I Love the Dark.... But I Hate Nature

[D/N]

(Eris Marquis continued from Break Out, Break Out)

I am a god in my own history
The master of the game

In a game like this, given the fragilties of the developing teenage mind, it would actually make sense that so many children would snap under the pressure of their own mortality. Children like Wade Wilson, or Lenny Priestly. Like Blood Boy and Gabriel Theobaldt. Ivye Dewley, Melina Frost and Will Sigurbjornnson and so many others. All children who had, for one reason or another, turned into killers. Brutal killers in many cases, delivering as much pain as possible to their victims.

Eris Marquis was NOT one of those people.

Oh, to be sure, there was probably some psychological disorder one could assign to her to explain her actions. But Eris did not care about inflicting pain, or petty revenges, or whatever passed for thoughts as they flew through the heads of the aforementioned students. For her, it was all quite simple, and so logical.

Was she damned by heading down this path? Was she throwing her future away? Perhaps. But it was simply the best option available. Better to have a lost future than none at all. And more importantly, if she did not win this, someone else would. Likely one of THEM. Another Southridge imbecile, one who had helped deny her the power she deserved back in the halls of the high school. Oh no, not them. That was what drove her the most. She was, in a word, MORE than they were. More intelligent, more mature, more fit than they.

And this was, after all, Survival of the Fittest.

Now standing on the landing strip, Eris wrinkled her nose. Not at the corpses surrounding her, but at the disused nature of the place. Planes were downed, moss and vines growing all over them. The hangers and tower had fallen into disrepair. A place like this was supposed to show a mastery over nature. Grass and dirt crushed between metal and glass, pavement and human ingenuity. Instead, nature had taken over once again.

When I win this, she thought, I'm going to have a long discussion with Danya in regards to his choice of island.

Well, at least she was alone. The air was almost gloriously quiet, and not a human soul was around to disturb her. Well, save for the bodies that had been strewn around the area, some simply shot, others brutalized. Oh, how the condition of some of them had proven her point about the Southridge Student Body. No matter. Now, they were simply empty vessels, useful only in whatever goodies they left behind. And she'd gleefully pilfered from them, grabbing unused water bottles and foodstuffs, enough to easily last her the rest of her stay in this wretched place. There were no weapons to speak of, apart from the broken sword still lodged in the gut of Keiji Tanaka, and she considered for a moment before pulling it out and tossing it in her backpack as well. Waste not, want not.

As she worked, she reflected on the past announcements. They had been most encouraging. Liam Black, that blustering fool, was dead. Ditto Carson Baye. And they'd wanted to team up with her? In hindsight, the thought in and of itself was absolutely laughable. Melina Frost, that loathsome slut, was dead and none too soon. Unlike some of the other's who'd hated Melina, Eris didn't care in the slightest who'd done her in. Such thoughts were for emotional children who cared more about their petty revenge thoughts than about their own survival. The important thing was that Melina no longer a threat to win. And Adam Dodd, the survivor himself, was dead also. Likely the greatest threat to anyone on the island, and yet he was now lying dead somewhere, wildlife picking at his body.

Perhaps even better than the announcements was the statement that areas were now becoming permanent danger zones. That had put the kibosh on her plan to return to the quarry, but it was a minor annoyance, no more. Eris had most certainly not bothered to watch previous iterations of this game on television, but such an announcement could only mean one thing. They were approaching the end. Perhaps not immediately, but soon enough. Idly, she wondered how many of them were left. As few as 15? No, no that was unlikely, given how she'd kept running into people these last few days. But certainly less than 50 of them. Probably even less than 40. Ugh. Why had that Danya person never bothered to give them a running total?

So few of her classmates would have it within themselves to realize how close they were to to end. They'd either wander around oblivious to it all, like that Rick Holeman had Before she'd put a bullet through his head, or continue to cower and wait for death. Or they'd have since turned into brainless, barbaric, murderous psychopaths like whoever had done a number on Keiji Tanaka Don't remember those announcements, ugh they must have been when she was drunk, or chopped off Daniel Brent's head. Those drooling basket cases? As if they could stand a chance against an armed woman who could still think for herself. THAT, my friends, was what separated Eris Marquis from the rest of the pack.

Oh, to be certain, there were still those out there that could be worrisome. Alexis Machina, for instance. The girl was a revolting cow who tried desperately to call attention to herself, but she was extremely intelligent and, judging from the last two announcements, a formidable opponent. A few others like here were probably out there, and it was with them that she's have to exercise the utmost caution.

