’ve done, trying to justify why you killed a bunch of people, but there is no justification, dummies! Not due to what other people had done to you, not due to what the terrorists have said, nothing. You can have any reason behind all the people you murdered, but, hey, guess what, you still murdered them!”

She looked at Chuck, gestured at him.

“You killed Saachi. Doesn’t matter what she did beforehand, you’re still a murderer. Blood on your hands.”

At Wendy.

“You’re still trying to play the innocent card, Wendygo? Seriously? You’re dumping all the bullets out of your gun after you’ve killed, what, 5, 6 people? I don’t think you’re dumb and blonde, I know it. Blood on your hands.”

Maxwell. She paused for a moment, then waved dismissively.

“You can, like, jump off a cliff for all I care.”

Finally, Kris. She stared at the girl for a while, longer than she had at Maxwell. This, she had to admit, was the sticking point, the wild card that was preventing her from making any big moves. She was making Bunny kinda uneasy! Not that she showed it, she was far too talented an actress for that, but she had a great big smile on her face, and soft spoken words, and she had left her hand so close to the fire, the fire that reminded Bunny of the blaze in the cottage, without flinching, without blinking.

Wendy had killed because she was stupid, Chuck had killed through some sense of bravado and justice or whatever, Maxwell had... well, less said about him the better. Kris? She didn't know.

“I liked you better when you were quiet. You're weird, and creepy, and you've killed as well, so, like. Blood on your hands too.”

She breathed for a moment, and rolled her shoulders.

“None of us are innocent. So what’s the point in trying to talk peace when the damage has already been done?”

[Wham Yubeesling]

“I don’t know about that,” Maxwell said to Bunny, bringing his right arm up near the sling. “I’m still standing, and even if my path hasn’t been the cleanest, I’m still fairly sure my presence here disproves your point.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he was taking the effort to respond to what she was saying. Given the comparative lack of effort she’d taken into attempting to demonize him, given how little worth his words had had on the rest of the group, given the fact that what she’d said about him was right, in a way, he was highly doubting that what he’d say here would have impact in any sort of long run. Given how the three girls around him seemed to be itching for something to happen, given how… increasing volatile all these words seemed, he highly doubted that these peace talks were going to work. He highly doubted that this confrontation was going to result in anything meaningful.

And yet his mind still felt it fit to keep on trying regardless. Still felt that it was best he lie to Bunny, pretend the red stain on his hands was from some sort of paint. She had fired into the dark with what she said, failed to hit anything meaningful, but still hit something, all the same. Still allowed him to fit in with everyone else, into the crux of her argument.

…

Whatever.

Not as if she knew about what he'd done.

Not as if she was in a position to preach about moral supremacy.

...

He breathed out. Let his right arm drop. Gave the best grin he could, given the situation. Took a small step backwards, just to be safe. Detonation was imminent, but there still seemed worth in keeping up appearances. Pretending as if all this was going to work out fine.

“As for me…” He paused. Pointed at Kris. “I think her gesture suits my experience fairly well. I talked to people. I tried to help them. I tried to do as much good as I possibly could…”

He paused. Breathed out again.

“But in the end, all that’s amounted to nothing. All who are left of those people I talked to are Chuck here, and…” He paused again. Looked at Kris, “...you, I guess." He turned his attention back to the group as a whole. "All that's left that I can do can only happen here.”

[General Goose]

Firstly Wendy spoke. Chuck nodded along when she mentioned Scarlett. "I knew her. On the island, I mean." He threw it in as a light interruption, not to take away from Wendy's speech or to try and seize the conversation for himself, but a small aside, an extra bit of context, an extra reason to trust him. Wendy had kills to her name, sure, but Chuck was inclined to trust her. His opinion had changed quickly, and maybe that was a sign of gullibility on his part, he was cognizant of that, but he liked what he was hearing.

And, as far as he knew, there was no bias or cognitive discordance there. Sure, people were bad at identifying their own logical fallacies, but still. He spoke with a mindset formed entirely by his experiences on the island, school life having long been abandoned as a useful lens through which to judge someone. He could barely remember Wendy from before, same with everyone still alive, and what he did remember, it was with the vividness and lucidity.

Okay, maybe there was a little bit of bias. Wendy had been normal. Compliments. Small talk. Tangents. Name dropping. All those little facets of conversation that Chuck had grown to miss.

