Yuka grabbed Yuki’s shoulders and began to chastise her trying to reason with Demetri. Yuki couldn’t think of anything to say to her. About why Demetri would claim that Yuko wanted them to kill. About why she wanted to know about Katrina’s whereabouts. Perhaps Yuki was still trying to come to terms over Yuko’s death. If that meant dealing with Demetri, maybe it would be worth it.
Yuka walked off into the lobby, with Yuki left standing there, feeling distraught. Yuki couldn’t help but tear up over Yuka’s anger. She didn’t sob, nor sniffle. She just stood there, with her head down, sulking. Yuki just wanted everything to go back to how things were. When Yuko was alive, they were living comfortably in Chattanooga, and they could plan for their futures in peace. But instead, they had to go on this school trip for one last hoorah as high schoolers, unaware they’d be forced into a life threatening game.
Yuki looked over at Demetri. Yuka’s anger was directed, at least partially, toward him. She wasn’t sure how well he took Yuka’s harsh words, but Yuki felt she owed him an apology.
“I’m sorry,” she said to him, softly.
Yuki walked over to Yuka. She couldn’t just let things devolve like this. Yuka was already on edge, and Yuki had to make sure she didn’t go off the deep end. As she got closer, the rotten stench of death became stronger. In the lobby, Yuki noticed two bodies. Just what exactly happened in here? No time to dwell on that. Yuki stood awakwardly by Yuka’s side for a bit before she opened her mouth.
“Yuka, I—“
She stopped immediately when she noticed something in the corner of her eye. In the distance, she saw movement from behind a door.
Red Of Tooth And Claw
the sinking of the uss dekcuc (read it backwards)
B018: Ned Jackson- 
G039: Yuki Hayashibara- 
B034: Zachary Beck- 
There wasn’t much light in the room to begin with. She had hoped they wouldn’t notice her.
The second time Erika peered out from the door, they locked eyes. Both of the remaining Hayashibaras were here. They weren’t the only ones, but she didn’t see the rest of their group yet.
It wasn’t like she was looking for an excuse to attack. She didn’t need one. Either it was her, or it was anyone else. The past day made that clear enough. Ideally, she could’ve just stayed in the storeroom. Avoided conflict, saved her energy. Kept more deaths off her conscience.
Avoiding things hadn’t served her well, though. It never had, and she hated how much she was a naturally avoidant person. The fact that she didn’t feel much hesitation, that she didn’t want to turn and run, that she had no desire to hide - it was disturbing. Like she’d misplaced part of herself, and somehow didn’t feel the manic drive to find it in the way one might search for a lost wallet, or a phone, or a gun.
She was starting to get used to this.
In some ways, she was better for it. Not in the way she wanted to be, but the way she needed to be. Her actions were starting to feel like they didn’t fly in the face of everything she stood for. They gave those things a chance. This was all going to be hard to live with, but she would live with it.
There was no apology, no plea to just leave her be. They were too close to aim through the scope even at the shortest level of magnification, which made any reaction on their part an immediate threat. She leaned forward and squeezed the trigger several times, hoping the successive shots would make up for her inability to aim properly.
The sound of the gun going off indoors was completely deafening, and the muzzle flash momentarily ruined her low-light vision. A blur in the corner of her eye caught her off guard, and she let out a yelp as something flew towards her.
The second time Erika peered out from the door, they locked eyes. Both of the remaining Hayashibaras were here. They weren’t the only ones, but she didn’t see the rest of their group yet.
It wasn’t like she was looking for an excuse to attack. She didn’t need one. Either it was her, or it was anyone else. The past day made that clear enough. Ideally, she could’ve just stayed in the storeroom. Avoided conflict, saved her energy. Kept more deaths off her conscience.
Avoiding things hadn’t served her well, though. It never had, and she hated how much she was a naturally avoidant person. The fact that she didn’t feel much hesitation, that she didn’t want to turn and run, that she had no desire to hide - it was disturbing. Like she’d misplaced part of herself, and somehow didn’t feel the manic drive to find it in the way one might search for a lost wallet, or a phone, or a gun.
She was starting to get used to this.
In some ways, she was better for it. Not in the way she wanted to be, but the way she needed to be. Her actions were starting to feel like they didn’t fly in the face of everything she stood for. They gave those things a chance. This was all going to be hard to live with, but she would live with it.
There was no apology, no plea to just leave her be. They were too close to aim through the scope even at the shortest level of magnification, which made any reaction on their part an immediate threat. She leaned forward and squeezed the trigger several times, hoping the successive shots would make up for her inability to aim properly.
The sound of the gun going off indoors was completely deafening, and the muzzle flash momentarily ruined her low-light vision. A blur in the corner of her eye caught her off guard, and she let out a yelp as something flew towards her.
The spear had left his hands, flying high enough to kiss the gods that were too retarded to get much in the way of airtime. Flying straight, deadly, tip whistling cleanly as it partitioned the air. Slightly yawning forward and down, the heaviness of the ax part of the head dragging. It probably looked kinda cool, to the casual observer. Demetri had never styled himself in the vein of Greek aesthetic- he was too stubbornly heterosexual for that- but in that moment and that moment alone he could have been a statue of marble poised at the apex of physique, barely existent musculature taut with well-sculpted tension as Erika Stieglitz barely avoided being impaled by the weapon he'd just thrown at her.
He hadn't expected Erika's face. Nor the retort of her gun. He'd been standing there, silently staring at the floor. A bit resentful that he was being yelled at, but somehow understanding why. Or maybe he was just assuming he was guilty of something- the wrong thing. He couldn't have put it into words, why both the Hayashibara sisters were abandoning him in the lurch. Something like 'I deserve it', but with no further insight. His essay thesis was just that, lame and malformed. He couldn't have looked them in the eyes as they'd stormed away.
He'd told them the truth, but nobody liked to hear that sort of thing.
He'd stood there inert, putting all his energy into counting scuff marks on his muddy-crust shoes. Thus he'd been in a prime position to help when the gunfire had erupted.
A flash of red and a small girly shape falling to the ground in slow motion had been all he'd needed to see. The rest came naturally. So much so that he was still in the mindset previous, the mental state of the confused toddler wondering why Mommy was so mad. His eyes void of understanding, emptily barreling onto the clear run of spaces between beds that he erupted through, as he rushed past the fallen Hayashibaras and threw himself at Erika.
He was now the one in front of her gun, but that also didn't register much. If this had been Modern Warfare he would have been whooping about sacrificing for his boys while ironically warbling Celine Dion off-key.
All that in the first second after the bullet casing he wasn't nearly enough of a gun nut to recognize clattered to the ground. Everything caught up to him sometime after that. The screaming. The ghastly smell of dry blood now once more fresh.