Her job now finished, Eris looked up and felt the sun beating down on her. UGH. She hated the sun, the outdoors. It was almost relentless, mocking her, reminding her that there were always some forces she could not control....

A growl escaped her lips as she made for the nearest hanger. She pried the door open and made quick work of scouring the area. It was dusty, but it was also empty, and as she eyed the couch in the corner it hit her how long it had been since she'd been able to get some much-needed rest.

Yes, rest. Once that dreadful sun went down, she'd consider what to do next. They were nearing the end, and she needed to be ready for it.

The couch was already set up in a position away from the door, and she figured she wasn't the first person to make use of it. Well, that was encouraging at least, in the fact that there were no bloodstains or bullet holes in the fabric. Besides, with her reflexes and trigger finger, she'd be able to blow a hole in anyone who tried to take advantage of her before they knew what hit them.

So thinking, Eris lay down, and keeping her gun held in one hand, she fell asleep almost instantly. And her sleep was restful and fulfilling, unburdened by any nagging doubts or bad dreams.

---------

When she awoke it was dusk, and she felt peaceful and refreshed. Her headache was, for now, greatly diminished. With a soft smile on her face, Eris sat up and closed her eyes, keeping relaxed. Still, not a soul seemed to be around, and she savored the moment. She'd head back out soon enough, but for now she just leaned back on the couch and rested a minute longer, awaiting the endgame and playing a glorious symphony in her mind. This was her game, and she was on the edge of victory.

So few of them left. Did anyone else realize how close they really were? No matter. She did.

On the edge of paradise
Poison burning in my veins
Unavailing...compromised
My dreams remain the same

[DetectiveArcher†]

((Continued from Degenerates))

Night fell, swallowing the island. Morgan didn't mind the dark. It made it easier to move around, easier to catch someone off-guard, and, well, monsters should be at home in the dark, shouldn't they? Snaking his way across the island, he felt his shoulders beginning to burn from the weight of his pack. Taking a rest, he sat down hard, leaning against the trunk of a tree. Using the opportunity to take stock of his tools, the bespectacled young man hefted the morning star he'd stolen from his dainty assailant's still cooling body. He didn't like the feel of it.

It was surely dangerous enough to kill someone. The weight of the bludgeon could do damage, but there was no finesse. He thought of the girl's accident, back at the hospital. If he wasn't careful, the medieval thing would be the death of him, too. He turned it over in his hands. He hadn't bothered to clean off any of the sticky mess that had collected on the spiked head. He didn't feel the need to. It would just get dirty again.

The walk had done wonders to cool his head. The smell of blood, the rush of adrenaline, and the brush with death had spun him about. He'd managed to move forward, and, now, he was back in control of himself. He'd put aside his guilt and horror with little effort, finding them unnecessary. He could afford to feel bad about what he'd done when he was on his way back to the real world.

It might be cold. It might be heartless. It might make him a monster. But, there was something else to consider. He was still alive. That was all that mattered. He wouldn't be able to mourn his actions, if he died here. So, in reality, wasn't he continuing for the sake of everyone else? This wasn't about him; this was about keeping the memory of his classmates alive. He chuckled and shook his head. Even he could tell that was just some hollow excuse. Whatever. When you came down to it, did it really matter why you played the game? Of course not. All that mattered was winning.

He set against the tree for some time, trying not to think too much. He held the chained club in one hand, and his straight razor in the other. He didn't feel quite as safe without a weapon in his hands. A cold wetness called the boy's attention to his left hand. A slug was dragging itself along, leaving a trail of slime on his thumb. Morgan cocked an eyebrow at the curious little creature, watching as it continued to slither down his digit, eventually coming to the open blade of the straight razor. The slimy little lump inched its way along the length of the impossibly sharp edge.

Morgan didn't look away. Didn't blink. The lump of mucus dropped off of the razor's edge and continued on its way. For a few moments longer, the dusty haired student simply stared at the wetly glistening blade. He grunted shortly, breaking the delicate silence of the night, "Never did like symbolism." Forcing himself to his feet, he pocketed the razor and tightened his grip in the morning star. Stay moving, stay on your toes, stay alive.

