((Nate Chauncey: Start))
*click* *clack* *clack*
Small little boxes, that was what they were, really. Metal compartments... Death inside...
Natalie 'Nate' Chauncey lay on her stomach on the forest floor, one hand propping up her head, entirely uncaring of the dirt she was getting all over her. Her bandana sat loosely on her head, tipped so far to one side it almost obscured her left eye. Her free hand... played.
Magazines, they were called. Little boxes of bullets. Row after row after row of them. Nate had found so many of the little metal objects in her pack that she had been astonished, had rooted through the bag until she'd pulled out every last one, along with the booklet calling itself an instruction manual. This, perhaps, was one thing she couldn't self-teach. It wasn't what was on her mind, though.
Even in a situation like this, Nate's attention span just couldn't stay focused.
Her daypack was aways off, behind her, somewhere. It wasn't going to grow legs and wonder off or anything. Nate's eyes clouded briefly, contemplating a walking backpack, noted it as something she should draw someday, then instantly forgot about it. She was preoccupied. Stacking her ammunition. Making shapes, pyramids, little structures, all out of the compartments containing what was supposed to deal death.
They gave her an awful lot of them...
Made more complicated patterns viable. That was good, interesting.
She'd deal with this... later. Yes, later. No need to worry about ...this.
Nate frowned, briefly, knocked over the stack of magazines, cleared the area in front of her, started constructing once again.
*click* *clack* *click*...
((Karen Ruiz continued from But She Locked the Door and Threw Away the Key))
It sounded like such an easy proposition.
Karen was still in the rain forest. It had been less than ten minutes since she'd gotten moving. In that time, she had bounced the idea around and around in her brain, trying it on for size, attempting to adjust to her new identity. She was going to be a killer. Not a monster. Not a murderer. She was acting out of self defense. They were all enemies now. One person would walk out of this. All she was doing was giving herself a leg up.
She still wasn't entirely convinced.
It didn't matter. The other thing occupying her mind was a total awareness of everything around her. The sounds of the forest, the dirt beneath her feet, the slight breeze, the flow of her coat. Karen was good at being observant. It was a survival skill in the battlefield that was urban life. It was what kept her from getting mugged on her way to school. It was what stopped her from getting beaten up by the bullies or antagonized by the cliques. Karen noticed things, and she blended in.
Right now, she wasn't doing such a great job of the latter. Her coat was dark, which was good, though somewhat less than ideal in the heat and light of the day. She wasn't taking it off, though. Absolutely not. Her turtleneck was also ridiculously warm, much to her chagrin. She'd already given up on the gloves, stuffing them into one of her pockets. This was going to be trying, no doubts about it.
She was comforted, though, by the weight of the gun in her hand. She kept her finger off the trigger, to avoid accidental discharges. The safety was off. She was pretty sure it would remain that way throughout her stay on the island. Better safe than dead.
She had no real direction, was wandering at random. She'd find someone, though. Sooner or later, she'd find someone.
She blinked. A bag. A pack, lying by a bush. No. This was too soon. She wasn't ready.
She hefted the Glock.
Someone was nearby. There was a decent possibility it was a trap. She'd have to be very, very careful. If it wasn't, though; if she had happened upon a student who hadn't woken up yet, who was still getting their bearings...
Quick. Clean. Simple.
She'd do what she had to.
Then she'd be safe.
Karen headed towards the pack. Her finger slid along the gun, to rest on the trigger.