Blackout

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Joined: August 9th, 2010, 3:28 am

December 24th, 2010, 10:07 pm #1

Liz stumbled forward.

She was hitting cameras, knifing them, keeping herself in constant free fall as she moved towards the tunnels. Her throat burned. She was resolving not to listen to anything else Danya said; dead students, no, torturing Mr. Kwong, no. She had to win. Losing was not something Liz Polanski stood for.

There were better ways to do this, she knew. Finding friends. Using hand signals. Doing something subtle and people-smart. But Liz was not subtle or people-smart. She could hope that people wouldn't murder her on her feet, but in fact, she didn't know. And certainly going up to the first person she saw and trying to talk them into helping her--for some definition of talking--wouldn't work.

So she was smashing cameras, zig-zagging, taking care to black out promising nooks and crannies, hiding plans in them, plans and aluminium cans--she couldn't hide matches, she couldn't hide fire, hopefully people would be smart enough to make their own fire, do it without getting blown up. You've got to have more faith in other people, Mr. Kwong had said. Well, she was having faith in them. Faith in their intelligence, at least.

Blackouts. The terrorists can't see you. I hope you use these, other people.

Dark spots and plans. Plans in plain sight, and plans hidden. One-oh-three plans. That's a lot of paper.

But the dark spots were best. Maybe other people had their own collar-disabling plans, less harmful ones, that they could do in the blacked-out corridors of the island. I'm helping. I'm helping. Really.

Don't think about the kids who died.

Danya, you fucker.

Don't think about your throat burning. The way your eyes ache. Death. Just smash cameras. Smash cameras and leave plans. Mechanical and easy.

Dear fuck.

Fuck crying. Fuck pain. Pain is just a message. You can ignore that message.

You need to have more faith in other people.

She hated doing this. Leaving a trail of plans like Hansel and Gretel. Hoping people would find them. Be smart enough to implement them smartly. Hoping she had said enough, all one-oh-three times she had copied it down. Leaving things to intuition and chance made her sick.

Hush up. You're sick already. Trust things to work out.

Things never worked out.

Liz stumbled through five zones this way.

Inland forest. Ranger station; Ethan Kent was propped outside, some girl was inside. That was a no go. Detour to the Southern felled forest. The crevices of the mountain. The destroyed cell phone tower. Falling down into the mines, knifing the cameras in the miner's shack. Her energy was unhealthy.

Then to the tunnels. The tunnels, so fast.

She collapsed.

Open your eyes. Close your eyes. Open your eyes.

It wasn't the worst place to collapse. She was in a rock-spiked cavern, big and open, spotted with moonlight and water on the floor. The stones beneath her were cool. The problem was, she couldn't move. Her muscles had given out. Dead. Done. Her throat was ragged.

With some effort, she could twitch her fingers.

Well. She needed a drink of water. With some effort, she cupped her hands and stretched out far enough to grab water from the nearest puddle. It trickled through her fingers. Again. She saved enough to drink. It tasted organic and disgusting.

Drink more. It will keep you going.

She cupped her hands, and drunk more effectively this time. Got her left arm rotating. Splashed her face. Cool water felt good. Licked her salty lips.

Come on, drink more. Ignore the pain.

She pulled herself up onto her knees--she felt like an old woman now, bones creaking. Joints ached. She dumped water onto her face, drinking whatever came into her mouth. Again. And again.

Ignore the pain.

She ignored the pain, and let water trickle down her face. Her senses were dull, now.

But her eyes felt bruised.

Everything was heavy. She fell over again, from the effort of lifting her arms.