He hadn't expected Erika's face. Nor the retort of her gun. He'd been standing there, silently staring at the floor. A bit resentful that he was being yelled at, but somehow understanding why. Or maybe he was just assuming he was guilty of something- the wrong thing. He couldn't have put it into words, why both the Hayashibara sisters were abandoning him in the lurch. Something like 'I deserve it', but with no further insight. His essay thesis was just that, lame and malformed. He couldn't have looked them in the eyes as they'd stormed away.
He'd told them the truth, but nobody liked to hear that sort of thing.
He'd stood there inert, putting all his energy into counting scuff marks on his muddy-crust shoes. Thus he'd been in a prime position to help when the gunfire had erupted.
A flash of red and a small girly shape falling to the ground in slow motion had been all he'd needed to see. The rest came naturally. So much so that he was still in the mindset previous, the mental state of the confused toddler wondering why Mommy was so mad. His eyes void of understanding, emptily barreling onto the clear run of spaces between beds that he erupted through, as he rushed past the fallen Hayashibaras and threw himself at Erika.
He was now the one in front of her gun, but that also didn't register much. If this had been Modern Warfare he would have been whooping about sacrificing for his boys while ironically warbling Celine Dion off-key.
All that in the first second after the bullet casing he wasn't nearly enough of a gun nut to recognize clattered to the ground. Everything caught up to him sometime after that. The screaming. The ghastly smell of dry blood now once more fresh.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
The last thing she saw was Erika's face.
A jolt, the world blurred, panic, and then nothing.
A jolt, the world blurred, panic, and then nothing.
Yuki’s gaze was fixated on the girl behind the door. Who was she? What was she doing there? Those thoughts were immediately subsided once Yuki saw the muzzle of the gun. Fear had overtaken her, and her instincts kicked in.
As soon as the first couple of gunshots rang through the air, Yuki tackled Yuka, shielding her from any stray bullets. Yuki could feel several small punctures in her back and shoulders. The sensation of gravity as she and Yuka fell was swift, followed by impact with the ground.
Yuki rolled over, releasing Yuka. Her body spasmed as it registered the pain from the bullets lodged in her back. Fighting back the pain, she looked over at Yuka. Her thoughts only lingering on the well being of her sister, Yuki fought back against her drifting consciousness.
As soon as the first couple of gunshots rang through the air, Yuki tackled Yuka, shielding her from any stray bullets. Yuki could feel several small punctures in her back and shoulders. The sensation of gravity as she and Yuka fell was swift, followed by impact with the ground.
Yuki rolled over, releasing Yuka. Her body spasmed as it registered the pain from the bullets lodged in her back. Fighting back the pain, she looked over at Yuka. Her thoughts only lingering on the well being of her sister, Yuki fought back against her drifting consciousness.
Pain coursed up Erika’s arm as rapidly as blood ran down it. The spear had carved a nasty path across the outside of her right bicep, the tip only inches from punching a hole in her shoulder. The half-moon axe blade had been more than sharp enough to rip through her jacket, its sleeve now hanging at an odd angle. At first she didn’t feel the sensation right away, crying out more at the sight of her own blood than anything else. Scratches she didn’t mind, but anything that bled more than a little cut she could barely handle. She could hardly stand getting her blood taken.
The rifle had landed on the ground next to her, leaving her grip the moment she was it. Erika had carelessly neglected to loop the sling around the back of her neck, something she’d have admonished herself for if she had even a moment to spare the thought. She wanted it back; she needed it back.
It didn’t look like she was getting it back.
Of all of the people to have come to the Hayashibara’s aid, she didn’t expect Demetri Futscher. He’d always been awkward, and a little unassuming. Truth be told, she’d never really expected much of him at all. Yet, here he was, throwing himself in harm’s way. Not for himself, but others. Were they his friends? Did it matter to him?
What the hell am I-
Erika was broken from her shocked stupor as his fist connected with her face, sending her reeling. The last time she’d ever been hit was years ago, as a little kid. It was nothing like what she felt now, eyes watering as she struggled to get her bearings.
This was the one situation she desperately wanted to avoid. She’d never been in a fight before, not like this. Ty’s attempts to show her how to hit a heavy bag went about as well as her attempts to show him how to shoot: not well. Yet here she was, without any other option.
Disarmed, all of her self-assurance seemed to melt away as she meekly raised her arms to protect herself. She couldn’t fight. Couldn’t run. Maybe this was it. She fucked up. Game over.
Not here. Not to him. Not now.
Erika let out a panicked, enraged yell as she tried desperately to hit back. She couldn't tell if it was doing any good, which only fueled her panic and desperation.
The rifle had landed on the ground next to her, leaving her grip the moment she was it. Erika had carelessly neglected to loop the sling around the back of her neck, something she’d have admonished herself for if she had even a moment to spare the thought. She wanted it back; she needed it back.
It didn’t look like she was getting it back.
Of all of the people to have come to the Hayashibara’s aid, she didn’t expect Demetri Futscher. He’d always been awkward, and a little unassuming. Truth be told, she’d never really expected much of him at all. Yet, here he was, throwing himself in harm’s way. Not for himself, but others. Were they his friends? Did it matter to him?
What the hell am I-
Erika was broken from her shocked stupor as his fist connected with her face, sending her reeling. The last time she’d ever been hit was years ago, as a little kid. It was nothing like what she felt now, eyes watering as she struggled to get her bearings.
This was the one situation she desperately wanted to avoid. She’d never been in a fight before, not like this. Ty’s attempts to show her how to hit a heavy bag went about as well as her attempts to show him how to shoot: not well. Yet here she was, without any other option.
Disarmed, all of her self-assurance seemed to melt away as she meekly raised her arms to protect herself. She couldn’t fight. Couldn’t run. Maybe this was it. She fucked up. Game over.
Not here. Not to him. Not now.
Erika let out a panicked, enraged yell as she tried desperately to hit back. She couldn't tell if it was doing any good, which only fueled her panic and desperation.
Dull surprise- he'd actually landed a hit. Red sting spreading from the spot he'd nearly caved in her nose. She hid behind her forearms. Kind of skinny. Hardly an adequate shield. Demetri was reminded that he was this close to taking on an honest-to-goodness girl. Wasn't supposed to hit girls- that wasn't how he'd been brought up.
First punch she threw hit his chin like a whip. He grunted, his head flew to the side at an awkward angle.
She kept going. Fast, maybe angry. Hard to tell. He staggered back an inch. They were still so close that he could have smudged away the streaks of wet blurring along the corners of her eyes. No distance more insurmountable.
