Wanna Change My Clothes, My Hair, My Face

[MurderWeasel]

((Samantha Reynolds continued from Aftermath))

Lost again, wandering through the confusion, it surprised Samantha not a bit to find herself standing once more upon a rickety wooden bridge, staring down, down, into the depths of the river below, where the water wound its way across the island, cleanly bisecting the landmass, carrying the liquid to the freedom of the sea.

Though she found her location unsurprising, Samantha did not exactly find it comforting. It was here that she had entered this nightmare world, here that she had nearly lost her life, here that she had encountered the red-haired girl with the loud thoughts, the girl she had felt die, the girl who even now lay molding away on the forest floor. It was here that Samantha had first chosen to play a strategic game, had first considered shooting someone to death. Sure, she hadn't been anywhere near ready to follow through at the time, but the seed had been planted all the same, and it had dictated her every action. She had been a terrible person. It really was that simple.

And yet, Otis had seen something in her. Had allied with her, had thrown his life away protecting her.He must have known that she was no angel. He had still cared for her. Sure, some of it had probably been some kind of primitive lust, but the further removed from the situation Samantha found herself, the less able to believe that she was. He'd acted a bit coarse, but hadn't that just been a coping mechanism? Anything to keep his mind off the death, and hers too. Otis had been better than she would ever be.

No changing reality, though. No changing the events on the beach. Samantha had no doubt at all that the other boy, Cristo, had been the most dangerous contender she'd encountered. He'd had that special mixture of charisma and savagery, that charm shining through even as he shot at them from the dark. He was nothing like the pink-haired girl. She had lost track of herself. She was stupid with rage and fear, that much had been clear to Samantha even from their brief encounter. She was a rabid animal, a danger to the unprepared, but not crafty enough that you couldn't put it down with a bit of planning.

Samantha knew what she would do if she saw the girl again. She would shoot her, as quickly and efficiently as she could. This time, she would not screw up. It did not escape Samantha's notice that she had missed every shot she had taken so far. She'd never held a gun before this. Had never lined up a target, had never experienced recoil. Now, she would have to be better. She had spent a half hour or so practicing her aim, snapping the gun into line, squeezing the trigger (she left the safety on to prevent any actual discharge of ammunition). If she was going to survive, she knew she would have to kill.

What she would not do was murder. No shooting innocents. No shooting anyone who didn't pose a threat. And, at the end, when it was down to the last two or three, if they weren't already engaged in combat, Samantha would give them the chance to arm themselves. She would talk to them, get to know them, see if there were any other alternatives.

And then, if it turned out there weren't, they would all kill each other, leave everyone dead except one. Samantha was pretty sure she still wanted to be that one. She would survive, would survive in her way. She wouldn't let herself devolve like the others had. From here on out, it was self defense and fair play only.

She could wait most of this out, besides. However everyone else was doing on food and water, Samantha was pretty sure she was better off. She had eaten every single one of the tins of peaches in her various looted belongings, taking in as many sugary calories as she could, to keep herself going, keep herself awake. Her second wind had well and truly hit now. She could keep this up for a long time.

Yes. Wait it out. Be prepared. And then, at the end...

Live.

[MurderWeasel]

It was a nice rest, but it had to come to end. All peace was transient on this island, and Samantha was simply thankful that her time spent sitting on the swaying bridge was brought to an end by the announcement of her location as a forbidden zone, rather than by a hail of gunfire or a snap and a plunge into the icy stream below.

It was apparently midnight again. Time had fairly well lost its meaning to her, but Samantha knew one thing: half the contestants were dead. Ten people were gone. Samantha had seen three of those deaths firsthand, had stumbled on the aftermath of a fourth. Was she really damn unlucky, or was there something else going on? Did she somehow attract unstable people? She'd given up on the idea of a curse, given up on the notion that death was trailing in her wake, but only because she had pondered the situation. Of course everyone she met died. There would be one survivor. Everyone else involved would never leave this island, except perhaps to be carried back to a lab and dissected.

She stood slowly, gathered her things. An hour was more than enough time to get clear. No need to run. Jogging was a comfort for bad times, and, for the first time in a long time, Samantha felt relatively at peace. She had come full circle, she had purged herself of her own poisonous impulses, and now she felt she really had a chance. She would survive, but, if she didn't, she'd be damn sure to die well. She would not share Pippi's fate, oh no, she would go out with a fucking bang, take that awful murderous bitch with her, maybe, or otherwise do something really crazy, mess up the experiment somehow.

She straightened her glasses, then slowly began to wind her way down from the ravine. Yes, so many things to do. So much left to live for.

If only you could see me now, Otis. If you were still here, maybe we'd have a chance. Maybe we'd crack this thing open and make it out.

At the very edge of the area that would soon become fatal, Samantha paused. Thoughts flashed through her mind, ideas. She'd searched the forest. She'd scoured the damn place top to bottom. She hadn't quite been with it then, true, but that didn't mean she couldn't do a passable job.

This led to interesting thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Thoughts that consumed more time than she'd really expected.

A buzzing vibration in her body snapped Samantha to full awareness, her eyes widening in shock. Shit. She'd nearly given in there, nearly sat down and waited. Not a smart move. It was time to move on.

She picked up the pace, seeking a new sanctuary.

((Samantha Reynolds continued in Miseria Cantare))