In The Core: Games IX
Northwest Hallways - 11:26 AM
Kas tightens his grip on Aviv's shoulder, his breath stopped dead in his throat. For a moment following the voice the hallways fill with dense silence. Then, the footsteps start again.
Kas pulls them both backwards as they quicken ahead. He doesn't recognize the voice, but at this point anyone that isn't Aviv spells bad news. He pushes Aviv ahead of him and it doesn't take much force to get him moving. Their first footfalls are loud as they scramble forward. Kas digs his nails deeper into Aviv's shoulder in a desperate attempt to silence them both.
His mind is spinning at a hundred kilometers a minute. Whoever's behind them might be able to hear them, but they can't possibly know their exact location. Kas remembers this part of the set. It's not in the least bit straightforward with more than a handful of twists and turns. They need to move quickly, but stealth remains the number one priority. Kas needs to remain calm, but that's easier said than done.
Even as the pair manages to quiet their own steps, the echo that surrounds them is disorienting. Kas pauses for a half second trying to discern where exactly the other contestant is headed. The best he can gather is a general direction and Kas pushes them in the opposite one. He thinks this will lead back to the ladder if they continue down this hallway.
At the last moment Kas urges them to the right instead. He bites down the thoughts that the action is selfish. They're not going back up because he doesn't want to tell Aviv what happened with Nora. They're not headed where there might be more escapes because Kas can't stand to see another piece of someone's heart shatter and not know how to comfort them.
He's protecting them.
He's going to get them out of this just like Kas got them out of the last situation and the one before that.
It's already too late to turn back to the ladder anyways. Both boys keep moving at a slow jog as they listen for the pursuing footsteps. They still sound like they're coming from vaguely behind them, but as the hallway starts to curve Kas wonders if he's mistaken. He jumps forward a step until he's walking side by side with Aviv. The corridors here are wide enough to allow it so long as their shoulders remain touching.
Kas stops as the slightest inch of a shadow drags in front of them. He grabs for Aviv again but he's already seen it, his eyes wide and legs frozen in place. In those hesitant seconds, the shadow climbs several feet towards them.
Vito holds the hatchet numbly across his hips as the dark shape leads him forward. He can no longer hear the twin footsteps, but something else in the air tells him that whoever it is must be close. Days ago, perhaps even yesterday, Vito would have been terrified. Right now, he can't be. When you're set to face a fallen angel, finding someone else doesn't make your teeth chatter like they should.
They can help me, Vito muses. Every moment since he's left the safety of the security room has been filled with the unsettling sensation of being lost. Vito doesn't know how to get to the surface. The security room didn't have a map to light the way. All that's greeted him since entering these winding hallways has been bone-chilling darkness.
Lev had known which way to go, but Vito hadn't paid attention. He'd been too crammed in his own mind, in his own sense of right and wrong, to even try. The first time Vito had made it to the surface alone had been a fluke. He'd wandered in the correct direction by chance and somehow made it back again.
Today, it's as if something is trying to stop him.
Do you know which way to go? Vito wonders but the words don't make it out as he finally spots the pair. The two boys stand rigid in front of him, their feet mere meters away from his. Vito lifts his chin to look at them and finds that only one set of eyes stares back.
They're accusing. They're judgemental.
They're moving towards him.
Aviv shouts as Kasper lunges towards the boy, his mace taut in the air between them. Aviv moves in tighter to the wall, his body trembling but he doesn't know what to do. Vito raises his own weapon to block it and the sound the pair makes as they clang together is deafening. Aviv's hands come up to shield his ears at the same time that his shoes step forward.
It's hard for Aviv to keep track of them. Kasper's mace moves again and again. Vito backs up half a step with each one, but his hatchet remains poised in front of him. Aviv moves forward, then back again. He doesn't know how to help.
Vito's expression shifts. Before he looked dazed, the way someone would appear after just being awoken in the early morning hours. Now, his eyes focus solely on Kasper. The blocks turn to swings. Kasper's strikes start to tighten but none land. Aviv wants to scream but worries that it would only distract him. Each swing only gets closer.
Vito grows used to the feeling of metal bouncing off his hatchet. The first few times it felt foreign, it forced him backwards as iron rang in his ears. He could feel each one echo in his stomach as if he'd been struck but no part of him stung. A few more and Vito learned to tighten his grip, to move it only as far as necessary to keep balance.
He's adapting. Seconds in and they felt like the first shots of each hockey season - clumsy but familiar. The hatchet locked in his palm might as well have been his lucky stick, its handle chilled with the surrounding rink. Vito's heart pulses with every move just as his nerves used to jump while approaching the net.
The scream, the scream, however shocks him completely from those memories.
All of them freeze as though the referee's blown their whistle. Vito stares at the floor as liquid drips to a puddle before him. His eyes move steadily upward to its source - a deep gash in the other boy's arm. Moisture dots 016's eyes as he watches Vito in turn, his arm lifting ever slightly. Vito redirects his eyes back down to the growing puddle. Drip. Drip. In those few moments, none of them seem to move.
Understanding creeps in as another drip joins the floor by Vito's feet. He twists the hatchet, finding the back end of the blade laced in matching red. Tears gather in his eyes as they flash back up to the boy in front of him.
Drip. Drip.
Vito reaches forward but 016 flinches away far more quickly. His lips part but words disappear behind the growing storm. I hurt him. Vito takes a half-step towards him, but the first thing forward is the hatchet. Why did I hurt him? 016 throws himself backwards and the other boy grabs hold of him. I didn't mean to. The words that so easily flood Vito's skull are unable to traverse the dam between his teeth.
Vito's breaths quicken until it feels like he's going to pass out. His shadow creeps forward with Vito, its dark limbs stretching towards the pair. Aviv pulls 016 backwards the way they'd come.
I hurt him. I have to help.
I can fix this.
No sooner do the pair's footsteps quicken than do Vito's start again right behind them. The soles of his shoes drag across the blood-stained floor and leave rusty footsteps across the concrete. He can no longer see them, but he can hear them running. Vito tries to shout for them to stop but the only thing he can hear are pounding footsteps and a grating sound as his hatchet drags against the walls beside him.
He'll find them. He has to.
I'm not like him.
Intake Building - 11:30 AM
Savannah climbs quickly to her feet, taking just enough time to quiet her movements. Her mace is already clasped in one hand and the other searches for something. She's near-certain that what they're hearing are footsteps and Nora's tightened expression is enough to double down on her fear. They need to be prepared.