Sleep.
--------


Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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MurderWeasel
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Joined: February 18th, 2009, 7:01 am

December 25th, 2010, 12:08 am #2

((Kimberly Nguyen continued from But I Might Die Tonight))

Three more deaths. Three more people had been blown away just like that, a push of a button, not a chance to do anything to save themselves. Lucy Ashmore. Alex Rasputin. Trent Hunter. Nobody Kimberly gave a shit about, though it was interesting that a killer was on the block. Maybe it really was random. More likely, though, Danya was calculating every move. Rasputin had been a second tier player, hadn't done anything since the first day. Killing him simply told the others that they weren't safe. It meant that, all of a sudden, there was a legitimate threat to Lombardi, Ishida, and Gabriella (and Kris, can't forget Kris...). Now, all the big killers could die in a split second, no matter how badass they were, no matter how skilled, how many kills they had under their belts. They had to be pissing themselves right about now. That was something Kimberly could smile over.

Yeah, had to be calculated. Danya was blowing up the boring people and the people who could make a point. Maybe he was blowing up people in Liz's path, too, forcing her to see the effects of her actions. That would make sense. It also meant that Kimberly wouldn't have long to fuck around, lest she become an example herself. Things would need to be quick. Efficient. She swung her grappling hook by the rope between her fingers. Too bad. Quick wouldn't be any good. Not for the level of shit this girl had put everyone on the island through. Kimberly was pissed. So pissed. Absolutely fucking seething. And yet, it might have to be quick.

She kept moving towards her goal.

She'd picked the tunnels because they were close, and because they were a good place to hide. A good place to hole up for a little. A crevice a rat could worm its way into. Oh yes, someone was bound to be hiding here. Several someones, if Kimberly was right. She'd be shocked if there wasn't something here more worthwhile than those fools on the mountain. Even if she didn't find Kris and Liz, perhaps she'd be able to find someone else hurt, someone else with a grudge to bear. The more the merrier, when it came to vengeance.

So in she went, into the darkness, the shadows. She paused, tucked her grappling hook into her belt, brought her flashlight to hand, turned it on. No point tripping and fucking her arm up any more. No point getting in trouble, getting hurt. She had a job to do. It would be hard enough as it was, strangling the life out of someone. Hard to dig the spikes from her grappling hook into flesh. Hard to listen to the screams. And yet... she'd have to do it. Have to be strong. Have to keep control. Anything else, any failure to turn this around, would mean her death. Would mean that she was weak, worthless. She did not need help. She did not need fucking babysitters. She was just fine, thank you very much. Probably doing a hell of a lot better than Sarah and Bridget.

That thought hurt her, a little. Her former companions were probably out there right now, cheering Liz on, wishing her success. What would they think when they heard the girl's fate on the announcements? Would they regret saving Kimberly's life, regret stitching her back together on that beach, regret the fact that she still drew breath?

She paused for a second. Inhaled deeply. Hacked and coughed as the scent of blood invaded her nostrils.

When she could breathe calmly again, a couple of seconds later, she had her answer: She didn't give a fuck what they thought.

Wasn't like she'd made them help her. Wasn't like she'd been particularly subtle about her goals. Wasn't like she'd hidden the fact that she was a dangerous, potentially violent person. She'd told them before that escapees were fucked. No way around it.

The odor was strong, getting stronger as she walked. She didn't know why, but it drew her, beckoned her onwards like a magical song. There was something worth seeing here. She had not yet come across a corpse., had not yet been forced to stare any death in the face, except for her own inevitable one. Best to get it out of the way, best to be ready, to be steeled when she chose to act. No restraints would hold her back. Nothing could be allowed to divert her from her purpose. Rounding a corner, Kimberly prepared herself for the worst.

It was close, damn close. She'd been expecting someone naked, bleeding from all their orifices, guts cut out and hanging, maybe strewn around and knotted. Instead, it was just a boy, just a boy with his neck blow out, blood spattered all around him. A dead boy. A boy she recognized.

"B148, Daisuke Nagazawa, eliminated. This is your teacher, Kwong Lei, signing off."

This, this boy, this body, this was everything Kimberly feared, everything she couldn't control, everything that waited for her if she failed. This could soon be her, neck gone, blood pooled. She couldn't let that happen. Couldn't.