Her next desperate haymaker met his open palm. He raised it almost reluctantly, scraping his knuckles with his bared teeth as he hissed at the ugliness of it all. A disgust that physically seared. He could have spit, but his mouth was too dry.
"Yuka, Yuki!" He roared their names hoarsely, not knowing if they heard. "Get out of here!"
It was an attempt, he guessed.
He followed in a blur of motion that matched Erika's own- he couldn't track what he himself was doing if he tried. Too much action for a burnt out brain to follow. His dominant leg skidded forward- going for the goal. Erika's shin was certainly less supple than a soccer ball. His fists near his face as his shield, as he threw Erika back with momentum, his body weight crowding her back as she collapsed, nearer and nearer to the wall.
He saw an opening, sprung to one side. His fallen spear, the tip and a single edge lengthwise glistening, fresh painted. The room was just himself and her. He had no idea if he was even accomplishing anything. Maybe he was just buying time for two already-made corpses.
The spear came up between them, Demetri menacing with the steadiness of his grip.
"You didn't have to-" He wheezed. Sputtered, looking for breath.
"Didn't have to do it."
First punch she threw hit his chin like a whip. He grunted, his head flew to the side at an awkward angle.
She kept going. Fast, maybe angry. Hard to tell. He staggered back an inch. They were still so close that he could have smudged away the streaks of wet blurring along the corners of her eyes. No distance more insurmountable.
Her next desperate haymaker met his open palm. He raised it almost reluctantly, scraping his knuckles with his bared teeth as he hissed at the ugliness of it all. A disgust that physically seared. He could have spit, but his mouth was too dry.
"Yuka, Yuki!" He roared their names hoarsely, not knowing if they heard. "Get out of here!"
It was an attempt, he guessed.
He followed in a blur of motion that matched Erika's own- he couldn't track what he himself was doing if he tried. Too much action for a burnt out brain to follow. His dominant leg skidded forward- going for the goal. Erika's shin was certainly less supple than a soccer ball. His fists near his face as his shield, as he threw Erika back with momentum, his body weight crowding her back as she collapsed, nearer and nearer to the wall.
He saw an opening, sprung to one side. His fallen spear, the tip and a single edge lengthwise glistening, fresh painted. The room was just himself and her. He had no idea if he was even accomplishing anything. Maybe he was just buying time for two already-made corpses.
The spear came up between them, Demetri menacing with the steadiness of his grip.
"You didn't have to-" He wheezed. Sputtered, looking for breath.
"Didn't have to do it."
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
He didn’t know what he was doing any more than she did. Being this close made it clear that he was more than a bit worse for wear; his leg was covered in bloody rags. Still, he seemed stronger than her. Almost as determined; maybe more. Frustration and fear overtook her senses as she realized her frantic assault wasn’t doing much to keep him at bay.
She just fought for herself. He fought for two others. Without a thought to his own safety. All she cared about was her own survival. Of course she would’ve been at a disadvantage, all else being equal.
In the back of her mind she’d imagined that instinct that kept her going would summon up some kind of ferocity. Something deep and inhuman, something that wouldn’t rise to the surface unless she was really in danger. On some level, she’d just assumed it was there. She’d killed six people so far; she should have had something waiting for a moment like this. Some monster that would appear and rescue her. Like Ty had. Like Ty might’ve been.
There didn’t seem to be anything there. In its place, Erika found herself motionless, pressed against the wall. The glint of the spear tip pointed at her immediately caught her attention, holding her there. The blade was still glistening with blood. Her blood. She felt sick, spitting bloody saliva on the ground next to her. The pain and exhaustion in her arms now far outstripped anything she’d felt running through the jungle.
Stop wasting time. Get this over with. Make it clean.
The more she thought about it, the longer he took, the worse it would be. Blood and tears continued to run down her face, as she tried in vain to think of some way out of this. All he had to do was lunge. Take a step forward, pin her to the wall. The way he looked right now, it seemed as if that might be one of the last things he’d ever do.
Instead, he questioned her.
A look of shock spread across Erika’s bloodied face. After an uncomfortably empty moment, she spat back at Demetri, aghast that he was even asking something like that. It was obviously the thing they all had to do. It startled her that even at this point, he still didn’t see it.
“Bullshit! We - I have to! It’s either that-”
Erika motioned towards the twins on the ground further away, not expecting him to look. Her hands visibly trembled.
“-or die, and that’s - that’s not a choice, Demetri! What, you think I want to kill people? Do you think that’s easy?! What the fuck do you think this is, huh?!”
She tapped the collar around her neck, which always managed to feel strangely cold in the tropical heat. For a moment, she let her fingertips linger on it, reminding herself what it could do. Trying desperately to convince herself she’d done the only thing she could do, and it wasn’t Demetri fucking Futscher who had a better grasp on reality than she did.
The tip of the spear still stood out in the center of her vision. Her hand-eye coordination was good enough. If she was fast, if he kept delaying like this, she might have an opportunity to swat it out of the way. Close the distance, and then -
And then what?
She quivered slightly at the thought of what she might have to do. A drop of blood slowly crawled down from her nostril to her mouth, and she wiped it off with the back of her hand. Her face hurt. Erika figured she’d know if he’d broken her nose, but she didn’t really know what that was supposed to feel like.
That was the least of her problems right now.
She just fought for herself. He fought for two others. Without a thought to his own safety. All she cared about was her own survival. Of course she would’ve been at a disadvantage, all else being equal.
In the back of her mind she’d imagined that instinct that kept her going would summon up some kind of ferocity. Something deep and inhuman, something that wouldn’t rise to the surface unless she was really in danger. On some level, she’d just assumed it was there. She’d killed six people so far; she should have had something waiting for a moment like this. Some monster that would appear and rescue her. Like Ty had. Like Ty might’ve been.
There didn’t seem to be anything there. In its place, Erika found herself motionless, pressed against the wall. The glint of the spear tip pointed at her immediately caught her attention, holding her there. The blade was still glistening with blood. Her blood. She felt sick, spitting bloody saliva on the ground next to her. The pain and exhaustion in her arms now far outstripped anything she’d felt running through the jungle.
Stop wasting time. Get this over with. Make it clean.
The more she thought about it, the longer he took, the worse it would be. Blood and tears continued to run down her face, as she tried in vain to think of some way out of this. All he had to do was lunge. Take a step forward, pin her to the wall. The way he looked right now, it seemed as if that might be one of the last things he’d ever do.
Instead, he questioned her.
A look of shock spread across Erika’s bloodied face. After an uncomfortably empty moment, she spat back at Demetri, aghast that he was even asking something like that. It was obviously the thing they all had to do. It startled her that even at this point, he still didn’t see it.
“Bullshit! We - I have to! It’s either that-”
Erika motioned towards the twins on the ground further away, not expecting him to look. Her hands visibly trembled.