Pressing through the brush, he stumbled onto the ruined remains of what had once been the island's airfield. Broken down planes, rusted hangars, the slowly falling tower, bloody bodies. Morgan felt as if he might catch something by simply standing too close the place. But, he needed a place to sleep and one of the hangars would provide a decent enough place to hole up in. Just looking at the disgusting place left a bad taste in his mouth, but beggars couldn't be choosers. As he crossed the airfield, he wondered how much blood he'd gotten on his shoes.

He came to the hangar door, opening it without much thought. He took half a step forward before he realized what he saw. Eris Marquis with a gun in her hand.

[D/N]

"Ms. Marquis, if you could just turn this way!"

"Ms. Marquis, what was the most difficult part of..."

"Ms. Marquis, what do you say to allegations.."

Various law enforcement agents and men in suits were holding the press and curious public back, no doubt trying to dissuade them from doing any more damaged to an already damaged psyche. Well, their intentions were noble enough, but she didn't need them.

"Look, she's just been through a terrible experience, and Ms. Marquis and her family are not making any comments at this time..."

UGH, this attention was just horrid. Well, hopefully soon enough they'd forget. The idiot media had such a short attention span, and it would be only a matter of time before the next act anyway. Soon enough, she could get back to normal. She could go on and bury herself in the academic world, and wait for the rest of the world to put it all behind them, for the most part.

Her parents led her past the crowd, their faces wooden and implacable. They knew. They understood who she was. What she'd done. Once she got home with them they'd just leave her alone, knowing that she was just fine, and--

"You killed my son, you bitch!"

Eris turned. A middle-aged woman was standing there, at the edge of the crowd. She was weeping, and spittle flew from her lips as she lifted an accusing figure at Eris. Who she was, she couldn't say. But her comments had silenced nearly everyone.

"You killed my son! You killed him! Murderer!"

And Eris just looked at the woman, whoever she was, and fixed her with a stare that seemed to drop the temperature by ten degrees.

"I survived. They didn't."

She turned and left the woman, the crowd, everyone behind. The rabble faded out behind her, and she continued on, alone, in her blissful solitude.

"Ms. Marquis, Ms. Marquis just one more question...."

Her cheeks were again slightly wet, but this time she didn't even have to deny that to herself. She simply didn't notice that she'd wept, didn't process the information. Her brain, deep into survivor instinct, had sealed off that part of her as being inefficient and illogical, and it was unlikely to ever awaken again.

As her eyes opened, she realized that she'd been wasting time with this daydreaming nonsense. Sure, it was important to plan ahead, but she still had work to be done. Hopefully, her classmates had been doing much of the work for her while she'd rested. But before she had any chance to get up, there was a bang, and then a short boy stood just inside the door.

Each of them seemed to freeze for a moment.

"Why, hello."

With another glance, she vaguely recognized him as Morgan Somethingorother, the one from the tree who'd jumped in out of nowhere and dragged that hideous little psycho girl away from Liam Black. Not that it had done dear Liam any good in the end, of course.

Just have to keep him there for a second...

"Where's your little friend at?"

As she spoke, Eris' eyes fixed on the grotesque weapon the boy was carrying. It was dark yes, but she could still make out clearly enough that there was still something on those spikes. Oh yes. Had that been what had happened to his "little friend"? She gave the boy an ugly smirk.

Was the Morgan kid a killer? A psycho player, or just some unlucky schmuck? Did he deserve to die?

"Doesn't matter, I guess."

It didn't, because he certainly didn't deserve to survive more than SHE did.

Then she none-too-smoothly brought the gun forward and pulled the trigger twice, each retort deafening in the enclosed area. Even if she missed, which was likely given his distance and her seated position, she still had control. The power the Taurus granted her was absolute. Pure.

[DetectiveArcher†]

Bright blue eyes met cold grey ones, piercing through the dusty gloom of the rusted hangar. For a moment that stretched far longer than it had any right to, neither of the killers made a move. It might have been the shock of the meeting, or it might have been the quiet curiosity of two predators taking one another's measure. Morgan didn't breathe. Moving first might be a sign of weakness. In the end, it was the willowy young woman who broke the silence.

"Why, hello."

The words were chipped out of ice. She only spoke because something needed to be said. The dusty haired boy didn't say anything back, watching for any sudden movements, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The situation did not bode well for him. It wasn't a huge distance that seperated the boy and girl, but it was enough. Eris had the upper hand and they both knew it. He needed to find cover and fast.