She wanted to run. Wanted to vomit. She didn't do either. She forced herself to stay. Forced herself to speak.

"Hello, Daisuke."

Her voice was raw, broken. This was a stupid way to conquer her fears. This would achieve nothing. This would lead nowhere. She was doing it anyways. Forcing herself to confront this. Forcing herself...

Daisuke's pack was still next to him. Undisturbed. Nobody else had been by yet.

All of Kimberly's life experiences, all of her socialization, fought with her desire to procure any little advantage she could. But then, she stopped and actually considered things. Daisuke was dead. He wouldn't mind. Kimberly would be dead soon, too. She'd never have to put up with anyone giving her shit over this. Never have to face any consequences for this action. The only rule here was strength, and she'd need all the help she could get on that front. If it meant stealing a dead boy's shit, well, so be it.

Glancing around, making sure she was alone, Kimberly steeled herself. It'd be quick. Snatch and go. So simple.

She darted forward, grabbed the pack, backpedaled. Paused about fifteen feet from the corpse. The smell was terrible. Overwhelming, almost. The bag was held awkwardly over her wrist, her own bag over her shoulder, her flashlight in her right hand. Fuck you, Kris, for each of these inconveniences.

So she dropped Daisuke's bag, dropped her own, propped the flashlight up, casting light on the proceedings, and began to transfer items. She abandoned her own first aid kit entirely. Nothing worthwhile left in it, not after the beach and her little self-repair job. Daisuke's was full. Good. Then, on to the food. Looked like he still had a good amount, and water, too. Into her bag it went. Finally, she found a small, black box. It was heavy. It had bullets in it.

Oh fuck yes. Daisuke had had a gun.

Unfortunately, the weapon itself was not in the bag. There was only one thing that could mean. He'd had it on him. Kimberly took another deep breath, instantly regretted it. Fought down the bile rising in her throat. Daisuke had a gun on him. She had to get it.

She put the magazine in her bag, shined her flashlight on the body, looking for a telltale glint or reflection. Nothing. Damn. Someone else might have already gotten to it. But if that was the case, why was the bag untouched? No, maybe he'd given it away.

Then again, maybe not. She had to check.

So she went back to Daisuke's body, slowly this time, taking in every detail. The pool of blood. The ragged shreds of flesh where his neck had once been whole. The lack of a collar. His bloodstained camouflage jacket.

Only one way to do this.

Slowly, gingerly, Kimberly reached out and began patting the corpse down. It made her skin crawl. Made her want to cry. Made her want to slap herself silly for having ever liked horror stories. Luckily, she found the lump before long, before her squeamishness could overcome her dedication. Inside the jacket. Damn. She managed to work it free, though, managed to get a hold on the heavy metal object, awkwardly balancing it with her flashlight. She retreated once more to her bag. The gun was slightly bloodstained. It seemed Daisuke had leaked at death, seemed that his jacket had soaked through. The whole thing made her feel dirty.

Didn't matter. She could deal with dirty. She could deal with just about anything if it meant facing Kris on even grounds next time.

The manual was in Daisuke's bag. The gun was called a Jericho 941F. Kimberly read by the light of her flashlight, read and learned more about guns than she'd ever thought she'd have cause to know. Ejected the magazine, counted the rounds. One chambered, seven in the first magazine, eight in the second. Enough. More than enough. She was tempted to test fire the thing, but in such enclosed quarters that would be a bad idea, so she simply reloaded it and crammed it into her improvised rope belt. Then, it became a matter of figuring how to juggle the gun, bag, and flashlight. In the end, she taped the flashlight to the top of her bag, which she hung over her neck and shoulder. It didn't put pressure on her wound, at least, not that much. Good. The light cast by the flashlight was a bit more erratic, a bit less aimed, but she could live with that.

Time to go. Time to go change the fucking world. Time to go get a little revenge. It was the lesson again, what Jeremy had taught her. To get what you wanted in this game, you needed strength. You needed power and follow through.