She glances briefly to the window before deciding against it. There are two of them and, by the sounds of it, only one intruder. It's stupid to think she can run forever. Savannah's injury might even slow her down, but it's not going to prevent her from fighting back. She made a truce for a reason.
They can do this.
That doesn't stop the pounding behind her ribcage, but it does force Savannah's gaze away from the window. She glances at Nora with a firm nod that's easily returned. It seems like the younger girl has no doubt and that makes Savannah's next steps towards the door a little easier.
She eases her entire weight onto it. This will give them more time and allow them to decide when the intruder's permitted inside. If she can surprise them just a little bit and throw them off, that'll only be a bonus. Savannah leans heavily against it and closes her eyes to the footsteps that continue up the hallway. It won't be long now.
Nora remains several steps behind, her hand quickly untying the chain from around her waist. Savannah notes the dirty scissors clutched in the opposite one and nods again. She might not have a weapon but she's proven herself to be resourceful. The objects aren't as deadly as the maces or hatchets that are running around, but Savannah has to admit they're effective.
She never saw what Nora did, but the announcement is all the proof she needs. Nora can kill alone and so can she. There's no reason for Savannah to be afraid.
She hears the faint sound as the doorknob twists carefully below her steadied wrist. Savannah swallows silently and braces herself for what she knows will come next. Sure enough, an opposing weight eases into her but Savannah is easily able to hold firm against it. The door doesn't budge and, a second later, the force against her lightens.
Savannah glances back to Nora who gives no indication of what to do next. She looks ready and for a moment Savannah considers opening the door herself or at the very least moving away from it. There's no point in further delaying what's about to happen. It will only give the intruder more time to understand that they've been noticed.
As she's about to take a step back, something stops her.
That 'something' is the blade of a hatchet slicing right through the door below where Savannah's hand is resting. She lets out a gasp, barely stopping the scream that flies to her lips. In one fast movement two things have become certain.
One, the intruder is armed with a far deadlier weapon than either of them.
And two, they will not be deterred.
Nora runs to the left corner of the room and starts dragging over the desk that's there. Savannah's arms are shaking as she continues to hold the door and the blade is jerked free of it. She swallows, forcing herself to remain in place until Nora's brought the desk within reach. Quickly, Savannah grabs the other end and pulls it in front of the door.
Both girls press into the door with the desk as an intermediate. Within seconds of letting go, Savannah watches the blade pop through the splintered wood once again. This time it's at an angle with the first and the gears start to turn quickly in her head.
They're breaking a hole in the door.
Her face pales and she turns to Nora with panic starting to bubble in her throat. She's too afraid to say anything in case the intruder will hear her, but at this point it hardly matters. They need to make a choice and fast. Savannah's eyes flit between the door and the far window then back to Nora. If Nora thinks they should take this chance at lessening the field, they will.
No matter how scared Savannah is.
Kitchen - 11:31 AM
Kas holds pressure on his arm the entire time they're running. He bites down hard on his tongue, trying to focus his thoughts forward but they scream against his skin. His fingers are drenched with blood that's still gushing freely from the wound. If he looks down, he might just vomit and he can't imagine wanting anything less right now.
He has no idea where they're going. Kas is following close on Aviv's heels but that doesn't mean he's paying attention. He doesn't know if the pounding footsteps he's hearing are theirs or coming from behind them. He's bleeding. Despite the cut being on his arm and not somewhere more critical like his neck, Kas still doesn't like the fact that it hasn't stopped yet.
His sleeve is so completely soaked that it's hard to even find the wound unless he slips his fingers past the opening in the fabric. Kas' fingers are freezing, not just on the injured side but also the ones coated with blood on his good side. He refuses to think that it's a deep wound, but the red in his periphery begs to differ. Still, it's not enough bleeding to kill him. Kas feels like his head is getting lighter, but that's probably from the fact that it's his blood trailing on the floor behind them.
And leaving a perfect breadcrumb trail for anyone that might want to follow.
Kas lifts his arm against his chest in an effort to use his shirt to absorb more of the bleeding. He pretends not to notice the stain that starts to grow near the center of his uniform. He promises himself that if, when, they get out of this he'll find a new one. Strangely enough, that's the thought that helps him forward.
He skids into the kitchen behind Aviv, his mind racing to remember what lays past each of the doors. They certainly don't want to go back the way they came, but that still leaves two options. Kas knows that one of them leads to the dining hall but doesn't know which one. He doesn't think they want to head that way because he thinks it was a dead end.
They don't have time to decide. In fact, Kas has barely entered past the threshold when he sees exactly what stopped Aviv in his tracks.
London is sitting at the edge of the kitchen when the pair run inside. She watches them blankly, the hatchet posed across her thighs. For a moment, they seem like a mirage of sorts. Neither of them move, but the blonde stares back with wide eyes. A moment later, the second boy, a brunette, also turns to look at her.
It's at this point that she recognizes them. Or, most importantly, she recognizes him.
"Layla Lalonde has been eliminated." His hands cling desperately to her shoulders. London watches him through blurred eyes, the blood from the cell painting her entire vision red. "I can't find Nora." He lied. They're friends, he knew. She killed her. All London can do is stare, feel the blonde boy's nails dig deep into her skin. There's so much blood. Running. London's running but when she looks up again, Aviv is right there.
London's hands climb the wall behind her as she forces herself to stand. The hatchet clatters to the ground, the metal blade making a similar sound to cookie sheets dropped in her family kitchen. She glances down and fearful tears drip to the floor beside it. London demands herself to pick it up. It feels like nothing gripped in her hand, nothing sitting against her skin.
She lifts it defensively, her eyes moving from the ground to immediately find Aviv. he looks no different than the last time she remembers him in Cell Block C. His cheeks are flushed and there are tears streaked down them, but part of London doesn't believe it. Her gaze flashes to the second boy, his name unknown to her. She remembers him also.
He's the other could-be. He never sat with them at the top of the cell block, sobbing into a single mattress and wishing to be anywhere else. If Nora didn't do it, then he did. When his eyes meet London's they near-instantly look away. She doesn't know what to make of him. Her gaze misses the red that streaks his arm and front. All London sees is his eyes.
She doesn't trust them. She can't. She doesn't want to.
London lunges forward with little warning. She leads with the hatchet though it feels clumsy in her grip. She isn't sure how to hold it except keeping the blade pointed away. It's heavier as she tries to move quickly. Still, she doesn't have a choice.
