👁️🩸👄🩸👁️

[Ohm]

Diana heaved across the jetties with effort, two bags across her shoulders. Her legs hurt from walking on planks, bobbing up and down in the water, reasserting balance when need be. Her chest had started hurting the last few hours and breathing was becoming a struggle.

When the pains became apparent, she found a boat to hop on and hide in. She clenched her arms around her legs as she bunched up against the floor.

That was her night till the morning shine came along and she took the opportunity to look in the water at her reflection. Puffy, sore eyes stared back. Cheeks stained with leftover tears, freezing in the wind. She blinked at this for a bit, made a face at the water before falling backward onto the floor.

She tried to laugh, but it was bitter. Harsh. Her throat was sore and it hurt so she stopped.

None of this made sense. She shouldn't be here. It was never meant to be her.

It should have been Brit.

Despite the shine, morning didn't truly come until the echoes of Ritzy Daggers voice blurted out across the arena. The wake-up call.

Diana just laid there as Ritzy went on.

Listening.

More dead. Seo-Yun, Ivan, and Verity killed more.

Gen decided it was time to go.

And Anthony... oh, Anthony.

Her arms tensed as his name and deeds came out.

He killed twice. He was the second biggest killer here.

Hypocrite. Sanctimonious monster.

Deep breaths. Heavy, difficult as the pain almost made her stop, but the anger kept her going.

Her formerly dull grip on her bags became fierce as she got up and hefted the bag's straps towards her. She opened her own and fished out her gun along with the ammunition and tools needed to reload it.

Eyes drifting in and out, blinking as she poured the gunpowder into it. Cloth wad came afterward, placed on top before the bullet followed. She pulled the rod that clung to her weapon and used it to push the cloth and bullet down the flintlocks gullet.

He needed to die. Not just for Brit, or everyone else he had killed, but for the rest of the people here. They didn't need to have killed to die by his hands, Beau and Brit were evidence to that.

With the bullet in place. Diana carefully lifted her gun and aimed towards another boat. Her hands were too shaky at first but settled as she mimed shooting. Trying to replicate how it felt several days ago in the dark when both Brit and Genevieve were still alive.

With a harsh swallow of bitter memories, Diana slung the straps over her shoulders once more around before moving. Her legs still hurt, her chest still hurt, but she walked with purpose. Her goal filling her with adrenaline as she imagined finally doing what she should have done several days ago.