"Where's your little friend at?"

Icy orbs drifted to the club resting in his right hand. Morgan kept himself still, not wanting to give anything away. He wondered if he should tell the truth. If he lied would it give him the chance to escape? Could he stare her down, perhaps talk some sense into her? Should he simply let the question hang in the air? Whatever he decided on, it would have to be done with complete confidence. Show one sign of weakness and the animals would drag you down. Never let them see you sweat.

"She's dead."

He hoped he sounded more impressive than he felt. Her grim smirk let him know he didn't. There goes intimidation. Probably intelligent discourse, too. That left two options. Fight or flight. The bespectacled young man balanced himself on the balls of his feet. It all came down to who would act first.

"Doesn't matter, I guess."

Eris shoved her gun forward, two staccato barks echoed in the gritty darkness. Morgan was already moving, throwing himself to one side, rolling into a dive. The bullets punched through the corrigated steel walls of the hangar with sharp metallic pings. Coming out of the roll, Morgan rose to one knee. He snapped his head back and forth, searching for something to hide behind. Empty space in every direction. No furniture, no tool boxes, no walls. No cover.

Staring down the barrel of the gun, Morgan Green knew what the score was. He should have gone back. Should have run for the treeline. Should have dove into a hole and pulled it in after him. Stupid decision. With nowhere to hide, he was going to eat a bullet and die in a puddle of blood.

He wanted to do something. Rush forward, die in a blaze of glory, go down swinging, a member of the Light Brigade. Whatever. His legs shook, but wouldn't move. It was impossible to breathe, let alone run.

It can't end like this, can it?

He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the bullet with his name on it.

[D/N]

As the bullets clanged through the hangar walls, she was up on her feet and moving forward, the gun clenched in front of her. Morgan had managed to get out of the way of her first volley, but that was fine, it made sense given their position and he was now on the floor, uncovered and vulnerable. She strode towards him, imagining how truly powerful she must look to him, and wondering idly if he'd regretted all those things back at Southridge that had led the class to this moment. Because they were all at fault. They'd all deserved this game. All but her.

As he was coming out of his roll and looking around, she'd closed the distance between them, mindful to keep far back enough so she was out the reach of his weapon for the moment.

He was there on one knee, not trying to beg for his life, and she allowed herself the briefest moment of emotion, some awkward mix between respect and pity for him, before she pulled the trigger and his body flopped to the---

Click.

Wait, what?

Click

CLICK

All the color seemed to drain instantly from Eris' face, and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. That wasn't supposed to happen. No, no that couldn't be right, the gun granted her power, it was her equalizer, it was her LIFE. How could it have failed her like this? She stood there, utterly stupified.

CLICK

CLICK

[DetectiveArcher†]

Time slowed to a crawl. Everything fell away, leaving only the defeated and the victorious. The world lost its sound, as the gun leveled at Morgan's head, the boy's panicked breathing the only noise to cut through the silence. Knowing and understanding his situation, the bespectacled student felt his stomach roll, threatening to heave its precious little contents onto the floor of the hangar.

Die? I'm gonna die? Am I really gonna die on the grimy floor of some fucked up shack, on some God forsaken island, in the middle of nowhere? It certainly seemed to be the case.

The silence deepened, eclipsing the sharp inhales. Only the two players standing in the dark. Nothing, now, except the pull of the trigger.

Morgan flinched at the loud click that cut through the shadows of the rusted building. Slowly opening one eye, he shrank back again, as a second click met his ears. A third click followed shortly after, but didn't startle Morgan as the first two had. Finally looking up, the scarred student caught the mixture of shock and horror painted across Eris' face. She pulled the trigger twice more, the ineffectual noise standing out in the quiet of the mostly empty space.

Neither moved, as the gravity of the moment slowly sank in. The gun was empty. The stone cold terror in the hollow of Morgan's stomach didn't disappear. The icy fear in the pit of his gut slowly began to thaw, leaving a smoldering fury. Forcing himself to his feet, the boy centered his gaze on Eris' still unbelieving eyes. Dark grey peered from behind his glasses as he spoke with dangerous calm.

"Not a bright idea, carrying around a half-loaded gun. Playing to win means playing smart and you just fucked up something serious."