Maybe she was playing a long con. But Chuck didn't care for speculation of that sort. He didn't have the energy or the acumen to get all caught up in theorising about double bluffs, power plays, facades, and the like. Didn't have the resources, in terms of information or mental wherewithal, to fact check the stories that she had weaved. And, perhaps most profoundly, he enjoyed it. He knew he was likely dead soon, and any circumstance in which he wasn't dead soon would almost definitely involve trauma and heartbreak. Not a reassuring thought. No, much better to live in the moment. Not normally his philosophy - to paraphrase David Mitchell, the range of pleasures available that required no fore planning or post facto contextualisation was limited - but appropriate for now. He would relish every chance for normal human social interaction. Any reminder that, hey, for eighteen years, he'd had a good life.

Then she suggested adding teeth to the detente, and putting down the weapons. Chuck lowered his own, but didn't let go. Not entirely. He wouldn't be the last one. Especially as attention wasn't currently on him. It tore at his conscience, making such a sharp detour to paranoid realpolitik, but it was what it was.

Then Kris did something weird.

Then, before Chuck could analyse that, Bunny was an asshole. Okay, the whole 'putting down the weapons' deal was an unwarranted exercise in trust anyway, and in a way Chuck was happy that Bunny took the moral dirt from shooting down the plan, but still. What an asshole. And everything else that followed was just more asshole. "A court of law would exonerate me," he meekly muttered, in response to her accusation, before doubting whether 'exonerate' was the right word.

She clearly struggled for something cutting to say to Maxwell. Chuck took pleasure in that. And when she finished her rant, he already had a line ready.

"We're all more innocent than you, Bunny." Chuck sighed. "And people who aren't innocent can't talk peace. They..." He fought off the urge to quote Littlefinger. "If we were all innocent, there'd already be peace, so you can only talk peace, as a matter of logic, when innocence isn't complete, when some damage has already been done. So it follows that people who aren't innocent can talk peace." A final exercise in argumentative logic. Chuck enjoyed it, even though he was now ninety percent sure he should have just quoted Littlefinger.

Maxwell, for his part, had seemingly understood Kris's gesture. If he got the chance, Chuck would ask him for clarification. He doubted there would be an opportunity for side chats, though.

"So, yeah. This sucks."

[Cake]

"..."

For once, chatterbox that she was, Wendy had no words.

She backed away - slowly, to the comfort of her blue cooler, back to the safety net which was her fishly companion. She sat.

The image she had just seen had her shook. As if the girl she had waved at knew exactly what would bother her, disturb her to the highest degree, literally. The embers had danced on up the fingers, the hand, a little of the forearm.

Only instead of the girl with the expression ever unchanged now changed to include a disconcerting smile, it was Wendy drenched in the light of those flames, staring back at Wendy.

It was an illusion. That last part at least. The smell of burnt hair, flesh?-whatever it was, said otherwise. Krissy really did just do that.

On the other hand that was exactly what this call for peace had become. Not one of them put aside their firearms as she had requested. Bunny as expected, refused to do it. No one wanted to lose their power. It revealed the truth and confirmed exactly what she had feared. It wasn't real.

There was satisfaction in having the rifle she had taken from Bunny turn into firewood, as Bunny went on a tirade against them all, but it wasn't enough to lift her spirit much on anything else.

Fortunately she still had another prize won off Bunny. But pulling it out and taking her problems out on her adversary right then and there, wouldn't exactly endear her much to the others at this stage. Even if letting her stay was a really dumb idea.

Her nails scraped into her forearm.

Was she really the only one who could see this. Or be phased at all by the insanity clearly going on by the bonfire? No one else seemed to be the least bit phased.

Perhaps she was smarter than she thought. Or at least the only sane one left. Right Mr. Dolph?

Either way Chuck had proved one thing. Even through the hostility, they were sitting here talking up a storm, passing time, not killing each other. Maybe the picnic would work out after all.

[Deamon]

They saw what they wanted and said much the same. Everything a spiral of the same behavior. She held her hand over the flames a little longer, the girl stepped back and spoke no more. Her ability to continue the act stunted, her play disrupted.

She removed her hand from the fire and placed it against her chest. It was warm for a moment. She let it fall.