“-or die, and that’s - that’s not a choice, Demetri! What, you think I want to kill people? Do you think that’s easy?! What the fuck do you think this is, huh?!”
She tapped the collar around her neck, which always managed to feel strangely cold in the tropical heat. For a moment, she let her fingertips linger on it, reminding herself what it could do. Trying desperately to convince herself she’d done the only thing she could do, and it wasn’t Demetri fucking Futscher who had a better grasp on reality than she did.
The tip of the spear still stood out in the center of her vision. Her hand-eye coordination was good enough. If she was fast, if he kept delaying like this, she might have an opportunity to swat it out of the way. Close the distance, and then -
And then what?
She quivered slightly at the thought of what she might have to do. A drop of blood slowly crawled down from her nostril to her mouth, and she wiped it off with the back of her hand. Her face hurt. Erika figured she’d know if he’d broken her nose, but she didn’t really know what that was supposed to feel like.
That was the least of her problems right now.
She looked terrible. He didn't want to look. Youthful glistening in all the spilled viscera painting her face. He kept looking.
Not moving. The immovable object in his two hands buzzed with stalwart inertia. He couldn't have ended it if he wanted to. He was going to listen to her. To not interrupt, because he'd learned a thing or two in his lifetime about mansplaining. He was going to watch her remind him of the collar's weight that had merely become another few digits added to his own body weight. He was going to watch her scrape away the blood painting her upper lip, only for gravity to promptly renew from the headwaters.
"Not easy."
Lorenzo Tavares, two time murderer and rapist, sauntering away through the trees.
"I know that." Demetri supposed this was like, one of those things girls were better equipped to do than guys. Maybe he should have sounded sympathetic. Reflected some real kind of empathy in his response, put up the mirror between their faces so that Erika would see something besides pig-faced, beet-red douchebag. He really did get it- that's what he could have insisted to himself, intellectualized if he had anymore time to process than all of the no time and no space that existed between the two of them.
But he was just empty as always. Deadpanning the punchline to a joke that wasn't funny.
"No 'have to'. I think." He shrugged. He was still unstuck from the normal passage of time. Somewhere far away in the future was the electrical burst that would course from his brain to his lips, forming words that would truly justify his instincts, that would spell out to the world just what he, Demetri, believed was right.
Something something 'there are only two genders', finally put onto the record.
"Even Tyrell stopped. Made a different choice."
Low blow, probably. Not as low as the next.
He'd pinned her in a tight spot of geometry, her body against a wall and inches shy of toppling onto the bed parallel. He entered that little strip of space, rushing into it quick enough that the bed creaked back, evading his wake. The spear was held up. He led not with 'just the tip', but with the broadness of the shaft. He held it up like it was the dance partner he'd never had in his life. Momentum crashed it into the base of her neck. He jolted along with her. Resistance firmed up, tried to hold him back. Her body impatiently reminded him that it was not particularly given to folding up, crumpling away.
He'd had that one moment of not thinking, a snap-of-the-fingers instant where if he'd done anything else she'd be sliding to the floor in solidarity with the six others who'd come before her.
He'd chickened out. Now it was harder. Now their faces were parallel and he could see the struggle in every shade of her face as he himself struggled. Unspoken questions he couldn't smartass his way to an answer- if he firmed his grip, if he manned up. If he finished the job.
He had her. The spear was right there, pressing down onto the vulnerable flesh of her neck. He just needed to force it a bit more. He had the muscle power to spare. Her arms had no leverage or angle to reach him. She was right there. Dying. Inches worth of his willpower from dying. Watching him watch her die.
Maybe. He still, somehow, didn't know. Right up until the moment where it was too late.
Not moving. The immovable object in his two hands buzzed with stalwart inertia. He couldn't have ended it if he wanted to. He was going to listen to her. To not interrupt, because he'd learned a thing or two in his lifetime about mansplaining. He was going to watch her remind him of the collar's weight that had merely become another few digits added to his own body weight. He was going to watch her scrape away the blood painting her upper lip, only for gravity to promptly renew from the headwaters.
"Not easy."
Lorenzo Tavares, two time murderer and rapist, sauntering away through the trees.
"I know that." Demetri supposed this was like, one of those things girls were better equipped to do than guys. Maybe he should have sounded sympathetic. Reflected some real kind of empathy in his response, put up the mirror between their faces so that Erika would see something besides pig-faced, beet-red douchebag. He really did get it- that's what he could have insisted to himself, intellectualized if he had anymore time to process than all of the no time and no space that existed between the two of them.
But he was just empty as always. Deadpanning the punchline to a joke that wasn't funny.
"No 'have to'. I think." He shrugged. He was still unstuck from the normal passage of time. Somewhere far away in the future was the electrical burst that would course from his brain to his lips, forming words that would truly justify his instincts, that would spell out to the world just what he, Demetri, believed was right.
Something something 'there are only two genders', finally put onto the record.
"Even Tyrell stopped. Made a different choice."
Low blow, probably. Not as low as the next.
He'd pinned her in a tight spot of geometry, her body against a wall and inches shy of toppling onto the bed parallel. He entered that little strip of space, rushing into it quick enough that the bed creaked back, evading his wake. The spear was held up. He led not with 'just the tip', but with the broadness of the shaft. He held it up like it was the dance partner he'd never had in his life. Momentum crashed it into the base of her neck. He jolted along with her. Resistance firmed up, tried to hold him back. Her body impatiently reminded him that it was not particularly given to folding up, crumpling away.
He'd had that one moment of not thinking, a snap-of-the-fingers instant where if he'd done anything else she'd be sliding to the floor in solidarity with the six others who'd come before her.
He'd chickened out. Now it was harder. Now their faces were parallel and he could see the struggle in every shade of her face as he himself struggled. Unspoken questions he couldn't smartass his way to an answer- if he firmed his grip, if he manned up. If he finished the job.
He had her. The spear was right there, pressing down onto the vulnerable flesh of her neck. He just needed to force it a bit more. He had the muscle power to spare. Her arms had no leverage or angle to reach him. She was right there. Dying. Inches worth of his willpower from dying. Watching him watch her die.
Maybe. He still, somehow, didn't know. Right up until the moment where it was too late.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Demetri’s response caught her off guard. Erika didn’t know why she felt so much frustration that he didn’t see her point. It wasn’t as if she wanted to persuade him to kill her. She wasn’t seeking any forgiveness for her actions, not from Demetri or the others on the island that stood between her and life. It would’ve been wrong to ask for it. At first she wanted to understand him, what might’ve motivated his act of bravery. If she could’ve been wrong about this, that there was some other way of surviving this place, she wanted to be.