The knuckles of the boy's scarred right hand flared white, as he clamped down on the morning star with new vigor. He took a step forward, retribution written in his stance. Two attempts on his life in less than a day. The girl back in the hospital had been an accident. The unfortunate result of a desperate counter attack. Not this time. He would enjoy it this time. Crossing the space between them, the grim young man swung his chained club, seeking the girl's chest.

[D/N]

Nine bullets....

How could she have possibly been so careless?

She was Eris Marquis, this was her weapon, this was her GAME. How could it all go wrong so quickly? How could she have miscalculated? How could she lose control like this?

Four bullets for Liam
Three for Rick and the Trannie-Girl
Two for Morgan...

She'd used up one full clip of the gun taking practice shots, getting used to it after she'd taken it from Jim. She'd practiced loading clips. She'd read the manual. And yet she'd somehow never realized that she only had two bullets left when she arrived at the airfield.

Nine bullets

In case you hadn't noticed thus far, Eris Marquis was not by design a very gracious person, and she'd been utterly incapable of realizing just how lucky she'd been thus far. For ten days she's survived on this island with nothing worse than a pounding headache. She'd never been injured, she'd never had a gun pointed at her face, and though she'd taken one life and tried to take others, she'd not once been in any danger herself.

Now, as the boy got to his feet and gave her a surprisingly familiar scowl, she realized. She understood. His hand still gripped the disgusting, brutal, UGLY weapon he held, and now he had begun to raise it against her.

She was terrified, hating, cursing both of them in her mind. She worked her mouth, trying to figure out what she could say, how she could call off his attack, how she could save herself. But there was nothing she could think of. Maybe earlier in the game, but not now. Not anymore. In a strange way, Morgan was too much like her for words to have any effect. And she hated him for that.

"Not a bright idea, carrying around a half-loaded gun. Playing to win means playing smart and you just fucked up something serious."

As he spoke, her hatred began to override her fear. How DARE he insult her like that? And a new feeling crept in. That of pure survival, overriding all logic, all other thoughts. A feeling she'd likely never felt before.

No. A faint whisper escaped her lips.

"Not yet."

No, she would not just die like this. She could still control. She could still be in charge.

Then he was swinging the club at him and she was already turning to run, to get away from him any way she could, but she was just a hair too late, and an agonizing feeling in her back suddenly made any migraine she'd experienced on the island feel like the most minor of ailments.

The morning star hadn't slammed into her directly, but two of the spikes had just barely caught her in the back and side as she turned, ripping her shirt and dragging long red marks across her skin. She heard, FELT her skin part, and it was hot and intense, like she'd been clawed by a wildcat. With a cry of pain, she stumbled gracelessly forward, her lanky form managing several steps before the Taurus fell from her hand and clanked ahead of her, landing just in front of the couch where she'd slept. And on top of the couch, her duffel bag.

The bag...

In a strange way, the hit to her back had added to her forward momentum, perhaps allowing her to cover the distance in enough time to save her from another fatal strike. Eris fell to her knees in front of the couch, the claw marks on her back now freely bleeding, and desperately groped in her open bag. She could only hope that he wasn't already swinging the club into the back of her head.

Where is it, where is it?!

Then, her fingers grasped the empty bottle of vodka.

Not even looking to see how close Morgan was, Eris turned and let the bottle fly in his direction as hard as she possibly could. With her other hand she'd managed to grab the broken saber she'd taken from Keiji Tanaka, and if he hadn't alreay bashed her brains in by the time she turned around, she'd charge forward with it, The blade was broken, yes, but if the late Mr. Tanaka was any indication, it was still useful enough.

[DetectiveArcher†]

The wind whistled, as the club cut through the air. The heavy, spiked head arced towards its target, a meteor ready to strike the earth. Eris had been moving, hurrying to avoid the devastating blow. She hadn't been fast enough. The ruddy spikes tore cloth and skin, drawing first blood and a satisfyingly pained cry from the young woman's lips.

The cocky girl stumbled forward, sprawling onto the couch. Morgan let her. The tables had turned and there was nothing for her to do but cower. It did the boy's ego good to be in control of the situation. With nobody to help him, he'd done pretty well for himself, hadn't he?

Maybe, the whole "temporary alliance" thing was a bad idea from the start. He'd taken care of the girl back at the hospital and now Eris was on the run. Maybe solo was the way to go. It seemed to work for some of the others.

