Kris blinked. Once. Twice.
The haze fell. Her hands became distinct first. They were covered in blood, dear god, so much blood. Her eyes dropped to her shirt. It looked as if it had been clumsily dyed, like she'd taken a dive in a vat of vital fluids. Things became clearer, clearer... and Kris fell back onto the rough ground, eyes widening almost comically behind the crimson-splattered mask that was her face.
"Ha...haha...ha," it didn't sound like it held much humour.
Janet Claymont hung suspended on a spike of steel, the sharp metal impaling her through the back and extending all the way through her chest. Her body and the immediate area was absolutely inundated with gore. Awash with her blood. Kris looked at herself again, noted that her skirt was soaked through too. She had to look like some kind of vicious parody of a person, an actress gone a little wild with the stage makeup. Kris stared at her hands, tried to rub the blood from them off onto her shirt, found it made no difference, let out a giggle terminating in a broken little sob.
Kris hauled herself onto unsteady feet, and teetering, headed back to Etain. She knew exactly what she just did, exactly the ramifications of it, that she'd lost any and all control of herself. But... Kris didn't want to face up to it. Not now, not with Etain here. She knelt alongside his body, fresh tears threatening to spring forth, then gave a shuddering exhalation. She couldn't keep this up. She couldn't take him with her.
"Etain I... I'm so sorry. I let you down. Let you down since I kept that gun. I've... lost my way, and I can't find the path back. Bailed and my board's been flung off into some corner. Etain... I love you, I'm sorry."
She leaned down and kissed him hard on the mouth, clutching his face between her hands and smearing his cheeks with blood. Kris maintained the kiss for a long time, before reluctantly breaking it off and casting about for his bag, the bag she'd picked up after Ilario shot at them, killed Etain.
Clothes. Fresh clothes. Maybe they could... ... help her ... push the horrors to one side. She pulled the daypack open and started rooting around inside, first bringing out a shirt to help her mop up the worst of the blood from her face and arms, then grabbing another, as well as a pair of jeans. Kris stripped off, fat streaks of blood running down her entire body. Even her underwear was soaked with it... but there was nothing she could do about that particular problem. As Kris got dressed, something rolled out of Etain's bag with a clatter. Kris paused, bent down, picked it up.
Seen this... where? Button. Little cap. Safety measures... detonator?
Kris frowned, went back into Etain's pack, and before long pulled out a hunk of C4.
She shivered, put the explosives away. Kris slipped the detonator into her pocket, then looked at the horizon, scooping up Etain's bag, and leaving the bloodied clothes where they were lying.
Kris was still bloody, even with the change of clothes, hair matted and horrific, eyes wild and despairing in equal measure. She looked like she'd been through hell and certainly felt like it. Her peripheral vision briefly lingered on the impaled corpse before Kris forced herself to look in the other direction. Ready? No. But... it was as good as it was going to get for now.
The skater set off.
As she did, her hand slid into her pocket and started playing with the detonator.
((Kris Hartmann continued Feral Intelligence