Slamming knees into Hansel's hip kept him sharp, kept him lucid, as Garrett's hands inched slowly but surely towards his throat. He tried to pitch, rotate, throw the smaller boy off of him, to no avail.
The world began to dim as Garrett got his fingers around Hansel's throat, causing him to splutter and thrash, his knees shooting upwards to block another of Garrett's driving strikes, hands reaching upwards to grip at the boy's hair, tugging Garrett downwards, hoping to obscure his vision, keep it focused solely on himself.
If this had been a true thunderdome, Hansel would have been in a bad spot. If this had been a true schoolyard, circle of jeering thunderdome, he would've had to limp home with bruises and scars and a fat lip.
But this wasn't a real thunderdome, not in any sense of the definition he'd been taught.
Because in a real one, you weren't allowed backup.
All Battles Are Fought By Scared Men Who'd Rather Be Some Place Else
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NotAFlyingToy
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Latin For Dragula
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Hansel's defense was futile. The more he pushed and squirmed, the tighter Garrett's focus got. He had him now. He could feel his fingers digging into Hansel's thick neck, hear him sputtering for air, see the combined determination and panic in his eyes. The cold gray pits in his skull stared back passively as the struggle began to fade away. Despite his anger, and his triumph, his face remained cold and set.
There was a dull crack in the background over the throbbing in his ears. It could have been a handful of things, a bone in Hansel's body, a stick underneath them, something fragile in his bag...he didn't care. Garrett had accomplished what he'd set out to do: He'd found him. He'd analyzed him. He'd broken him.
But this wasn't a victory. It was merely correction. Harsh correction, perhaps, but necessary. In the end, he'd proven to be a man of his word, and now-
Schick.
Now there was a knife in his back.
The firm grip around Hansel's neck went limp. He tried to crane his head to see his new assailant, but instead he saw only Ami and Bella retreating across the cliff.
He was dying. He didn't know how, or why, but that much was clear. Already his vision was blurring as he hemorrhaged over his shoulder blade. The weakness seeped in as his blood poured out, and he was powerless to stop it.
It was an oversight, really. He'd never considered that Hansel could have an ally in the wings, that someone would tie themselves to someone so thoroughly monstrous, but here they were. Every time you pinned down one killer, it seemed like two more sprung up in their place, and as he looked up at Ami and Bella, he realized he was no better.
He saw rage.
He saw shock.
He saw contempt.
He saw a promise.
Alongside them, in his mind's eye, he saw Cammy, Kyran, Deanna, Matt, Travis, Rosemary, Meera, Joey, Iselle, Tyler...the surreal, impossible absurdity of it all forced a wheezing chuckle from his haggard lungs. He hadn't broken the system. He hadn't even come close. He'd only perpetuated and nurtured it, rippling through countless other descents into degradation as he passed.
He could no longer support himself. His body collapsed on top of Hansel, his fury spent into exhaustion. As the world slowly went black, a slim smile of acceptance parted into a final, defeated rasp.
"You win, Williams."
B062, GARRETT WILDE: DECEASED
74 PEOPLE REMAINING
There was a dull crack in the background over the throbbing in his ears. It could have been a handful of things, a bone in Hansel's body, a stick underneath them, something fragile in his bag...he didn't care. Garrett had accomplished what he'd set out to do: He'd found him. He'd analyzed him. He'd broken him.
But this wasn't a victory. It was merely correction. Harsh correction, perhaps, but necessary. In the end, he'd proven to be a man of his word, and now-
Schick.
Now there was a knife in his back.
The firm grip around Hansel's neck went limp. He tried to crane his head to see his new assailant, but instead he saw only Ami and Bella retreating across the cliff.
He was dying. He didn't know how, or why, but that much was clear. Already his vision was blurring as he hemorrhaged over his shoulder blade. The weakness seeped in as his blood poured out, and he was powerless to stop it.
It was an oversight, really. He'd never considered that Hansel could have an ally in the wings, that someone would tie themselves to someone so thoroughly monstrous, but here they were. Every time you pinned down one killer, it seemed like two more sprung up in their place, and as he looked up at Ami and Bella, he realized he was no better.