Wade Wilson, Bobby Jacks, Blood Boy. All three of the boys had done very well on their own, while people like Neil Sinclair and his ridiculous SADD group had fallen apart, from all reports. So, perhaps the problem was that, groups simply couldn't function in the game. Human nature wouldn't allow for the trust necessary for them to flourish. Solo killers, however, could prey on that insecurity, without having to deal with it themselves.

Finding the logic sound, Morgan decided that there would be no second chances for the lovely young woman. Her brains would stain the floor and she would cease to be a threat to his victory. And, if he enjoyed bashing in her skull, that was just an added bonus. He chuckled and slowed his stride. Let her sweat a minute; turn about is fair play, right?

"I have to admit," he said, twirling the chained head of the club, "you almost had me. But, a bit of advice. Guns are well and good, but weapons like this, well, they don't need reloading."

He let his slow steps fall particularly hard, enjoying the reverberating 'click' the footfalls gave off in the darkness of the hangar. He frowned harshly after the third step. What is this, a horror flick? Being cocky is what got her screwed over, don't make the same mistake, Green. Acknowledging the rationality, the bespectacled boy quickened his pace. It would be less fun than toying with the dark haired girl, but it would also reduce the chances of her somehow mounting a resistance.

Raising the club over his head, Morgan caught a flash of movement before a throbbing pain in his forehead forced him backwards. Crying out in shock, the boy stumbled to the floor, the club escaping his loose fingers and clattering across the ground, into the darkness. Blinking the bright flashes of color from his eyes, the dusty haired student managed to piece the scene together. The tricky bitch had something in her pack. A goddamned glass bottle. Shaking his head, Morgan slowly rose to his feet, trying to steady himself.

"You fucking bitch. Stupid, goddamned whore."

The glint of steel caught his eye. Eris had produced a weapon from her bag, the broken blade of a sword shining in the faint moonlight that managed to sneak in through the open door. His eyes flicked to the morning star on the floor. He contemplated rushing for the weapon, but thought better of it. Turning his back on Marquis would only open him up to an attack and invite the girl to shove the shattered sword between his ribs.

Fine, then.

The straight razor leapt from his pocket, resting comfortably in his scarred hand. The stony eyed predator snapped the blade open with a flick of his wrist. His heart hammered like a vast drum, blood pumping loudly in his ears. Do I make the first move, or let her come to me? He stood his ground a moment, quickly coming to a conclusion. He rushed forward, his small, wickedly sharp blade at the ready.

If I cut her first, I can win. Just force her to back up!

The only problem with the plan was that Eris was charging as well. The distance between the two disappeared as they brought their weapons to bear. The broken tip of the saber tore through the Morgan's shirt, digging a deep gash across his ribs. It burned like fire, but he pushed through, not slowing his attack. If he stopped now, he was dead. Hissing in pain, Morgan carved a vicious slash through the air. It didn't matter where he could hit, only that the attack should land. He could worry about what to do from there.

[D/N]

It had worked. IT HAD WORKED. No, no of course it had worked, she was Eris Marquis, this was her game and she owned every single person still alive on this island. That moment prior where everything seemed lost was just a glitch in the system, a minor misstep that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. So as the bottle thunked off Morgan's head and clattered to the ground, nearly knocking his stupid goddamned glasses off, she rose unsteadily to her feet, ready to move in for the kill. He rose as well, the weapon no longer in his hands. Then he glared at her.

"You fucking bitch. Stupid, goddamned whore."

WHAT?

Oh dear.

A depp gutteral feeling was rising up from deep within her, a feeling that would have shocked any who had known Eris Marquis just two weeks ago. The pain in her back and side momentarily forgotten, her lip curled as she spoke.

"Dont. You. DARE call me that!"

Then she was running at him, a primal shreik emitting from her lips as she did, ready to skewer him on her sword, ready to punish him for his words and actions, ready to show him that she deserved to survive, that she was MEANT to survive, meant to stay alive by any means necessary.

He'd somehow managed to pull another weapon out of his pocket, but she barely gave it notice as she quickly closed the distance. Nor did she wonder why he was moving towards her at the same time. Of course, she didn't have much to to consider such thoughts before they collided and she felt the jagged edge of the sword rip across Morgan's chest. For a second she hesitated Could this really be Eris Marquis at the end of this blade?, and then he was still moving at her. Her eyes widened as she saw the glinting razorblade whistling towards her, heading at her face OH GOD not my face and she tried to duck it....