Kimberly had both in spades now.

So she kept walking, a smile on her face. Oh yes. This will be sweet, Kris. So sweet.

Five minutes later, she stumbled across the girl. There was a pool of water. A pool of water, and an unconscious girl, lying on the ground, just lying there without a care in the world. Kimberly could only tell that the person was alive because she could see her breathing.

The scene gave her pause. The girl was dressed kind of weirdly. Looked pretty damn beat up, too. Looked like she'd seen better days. Kimberly's immediate impulse was to help her, to offer her assistance. To do something, anything. To provide what little comfort she could, just like the others had for her on the beach. Thing was, as her flashlight swung around, she could see that something was wrong with the girl. Specifically, something looked like it was wrong with her neck. And that face, Kimberly had seen that face before, could almost recognize it from school.

No way.

No fucking way.

Kimberly flipped the gun's safety off. Tried her best not to cackle as she adjusted her shoulder, facing the beam from her flashlight right into the girl's face. She kept the pistol down for now. Too perfect. It was all too perfect. Finally, she had finally caught a fucking break in this game.

She spoke, and now her voice was under control, betraying none of her manic glee.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
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Joined: August 9th, 2010, 3:28 am

December 28th, 2010, 8:13 pm #3

Light. Too much light.

Too much light makes the baby go blind.

Liz rolled over. "Wug."

Someone was shining a flashlight in her eyes. Oh brilliant. And it was speaking.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

It sounded like a bad supervillain line. Liz cracked her eyelids, just enough to see who was holding the flashlight.

Squint. Look. Squint.

Kimberly Nguyen. Emo scene. Concerned about her image. Sharp and mean. Liz did not relish being caught by her, of all people.

Open her eyes more. Stay out of the flashlight. Turn, draw back. There's still a knife in your hand.

Kimberly--Kimberly, yeah. Was probably out to kill her.

There was still a knife in her hand.

Kill her. Kill her now.

Knife low. Legs coiled. But God, her body screamed.

And she lunged at Kimberly, her chest puffed, and the rest was pain and slow-motion, Kimberly kicked the knife out of her hand. The impact sent her sprawling, hitting a rock, torn flesh, and her back curled, helpless, protective. Scream cut off by a throbbing windpipe, air expelled, harsh and silent.

And Kimberly had a foot on her back, a pistol click behind her ears, and Liz had never felt more vulnerable in her life.

Not crying.

Instead, choking, "Please", like begging was going to do her any good. But it wasn't crying.

Not dying like a pathetic person.

Not choking. Not crying. But she was trying to speak and coughing now instead, trying to speak with pen and paper nowhere near her, breathing water in her throat, gurgling, spitting, disgustingly, and she could hear Kimberly chuff, and finally words.

"…going to break as many cameras as I could get to. You c-could kill me now, or you could kill me after I've fucked Mr. Danya up a bit more."

She rolled over now. Facing Kimberly, face up, mouth gaping because it wasn't going into any other position. Looking in Kimberly's face, making eye contact, something she'd always had trouble with in real life, eyes shiny, reflective, moving.

And Kimberly's face was a grinning rictus, tense and smiling.
--------


Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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MurderWeasel
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Joined: February 18th, 2009, 7:01 am

December 29th, 2010, 5:11 am #4

((Just gonna add right here that all GMing in this thread is approved and stuff))

The girl was squinting into the light. Trying to get a look at her captor. Shifting around. Doing something. What? This could be bad news. Kimberly had no clue if Liz was armed. She didn't snap the gun up, though. Not yet. No way.

Then, the girl was lunging at her, a knife in her hand. Kimberly didn't even have time to think. She kicked out, impacting Liz's hand, sending the knife spinning into darkness. A second later, she realized she had made the right choice, realized that shooting Liz there would not have worked, would have probably ended in both their deaths. That wasn't why she'd held her fire, though. Oh no. It wasn't that simple.