Until of course, he mentioned Tyrell. Saying he chose to stop. Demetri must’ve known the kind of reaction that would get out of her; in that moment as she saw red and tried to knock the spear tip aside, he closed the distance between them. Instead of running her through with the blade, he pressed her against the wall with the shaft of the spear.
She only barely managed to get her hands on the weapon, but couldn’t do anything to keep him from pressing the wooden shaft against her windpipe. There was precious little room to move or to try and push him back. Attempts to kick him were to no avail; he was too close to even put a foot back against the wall. Trying desperately to catch her breath, she was overwhelmed by the coppery odour of blood and sweat coming from the both of them. The old wooden boards creaked against their weight, and she felt something metal now digging into her back pocket. The shaft of the spear bent inward slightly as Demetri pressed it to her throat.
Black spots began to show in her vision. Demetri held fast, staring her down.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been here, she thought. Not long ago it had been her watching someone fade away. Now she was on the other side, and someone else was waiting for her. Not out of some manic desire to confront existential angst. No, he was just waiting for her to stop moving. So that it might be safe, for a little while. So he could help the others, if they were even still alive.
It was stupid, and shortsighted, and he’d be remembered as a hero for it. Even as she struggled to keep him from completely cutting off her breathing, she couldn’t very well disagree. Like Michael had said, she was playing the villain. Either she’d win, or someone would eventually come along to stop her, and they’d do it with a kind of motivation she could only think of as a distant fantasy.
That moment was coming. Grey clouds began to fall around the edges of her field of view. Erika wasn’t looking at Demetri anymore. She was looking at her end. It wasn’t going to be peaceful, or a respite from a lifetime’s worth of exhaustion. There was no rest to be found here, no resolution.
Just terror, and the sensation of body slowly falling numb. For all she wanted to face this with some kind of stoicism, she wasn’t yet losing any feeling in her soul.
It was coming. A sudden quiet, like entering a vacuum. Profound, deep silence within the smallest perceptible moment before everything ended. Light bled away from everywhere at once, well past what she struggled to see in front of her. Past the infirmary, outside the island. Before all of this, as far back as she could remember.
It was all fading, every precious memory. Dying with the person that they had built. Folding closed with a soft, distant thump like a half-read book. Everywhere she’d ever been, everywhere she wanted to go, the lines that defined them began to unravel. Different shades of black and grey faded into one another, as the places that only existed within her mind started to shift and collapse. Piles of mental rubble that themselves gradually began to disintegrate into a fine, flat later of pitch-black dust.
All that was left was a tiny ember of awareness. A gloaming, helical mote of fire that sought only to burn brightly, even as the act of doing so meant joining the rest of the ash.
The ember flickered, dimming as far as it could; only perceptible against the ashen void that served as its backdrop.
It might’ve gone out, if not for the tiny bit of air that Demetri’s hesitation drew towards it. Enough to breathe life back into the fire.
The ember spoke:
Erika’s grip on the spear tightened. She saw the shaft bend slightly when Demetri pushed her. Her eyes widened, looking to her right and towards the blade. It was only a few inches from the adjacent wall. She didn’t have to move them far, only a little. Gritting her teeth, Erika pushed down with her right arm and swung the two of them sideways.
The blade embedded itself within the dilapidated wood panels with a satisfying thud. Putting one foot on the wall behind her, Erika pushed forward as hard as she knew how. The shaft of the spear snapped in half, tiny wood splinters flying out in all directions. the shove sent Demetri stumbling backward. Whatever had happened to his leg caused him some difficulty now keeping his footing.
It had taken her a moment to figure out what it was that she had felt in her back pocket. At first she’d just assumed it was a loose nail in the wall behind her, or ammunition she’d thoughtlessly pocketed. It wasn’t until she smelled blood in the air that she realized what it was.
The butterfly knife practically flew into Erika’s hand as she lunged forward with a feral yell. She swung the blade in an underhand arc, plunging it deep into Demetri’s abdomen. Long, thin streaks of blood spattered outward as she tore it out and stabbed him again and again. If he was screaming, if he was coughing blood, if he was trying somehow to fight back, she couldn’t tell.
Her monster had finally come to save her.
It screamed, raging against the ashen void that threatened to take her away. Howling a battle cry, as if to dare anyone else to try and drag her back into that pit. It didn’t notice the stinging, burning pain from her injuries or the warm, crimson liquid that her frantic act of violence cast across the walls and floor. All it cared for was ripping and tearing the life from the one that kept her in this place, the one who tried to end her.
Erika only stopped when Demetri collapsed to the ground in front of her. The blade was now completely slick, and had slipped up a bit. She'd probably cut her palm, but couldn’t feel it. Her whole body felt consumed by static, tingling and demanding she find the closest path to ground, to safety.
She flicked the blood off of the blade, folding it into her front pocket. Dashed to the spot where she’d dropped her rifle, and quickly picked it off the ground. She quickly checked the scope for cracks, before looping it around her shoulder and stepping back towards the storeroom, over Demetri. For a moment she expected him to try and grab her, to trip her on the way, but one lingering glance at his broken form gave her enough confidence to press forward.
Her duffel bag was exactly where she left it, in between an old takeout container and a crumpled soda can. Drops of blood preceded her reach, spattering onto the floor next to her bag. She froze, eyes transfixed on her blood-soaked arm.
I made my choice.
She wiped the blood off on the sleeve of her jacket, before reaching down and scooping up her bag. The bodies should’ve been enough to ward her away. They should’ve kept the others away. All this place had to offer was more death.
Wasting no time, she tore through the Infirmary and the carnage she’d caused, racing to free herself of the stench of blood and gunpowder.
Until of course, he mentioned Tyrell. Saying he chose to stop. Demetri must’ve known the kind of reaction that would get out of her; in that moment as she saw red and tried to knock the spear tip aside, he closed the distance between them. Instead of running her through with the blade, he pressed her against the wall with the shaft of the spear.
She only barely managed to get her hands on the weapon, but couldn’t do anything to keep him from pressing the wooden shaft against her windpipe. There was precious little room to move or to try and push him back. Attempts to kick him were to no avail; he was too close to even put a foot back against the wall. Trying desperately to catch her breath, she was overwhelmed by the coppery odour of blood and sweat coming from the both of them. The old wooden boards creaked against their weight, and she felt something metal now digging into her back pocket. The shaft of the spear bent inward slightly as Demetri pressed it to her throat.
Black spots began to show in her vision. Demetri held fast, staring her down.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been here, she thought. Not long ago it had been her watching someone fade away. Now she was on the other side, and someone else was waiting for her. Not out of some manic desire to confront existential angst. No, he was just waiting for her to stop moving. So that it might be safe, for a little while. So he could help the others, if they were even still alive.