The finely sharpened blade cut Eris' forehead right at the scalp line above her right eye, and the blood immediately started to flow. It first came out in a spurt, brilliantly red, and then began trickling down her eye, obscuring her vision. But she could still see the look of victory on his face, and that enraged her more than the injury ever could.

Then the combination of the slice and her attempt to avoid it caused her feet to slip out from under her, and she was falling to the dusty floor, where she'd be helpless to fight back, helpless against this insolent BOY who just refused to die, and he'd straddle her as she lay and raise that razor and then....

And then? He'd slash her to ribbons.

"YOU PUNY LITTLE-- "

As she fell backwards, she vicously grabbed at his collar, hoping to pull him down with him. At the same time she jabbed the sword up, aiming at the boy's neck. She was not going to die in this fucking deserted airfield. Not against him. Not against anyone.

[DetectiveArcher†]

She was falling. The blade slid across her forehead, above her right eye. Not a bad strike. It would bleed profusely, impair her vision. Make her vulnerable. Maybe it was the bite from the razor, maybe it was the fear of being hurt, maybe it was a simple slip of the feet, but Eris was going down. When they hit, he'd straddle her, hold her still, cut her throat. It was over, now.

The lithe, alabaster hand snapped out, taking Morgan by surprise, as it roughly snagged the metal collar firmly locked around his neck. Shit. Already off balance from the charge, the tug was all it took to send the dusty haired killer toppling down with the resilient young woman. The flash of metal caught his eye. Snapping his left hand up, the bespectacled boy gave a sharp cry as cold steel rammed through his palm. The blade moved, still pushing forward, carving a slash across the boy's cheek, drawing a thick trickle of blood.

They hit the ground, the impact jarring Morgan's teeth. He needed to do something, but the length of folded steel jutting through his hand made rational thought difficult to come by. Swiping wildly, the boy wasn't quite sure what he might hit. It didn't matter, really. So long as it stalled the girl for even a moment, it was enough. He needed to focus, needed to think. He blindly slashed again.

[D/N]

Eris let out one gasp as she landed hard on the floor, the impact sending new and screaming jolts of pain through the shredded flesh on her back. She let out a second as Morgan fell forward as well, and the jagged edge of the saber ripped through his hand like it was made of paper.

Behind his glasses, she saw Morgan's grey eyes widen in pain. Exhausted, desperate, in pain, she nevertheless found herself smiling in some demented fashion. Because once again, she had survived. She may not have been tested on this island before now, but she was showing EVERYONE just why she was here, why she would win.

He was on top of her, but not completely, swiping the razor at her once again. With a grunt, Eris rolled over oh her right side. And for one brief moment, perhaps a glimpse of another life, she saw that she wouldn't make it in time. The razor would stuck itself in her throat, and on some computer at Danya's headquarters, the words "G45 - DECEASED" would flash in ugly, blocky red letters.




Instead, the blade just nicked her left shoulder and hit the floor of the hangar with a metallic clang. She was on her stomach now, facing the couch and without a weapon to her name. The blood still flowing from her forehead was sticking to to her face, her neck, her shirt, her fucking EYES. She blinked desperately, then saw it in on the ground in front of her.

Her gun. It had been her savior, and her betrayer. And it was still empty.

Shooting her hand out in front of her, she grabbed the pistol, then rose quickly but unsteadily to her feet. She was facing the couch, her bag still sitting atop it. And now she could do it. All she needed to do was find the new clip, slam it home, and blow that son of a bitch on the floor to pieces like he deserved.

But could she get it done in time, before he was up and slashing at her again? Could she?

No. The logical side of her was re-emerging, and something inside had told her it was time to make the most of this opportunity to get out. So instead she grabbed the bag, then wildly turned, trying to find the door and wiping blood absentmindedly from her eyes. She stumbled forwards at first, then turned around and walked the remaining steps backwards, ready to bolt if she came after her.

Eris gasped to breathe. "Well, then. I'm off. The couch is a good place to take a nap, if you need a rest."

Something clanked against her heel as she continued to backpedal. Jerking her head backwards, she couldn't help but smirk as she saw her old friend, the vodka bottle lying there, still intact. Heh. It had served her well on this journey, hadn't it? Awkwardly crouching, she grabbed the bottle in her free hand, then continued to the exit, quickening her pace as she did.