She'll be trapped in here if she doesn't move. They're closer to all the exits. They could block her in if they wanted. They could kill her if they wanted.
London doesn't want to die. At this point, that's the only motivation she needs.
Aviv grunts as he's pushed roughly to the side the moment London rushes towards them. His back slams into the wall and he chokes down a surprised breath. Thankfully Kasper is right behind him, holding him by the arm. When his hand lifts, a bloody handprint remains in its place and Kasper's eyes widen in apology.
There's little time to react because just stepping away doesn't stop her. Aviv pulls Kasper even further along the wall just as he's about to lift his weapon again. Aviv yanks harder until he's too off balance to refuse fleeing. Aviv can't bring himself to watch this again. He believes in Kasper, but he doesn't want this right now. He just wants to leave but he's not doing that alone.
Kasper pulls his arm away as he's adjusting his grip. He steps just out of reach towards London and the yelp that leaves Aviv's lips is incomprehensible. Kasper pushes her back with the mace gripped across both hands, wincing as the weapons make contact. He manages to avoid the end of the hatchet but barely. Aviv finds himself moving forward almost instinctively to help.
London recovers quickly from the shove and raises the hatchet further beside her head before bringing it down again. Both boys dodge but in the midst of moving out of the way, something else catches their attention. Aviv tries to shout but it's lost in the chaos of the room.
He's back. Vito with his hatchet still held defensively in front of him. He glances around the room as if unaware of the ensuing struggle. Aviv sees the moment his eyes land on Kasper, his dark eyes suddenly focusing in as Kasper continues to stand between him and London.
Aviv pushes Kasper further into the kitchen. It's the only thing he can think to do, the only direction that will get him away from both attackers.
Kas crashes into the far countertop, feeling the sharp pain as it digs into his side and his injured arm flies out to stabilize him. He shouts for Aviv before cursing under his breath. The last thing he notices is the mace that rolls quickly across the kitchen floor before finally landing against the door frame. Kas can't help it as his body begins to tremble for the first time since the fight began. He looks down at his empty hands for far too long.
What do I do? He looks back at Aviv standing between the pair, his palms raised and empty. His eyes meet each weapon in turn, their handles still clutched tightly in hands that aren't his. The same question repeats over and over. Kas gets no closer to an answer.
Vito leans down and picks up the mace that rolls near his shoe. He turns it over a moment as his eyes take in the dirtied metal and his fingerprints tear away a layer of grime. He swallows, the weapon suddenly familiar. When Vito looks up, the kitchen is gone and the screen is in front of him once again. His finger hovers over the rewind key. He presses it again, the keyboard cold beneath his skin.
He stands there for a moment, one hand pressing tightly to the mace's handle but Vito doesn't see any of it. He's back in security. Run, he remembers thinking those very words though Vito knew it was too late. Come back, Vito screamed to his former self who might as well have been eons away. The mace slams down with a sound louder than any slapshot he's ever made. One, two - how many times?
When Vito looks down again, the mace is dripping with blood and the concrete burns with even more. He gasps and throws the mace as hard - as far - as he can. A scream tears through the room. When Vito looks up again there's no blood, there's no familiar cell block staring back at him. There's a blonde boy cowering nearby, the no-longer-bloody mace having flown far over his head. There's a girl with her body turned half away from him. There's another boy that Vito immediately remembers, his clothes stained with blood that isn't some cruel illusion.
Vito takes a half step forward, dropping the hatchet to his side and swallowing down the bile in his throat. "I didn't mean it."
The raspy words fall empty against the walls. They stare, all of them still stare like he's done something horribly wrong. Vito looks between them before his gaze finally stops on the brown-haired boy. He extends one hand towards him, but once again no one moves.
Vito takes another slow step, doing everything he can to hold the stillness that now surrounds him. He just wants to reach him. He just wants to help make this right, to assure himself and everyone that he didn't mean it. He didn't mean it. Vito will help, he'll find bandages or make one if he has to.
Kas sees it just before it happens, but that doesn't mean he has time to do a single thing about it. He watches Aviv launch the short distance between him and 005 holding nothing but his open hands. 005 doesn't see him, isn't even looking at him, so the move takes both contestants quickly to the floor. Kas isn't sure which mouth the shout comes from but it's more than likely both.
Either way, Kas is next to fly across the kitchen whether he has a weapon or not. There's not a competent thought that wonders what to do before he's already moving. He doesn't think about what he's going to do when he reaches them. No, Kas slams past London and sends her flying back into the wall before he can even take a full breath.
London shrieks but Kas doesn't so much as glance behind him. He pounces on 005, pulling him up by his hair because it's the first solid thing he can grab hold of. 005's hands fly out to stop him but Kas continues to drag him backwards, not really caring where he's going as long as it's away from Aviv. His injured arm burns with the effort and Kas lands a solid kick behind 005's knee in frustration.
As he begins to lose grip, Kas throws 005 down behind the countertops. He kicks out again, but 005's hand catches his ankle and brings Kas down beside him. He misses the next punch but lands the second as 005's arms fly out to protect himself. Kas rises for half a second to check behind him to see Aviv running towards London who hasn't gotten up yet.
"Don't!" Kas doesn't wait to see if Aviv listens. He turns his attention back down to 005 just as he uncovers his face. Blood drips from his nose and his eyes are wide in either pain or surprise. At this point, Kas doesn't care which.
005 grabs his arm to stop the next blow and Kas uses the leverage to right himself. He grabs at a nearby drawer and the whole thing comes crashing down on them. Immediately, Kas grabs for the nearest object and stabs at 005's hand to get him to release his arm. 005 cries out and tucks his hand in close to his chest. He instinctively searches the ground for his hatchet but Kas kicks it away before he can even try.
Mistake, Kas thinks immediatelyas he realizes he needs that weapon but there's no time to dwell on it. He throws his entire weight down on 005 and the back of his head slams into the cupboard door behind him. 005 shoves him hard and manages to push Kas off. He remembers whatever utensil's still grasped in his hand and Kas stabs it towards 005's throat.
Vito catches the fork before it can reach his skin, but the tingle of it in the air above him is frightening enough. Vito's eyes widen and he pushes back with all of his strength. The brunette lands on the ground between the countertops and Vito searches again for his hatchet. When he can't find it, he thinks about bolting. It's the smartest thing right now. He doesn't want this fight. His target is still far above ground.