Liz went flailing backwards, letting out some sort of strangled cry, and Kimberly went right after her. Pressed her foot into the other girl's back. Damn, times like these made her so thankful for nice, heavy boots. She went ahead and flicked the hammer of the pistol. Made a nice dramatic click, even if it didn't do shit else. And Liz, Liz was pleading with her. Pleading for her life or something, though it was kind of hard to tell since she'd only struggled out that one word. And oh, it was sweet, it was so sweet. Her entire time on the island, Kimberly had been thwarted, had been hurt and robbed and ignored and defeated, and now the tables had turned, now she held all the power, now someone was actually pleading with her. She held someone's life in her hands.

No.

Not just someone. That was selling this situation far short of its true importance and glory. Kimberly had her gun to the head of Liz Polanski, the girl who was probably the only thing giving hope to half the students on this island. The girl who had been playing roulette with all of their lives as chips. Man, it was fucking simple to be brave, to be rebellious, to be willing to make the big choices, just so long as it wasn't your life on the line. But hey, second the tables turn? There's some truth for you. Who was Liz, the great rebel, the brave one-girl resistance? She was some pathetic little creature, beat to shit and not even able to talk right.

Liz was coughing and making these awful choking noises, so Kimberly let her turn around. She gave out a little snort, looking down at Liz. Yeah. Some fucking hero.

And here it came. The bargaining. Of course. It wasn't a surprise. None of this came as a surprise, not now. Kimberly was pretty sure she had this girl pegged, pretty sure she could mess with her triggers some. Self righteous bitch. She was explaining things, trying to clarify her goals, trying to beg a bit more time. And the worst thing? She wanted to keep fucking up the cameras. She just didn't get this. Didn't have a clue what she was doing.

Time to change that.

Kimberly held the pistol, pointed straight at Liz. Locked eyes with the girl. Smiled. Oh yes, Liz. You think staring me down's gonna help you? You think maybe I'll repent just because you're reaching out, making contact, reminding me you're human? Tough shit. Maybe that'd work on Kris, or Sarah, or someone else, but I know what I'm doing's no good. I know I'm being awful, and I just don't give a damn.

The smile broadened. She held it for a few seconds. Kimberly hoped Liz was confused. Hoped she was trying to figure out what was going on. Fuck, maybe she even thought Kimberly was actually going to let her go.

"Oh, come on," Kimberly finally said. "If I was just planning to shoot you, we'd have been done with this shit about a minute ago."

Keep smiling. Make these next words count.

"Liz, I'm not a bounty hunter. I'm not a player. I don't give a fuck if Danya's offering a shiny toy to whoever blows your brains out. This isn't about that. This is just us. See, you and me? We've got a bit of a score to settle."

That sounded about right. Now, she just had to wait. Wouldn't be long now. Not many options when it came to responses to that sort of statement.
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Joined: August 9th, 2010, 3:28 am

January 7th, 2011, 11:04 pm #5

The feral fear Liz had felt was fading. She was still in pain, still soaked with cold sweat, but her temples were pounding a little less, and her thoughts were coming organized now.

And Kimberly had a score to settle with her.

What?

The shiny toy made sense. The not being a player made sense. But Liz--and here her head ached, she should have drinken more water--couldn't grok the score. Something--probably one of the people she had killed with the cameras. And here her thoughts were coming confused again...

Don't think about that.

Well. Kimberly had all the power in this relationship anyway. Liz hoped she liked it. She could sort of dully understand what might make Kimberly so gleeful to have her trapped under the gun--Liz had been a reluctant sub in sex enough times to taste when someone else had that power. So now Kimberly could do what she wanted to her, and more than likely, Liz would figure out this cockamamie 'score' she wanted to settle.

Time to start asking questions. Scrape your hand forward, find the pad and the pen.

ARE YOU GOING TO TORTURE ME?