"And if I see you again... well I'll take your advice. Full clip."

He could keep the broken sword that was in his hand. A souvenir from her.

"Morgan? You are NOTHING."

She spat through bloody lips onto the ground. Her shoulder banged against the hangar door, and she was out just as the damned sun was breaking on the horizon. Another day on the island. The last? Probably not. For most of those remaining, but not for her.

Eris made sure to nod to Keiji Tanaka as she left. Had it not been for his sword after all, who knows what might have happened?

As she escaped back into the tree cover, the announcements began again.

(Eris Marquis continued in Wild International)

[DetectiveArcher†]

Agony. The world flared in and out of focus. Bursts of color, flickers of shadow, white lights that burned in his eyes. Anguish. Fiery flashes of pain ripped through Morgan's hand, even as he struggled to find his feet. He knew this sort of pain. From the car wreck. The fire that scoured his hand. Well, the voice at the back of his skull murmured, at least there's a sort of symmetry, now.

"Fuck off."

Eris rolled out from under him, leaving the bespectacled student with the difficult task of trying to focus on the world around him. It wasn't easy. Pull it together, Green. Kill that goddamned, stupid, fucking cunt. Planting his good right hand against the ground, Morgan forced himself to one knee. Good right hand? It had been a while since he'd thought about it that way.
Eris had snatched up her gun and was moving towards her pack.

"Think you can reload before I run over there and cut you like a pig?"

It was a bluff, of course; there was no way he could manage to cross the distance and mount any sort of attack, given the state he was in. He just hoped he sounded convincing enough to the pale young woman. She snatched up the bag and whipped around, her breathy voice displaying her own exhaustion from the struggle. Perfect.

"Well, then. I'm off." Eris said, her voice smug and condescending. Morgan knew she had the upper hand, but that didn't mean the cow had the right to gloat. She knelt down and snatched the glass bottle that had saved her life. Lucky shot. She was still backpedaling, keeping her eyes locked on his. Struggling to keep up appearances, Morgan forced himself to rise, despite the burn that snaked across his ribs.

"And," the dark haired girl continued, "if I see you again... well I'll take your advice. Full clip." Her eyes dropped to the sword, which was still wedged firmly in his palm. "Morgan?" she began, her voice sinking low, "You are NOTHING." With that, she turned and fled.

Nothing, huh? A chuckled worked it's way from deep in Morgan Green's gut before rising into a full blown, maniacal cackle. Nothing? Yeah, a whole lot of nothing had slashed her up.

"I'm nothing, huh? Well, guess what, you fucking cunt, I'm still alive!"

The world spun, sending Morgan to the ground. Ok, enough posturing. He was badly injured. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd come out on the bottom of his exchange with Marquis. Forcing himself back to his feet, he sluggishly crossed the hangar. Collapsing onto the dusty old couch, the boy's grey eyes examined his wounds. It was bad enough that they were numerous, but they were quite serious, too. Fucking cunt. The announcements were still being read off. Morgan noted the danger zones, in his head.

Digging through his own bag, he found his first aid kit. No use putting it off. Firing down a few tablets of codeine, along with a swig of bottled water, he contemplated the hilt jutting from his palm. Just snatch the handle and yank. Simple, right? No problem. Not a problem at all. He swallowed hard, his good, scarred hand tightening around the grip of the blade. Count of three. One...two...three!

Morgan's eyes slowly flickered open. Blood soaked the pant leg his hand rested on and the broken sword lay discarded on the stone floor. He'd blacked out. Not for very long, but the boy still found the matter very distressing. He applied antiseptic, wrapped the wound tight, and hoped for the best. Testing the skewered hand, he frowned at the limited mobility. A limiting wound. She'd got in a damn good shot.

Rolling up his shirt, the dusty haired boy performed the same ritual on the fresh wound along his side, to less than satisfactory effect.

"Oh, well." Morgan muttered darkly, "Better than nothing. And beggars can't be choosers."

A quick bandage for the laceration across his cheek, and Morgan Green was ready for action again. Yeah, right. He wasn't ready for anything. A light breeze would knock him over, but that didn't give him the luxury of being able to lounge around. Grunting as he rose to his feet, he collected his things and hefted his pack. Taking a ragged breath that made his ribs itch, Morgan stumbled his way out into the early morning sunlight.

((Morgan Green continued There's A Moral In This Somewhere))