The other girl started talking, the one who craved the spotlight. She had much the same reaction. Uncomfortable when faced with the truth.

The others all spoke but she kept her eyes on the predator with the prey's name, taking her in. Her posture, her voice, her act. It was funny in a way, but then it never truly was supposed to be.

Then she chose to speak.

"Blood and peace are the same."

She ran her eyes over everyone, voice the same.

"They're temporary just like everything else."

[Pippi]

She was taking some comfort from Wendy right now. A fact she hated to admit, but one that was undeniably true. It was nice to see that the other girl was just as unnerved by Kris as she felt. Of course, Wendy wasn’t very smart! And wasn’t very good at acting, either, no matter how convincing she seemed to think she was being. So she was just letting her emotions show freely, letting everyone around her see what she was thinking. Which was very, very stupid, in a game of inches like this.

Wendy blinked first, and that was how Bunny knew she’d outlast her.

Not that this situation was anywhere near perfect; far from it, in fact. She thought she understood what Kris was trying to say, sort of, but that was more than she could say for Chuck and Maxwell, who didn’t seem to understand heck all. She rolled her eyes, especially at… whatever it was Chuck was trying to say. As far as Bunny could see it, he was trying to make 2+2 equal 10, and acting as though he was a genius for believing it.

She made a tutting noise, scratching an itch on the back of her wrist, playing out the possible scenarios that could stem from this, before she decided to speak.

“Okay, evidently need to lay this out clearly for you dummies,” Bunny said, speaking slowly, both because, well, it was obvious she needed to use small words and give them all plenty of time to analyse each syllable. But also so that she herself was absolutely sure she knew what she was saying.

“I don’t care if you’ve played this more innocently than me. I don’t care if you’ve played this cleaner than me, heck, I don’t care if you’ve played this cleanly at all! Do you know who else doesn’t care? Danya? Danya doesn’t care! He’s not going to go ‘hmmm, maybe, actually these kids are right, lets let these ones go because they tried their very hardest’!”

Bunny glanced at Kris, momentarily, not really wanting to look at her for longer than that. Girl was nutso creepy.

“If we keep on going like this, then yeah, peace will be temporary because they’re just gonna blow all our collars! That’s it! Nobody wins! All these days of bullshit and pain, wasted, just because you were too much of a pussy to get your hands dirty right at the very end!”

She breathed. She was getting away from herself, here. Getting carried away. They were just so stupid, so self-righteous, and it just made her really, really mad!

“Are you really willing to sacrifice everything just so you can have the moral high ground?”

[Wham Yubeesling]

“...Yes.”

He tried his best to look Bunny in the eye as he let go of the trident. He saw it topple to his right, heard it clang against the ground, and gave it no more attention. He took a moment to readjust his position — make sure he could still stand without anything to help support his leg, make sure he could place weight on it without having the pain scream out — before he continued.

“Victor said that boats were going to come to us. It was also true that he said he’d blow our collars if they got too close, but…”

He paused. Took a breath.

“Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. All I know is that there’s a chance of winning this game on something other than their terms. All I know is that either way, if we choose to drop our weapons, we all stand a chance of beating this game.”

[General Goose]

Chuck had nothing to say. Nothing to add. The lines were clear. Well, as clear as they were ever going to be. No further chatter, no further debate, would reveal anyone else's position, would reveal if Wendy was being dishonest or if Maxwell was getting cold feet or if with a bit more prodding Bunny would give up or if there was any internal logic to whatever the fuck Kris was saying.

Maxwell's retort, so crisp and unambiguous, so resolute and determined, opened up a clear opportunity. Chuck took a step back, and bent his knees so he could place his bag on the floor. Crossbow and gun were soon on the ground. Out of reach, hopefully out of mind. He had a mental plan in place, for how to grab them if bullets started flying again - because he knew that this plan would be a whole lot easier to execute if Bunny spontaneously combusted - but he wanted to show his willingness to take a risk, to put his own neck on the line, to show a form of bravery that didn't entail further violence or confrontation.

He stood back up. Nodded with Maxwell's words.

[Cake]

One after another was the clattering of items suddenly falling to the floor. Wendy’s eyes traced them, as she slowly snapped back from her temporary daze brought forth by the embers of her own campfire,with each drop.

First Maxwell’s as Wendy looked back up, with tentative eyes as he spoke with his actions.