The other boy grabs tight to Vito's ankle as he tries to stand and Vito slams back to the ground beside him. He reaches for the nearest object and his hand comes back with a cluster of utensils. Vito doesn't bother to shuffle through them. Instead, he throws the whole handful back at 016.
Vito's rewarded with a sharp pain just below his wrist and his hand automatically retreats. He tries again to stand but 016's grip is still locked on him. Vito searches along the floor until his hand wraps around something metal. He stabs down at 016, this time not letting go of the long-pronged fork even as he feels it stick into something solid. Vito's eyes don't open for the first few jabs, not with the shouts that follow or the sickening stickiness that holds tight to the makeshift weapon.
Vito only opens them when the pressure is released from around his ankle. He scrambles backward, spraying himself with thick liquid that comes away with his fork. Vito wants to scream for what he sees, but his lips are locked open with no hope of even a breath leaving them.
016 lifts his head, a bloodied mess where his eyes and left cheek should be. Vito can only stare, his body trembling as the mangled face turns towards him. There's no recognition in the expression, there's no expression looking back at him. He watches as thick fluid runs down from a half dozen punctures, lightening the crimson blood until it's almost translucent.
There's nothing to do but scream, but Vito can't even manage that.
All he can do is stare, realizing as he looks down that the fork still poised in his grip is slick with blood.
Intake Building - 11:34 AM
"Let me get the window open." Nora's voice is so soft it's barely a breath but she nods quickly in response. As the younger girl lets go of the desk, Savannah doubles down and presses as hard as she can against it. This is the smartest decision if they're going to run. The pair had secured the window from the inside shortly upon arriving. It's going to take a few seconds to pry open which they might not have if both girls let go immediately.
Savannah focuses all of her energy on the desk, pressing harder as the axe pries through the thin door a third time. She forces herself to count to ten as she listens to Nora fiddle with the door. She can't let go too soon. Savannah has to trust this if they're both going to get out of this. They can fight, they're more than capable, but what's outside this door doesn't feel like something they should face if given the option.
A pale hand reaches inside and its fingers slide briefly over the top of the desk. Savannah gasps to keep herself from screaming, moving too slowly to slam her mace down on the hand before it disappears. She raises it in preparation, but it doesn't return. Instead, something hits the door with enough force to knock the desk back almost an inch.
They found the blockade and they're trying to push it away. Savannah leans even further into the door but it doesn't matter, the next shove moves her back again. They don't have much time. Savannah doesn't think she can hold it much longer if at all.
She turns back to find the window wide open and Savannah all but leaps towards it, abandoning the desk altogether. Nora jumps up on the sill and into the bright sun as another loud thud forces Savannah to glance back one more time. She takes a sharp inhale as the desk flies at least a foot from the door.
Savannah looks back just as the window slams shut in her face. She grabs for the small handles but finds both broken away with jagged edges left behind. She grimaces as she takes hold of them anyway, splinters biting into her fingers as she pulls both at the same time.
They don't budge. It feels like the doors have been glued shut but Savannah knows better. She can hear the chain rattle outside with each pull.
This is no accident.
One final shove is all it takes before Jules slips straight inside. His neck is soaked with sweat but that doesn't stop the smile from crawling to his lips. The room is dark, but there's no mistaking its contents. Jules could have promised it wasn't going to be empty just by the hanging odour of panic. Quite honestly, few things smell worse.
He rests the hatchet over his shoulder as he waits for the girl by the window to finally turn around. Jules isn't sure why she hasn't already bolted, but he's not going to stand here and ask questions. When a gift falls right into your lap, you smile and enjoy it.
Not that this is exactly a gift, not quite. Jules spent a few hours flipping between screens trying to decide on his next target. He'd hoped there would be two of them, but one is better than none. He's certain he'll find the second, and if not someone else will. Either way she'll be just as dead as this one's about to be. There's no reason to sweat about that.
Jules wipes his forehead off with the back of his hand and silently shoves the door closed behind him. For good measure, he takes the time to replace the desk in front of the door. Through the whole thing, the girl hardly moves. Jules watches her lift her mace to match his posturing but he hardly thinks it'll matter. The dejected gloss over her eyes is enough to say he's already won.
"Well," Jules announces, tilting his head to one side with a loud crack. "Shall we?"
Savannah straightens as the contestant's words fill the room. Her hand presses lightly on the window behind her, feeling for any chance at it giving but it doesn't even budge. She swallows and allows her hand to fall back to her side. A moment later, she brings it up to steady her mace.
No one's going to help her. She'd been stupid to believe anyone would so much as stick their little finger out for her. The only person that Savannah's ever been able to count on is herself. She should've learned this lesson by now instead of repeating it over and over.
She slowly allows her next breath to fill her lungs, not taking her eyes off him for even a second. It appears that he's waiting for her to make the first move and that in itself is unsettling. He's so confident that he's going to get out of this unscathed that he's giving this one inch in her direction. Savannah understands that it might be a trap. That just makes her next step that much more important.
Her eyes flit briefly over a shelf that lies just within arm's reach. Savannah forces her gaze away from it, pretending to still be considering what to do as the plan solidifies in her mind. He's expecting her to attack. No doubt he has an idea of what to do if that happens. Their weapons couldn't be more different. Hers requires some force behind it to do any damage. Even a touch from his could shift the playing field in his favour.
In one fast movement, Savannah swings the mace like a baseball bat at the closest object on the shelf. It goes flying in his direction and shatters against the wall just above him. He drops to the floor to avoid it and that's Savannah's chance. She lunges forward with her mace still steady over her shoulder. She swears she doesn't breathe the entire time.
Two swings, two misses and that's all she gets.
Jules jumps up from crouching just as the girl's mace arcs over his head. He steps forward and uses that momentum to send his hatchet directly at her chest. The blade doesn't match his target, but the heavy squelch is just as satisfying. A scream rips through the small room and Jules winces as it echoes back at him.
He holds tight to the handle as she moves away, the motion sending Jules ever slightly off balance. He manages to keep the grip and uses one foot to kick the girl back towards the window. This time, the shudders fly open in the crash and sunlight floods the once darkened room. Blood splatters the sill as the girl turns and rips her shoulder free of the hatchet. Jules has to close his eyes to keep them clean as more drops spray across his face.
"Where'd your friend go?" Jules asks flatly, looking down on the girl as her entire body trembles with pain. Her hand clutches the gaping wound that sits mere inches from her neck. A slightly neater hit and this conversation probably wouldn't be possible.