It was stupid, and shortsighted, and he’d be remembered as a hero for it. Even as she struggled to keep him from completely cutting off her breathing, she couldn’t very well disagree. Like Michael had said, she was playing the villain. Either she’d win, or someone would eventually come along to stop her, and they’d do it with a kind of motivation she could only think of as a distant fantasy.
That moment was coming. Grey clouds began to fall around the edges of her field of view. Erika wasn’t looking at Demetri anymore. She was looking at her end. It wasn’t going to be peaceful, or a respite from a lifetime’s worth of exhaustion. There was no rest to be found here, no resolution.
Just terror, and the sensation of body slowly falling numb. For all she wanted to face this with some kind of stoicism, she wasn’t yet losing any feeling in her soul.
It was coming. A sudden quiet, like entering a vacuum. Profound, deep silence within the smallest perceptible moment before everything ended. Light bled away from everywhere at once, well past what she struggled to see in front of her. Past the infirmary, outside the island. Before all of this, as far back as she could remember.
It was all fading, every precious memory. Dying with the person that they had built. Folding closed with a soft, distant thump like a half-read book. Everywhere she’d ever been, everywhere she wanted to go, the lines that defined them began to unravel. Different shades of black and grey faded into one another, as the places that only existed within her mind started to shift and collapse. Piles of mental rubble that themselves gradually began to disintegrate into a fine, flat later of pitch-black dust.
All that was left was a tiny ember of awareness. A gloaming, helical mote of fire that sought only to burn brightly, even as the act of doing so meant joining the rest of the ash.
The ember flickered, dimming as far as it could; only perceptible against the ashen void that served as its backdrop.
It might’ve gone out, if not for the tiny bit of air that Demetri’s hesitation drew towards it. Enough to breathe life back into the fire.
The ember spoke:
Live.
Erika’s grip on the spear tightened. She saw the shaft bend slightly when Demetri pushed her. Her eyes widened, looking to her right and towards the blade. It was only a few inches from the adjacent wall. She didn’t have to move them far, only a little. Gritting her teeth, Erika pushed down with her right arm and swung the two of them sideways.
The blade embedded itself within the dilapidated wood panels with a satisfying thud. Putting one foot on the wall behind her, Erika pushed forward as hard as she knew how. The shaft of the spear snapped in half, tiny wood splinters flying out in all directions. the shove sent Demetri stumbling backward. Whatever had happened to his leg caused him some difficulty now keeping his footing.
It had taken her a moment to figure out what it was that she had felt in her back pocket. At first she’d just assumed it was a loose nail in the wall behind her, or ammunition she’d thoughtlessly pocketed. It wasn’t until she smelled blood in the air that she realized what it was.
The butterfly knife practically flew into Erika’s hand as she lunged forward with a feral yell. She swung the blade in an underhand arc, plunging it deep into Demetri’s abdomen. Long, thin streaks of blood spattered outward as she tore it out and stabbed him again and again. If he was screaming, if he was coughing blood, if he was trying somehow to fight back, she couldn’t tell.
Her monster had finally come to save her.
It screamed, raging against the ashen void that threatened to take her away. Howling a battle cry, as if to dare anyone else to try and drag her back into that pit. It didn’t notice the stinging, burning pain from her injuries or the warm, crimson liquid that her frantic act of violence cast across the walls and floor. All it cared for was ripping and tearing the life from the one that kept her in this place, the one who tried to end her.
Erika only stopped when Demetri collapsed to the ground in front of her. The blade was now completely slick, and had slipped up a bit. She'd probably cut her palm, but couldn’t feel it. Her whole body felt consumed by static, tingling and demanding she find the closest path to ground, to safety.
She flicked the blood off of the blade, folding it into her front pocket. Dashed to the spot where she’d dropped her rifle, and quickly picked it off the ground. She quickly checked the scope for cracks, before looping it around her shoulder and stepping back towards the storeroom, over Demetri. For a moment she expected him to try and grab her, to trip her on the way, but one lingering glance at his broken form gave her enough confidence to press forward.
Her duffel bag was exactly where she left it, in between an old takeout container and a crumpled soda can. Drops of blood preceded her reach, spattering onto the floor next to her bag. She froze, eyes transfixed on her blood-soaked arm.
I made my choice.
She wiped the blood off on the sleeve of her jacket, before reaching down and scooping up her bag. The bodies should’ve been enough to ward her away. They should’ve kept the others away. All this place had to offer was more death.
Wasting no time, she tore through the Infirmary and the carnage she’d caused, racing to free herself of the stench of blood and gunpowder.
((Sal Bonaventura continued from Falling Down the Rabbit Hole))
Following the path was not difficult for Sal. It was everything else that was, in particular his body. It did not seem to appreciate what he was doing.
It was sending him signs to stop as his body ached all over, his breathing ran haggard and his feet felt wobbly on the beaten path. Every time he blinked, his eyes would almost refuse to open and only barely allowed sight, as if someone had punched both his eyes shut. Not to speak of the bags underneath his eyes that felt like they were on the verge of sagging of his face.
His arms barely moved as held them in front of himself, presumably to catch himself if he fell forward again. The back of his feet hurt, blisters having formed. Heavy steps were taken forward, ever lurching.
Was he even on the right track? He hadn’t seen anything in a while as his eyes stayed glued to the path with momentary glances up to tell where he was.
Mostly trees and greenery to remind him of where he had been trapped for days. It was only when the different colored houses entered his sight that he knew he’d gotten somewhere.
The village. Where it all began those days ago before they ran off into the woods and it all started going wrong.
But none of these buildings around caught his interest. No, there was one building in particular that he wanted to go towards.
The infirmary.
Was she there? Or the other one? Both? He’d have to see.
It’d make sense right? Big place from a glance, one could hold up in it and hide. Maybe spend the rest of their time here if need be.
A perfect place for a runaway.
And this time as his hands clutched a nearby wall for support, he decided to follow Manuel’s approach to searching. He sucked in as much air as he could before bellowing her name.
“Yuka!?” His hands cupped around his mouth as he did so. “Yu-yuki!? Y-you there?” His voice was losing the small amount of power he could gather.
And the response was not what he had anticipated.
Following the path was not difficult for Sal. It was everything else that was, in particular his body. It did not seem to appreciate what he was doing.
It was sending him signs to stop as his body ached all over, his breathing ran haggard and his feet felt wobbly on the beaten path. Every time he blinked, his eyes would almost refuse to open and only barely allowed sight, as if someone had punched both his eyes shut. Not to speak of the bags underneath his eyes that felt like they were on the verge of sagging of his face.