He saw rage.
He saw shock.
He saw contempt.
He saw a promise.
Alongside them, in his mind's eye, he saw Cammy, Kyran, Deanna, Matt, Travis, Rosemary, Meera, Joey, Iselle, Tyler...the surreal, impossible absurdity of it all forced a wheezing chuckle from his haggard lungs. He hadn't broken the system. He hadn't even come close. He'd only perpetuated and nurtured it, rippling through countless other descents into degradation as he passed.
He could no longer support himself. His body collapsed on top of Hansel, his fury spent into exhaustion. As the world slowly went black, a slim smile of acceptance parted into a final, defeated rasp.
"You win, Williams."
B062, GARRETT WILDE: DECEASED
74 PEOPLE REMAINING
[Andi Victorino, girl no. 1, continued from: FILL YOUR HAND)
There was no preparing for it, no manual to tell you how to feel or what to think or how to cope. Nothing to warn her how empty she'd feel, how much of herself would be lost in the transition. This is what she wanted, she told herself, this is what she needed to do, to become, in order to get home. This was just the name of the game, the weak die and the strong prosper. She tried to convince herself that she hated him, forced herself to picture him taking the win from her, standing over her body as they congratulated him and put him on a plane back home, but the sentiment was empty.
When it came down to it, she didn't know Garrett Wilde, wouldn't have been able to pick him out of a line up of any of their other classmates. She didn't know what or who he fought for, what kind of person he was or who was waiting for him at home. He was a perfect stranger, a face in the crowd.
He was also someone's kid, someone's brother, someone's friend.
Andi sank to her knees, unable the support the weight of her body any longer, knife with a fresh coating and clenched tightly in her shaking hand. Nausea overrode her entire body, chest rising and falling in shallow, harried breaths as she bit back bile. Hansel had since followed suit, coughing and spluttering to regain his own breath, his neck aflame with red from Garrett's hand. She stared at him unblinking, her gaze cold and steely, no veneer shielding her contempt for him.
She hated him. Everything about him, what he stood for, the realization that he was who she needed to become to survive.
Hated him for forcing her hand long before she was ready to take the responsibility.
She wasn't sure at what point she'd lost herself to the game.
Maybe losing Sven and splitting from Gray, the days holed up in the high school with her thoughts alone, sitting on her desperation until she'd finally given in. Maybe meeting Hansel, the opening of a door that could get help her to the end, or watching him bash Theo's face in. Maybe she was lost before it had even started, maybe she'd always had it in her and it was just embracing that. There was no telling, the only sure thing was that she was no longer the same girl from Seattle who's biggest concern in life was running from her responsibilities.
The island had cats, feral now without inhabitation. They were fixtures to her, much like the corpses strewn about that she simply looked over without a second thought, the new normal. She didn't particularly care for animals even back in Seattle, preferring to play with them for a short while and then be left alone.
But that didn't mean she wanted to kill one.
Hansel's insistence was gruff, the chill demeanor of someone who'd hunted bigger game. His large hands, battered and worn from from the game, clasped around the small body, pushing it roughly against the concrete as it cried and struggled against his grip. One of it paws was noticeably underdeveloped, the only reason he'd been able to catch it. It was just a baby, likely the runt of a litter left to fend for itself and managing for awhile. It was a fighter.
She was flippant, urging him to let it go, but he protested. It was weak, he said, it'd die in the wild anyway, so why not make its death mean something, help her learn. It was just a cat, an animal not even capable of speech aside from it's piercing wails as its head was pushed against the ground. But it was defenseless, barely able to even provide for itself.
If you can't kill a cat, you surely can't kill another person.
He wasn't wrong. There'd be defenseless people, hurdles in her way, and she had to separate herself from it, not think about it and just do.
She took the hammer from her bag and it was gone after that, but its crying would stay with her, burned into her mind with its struggling face.
She hated him.
Hated him for knowing how to play the game and how to win.