Her eyes turn to him, tears shaking in both but the deep set frown doesn't waver. "Go fuck yourself."
"I see," Jules says calmly. He watches her for another moment, her gaze examining every movement but it's clear she doesn't expect this one. Jules' hatchet lands in near the same position on her shoulder before she can move her hand away. The blade slices clean through the fingers that had been clutching the wound and into the tender skin below. "How about now?"
Savannah retches, unable to react in time to look away. She tears what's left of her hand back and it leaves a fresh trail of red down her uniform. She refuses to look as the tips of her fingers fall free of the wound. The room was already spinning but now it feels like she's in freefall. If she had to guess, she would say that the building had broken free of gravity and was falling straight into the earth's core.
"Same answer," she tries, her words coming out as a trembling whisper. She wishes that she could shout them, spit them in his face along with the bile that's sitting in her throat. Truth be told, Savannah can barely manage to even look him in the eye.
He crouches down until they're at even level and quickly rips the mace from her opposite hand. Savannah can't think quickly enough to stop him, her grip tensing several seconds later where the weapon had just been. She forces herself not to look away no matter how badly she wants to.
A chilled breeze blows across the top of her head and she can't help the leaden smile that spreads across her lips. Nora's gone. She didn't even stick around long enough for Savannah to die. She didn't even care that much to watch and see what she could have just prevented.
Savannah shakes her head. She doesn't blame Nora though the memories in her chest ache to do so. Only one of them will live and everyone should choose themself at the end of the day. It didn't have to end like this, Nora didn't have to hold the window shut to survive. Still, when would it have come to something like that? Surely it would have eventually.
No, Savannah doesn't blame her. She can feel wronged all she wants but it's no one's job to look out for her. The only one that she should ever have trusted to do that is herself.
And today, forever, she failed.
Not even the final swing that lands deep in her neck hurts more than that simple fact.
Kitchen - 11:43 AM
"Savannah Caron has been eliminated. Eight contestants remain."
As the announcement plays, all Kas finds is darkness. He doesn't know if his eyes are open, only that they burn with more pain than he's ever experienced. He reaches up and moisture peels against his fingers, but he can see none of it. He moves his head side to side, finding that the darkness ebbs slightly on one side but never recedes. Kas' other hand scrambles along the floor until it finds the cupboard.
He'd say his head is spinning, but truthfully he doesn't know. He feels off balance but he grips the edge of the countertop as he attempts to right himself. Kas' foot rolls over something slippery as he attempts a first step. He expects at any moment that someone will stop him, that the pain will continue or that he'll be tackled back to the floor. Instead, he feels around in darkness that's never felt so complete.
A scream forces his grip to tighten against the counter. It feels like just the sound is going to ground him again as his body starts to tremble. Kas can't discern where it's coming from. He can't remember which way leads out or hear other bodies moving around him. All he can do is try and hold back the growing, disoriented panic that surrounds him like a thick curtain.
Vito watches in slow motion as the brown-haired boy rises to his feet and starts to shift carefully along the counter. He doesn't look human, not as his bloodied face turns towards Vito with parted lips that are slick with red. He backs up further against the cupboard as the boy takes a half step away from the scream.
He turns to see Aviv, his eyes wide and watching the same horrific sight that Vito's have been. He doesn't seem to know what to do either, the cry still fresh on his tongue. His limbs appear as frozen as the rest of the room, the only ounce of movement coming from the bloody-faced boy. Vito can't help but curl in further on himself as he steps closer.
Did… did I do that? He glances down at the fork still locked in his grip before he releases it to the ground in disgust. Vito refuses to believe it, but when he glances up again the marks match too perfectly. The punctures are all in sets of four, the streamed lines of blood are parallel quartets. It's not a coincidence.
I did that. The realization brings tears to his eyes but they won't fall. Vito is too focused on the boy's movements, too afraid of the retaliation that no doubt should fall in his direction. Now when the boy's face turns aimlessly in his direction, Vito can't help but feel the scorn behind the layers of blood and broken tissue.
He curls in on himself and sinks further against the cupboard, his body trembling violently. Vito watches as Aviv's spell breaks and he runs between Vito and the other boy. The blonde grabs hold of the boy's arm and he flinches away, gathering both hands close to his chest. Vito doesn't know if he can even see the other boy. He can't imagine he can.
I did that. The sentiment repeats again and again in his mind. Vito fights to say something, to apologize but what would that change? I did that. Words don't matter. He didn't want to hurt anyone but he did.
Does it matter that he's sorry?
Does it matter that he didn't mean it?
Vito has to believe that it does. He reaches forward and grabs the mangled boy's pant leg just as he's being led away. There was some sort of exchange between them but Vito missed it. He clutches the thin fabric of the boy's pants desperately. He's running out of time to say anything but he has to. The boy has to know he didn't want this. He has to know that Vito wants to fix this. He only needs a chance and he will do just that.
"I-" Vito starts but his hand is swiftly kicked away by Aviv. They take off running before he can finish the thought let alone the sentence. He rises slowly to follow, but his legs are shaking too much to carry him far. Four steps is all Vito gets before he finds himself hunched on the ground at the kitchen's center.
London shivers as the pair runs off, unable to move as fear encapsulates her frail frame. She doesn't have the courage to look down nor the strength to get up. All she can do is curl further into herself in the hopes that the remaining contestant won't be able to see her. If she doesn't look it's not real. If he doesn't see her, she's not already dead.
The slash across her stomach would argue if London allowed it, but she won't. It's not pain that trembles up her body but fear in its purest form. She hasn't had time to let the pain truly sink in. Too much had happened in the short time between being shoved to the ground and the hatchet's blade scraping against her abdomen. Apart from the initial contact, London has barely managed to scream.
She doesn't know how deep it is. She doesn't want to look.
Looking makes it real.
It can't be real.
Nausea claws at London's memories, the distinct smell of death rattling her nose long before she should've known what it smelt like. Not long ago, she had laid down beside her brother with the expectation that death would take them both. She'd believed everything the community had taught her. The world was supposed to end mere hours after London was set to close her eyes for the last time.
She hadn't been afraid then. Not until her brother had risen from beneath her arms and escaped London forever. Maybe not in death, but gone all the same.
She'd never been afraid for what the next world would be, never been scared for herself until The Cut had been announced days ago. Even then, it's nowhere close to the same. Wondering when death would come and feeling its claws start to dig iton her skin are very different.