Deliberately melodramatic. Might throw Kimberly off.

And it was a good thing to know.
--------


Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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MurderWeasel
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Joined: February 18th, 2009, 7:01 am

January 9th, 2011, 5:25 am #6

Liz was looking for something. Kimberly paused a second to glance around. If the girl was searching for the knife, trying to rally for another attack, Kimberly was taking her arm out. After all, couldn't have any last-second, unexpected heroics getting in the way of things. She wasn't really expecting that, though. Besides, like she'd thought, the knife had fallen somewhere nice and far away, out of sight.

Turned out Liz wanted paper. Paper and a writing utensil. Okay, that was fine. Kimberly would let her grab 'em, communicate or show her magical escape plans or whatever the fuck she wanted to do. There was one little, tiny thing to take care of first, though, because no way in fuck was Kimberly gonna get taken out by the most obvious trick she could think of. After all, Liz had weaponized her very presence; there was a damn good chance she was gonna shove her plans at Kimberly and count on Danya to do the rest. Best to preempt that with a little aside.

Even as she read the words, noted the lack of an escape plan, Kimberly was talking off into the air.

"Don't go blowing me up. I'm not going to help her."

And then, the words clicked, and Kimberly smiled. Torture? It was... she wasn't gonna deceive herself on this: it held a certain appeal. It had been lurking in her mind for some time now. Her goal was to punish Liz, wasn't it? What better way than through pain? And yet, that question had an instant answer. Pain would be a stupid way to deal with this girl. Causing pain was something suited to punishing Kris, perhaps. Not Liz.

"Nah," Kimberly said, all nice and casual. "I figure it's probably not worth it. Whatever's fucked you up seems to have been more thorough than I could ever hope to be, and hurting you'd be kinda pointless anyways. By the time I cut off enough bits to stop you from messing around, you'd be dead."

See, Liz? I can be blunt and shocking too.

"I think we're gonna take a little walk, actually. Get the fuck up."

Yeah, she knew how to even the score now. Wouldn't be hard at all. Liz seemed more resigned than scared. That was bad. Fuck that. An unresponsive audience was one that would be unreceptive to the message she was trying to convey here. It was pretty damn important to Kimberly that Liz come to understand exactly what she had done, exactly what she had stolen, not just from Kimberly, but from everyone else on the island.

And what better way to teach than through a little field trip?
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January 9th, 2011, 6:15 pm #7


Liz was more resigned then scared.

If Kimberly wanted to kill her, she would have done it a while ago. If Kimberly wanted to torture her--well, hopefully she would have said so. She seemed like the kind of person who would say so. There was nothing Kimberly could do, other than killing her or putting her through more incredible pain, that Liz could possibly be scared of. If Kimberly wanted to talk her ear off, she could go ahead. It didn't make Liz any deader.

It's just delays.

So Liz stood up. Slowly. Wearily. God, her bones ached. She felt like an old person. Immediately her mind started pulsing ways to build up her adrenaline, get her feeling unnaturally healthy again. Ready to run.

Don't be crazy. You can't run.

Nah. Whatever tweaked revenge-alternative Kimberly had planned for her, she was pretty much gonna take it.

Just delays. Till you can break more cameras. Fuck--fuck the terrorists up more. If they're going to take Mr. Kwong, they're going to play a losing game.

Yeah. Losing game.

She stumbled. Her legs could hardly hold up under her. She didn't' know if it was the burn or the sleep that weakened her so much. Whatever it was, it didn't seem repeatable. Dying is a funny thing…

Shook her head. She wasn't going to think about dying yet. Too much to do.