Andi wasn't a fool. She knew what he meant when he told her to wait in the bushes beyond the clearing, armed with the FAMAS Hansel had been rewarded. He planned to kill Garrett and she'd be in the wings for support. She didn't question it, didn't want to know his motivations for it or the story behind it. Just do, she told herself. He was with girls, though their faces were a blur in the distance, staying put in their position as Garrett moved to meet Hansel. She position her gun like Hansel had taught her, her aim shaking forcefully as the nerves caught up to her.
It didn't take long for things to get out of hand.
Her breath hitched in her throat, aim shaking harder as she looked for an opening, everything resting on her the minute Hansel lost his gun. She waited, each second dimming the chances that Hansel would win the fight, her unblinking eyes still trained on the wrestling forms until she saw the sheen of metal hit the grass beneath the.
She'd never be able to hit Garrett, not without risking missing and hitting Hansel instead, so she quickly turned her focus to the girls on the cliff and took a shot, prevent them for reacting and running to Garrett's aid before dropping the gun to her feet with her bag and bolting from the foliage.
Adrenaline and years of softball propelled her across the slick embankment until she retrieved the knife and plunged it into Garrett's back.
Once,
Twice,
There was no thinking, no method, just a fevered attempt to stop him.
She'd lost count when he finally collapsed, the ringing of her ears making his dying words seem a thousand feet away.
Hansel lay on the ground, spitting and sputtering, regaining her breath.
She hated him.
Hated that she was becoming him.
There was no preparing for it, no manual to tell you how to feel or what to think or how to cope. Nothing to warn her how empty she'd feel, how much of herself would be lost in the transition. This is what she wanted, she told herself, this is what she needed to do, to become, in order to get home. This was just the name of the game, the weak die and the strong prosper. She tried to convince herself that she hated him, forced herself to picture him taking the win from her, standing over her body as they congratulated him and put him on a plane back home, but the sentiment was empty.
When it came down to it, she didn't know Garrett Wilde, wouldn't have been able to pick him out of a line up of any of their other classmates. She didn't know what or who he fought for, what kind of person he was or who was waiting for him at home. He was a perfect stranger, a face in the crowd.
He was also someone's kid, someone's brother, someone's friend.
Andi sank to her knees, unable the support the weight of her body any longer, knife with a fresh coating and clenched tightly in her shaking hand. Nausea overrode her entire body, chest rising and falling in shallow, harried breaths as she bit back bile. Hansel had since followed suit, coughing and spluttering to regain his own breath, his neck aflame with red from Garrett's hand. She stared at him unblinking, her gaze cold and steely, no veneer shielding her contempt for him.
She hated him. Everything about him, what he stood for, the realization that he was who she needed to become to survive.
Hated him for forcing her hand long before she was ready to take the responsibility.
She wasn't sure at what point she'd lost herself to the game.
Maybe losing Sven and splitting from Gray, the days holed up in the high school with her thoughts alone, sitting on her desperation until she'd finally given in. Maybe meeting Hansel, the opening of a door that could get help her to the end, or watching him bash Theo's face in. Maybe she was lost before it had even started, maybe she'd always had it in her and it was just embracing that. There was no telling, the only sure thing was that she was no longer the same girl from Seattle who's biggest concern in life was running from her responsibilities.
The island had cats, feral now without inhabitation. They were fixtures to her, much like the corpses strewn about that she simply looked over without a second thought, the new normal. She didn't particularly care for animals even back in Seattle, preferring to play with them for a short while and then be left alone.
But that didn't mean she wanted to kill one.
Hansel's insistence was gruff, the chill demeanor of someone who'd hunted bigger game. His large hands, battered and worn from from the game, clasped around the small body, pushing it roughly against the concrete as it cried and struggled against his grip. One of it paws was noticeably underdeveloped, the only reason he'd been able to catch it. It was just a baby, likely the runt of a litter left to fend for itself and managing for awhile. It was a fighter.
She was flippant, urging him to let it go, but he protested. It was weak, he said, it'd die in the wild anyway, so why not make its death mean something, help her learn. It was just a cat, an animal not even capable of speech aside from it's piercing wails as its head was pushed against the ground. But it was defenseless, barely able to even provide for itself.
If you can't kill a cat, you surely can't kill another person.
He wasn't wrong. There'd be defenseless people, hurdles in her way, and she had to separate herself from it, not think about it and just do.