London demands herself to look but her eyes don't move so quickly. The wound could be superficial, but the moment she tries to unravel her arms from around it she doubts that thought. She tilts her chin ever slowly down and bites down hard on her back teeth to keep herself silent. She moves one hand away first and finds the palm saturated with sticky red.
"It's okay."
She looks up slowly, loose strands of hair sticking to the tears that coat her cheeks. Vito stares back, his nose still swollen and dripping with blood. The splatters that skip across his cheeks transform his expression. He doesn't look anything like the frightened boy from London's cell block. She searches his eyes but even those have changed. The deep brown looks almost faded under the dim kitchen lights.
"Please," London whispers. She isn't sure what she's begging for, but her legs curl in deeper against the wound in her stomach.
Vito crawls forward a few paces until he can almost reach her. London presses further towards the wall at her back, the familiar unease coating her skin like armour. She doesn't want him near her.
"It's okay," he says again, a sob sticking audibly in his throat. "Are you hurt?"
His eyes seem to soar straight past her. London doesn't answer, but her hands tighten against her injury. Her fingers wrap around her core and the ones that peer out are soaked in blood. Vito slides ever slowly closer but there's nowhere for her to go, not unless she's confident in her ability to run.
London presses the wound to test it and her stomach protests as fresh pain shoots up her throat. Vito notices and lays one bloodied hand over her arm. "Can I see? I can help."
She shakes her head as fresh tears shiver down her cheeks. His hand feels cold against her skin and the dots of blood he leaves behind puts her even less at ease. Maybe if she hadn't seen what she just did, maybe if he wasn't covered in someone else's blood, maybe if just the look in Vito's eyes didn't make her spine crawl like there were termites nesting inside it. London pushes his hand away.
Vito pulls it the rest of the way back. "Did that hurt?"
She tries to shake her head, but she's trembling too violently. "Please, leave me alone."
His eyebrows draw in confusion but he doesn't back up. He doesn't have a weapon, but there are three scattered nearby not to mention the toppled drawer and a half dozen unopened ones. London has already seen that he has no qualms about hurting people. Who knows what more he would have done if given the chance.
The longer she looks, the more certain she becomes that there's something awful and dead behind his eyes. She needs to get away from him if she wants any chance at all. She's too scared to move.
The silence between them only makes London grow more unnerved. Tears spill down her cheeks faster than she can wipe them away and every shiver seems to target her wound directly. She can't stay here. She doesn't know what he plans to do to her. Her thoughts immediately retreat back to the Intake Building, to the blondes. Will this be worse?
When Vito leans in closer, she kicks out with one free leg that lands square on his shoulder. He cries out in surprise but London doesn't hesitate. She launches herself to her feet and even the pain that tears across her abdomen isn't enough to stop her. She makes it three steps in the direction of an exit before a hand on her ankle brings her back to the floor. "Wait!"
No. London spots one of the discarded hatchets and grabs wildly for it, managing to barely catch the handle before being turned around. She swipes in a wide half circle, not stopping even as blood sprays the floor where the blade ends up. London looks up to find him watching her, his hand pulled back and clutched tight to his chest.
Vito glances up slowly as blood begins to drip down his knuckles. When he speaks, his voice is eerily calm. "I can help. Please."
He watches her for several seconds but London doesn't respond. Sharp pain stings along his hand but more than that is the confusion swirling around his mind. He wants to help. He still wants to help as he watches drops of blood slick the floor beneath her. He doesn't understand why she'd hurt him.
London brings the hatchet between them once more, the tremble in her hand obvious. He raises his empty hands with the palms facing her. The sentiment is clear but it's hard for London to believe it. The more she looks at him, the less she can. How many other people has he tried to kill? How many times has he succeeded?
All she has to do is turn around. The exit can't be more than a couple meters away and she's the only one holding any sort of weapon. He could grab for her again, but she has a hatchet now to defend herself if he tries. London could make it to the door and out before he has time to grab a weapon of his own. She could live to see another hour, perhaps another day.
Or she could kill him.
When Vito's eyes drop away for just that split second, she makes her choice. London lunges forward and he cries out as both arms fly up to defend himself. She feels a hard kick just below her wound and gasps as he grabs for the weapons handle. London tries to rip it away but his grip is much stronger. She shoves all her weight against it, trying to keep the blade turned towards him as it inches closer to his chest.
London screams as one quick motion brings the hatchet back towards her. She uses all her strength to try to keep it away, but her elbows buckle under the sudden pressure. She doesn't see the blade shoot towards her, but she feels its edge as it slices into her chest. The movement is so fast, all she can do is let go of the handle and that only allows it to fall further past her skin.
Vito lets go a mere second later. His hands shake as he looks down at her, the hatchet still posed in her chest, and blood begins to bubble around it. London crumples to the ground and her hands fly around the weapon but she's unable to bring herself to touch it. Vito feels frozen, like he's watching the scene through a television screen and mere inches from her.
"It's okay," Vito says quickly. It's a lie, but the only thing his shattered mind can think to say. He crawls towards her and examines the injury quickly, but no part of him knows what to do. His skin feels cold as his hands hover over her, but it feels like the slightest touch will only hurt her further. Still, he has to do something. "It's okay."
London sobs, her entire body gasping and he flinches back. His mind scrambles for whatever bits of first aid knowledge he has, but comes up blank. He grabs her hand to pull it away from the weapon. He doesn't think either of them should touch it.
"Get away from me!" She shrieks and her hands fling out wildly.
Vito immediately lets go of her wrist. There are tears shaking in his voice, but that doesn't matter. She's hurt, he has to help her. He did this, he has to fix it. He isn't like this. He can't be like this. "You'll make it worse."
She screams something else but Vito can't understand it. Half the blade is still buried beneath her skin. At that depth it could have easily punctured something. Is this something he can fix?
I have to, Vito tells himself.
I can't be like him.
He's not going to be the one that killed her. Vito rips a piece of fabric from the bottom of his shirt and bunches it around the blade. London screams again and flinches with every careful touch. He doesn't know if he's hurting her more. He has to believe that he isn't. He's helping. He's going to fix this. Even as panic boils every last thought in his skull, he promises that he'll fix this.
Vito can't bring himself to believe anything else.
Northwest Hallways - 11:58 AM
Aviv's shoulders shake but the tears have already stopped falling. He keeps one hand on Kasper's shoulder to lead him but otherwise can't bring himself to look anywhere but forward. If he turns around again, if he sees what he let happen, he doesn't think he'll be able to continue.