And now there was Kimberly, Kimberly here, holding her up on her stumbling legs like a friend. Walking with her, mocking smile, leading her somewhere deeper into the cave. Wherever Kimberly was going, Liz was going to go. Helplessness was a sick relief, in a way. Suddenly she didn't have to hold herself up.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Keep going.
--------


Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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MurderWeasel
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Joined: February 18th, 2009, 7:01 am

January 11th, 2011, 1:01 am #8

And off they went. It was a stumbling, awkward, awful trip, made worse by the fact that Liz couldn't seem to fucking stay on her feet. This meant Kimberly had to very casually stuff the gun into the lefthand pocket of her jeans, reaching across herself and all that shit, so she could actually help Polanski along. Right now, she just had to hope her hostage didn't get that her left arm was fucked. Didn't really seem like Liz was that analytical at the moment, though.

They walked, and Kimberly smiled at Liz. Yes. This was how it had to be. Shooting holes in Liz, though a mildly attractive idea, wasn't really worth shit when it came to revenge or accomplishing anything. No, real payback meant hurting someone. Kimberly understood hurting. She understood that, bad as physical pain could be, it was nothing compared to when someone did a number on your psyche. It was something Kris had taught her, something Jeremy had driven home. The physical abuse she had suffered at their hands had been painful, crippling even, but what burned was what it had shown her about herself.

It was time to show Liz Polanski a couple things about herself.

As they staggered along, two injured girls using each other for support, Kimberly's gimmicked flashlight holder swung side to side, sending crazy shadows flickering over the walls, lending the whole situation an almost surreal feeling. Kimberly could imagine flames dancing around them. Whatever. In the past, at the start of this, maybe she would have reveled in it, imagined it as a setting for a horror movie or a short story or something. Now, all it did was make her pause for a moment, ponder whether there was some way she could use it to dramatic effect, then give up and keep moving.

Yes. Wouldn't be long now. Damn good thing Kimberly could remember paths pretty well. It'd just be around this corner. She could smell it. This was the tricky part, the place where she could really fuck up and wind up in trouble. As they turned the corner, Kimberly abruptly ceased forward momentum, sidestepping and depriving Liz of support. Counting on that to distract the girl for a second, she clawed the gun free again, pointed it at her captive. Stepped back, behind Liz. She gave her shoulder a little twist, setting the bag swinging again, flashing light sporadically over the dark form up ahead. Moments of clarity slipped through: blood pooled, body there.

How d'you like this, Liz?

And Kimberly smiled so broadly, and she said, "Come on. Get a bit closer."

A nudge from her boot to encourage movement.
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January 13th, 2011, 2:13 am #9

Liz fell.

Body. There was a dead body, a dead boy in front of her, tacky with blood. Her hands almost slid into him.

The body smelled rank, strong.

She looked at the corpse. A voice at the back of her mind told her to get as much information as possible out of this scene. She wanted to know who the face was.

Daisuke Nagazawa.

The first kid she'd killed.

A stomach twist. A dent in her detachment.

"What do you want me to learn from this?"
--------


Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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MurderWeasel
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January 13th, 2011, 11:23 pm #10

Did Liz know who that was on the floor? Impossible to say. Really, Kimberly didn't much give a damn, anyways. Either she got a reveal, or she got to twist the knife. Win win. And Liz, Liz wanted to know what she was supposed to learn from it. Learn? Yeah, okay, there was a lesson here. Kimberly was trying to teach her something, that was for sure. But... to just say it would be inelegant.

"That's Daisuke, Liz," Kimberly said, instead. "He's dead because you fucked up your collar."

For just a moment she was tempted to go on, to launch into a speech or something. Say how Daisuke almost certainly had friends, family, maybe a girlfriend or a little sister or something. Thing was, she didn't really know or care if that was true. More than that, an obvious guilt trip probably wouldn't work on Liz. She was a rebel. Kimberly knew the sort. Fuck, Kimberly was the sort herself. Lay a heavy load of guilt on her, sure she'd feel it, but she'd also be pissed, resistant, less receptive. That wasn't what needed to happen here.

No, this was one to play nice and slow, nice and easy.

"This was his gun, you know."

Never mind that she hadn't answered Liz's question yet.
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