She took the hammer from her bag and it was gone after that, but its crying would stay with her, burned into her mind with its struggling face.
She hated him.
Hated him for knowing how to play the game and how to win.
Andi wasn't a fool. She knew what he meant when he told her to wait in the bushes beyond the clearing, armed with the FAMAS Hansel had been rewarded. He planned to kill Garrett and she'd be in the wings for support. She didn't question it, didn't want to know his motivations for it or the story behind it. Just do, she told herself. He was with girls, though their faces were a blur in the distance, staying put in their position as Garrett moved to meet Hansel. She position her gun like Hansel had taught her, her aim shaking forcefully as the nerves caught up to her.
It didn't take long for things to get out of hand.
Her breath hitched in her throat, aim shaking harder as she looked for an opening, everything resting on her the minute Hansel lost his gun. She waited, each second dimming the chances that Hansel would win the fight, her unblinking eyes still trained on the wrestling forms until she saw the sheen of metal hit the grass beneath the.
She'd never be able to hit Garrett, not without risking missing and hitting Hansel instead, so she quickly turned her focus to the girls on the cliff and took a shot, prevent them for reacting and running to Garrett's aid before dropping the gun to her feet with her bag and bolting from the foliage.
Adrenaline and years of softball propelled her across the slick embankment until she retrieved the knife and plunged it into Garrett's back.
Once,
Twice,
There was no thinking, no method, just a fevered attempt to stop him.
She'd lost count when he finally collapsed, the ringing of her ears making his dying words seem a thousand feet away.
Hansel lay on the ground, spitting and sputtering, regaining her breath.
She hated him.
Hated that she was becoming him.
What would she do when the world ended?
It was a question they'd been posed in English class, forever ago. A writing exercise, a way of stretching their creativity. For the most part, Bella was fairly good at stuff like that, easily able to trot out a few paragraphs in her delicate handwriting and receive praise from her teachers, but this one particular question had left her stumped. She'd spent the half hour they'd been given to write staring blankly at the page in front of her, panic steadily mounting as ideas refused to come forth. Luckily, their teacher had picked on someone else to read aloud, and the second the bell rang Bella had ran from class, never letting the question enter her mind ever again.
It was only until she stood atop a cliff with Ami at her side, watching her boyfriend bleed out just a few yards away from her that she found out the answer. In her case at least, it was scream'. She screamed, a long drawn out scream splitting the air around her as her stomach tied itself into knots. It was as though she couldn't breathe, couldn't focus. The only thing she could do was scream, and even when her lungs had ran themselves dry and she was retching in panic she knew it hadn't been enough.
When she'd seen Hansel round the corner, her eyes had widened in panic and her heart had began to drum violently. Here he was, one of only two threats to her steely resolve, one of only two killers in this place she felt she could forgive. She didn't want to see him again, didn't want to have to pick between the rules she'd constructed for herself or the emotions Hansel stirred within her. When Garrett had instructed Ami to keep by her side, had refused to let her get involved, it had almost been a relief.
And then the worse thing that could ever happen, happened.
For a moment, Bella refused to believe it. She couldn't believe that the one person whom she truly cared about anymore could be gone, could've been snuffed out so unceremoniously by Andi Victorino, a girl she'd scarcely even talked to back at school, a girl who'd just shot at her and Ami for, effectively, being there. She couldn't believe that her world was crumbling around her and there was no way for her to stop it. Her Garrett was gone, and he wasn't coming back, and this was really happening, she really didn't have anybody anymore. What was her purpose, if it wasn't for Garrett?
Bella could feel Ami's arms around her waist, dragging her away from the scene in spite of her incoherent protests. Her sneakers struggled to find a grip on the soft earth, digging painfully into the dirt as she tried to resist Ami's hurried tugs. Her nails found their way into the other girl's arms, clawing and scratching in vain as she tried to force her to release her. She wanted to run towards the pairing, wanted to release the hurricane of emotions threatening to surface and explode, wanted to end their lives just as they'd done Garrett's. The fact that she'd once defended Hansel seemed completely laughable now. There'd be no more forgiveness, not anymore. Any insane justifications she'd made for him were gone, snuffed out the second he'd willingly let someone steal her very reason for living, instead replaced by endless hatred.