Kasper is stiff as they maneuver through the hallways. Aviv swallows down another heavy breath as they reach their second dead end. He has every wish to drop to the floor and curl into a ball, but that's not an option. Kasper reaches forward and feels the wall ahead then to either side. He doesn't turn to face him. Aviv wonders if he even knows where he is.
"Is it the same one?" Kasper asks softly.
Aviv closes his eyes for a split second to peel the blurriness away again. The sound of his voice reminds Aviv that it's Kasper, not some creature dragging behind him. It softens the memory of the fights, of seeing Kasper try to hurt someone no matter that Aviv now thinks Vito deserved it. It's still him even if that fact is as scary as it is comforting. "I don't know."
He pauses and forces himself to look at his friend. When it first happened, when Aviv first saw the bloodied mess where gentle eyes had just been, he'd almost been sick. His face hardly looked like a face at all. Save for his lips, there's nothing recognizable that's not covered in blood and deep punctures. He doesn't know what kind of force it must have taken to do that much damage. Aviv doesn't want to ask how much it must hurt.
He reaches instinctively for Kasper's face, his fingers hovering before gently resting on his uninjured cheek. Kasper flinches away from him. "I'm sorry."
Kasper continues to face the wall. "Where are we going?"
"I don't know," Aviv answers softly. Truthfully, the only task on his mind when they left the kitchen was to get them both far away from both Vito and London. Now that it's been several minutes since seeing either and he hasn't heard any footsteps but their own, Aviv doesn't know what they're supposed to do.
"You need to pick somewhere," Kasper says, his voice a firm whisper. He sounds as close to the verge of tears as Aviv has ever heard him and that alone breaks his heart. This isn't an insignificant injury. Pain aside, this changes things. Kasper has always been the one in front, the one with the plan, the one whose pointed hand they would always follow.
Now, Aviv doesn't know that he'll ever be able to do that again.
Aviv raises his hand gently in front of Kasper, not quite close enough to feel. He doesn't react. Aviv's voice trembles as more tears threaten to spill though there shouldn't be any left at this point. "Can you see this?"
He knows the answer, but he has to ask. He has to hope that he's wrong.
Kasper's hand raises and he floats it around until it eventually clasps on Aviv's. That's enough of an answer and seems like the only one he's going to get. Kasper can't see anything. "It might just be swelling."
Aviv nods but he doesn't believe him. The closer he looks, the less likely the new blindness is anything but permanent. Blood has begun to dry around his eye sockets, but they're sunken in and still leaking a thick, clear fluid. The round bumps where his eyeballs should lay have caved inward.
"I hope so." He can't bring himself to say what he thinks. He suspects that Kasper knows too, he isn't stupid. He might be acting different, more constrained and rigid, but he has to know. Kasper knows everything.
Their hands remain gripped together as they stand there. Aviv understands that it's up to him to get them moving now, but he doesn't want it to be. He doesn't know what he's doing in this place. He doesn't know how to avoid another attack from happening when there are now so few of them left. He doesn't know how to stop Kasper from becoming like Rory or Valentine or the other already dead contestants. The longer Aviv stands here, the more he realizes the simple fact that he can't do this.
"Where to?" Kasper asks gently. He squeezes Aviv's hand to comfort him and that only makes him feel more guilty. He's going through something unimaginable and yet he's stil the one trying to comfort Aviv. It's not fair.
Aviv squeezes his hand back. "The surface. We'll, I'll, search the buildings. There's got to be bandages, something to clean them with. Maybe you can see better in the natural light. It's dim down here." The more words he spits out, the more Aviv starts to believe himself.
Kas lets go of his hand. "We should stay down here."
"Why?"
Kas pauses but even after several seconds he can't think of a way to explain it. Suddenly, their roles have reversed. Kas has always been the protector, the one who led the way and made the choices. He was the one willing to use the weapon in his hand no matter who it was against. Now, he doesn't know if he can be any of those things. Sounds feel like they're coming from all directions without a silhouette to pin them to. The prison, which had begun to feel like a familiar hell, is suddenly new again.
Kas has never relied on anything or anyone.
Now, it doesn't feel like he has a choice and that's probably the scariest part of all of this.
He takes a deep breath that still tastes like rust. He knows he should tell Aviv about Nora, but he can already tell he's cracking. Kas needs him, actually needs him to even get around this place. He doesn't know that he'll be able to protect Aviv from Nora if it comes to it. Not unless she's in somehow worse shape.
Still, the words don't come.
Instead, he nods. That's the only other choice. Aviv isn't going to stay down here with the other two still loose. In his eyes there's only one known threat at the surface and Kas can't bring himself to open them further. If Kas piles on too much right now he's near certain that Aviv will break and that's the last thing he wants. If either of them want a chance, more cracks can't form.
"Lead the way."
Utilities - 12:14 PM
Vi finishes her lap of the room and sinks down again beside Jared. He doesn't look up to acknowledge them or seem to notice. Vi nudges him gently by placing a soft hand on his knee. The way that he jerks away would almost have them believe that he'd been asleep. The truth is that neither of them have been able to get that lucky.
She smiles briefly in his direction but he doesn't catch it. If there's anything that Vi hates right now more than their own thoughts it's the silence that seems to amplify them. Jared has barely spoken since last night. It's getting harder and harder to even get a reaction from him.
"Are you okay?" They ask for what feels like the dozenth time. Vi doesn't know what else to ask, but their tongue feels like sharp glass in her mouth the longer it sits there. This never leads to more than a few words worth of exchange. Even that seems preferable to just sitting here.
The only thing stopping Vi from demanding they explore or stretch their legs are the screams that still echo aimlessly down the hallways. There's only one voice now as opposed to earlier. Still, they haven't stopped. Just when Vi wonders if they're going to, another rips through the air around them.
"Jared?" She tries. Days ago, they would've elbowed him hard in the ribs if he'd ignored her like this. Today, all Vi can manage is another light tap against his knee. When he flinches again, she near-instantly regrets even doing that.
Why are you asking? Isn't it obvious? The shouting voice inside their head isn't wrong. One look at Jared, one thought to what happened this morning, and she has her answer. No one can be okay when their best friend is gone.
Vi didn't even know Lev very well, but knowing he's dead when days ago he was breathing right beside her? How is anyone supposed to feel safe knowing that? Maybe, in some small way, she does understand Jared after all. How much easier would it be if she could pretend Lev wasn't actually dead?
