The second "Only You" drifted into Nicolette's head as she, Whitehorse, Hudson and Pratt and her mindfulness started to fade, she figured this was all a cruel joke. If it was a nightmare that she was about to wake up from, she'd be lucky… but also invest in sleeping pills- the kinds that kept you awake at all costs.
Joseph had most likely planned the whole thing. He must've had someone making sure that song was playing on each damn station as they left.
She tried to block out the Sheriffs voice as she scrambled for the door handle. Your people are weak. They need to die. Cull the herd. Cull the herd.
She risked a glance back at Pratt, only to find he was further gone than she was. There was that madness in his eyes that she hadn't reached yet.
He made eye contact with her, and then set her eyes on the gun at the Sheriffs hip, then back.
She knew what he was getting at. They had been through too much of the same shit for her to not understand.
"You're stronger," was all he said. He wanted to harm them as little as she did. And he knew she had mastered all of the shit that came with the conditioning more than he had. It was enough to put a knot in her stomach that he was giving her permission to kill him to save the lot of didn't have much time to handle things. Without a second thought, she took the gun, raised it to Pratt's head and pulled the trigger.
Hudson screamed. Nicolette was losing her grip on reality enough to not know if there were words or not.
She did see Whitehorse set her with a panicked look with something behind it, and another glance made her realize what it was. He knew. He slammed his hand against the radio controls to shut it off. "... Rook!"
She gave him one final look. "No National Guard. No army. Get out. Don't come back." Her vision went even more red. With one last look at them, she unhooked her seatbelt and unlatched the car door. She left herself fall out, weirdly relieved that the Sheriff helped push her at the last minute.
She hit the ground rolling, and then all was lost in a haze.
Kill the weak. Cull the herd. Kill the weak. Cull the herd.
And then her conscious mind was entirely lost to her.
When she woke, she found herself in the middle of a large outpost. Dead bodies were strewn everywhere, covered in blood. There were pools of it scattered in other places.. She swallowed hard. With her heart in her chest, she looked for a flag- anything to tell her if she had just gone after her own people, or she had lucked out and taken out more cultists. When she saw that damned cross on a flag a few rooftops away,she let out a relieved breath.
The relief didn't last long.
It was in that moment that she realized she thought she had been cleared of Jacob's influence, but clearly she wasn't. She had worked so hard for nothing. She had thought she was free.
Well, if that wasn't the goddamn slogan of her time in Hope County. Like every damned thing that happened so far, it was rigged against her.
She got to her feet slowly, her body protesting all the way. She had varying aches, and part of her arm was bleeding like it had been grazed. The cultist bastards had nearly gotten the better of her. She wondered if the non-Chosen bastards knew what the others had to go through. She immediately shook her head when she realized she had grouped herself in with the madmen of the cult- well, the lesser madmen, but madmen all the same. She figured once she did that, she would be far more gone than she ever wanted to be. She'd be an easier new target for Joseph.
Joseph.
The bastard probably thought she was dead if that damned song was on the radio on purpose.
There was suddenly hope in that realization. If he thought she was dead, that gave her time to prepare, to regroup and go end him. Again, the hope stopped there. After everything, she had started to wonder if the bastard was right all along. If Judgement Day was coming, and she had something to do with it.
Fuck.
Well, she'd just have to cross that bridge when she got to it.
And god damn it, she was going to get to it. Soon.
If Joseph was going to play dirty, she was going to play dirty right back. It was only fair. It was what the fucker deserved. She was just lucky enough to have considered it beforehand.
She went to work casing the outpost. She came across a medkit and did what she could to her own injuries. She got ammo and a new pistol and knife off of one of the bodies. She found herself nearby a radio during her search and ached to call someone- anyone, the Ryes, Grace, Jerome, Dutch, anyone to show that she was still there and still ready to fight. Another part of her refused the thought. If she contacted them, the wrong people could find out. They could come after her. Worse yet, they would go after the ones she contacted.
She was alone. She was a fucking ghost. It was an advantage as much of a disadvantage. She swore again, and leaving the vicinity of the radio nearly physically hurt. She'd rip the fucker limb from limb. She just needed to figure out how, now that the entire resistance was next to useless now. She nearly stopped in her tracks.
Now if she could only remember where she was so she could get to it.
She needed to find a landmark as soon as possible.
It took her a few hours, but Nicolette made it back to the river and found the right dock that the prepper-stash-turned-vault wasn't far from. She adjusted course, and after a few more minutes, found her intended target. She found the hatch door and shot the lock off the chain she had put there days ago. She tossed the chain aside, opened the hatch door and descended the ladder.
Now her goal was just beyond the keycard locked door. She retrieved the card from her boot, unlocked it and it swung open. Part of her wished that her Only You 'mode' was still intact, but again, part of her insisted that no, now she needed the bastard.
There was a pained grunt from someone on the other side. A chained up hand reached up to block the light coming directly into their eyes.
She stepped aside, more to add insult to actual injury.
The bastard's hands were bloodier than when she had last left him. He had tried to escape. Fucking idiot. She gave a cautionary glance at his restraints. Still looked intact, no tampering was evident. At least there was that.
"You look like shit," her prisoner supplied, wheeze evident in his voice. He still hadn't recovered entirely from the accident. Another blessing and curse.
She offered a tight lipped smile before she walked over to him. Without breaking eye contact, she pulled the knife she had gotten off the cultist and twirled on her fingers. "Hello to you too, John," she greeted. A moment later, she thrust the knife just left of his nearest arm- not far from where he had marked her in nearly the same fashion. A spot that hurt like Hell but wouldn't do any substantial damage- another fucking takeaway her time with Jacob had taught her. She needed him to look worse than he was, and that was the way to go.
He gritted his teeth to stifle a pained groan, but it faded into a laugh. "Good to see Jacob did a number on you."
"And I did a number on him. Karma and all that shit."
Something flashed in John's eyes, but he didn't respond.
She leaned forward. "You and I are gonna have a talk."