Eventually Ami had pulled her out of their sight, away from Garrett's final resting place, away from two of the vilest, unforgivable people on the planet. She stopped her frenzied protests almost immediately, instead shaking uncontrollably in Ami's grasp. And then she stopped. She collapsed in Ami's arms, letting herself go limp as she refused to acknowledge what'd happened, refused to let herself feel anything at all.
And then they fled, and Bella left everything her life had meant to her behind.
((Mirabella Strong continued in Litany Against Fear))
It was a question they'd been posed in English class, forever ago. A writing exercise, a way of stretching their creativity. For the most part, Bella was fairly good at stuff like that, easily able to trot out a few paragraphs in her delicate handwriting and receive praise from her teachers, but this one particular question had left her stumped. She'd spent the half hour they'd been given to write staring blankly at the page in front of her, panic steadily mounting as ideas refused to come forth. Luckily, their teacher had picked on someone else to read aloud, and the second the bell rang Bella had ran from class, never letting the question enter her mind ever again.
It was only until she stood atop a cliff with Ami at her side, watching her boyfriend bleed out just a few yards away from her that she found out the answer. In her case at least, it was scream'. She screamed, a long drawn out scream splitting the air around her as her stomach tied itself into knots. It was as though she couldn't breathe, couldn't focus. The only thing she could do was scream, and even when her lungs had ran themselves dry and she was retching in panic she knew it hadn't been enough.
When she'd seen Hansel round the corner, her eyes had widened in panic and her heart had began to drum violently. Here he was, one of only two threats to her steely resolve, one of only two killers in this place she felt she could forgive. She didn't want to see him again, didn't want to have to pick between the rules she'd constructed for herself or the emotions Hansel stirred within her. When Garrett had instructed Ami to keep by her side, had refused to let her get involved, it had almost been a relief.
And then the worse thing that could ever happen, happened.
For a moment, Bella refused to believe it. She couldn't believe that the one person whom she truly cared about anymore could be gone, could've been snuffed out so unceremoniously by Andi Victorino, a girl she'd scarcely even talked to back at school, a girl who'd just shot at her and Ami for, effectively, being there. She couldn't believe that her world was crumbling around her and there was no way for her to stop it. Her Garrett was gone, and he wasn't coming back, and this was really happening, she really didn't have anybody anymore. What was her purpose, if it wasn't for Garrett?
Bella could feel Ami's arms around her waist, dragging her away from the scene in spite of her incoherent protests. Her sneakers struggled to find a grip on the soft earth, digging painfully into the dirt as she tried to resist Ami's hurried tugs. Her nails found their way into the other girl's arms, clawing and scratching in vain as she tried to force her to release her. She wanted to run towards the pairing, wanted to release the hurricane of emotions threatening to surface and explode, wanted to end their lives just as they'd done Garrett's. The fact that she'd once defended Hansel seemed completely laughable now. There'd be no more forgiveness, not anymore. Any insane justifications she'd made for him were gone, snuffed out the second he'd willingly let someone steal her very reason for living, instead replaced by endless hatred.
Eventually Ami had pulled her out of their sight, away from Garrett's final resting place, away from two of the vilest, unforgivable people on the planet. She stopped her frenzied protests almost immediately, instead shaking uncontrollably in Ami's grasp. And then she stopped. She collapsed in Ami's arms, letting herself go limp as she refused to acknowledge what'd happened, refused to let herself feel anything at all.
And then they fled, and Bella left everything her life had meant to her behind.
((Mirabella Strong continued in Litany Against Fear))
Allowing Garrett to go and deal with Hansel was killing two birds with one stone. It Ami didn't care if she was the one to do it or not. Her memory of the announcements were muddled but she remembered the exact moment Mallory was announced. Attacking Hansel herself was not a good idea. The boy was twice her size. Let Garrett deal with him. If he made peace with Hansel, Ami would get him when his back was turned. It did not matter if Mallory was dragged to the hospital. It had to happen. It just had to.