Wendy’s glow returned.

Then she observed Chuck do the same.

Her smile widened with every new motion.

They were actually following through, with her example. Nobody ever listened to her before, so easily dismissed. It warmed her inside a tad.

Only there was an issue. The two boys, as good as they may be were essentially powerless: they should have made Bunny lose her power first, before they lost their’s.

Good thing Wendy had a spare.

“Already burned the one I had,” she nodded toward the bonfire, which Krissy had now seemingly laid claim to. “Oh yeah! I forgot about this one...”

Wendy spoke up, revealing the smaller concealed firearm she had also taken from Bunny.

She moved with enough time and motion to show that she had the opportunity to take every single one of them or at the very least got rid of Bunny if she had chosen to. Oh did she want to. Deep down she knew they all felt the same way. Simply put, Bunny sucks.

“Bunny should drop her stuff next, right into the fire with her other one.”

She spoke to the boys, without turning away from her island grown nemesis. Concealed carry held steady in hand.

“Love the plan boys, but we all know this picnic isn’t happening, unless she loses her stuff ASAP.”

The implication being that the bitch would not hesitate to ruin their picnic and gun them all down once she knew everyone else was powerless.

“So go on Honey Bunny, your soup is getting cold.”

[Deamon]

It was funny, watching them. Words shot over the flames with the same intent as bullets. There was no cover on offer, but still, they possessed the ability to hide and so they did. They made the motions, took the actions and followed the steps of the dance.

She did not.

It was a show on a singular stage, all the world an audience, if they had the stomach for it. Although the seams were starting to show and the characters starting to slip. Lines not rehearsed were inserted to try to combat the unexpected, revelations that were supposed to remain unknown were brought to the surface.

She watched as the tension ramped up, meanwhile, the air dried as act one completed. Act two was eager and she knew it's time was approaching. The fireflies hummed and she felt them tug against their prison. They were not calmed or quieted, their freedom was ever approaching, closer than their own, and she did not want to deny them the excitement.

Another weapon appeared and the two girls were left matching flint. The spark soon to be produced.

A standoff born of ignorance.

It would have been sad if it wasn't so funny.

The smile reformed as she stood there, the fire attempting to warm her.

Her eyes left the girls and moved to the boy who had spoken. She had heard him, but he had not done the same. He merely spoke again, continuing the spiral. She focused on him and spoke.

"You don't know."

[Pippi]

Bunny’s lip curled, as she stared up at the Three Stooges surrounding the bonfire, the three dumbasses who, in their self righteous, holier-than-thou jerkoff session, were trying to get everybody here killed, just to say ‘I told you so’ whilst playing frisbee with their halo and strumming on their harp and watching Bunny burn forever and ever in hell. Because clearly, that was what they wanted, what they expected. To sit on a cloud and for St. Peter to pat them on the shoulder and go ‘Hey, sweet job killing everybody and also yourself and making all these deaths totally pointless, buddy’.

What the heck had it come to where Kris was the person she was agreeing with here the most?

God, she was getting real pissed off now. Kris was the only one who seemed to see how dumb this whole ‘peace talk’ plan was, but she was just being weird and enigmatic rather than doing anything about it. By any rights, this entire group should have just imploded and splintered, turning into chaos with Maxwell at its epicentre, but no, they were too stupid to even do that.

And now, somehow, she’d been backed into a corner, because Wendy had somehow popped another gun out of her sleeve, like a bunny in a hat. This one didn’t go into the fire. It was held steady, pointed at nobody, aiming at the ground. It didn’t need to do anything more. Its intentions were clear enough.

Bunny squinted slightly. Goddamnit. That was her gun as well.

She locked eyes with Wendy, no longer able to hide her anger and frustration. There was only one question to ask herself, now; really, the only pertinent question she’d needed to answer her entire time out here. What did she do now? Make a move, she might die. Wendy clearly didn’t mind more bloodshed in order to get 5 minutes of peace. If she didn’t move, she’d definitely die.

There was only one option, here, wasn’t there?

“You’re all fucking retarded,” Bunny spat. She swung the machinenpistole up as fast as she could, rebelling against the aches and scars covering her body, and held the trigger down, firing in a wild arc as she pushed herself backwards off of her seat, into her scant cover.