She'll never know. Vi understands what The Cut is. They know that elimination means forever.
After she's already convinced themself that he isn't going to, Jared finally responds. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
Vi slips their hand gently into his as tears once again fill her vision. His hand doesn't close around theirs until another shriek cuts through the concrete walls. Jared squeezes her fingers tight together long after it stops, her joints popping over one another until Vi lets out a sharp cry. Even then, he doesn't seem to notice nor does the squeezing stop.
"Jared," they squeak, gasping as the pressure worsens. "You're hurting me."
His head snaps towards her and he immediately lets go. Jared's eyes are wide as they search her teary expression, but Vi can't bring themself to do anything but cry. The pain starts to lessen as she holds her hand in their lap, but the fear as she remembers his blank expression doesn't let the tears stop falling.
"I'm sorry," Jared says softly. He reaches out for her but Vi flinches away and this only makes her sobs louder. She doesn't want to be scared of him. They miss him. Vi doesn't want this new Jared whose stare looks lost to the world and whose mind won't let him accept that Lev is dead. "I'm sorry, Vi please, I'm sorry."
She finally lets him grab hold of their arm and he holds it tenderly to examine it. The skin has turned red but hasn't broken. She can still move all their fingers when she tries. It barely hurts anymore, but the fear of what happened prevents her from forgetting.
This isn't Jared anymore. They want it to be, she desperately wants it to be, but it's not.
"Come back," they croak.
Jared watches her, his brows furrowed in confusion and pain that looks so much like him. The apology is splattered all over his face and they want to believe it. Vi knows that he would never want to hurt her. They know that he didn't mean it. The simple truth is that he's scaring them and that's why she can't stop crying.
"I'm sorry," Jared says again. He stammars over every syllable as if he doesn't know what more to say. Vi watches his expression, searches it and it looks like him. She knows he's sorry. He would never try to hurt her.
Still, when Jared finally releases their hand, she doesn't collapse into him as the tears continue. Vi turns away, her shoulder cold against the wall as their body trembles. She can feel Jared watching, can feel his warm hand land gently on their shoulder, but even then she doesn't turn around.
Kitchen - 1:09 PM
Vito curls around himself as he watches her, counting each breath because that's the only proof he has that she's still alive. There are tea towels pressed all around the hatchet, filling in the gaps where the blade moved as she screamed. Every last one of them is soaked with deep red that sticks to her skin. The floor beneath London is the same colour but he keeps his eyes from it.
All he sees is her. All he feels is the guilt that hangs in heavy shadows around the dim kitchen. All he hears is the shouts from inside his mind that he's a fucking hypocrite.
Vito reaches forward and presses gently on one of the towels that's starting to peel away. This time she doesn't scream, in fact she doesn't even flinch. One shallow breath then another far too quickly. The longer Vito stares, the less time there seems to be between each one. That's not the only change, but it's the one he chooses to focus on.
It's a good thing, he lies. She's breathing. She's still alive.
He hasn't killed her.
Vito knows that fact is mere minutes from being false, but he hasn't let that dam break just yet. She attacked him first. The other boy injured her before Vito even touched her. The longer he sits here, the more time he's had to come up with a range of excuses. He refuses to accept even the possibility of one being enough to warrant this.
London tried to kill him. When she turned around with the hatchet and posed it towards his chest, he'd panicked. Vito doesn't remember grabbing it just as he pretends not to remember the grinding sound as it eventually cut past her ribs. If she hadn't grabbed it, the blade wouldn't have been there. It wouldn't still be there.
The only thing Vito can truly cling to is the fact that he tried. Vito tried so hard to save her, ransacking every drawer and cupboard for anything that resembled bandages. He didn't double down and murder her just because she was vulnerable. He didn't relish in her suffering, he didn't smile. There was no second or tenth blow, just one.
He's just as guilty, but that doesn't mean he's nearly as evil. Intent has to matter, it has to.
He isn't Jules. He didn't want to hurt her, in fact he wanted the opposite. Vito never meant anything that happened today. He never wanted any of this. He wanted to stop Jules to protect everyone from what he would do to them. Vito never wanted to consider that he, himself, might be just as dangerous.
"London Miller has been eliminated. Seven contestants remain."
Vito looks slowly up into the silence that follows, tears filling his eyes before the words can even register. He trembles as he finds London, the hatchet placid in her chest rather than lifting up and down with fast breaths. Part of him expects her to look different than moments ago, but she still looks much the same. If Vito placed a blanket over the blade and blood, she would look like she were asleep.
He thinks back to the gym, the open eyes that were unmistakably dead. She doesn't look like them. He thinks to the cell block, the mangled bruises that coated Dewei until he barely looked human at all. London doesn't look like them.
The same result but not the same.
His plan's different, but not abandoned. Vito stands and walks between the two remaining weapons - a hatchet and a mace. It's not hard to choose which one to pick off the floor.
He's going to find Jules. That fact can't change. If anyone else, anyone good, is going to make it out of this place, Jules has to die. Vito can't dwell on this moment because if he does it will shatter him completely. For just a few more days, he needs to be whole. He turns around, leaving London at his back as he steps towards the exit. He doesn't dare wipe the tears that still coat his cheeks. He doesn't deserve to.
What will he do once Jules is dead? Vito doesn't have to think long to know that answer.
The answer lies right behind him.
9th: Savannah Caron, 18
8th: London Miller, 18
A/N: I'm shocked the chapter is actually going to be out on time, but congratulations or sorry this happened! I don't know which is more appropriate at this point.
Deaths are not and will not be getting easier. These are both characters that I felt like I understood emotionally. Savannah never really felt belonging but longed for it even after promising herself that she didn't. This was proven in the way she eventually came around to Alaina/London in pre-games then accepted Nora last chapter. Ultimately it made sense that it would be her downfall. Thank you Corey, she was and remains one of my favourite characters you've sent me.
Then London, sweet London that trusted everyone more than she was able to trust herself. She went through so much before I even got her, but I like to think that she grew a lot over the course of this story. She made a strong connection again. She realized she could do things on her own after escaping the terror blondes. Even after losing her friend, she still tried to live. David, I adored this girl and I have to thank you again for sending her my way.
Only seven contestants left and a couple more months (hopefully) to kill six more! I hope you enjoyed a more action-oriented chapter for a change. I still have can't-shut-up disease and I don't think I'll be cured any time soon so we're back to monster chapters. Sorry but not really.
Until next time!
~ Olive