Ami was watching the fight from her vantage point, up at the top of the cliff. Eventually it looked like Garrett was getting the upper hand. That was when her eyes drew away.
...
There was someone in the clearing with a gun pointed right at them.
A switch inside of her flipped on and things became clearer than they had ever been.
Ami sipped at the air around her, putrid seawater and eye-watering spite. Her head turned to look over the side, and she could see the jagged rocks across the bottom and waves crashing below. Not a very good escape route, with or without the chain-link fence covering it. As she looked back down at the bottom of the cliff, Ami finally recognized the shape in the horizon, a girl Ami barely associated with let alone remembered the name of. Ami said nothing to Mira, who seemed too busy watching Garrett to notice. Ami did not acknowledge Andi's presence so much as acknowledged the gun. So instead of talking, or thinking, Ami shrugged the dufflebag back over her shoulder with practiced ease, gun tucked away, the weight somehow more manageable than minutes before. Then with a swift movement Ami twisted her arms around Bella and pulled her with more might than she realized she ever had. That was when Andi started firing.
Foam practically formed around Mira lips but she buckled and relented. She gave in soon. Much later, Ami would realize that Mira had scratched her arm so badly that she drew blood, and it would only register in her the vaguest notion of surprise because Ami did not feel any pain. In fact she barely remembered anything between noticing the girl with the gun and winding up back in the forest. It was like the sort of nightmare someone has to shake you out of, one you cannot recall anything about apart from the fact that you were tossing and turning and whimpering something unintelligible. It had been days since Ami last slept. She was afraid that the moment she bust Sara Corlett's head open like a pomegranate would be playing like a broken record. Even when she was restraining Mira she was so fucking tired that her eyes ached. But after she saw the gun in Andi's hand, Ami sobered up immediately. And when she heard the jarring 'pop' 'pop' that conjured the image of a pretty boy with jet black hair and perfect teeth stained crimson telling her that he loved her, she knew she could not look back to see if Garrett was okay because getting her out is what matters, understand, don't wait for him Ami, getting her out is what matters, getting her out, getting her out.
In less than a moment she was leaping into the treeline, monsters mere specks in the distance. Andi did not follow them. Hansel did not follow them. Garrett did not follow them. Ami didn't expect any of them to. Too much trouble, not enough reward. This, she knew.
A part of her still wished she could have made yokel fuck pay for what he did to Mallory, that monster. But it wasn't the right time. His punishment would come after, perhaps not with her but on the day of judgement. And she would be right there with him. This, she knew.
Ami did not have any qualms with leaving Garrett there. She did not feel any guilt for letting him die. Mourning was for the after, not the before and during. After. Besides, Mira would end up providing enough tears to share between the two. Because, at that moment, Ami had little to spare. This, she did not know. But she would soon.
(Ami Flynn continued in Litany Against Fear.)
Ami was watching the fight from her vantage point, up at the top of the cliff. Eventually it looked like Garrett was getting the upper hand. That was when her eyes drew away.
...
There was someone in the clearing with a gun pointed right at them.
A switch inside of her flipped on and things became clearer than they had ever been.
Ami sipped at the air around her, putrid seawater and eye-watering spite. Her head turned to look over the side, and she could see the jagged rocks across the bottom and waves crashing below. Not a very good escape route, with or without the chain-link fence covering it. As she looked back down at the bottom of the cliff, Ami finally recognized the shape in the horizon, a girl Ami barely associated with let alone remembered the name of. Ami said nothing to Mira, who seemed too busy watching Garrett to notice. Ami did not acknowledge Andi's presence so much as acknowledged the gun. So instead of talking, or thinking, Ami shrugged the dufflebag back over her shoulder with practiced ease, gun tucked away, the weight somehow more manageable than minutes before. Then with a swift movement Ami twisted her arms around Bella and pulled her with more might than she realized she ever had. That was when Andi started firing.