His arms barely moved as held them in front of himself, presumably to catch himself if he fell forward again. The back of his feet hurt, blisters having formed. Heavy steps were taken forward, ever lurching.
Was he even on the right track? He hadn’t seen anything in a while as his eyes stayed glued to the path with momentary glances up to tell where he was.
Mostly trees and greenery to remind him of where he had been trapped for days. It was only when the different colored houses entered his sight that he knew he’d gotten somewhere.
The village. Where it all began those days ago before they ran off into the woods and it all started going wrong.
But none of these buildings around caught his interest. No, there was one building in particular that he wanted to go towards.
The infirmary.
Was she there? Or the other one? Both? He’d have to see.
It’d make sense right? Big place from a glance, one could hold up in it and hide. Maybe spend the rest of their time here if need be.
A perfect place for a runaway.
And this time as his hands clutched a nearby wall for support, he decided to follow Manuel’s approach to searching. He sucked in as much air as he could before bellowing her name.
“Yuka!?” His hands cupped around his mouth as he did so. “Yu-yuki!? Y-you there?” His voice was losing the small amount of power he could gather.
And the response was not what he had anticipated.
With every step she felt more and more worn down from the encounter. Her face throbbed from the places Demetri had struck her, and the persistent buzzing pain from the cut on her arm were becoming difficult to ignore. She ran with the rifle tucked under the corner of her arm. Firing from the hip wasn’t going to do much past send people scrambling, but that was exactly what she needed right now.
People always qualified things like what she’d just done by saying they’d only do it if they were backed into a corner. She figured that had been true in a more literal sense, but not to begin with. Erika attacked them; regardless of how things had gone from there, she’d instigated it. Maybe it seemed cold, or unnecessary. It didn’t feel good. She couldn’t say she enjoyed the rush of adrenaline she felt right now. It all felt like a panic attack she was slightly more in control of.
Just existing in this place was being backed into a corner. Every decision was a life-and-death one. Every single person was a threat so long as their collar told those bastards they were still alive. Each of them a time bomb, ready to go off as soon as they realized it like she had. Others might have reasons that transcended their own survival, something she envied.
So her mind raced, only thinking of where she needed to go from here. Not thinking about the bodies in this building that were only that way because she’d made them so. Anxiety always thought a few steps ahead of where she needed to go, instead of keeping her focused on the path right in front of her. It didn’t tell her how she was going to patch up the cut on her arm, as there wasn’t a soul on the island who’d help her do it.
Nor did it caution her to exit the building slowly, as there was nothing behind her she ought to run from. She wished it had, as she rounded a corner and came face-to-face with another intruder. Another threat. He was calling after Yuki and Yuka, his voice worn and tired. She didn’t have time to think about that, either.
Erika flinched as she instinctively squeezed the trigger on her rifle, a round haphazardly winging the new person and stopping him in his tracks. They stared at one another for a moment, both caught by surprise. Neither having even a moment to process what was happening, or what was going to happen. In those few seconds, she finally slowed down a bit, recognizing him.
Sal. His name’s Sal. One of the theater kids. Were they friends?
He stood between her and the way out. Any moment longer and she knew she’d find herself on the edge of the abyss again, possibly without the strength to pull herself back out. Without the hesitation that dogged her before, she shouldered the rifle and squeezed the trigger again. A characteristic deafening thud echoed through the Infirmary, and Sal promptly collapsed to the floor in a heap.
The door was open; the way was clear. The woods might’ve exposed her to the elements, but at least then she’d be reminded what she fought for, instead of what she fought against. Erika ran past Sal, stepping into the daylight. Her eyes shone wet in the sunlight. In them lingered a reflection of what she’d done.
Wiping away the sweat and tears with the sleeve of her jacket, Erika looked to the nearest treeline. It didn’t take long before she had disappeared into the dense forest, her thoughts only on the path in front of her. She knew the moment she stopped to tend to her wounds, she’d find new ones as she looked back on this. Things she might not be able to stitch back together. Things that would continue to bleed.
The flies in the jungle were drawn to her now, more than they ever had been.
People always qualified things like what she’d just done by saying they’d only do it if they were backed into a corner. She figured that had been true in a more literal sense, but not to begin with. Erika attacked them; regardless of how things had gone from there, she’d instigated it. Maybe it seemed cold, or unnecessary. It didn’t feel good. She couldn’t say she enjoyed the rush of adrenaline she felt right now. It all felt like a panic attack she was slightly more in control of.
Just existing in this place was being backed into a corner. Every decision was a life-and-death one. Every single person was a threat so long as their collar told those bastards they were still alive. Each of them a time bomb, ready to go off as soon as they realized it like she had. Others might have reasons that transcended their own survival, something she envied.
So her mind raced, only thinking of where she needed to go from here. Not thinking about the bodies in this building that were only that way because she’d made them so. Anxiety always thought a few steps ahead of where she needed to go, instead of keeping her focused on the path right in front of her. It didn’t tell her how she was going to patch up the cut on her arm, as there wasn’t a soul on the island who’d help her do it.
Nor did it caution her to exit the building slowly, as there was nothing behind her she ought to run from. She wished it had, as she rounded a corner and came face-to-face with another intruder. Another threat. He was calling after Yuki and Yuka, his voice worn and tired. She didn’t have time to think about that, either.
Erika flinched as she instinctively squeezed the trigger on her rifle, a round haphazardly winging the new person and stopping him in his tracks. They stared at one another for a moment, both caught by surprise. Neither having even a moment to process what was happening, or what was going to happen. In those few seconds, she finally slowed down a bit, recognizing him.
Sal. His name’s Sal. One of the theater kids. Were they friends?
He stood between her and the way out. Any moment longer and she knew she’d find herself on the edge of the abyss again, possibly without the strength to pull herself back out. Without the hesitation that dogged her before, she shouldered the rifle and squeezed the trigger again. A characteristic deafening thud echoed through the Infirmary, and Sal promptly collapsed to the floor in a heap.
The door was open; the way was clear. The woods might’ve exposed her to the elements, but at least then she’d be reminded what she fought for, instead of what she fought against. Erika ran past Sal, stepping into the daylight. Her eyes shone wet in the sunlight. In them lingered a reflection of what she’d done.
Wiping away the sweat and tears with the sleeve of her jacket, Erika looked to the nearest treeline. It didn’t take long before she had disappeared into the dense forest, her thoughts only on the path in front of her. She knew the moment she stopped to tend to her wounds, she’d find new ones as she looked back on this. Things she might not be able to stitch back together. Things that would continue to bleed.
The flies in the jungle were drawn to her now, more than they ever had been.
((Erika Stieglitz continued in Reflection))
As hard as it had been for Sal to see these last few days, the unmistakable shape of a gun in the hands of the person in the room was clear as day.