Foam practically formed around Mira lips but she buckled and relented. She gave in soon. Much later, Ami would realize that Mira had scratched her arm so badly that she drew blood, and it would only register in her the vaguest notion of surprise because Ami did not feel any pain. In fact she barely remembered anything between noticing the girl with the gun and winding up back in the forest. It was like the sort of nightmare someone has to shake you out of, one you cannot recall anything about apart from the fact that you were tossing and turning and whimpering something unintelligible. It had been days since Ami last slept. She was afraid that the moment she bust Sara Corlett's head open like a pomegranate would be playing like a broken record. Even when she was restraining Mira she was so fucking tired that her eyes ached. But after she saw the gun in Andi's hand, Ami sobered up immediately. And when she heard the jarring 'pop' 'pop' that conjured the image of a pretty boy with jet black hair and perfect teeth stained crimson telling her that he loved her, she knew she could not look back to see if Garrett was okay because getting her out is what matters, understand, don't wait for him Ami, getting her out is what matters, getting her out, getting her out.
In less than a moment she was leaping into the treeline, monsters mere specks in the distance. Andi did not follow them. Hansel did not follow them. Garrett did not follow them. Ami didn't expect any of them to. Too much trouble, not enough reward. This, she knew.
A part of her still wished she could have made yokel fuck pay for what he did to Mallory, that monster. But it wasn't the right time. His punishment would come after, perhaps not with her but on the day of judgement. And she would be right there with him. This, she knew.
Ami did not have any qualms with leaving Garrett there. She did not feel any guilt for letting him die. Mourning was for the after, not the before and during. After. Besides, Mira would end up providing enough tears to share between the two. Because, at that moment, Ami had little to spare. This, she did not know. But she would soon.
(Ami Flynn continued in Litany Against Fear.)
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NotAFlyingToy
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As Garrett collapsed on top of him, and warmth spurted upwards, splashing against the back of Hansel's hand that was still clutched in the smaller boy's hair, Hansel felt a weird sense of relief, followed by melancholy. Garrett's pressure ceased all at once, no longer seeking to choke his life out and instead stiff and broken in death.
Hansel pushed him off, freed of the dead weight, and lay in the soaked ground. Just breathing, gulping in air as a starving man, waiting until the spots around his vision cleared away. He didn't look at Andi, didn't look at Garrett, didn't look at Mirabella and Ami as they made their hasty retreat.
He just breathed.
When he was sure he wouldn't pass out, keel over, or collapse - when he was sure that his legs were solid beneath him, Hansel got to his knees, shuffling over Garrett's body, and beginning to pat through his pockets. This was the most degrading part for everyone involved - delegating the victim to rotting carcass and the murderer to a vulture.
But it had to be done.
He found a small journal, a few sheafs of paper, things that he transferred from Garrett's pockets to his own. A pencil, snapped in two from the scuffle, a wrapper - things he discarded. He went over every scrap - every inch - of the other boy's clothing.
And when it was all said and done, Hansel reached hesitant fingers towards Garrett's face, paused, frowned.
Closed the dead boy's eyes.
Standing, his back to Andi, he slid his hands into his pockets, staring out at the cliffs for a long, quiet moment. His breathing was under control, and he hadn't come out too bad from the fight. He was better off than fighting Tyler or Theo, had less scrapes and wounds than Ray or whoever had thrown the golf ball at him when he stole Aileen's and Owen's shit.
Hansel was improving.
He turned to appraise Andi, now, eyes studious, quiet, as he took in her form. Then, he repeated the same words he'd said to her as the wounded, deformed cat had stopped breathing, trapped beneath his palm.
"Good work."
Hansel pushed him off, freed of the dead weight, and lay in the soaked ground. Just breathing, gulping in air as a starving man, waiting until the spots around his vision cleared away. He didn't look at Andi, didn't look at Garrett, didn't look at Mirabella and Ami as they made their hasty retreat.
He just breathed.
When he was sure he wouldn't pass out, keel over, or collapse - when he was sure that his legs were solid beneath him, Hansel got to his knees, shuffling over Garrett's body, and beginning to pat through his pockets. This was the most degrading part for everyone involved - delegating the victim to rotting carcass and the murderer to a vulture.
But it had to be done.
He found a small journal, a few sheafs of paper, things that he transferred from Garrett's pockets to his own. A pencil, snapped in two from the scuffle, a wrapper - things he discarded. He went over every scrap - every inch - of the other boy's clothing.