Especially when it glared him in the face with fire. And if that was not enough, then the sound was.
His senses all flared up and for the first time in several days, Sal was fully awake. A bullet whizzing by would do that, but his legs wouldn't move from his spot as he stared terrified at the girl in front of him. He tried to recognise who she was, but she'd seen better days and a name escaped him.
He quickly paid for this mistake when she pulled the gun up proper and a bullet penetrated his chest.
The pain emanating from his chest was unreal. He used to think simple things like bumping your head or stubbing your toe was the worst that could happen to him. None of it compared to a bullet entering his chest cavity then making its exit outback.
The force of the hit sent him backwards. His legs that could barely stand earlier finally crumbled under the weight of it all and he fell on his back onto the floor. The struggle to breathe was real as he tried to rise his head, his arms and his knees. But none had the strength to do so.
Various curses flew through the air as he tried in between desperate breaths and rapid blinking to make sense of it all. His thoughts spiraled as if it were a carnival gone out of control.
Where did they come from? Who were they? Why were they there? Where was Yuka and Yuki? And most importantly, why? Why shoot? He was unarmed, harmless. All he wanted to do was find somebody.
And now he was on the floor, bleeding. His hands clawing at the wound in his chest, as if to pull out the bullet and make it better again.
He tried to lift his head and get another look at the fuckin’ bastard that had shot him, but they sped past him like Usain Bolt on a track. Footsteps going further and further away till they were gone and the only sound that registered in his mind was his own breathing.
Especially when it glared him in the face with fire. And if that was not enough, then the sound was.
His senses all flared up and for the first time in several days, Sal was fully awake. A bullet whizzing by would do that, but his legs wouldn't move from his spot as he stared terrified at the girl in front of him. He tried to recognise who she was, but she'd seen better days and a name escaped him.
He quickly paid for this mistake when she pulled the gun up proper and a bullet penetrated his chest.
The pain emanating from his chest was unreal. He used to think simple things like bumping your head or stubbing your toe was the worst that could happen to him. None of it compared to a bullet entering his chest cavity then making its exit outback.
The force of the hit sent him backwards. His legs that could barely stand earlier finally crumbled under the weight of it all and he fell on his back onto the floor. The struggle to breathe was real as he tried to rise his head, his arms and his knees. But none had the strength to do so.
Various curses flew through the air as he tried in between desperate breaths and rapid blinking to make sense of it all. His thoughts spiraled as if it were a carnival gone out of control.
Where did they come from? Who were they? Why were they there? Where was Yuka and Yuki? And most importantly, why? Why shoot? He was unarmed, harmless. All he wanted to do was find somebody.
And now he was on the floor, bleeding. His hands clawing at the wound in his chest, as if to pull out the bullet and make it better again.
He tried to lift his head and get another look at the fuckin’ bastard that had shot him, but they sped past him like Usain Bolt on a track. Footsteps going further and further away till they were gone and the only sound that registered in his mind was his own breathing.
Where?
Where was
rust, rot in the air, Erika-
She was, she was with Yuki and Demetri and she’d been
The side of her head throbbed, there were stars in her eyes. It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt.
God.
She’d been so mad, she’d been shouting, her throat hurt
Erika
Where was this place? Her body felt warm, slick.
The smell, the stench, Yuko, she didn't want to be back there, but she wasn't, so where was she, what happe
She looked below, the side of her body was coated in blood.
Erika.
Her hands immediately went to her body, but it just felt wet, disgusting. No burn, no sting, no pain. No wounds to speak of.
This wasn't hers.
This wasn't her blood. So whose was i-
Erika's face, thunder, nothing.
Yuki had been with her. Yuki had grabbed onto her.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no
She sat up, the world spun, everything felt so wrong, why was she thinking of Erika so much? Where was Y
To her left,
her happiness her everything
she lay prone, eyes half-lidded, bleeding.
The blood on the floor was Yuki's. The blood covering Yuka was Yuki's. The blood on Yuka's hands was Yuki's.
She nudged
Everything stopped.
It
Her sister was
Yuki
The blood was hers.
Erika’s face, and then thunder, and then nothing.
Erika
It was Yuki’s blood on Yuka’s clothes Yuka’s lap Yuka’s hands outside of Yuki.
“Yuki? Y-Yuki?”
She reached over, gently nudged her face. Nothing stayed still as she did so, the world began to collapse, but she steadied. She had to.
“Come o”—her voice broke—“come on, sis, get up, please.”
Where was
rust, rot in the air, Erika-
She was, she was with Yuki and Demetri and she’d been
The side of her head throbbed, there were stars in her eyes. It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt.
God.
She’d been so mad, she’d been shouting, her throat hurt
Erika
Where was this place? Her body felt warm, slick.
The smell, the stench, Yuko, she didn't want to be back there, but she wasn't, so where was she, what happe
She looked below, the side of her body was coated in blood.
Erika.
Her hands immediately went to her body, but it just felt wet, disgusting. No burn, no sting, no pain. No wounds to speak of.
This wasn't hers.
This wasn't her blood. So whose was i-
Erika's face, thunder, nothing.
Yuki had been with her. Yuki had grabbed onto her.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no
She sat up, the world spun, everything felt so wrong, why was she thinking of Erika so much? Where was Y
To her left,
her happiness her everything
she lay prone, eyes half-lidded, bleeding.
The blood on the floor was Yuki's. The blood covering Yuka was Yuki's. The blood on Yuka's hands was Yuki's.
She nudged
Everything stopped.
It
Her sister was
Yuki
The blood was hers.
Erika’s face, and then thunder, and then nothing.
Erika
It was Yuki’s blood on Yuka’s clothes Yuka’s lap Yuka’s hands outside of Yuki.
“Yuki? Y-Yuki?”
She reached over, gently nudged her face. Nothing stayed still as she did so, the world began to collapse, but she steadied. She had to.
“Come o”—her voice broke—“come on, sis, get up, please.”
Yuki’s consciousness was hanging by a thread. It was as if she was fighting back sleep, only she was being pulled into a void of eternal darkness, rather than a realm of dreams. Her vision was unfocused, blurry, lacking a firm grasp of reality. The pain in her back was the only thing she could feel.
But then, she heard a faint voice, tinged with distress. Then she felt a light tapping on the side of her face. Mustering up enough strength to simply open her eyelids, which felt impossible at this point, a figure came into focus. It was her sister.
“Y-yu-Yuka,” Yuki moaned.
But then, she heard a faint voice, tinged with distress. Then she felt a light tapping on the side of her face. Mustering up enough strength to simply open her eyelids, which felt impossible at this point, a figure came into focus. It was her sister.
“Y-yu-Yuka,” Yuki moaned.