And when it was all said and done, Hansel reached hesitant fingers towards Garrett's face, paused, frowned.
Closed the dead boy's eyes.
Standing, his back to Andi, he slid his hands into his pockets, staring out at the cliffs for a long, quiet moment. His breathing was under control, and he hadn't come out too bad from the fight. He was better off than fighting Tyler or Theo, had less scrapes and wounds than Ray or whoever had thrown the golf ball at him when he stole Aileen's and Owen's shit.
Hansel was improving.
He turned to appraise Andi, now, eyes studious, quiet, as he took in her form. Then, he repeated the same words he'd said to her as the wounded, deformed cat had stopped breathing, trapped beneath his palm.
"Good work."
There were no ramifications for their actions, no thunderous jeers from an invisible audience or scoldings, the girls on the cliff long gone without so much of a peep; it was just them. Her, Hansel, and Garrett alone in a cold, unbroken silence. She'd expected something, anything, in the wake of taking someone's life. Maybe she wanted that, someone to lecture her and tell her what a horrible atrocity she'd committed, tell her what a disgusting human she was to take a life, someone to take the form of every feeling running through her and ream into her just so she could argue with them, let them know that she did what had to be done for her. For Fiona.
What she got was the opposite, a pat on the back from someone who'd just finished raiding a corpse like some degenerate magpie.
Andi got to her feet in an instant, indignation etched into her weary features, her palms implanting themselves with what was left of her strength into Hansel's back, shoving him forward.
"Good work? Good work?" She spat, unable to grip any tangible train of thought. This wasn't passing some test or doing well at a job, this was something so real, something that would stick with her forever. She wanted to unload on him, yell at him, kick him, punch him, anything that'd make her feel better about everything that had gone down.
"I just saved your fucking ass, Hansel. Without me, that'd be you on the fucking ground and all because you have some fucking macho bullshit to prove to lord knows who. It's fucking stupid. That was stupid. I'm not gonna fucking hang out in the wings to bail you out when your fucking suicide mission shits itself. We're a team and you need to start acting like it."
Breath taken from her, she bent down and picked the knife back up, not bothering to face Hansel again. She didn't care what he had to say.
"We need to talk about fucking ground rules, too."
With that, she marched back to the treeline where they'd left their bags and her gun, not bothering to take a second look at Garrett.
She'd remember what he looked like in his last moments with or without it.
[Andi Victorino continued elsewhere]
What she got was the opposite, a pat on the back from someone who'd just finished raiding a corpse like some degenerate magpie.
Andi got to her feet in an instant, indignation etched into her weary features, her palms implanting themselves with what was left of her strength into Hansel's back, shoving him forward.
"Good work? Good work?" She spat, unable to grip any tangible train of thought. This wasn't passing some test or doing well at a job, this was something so real, something that would stick with her forever. She wanted to unload on him, yell at him, kick him, punch him, anything that'd make her feel better about everything that had gone down.
"I just saved your fucking ass, Hansel. Without me, that'd be you on the fucking ground and all because you have some fucking macho bullshit to prove to lord knows who. It's fucking stupid. That was stupid. I'm not gonna fucking hang out in the wings to bail you out when your fucking suicide mission shits itself. We're a team and you need to start acting like it."
Breath taken from her, she bent down and picked the knife back up, not bothering to face Hansel again. She didn't care what he had to say.
"We need to talk about fucking ground rules, too."
With that, she marched back to the treeline where they'd left their bags and her gun, not bothering to take a second look at Garrett.
She'd remember what he looked like in his last moments with or without it.
[Andi Victorino continued elsewhere]
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Andi was yelling - no, exploding - and pushing him, and all Hansel felt was this vague numbness, this cold and weary feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, a rock gnawing at the lining.
It was different this time - the kill. Something about having Garrett pinned and alone, purposefully blinding him with a hand on the back of his skull, making sure he couldn't see Andi's approach, had him feeling less secure. Like his actions were more than necessity, more than a drive to be the survivor of the game.
Garrett's death hadn't brought him any sort of relief, or satisfaction. It hadn't been done because he was directly in between Hansel and his goal, or because he needed to establish a presence of someone who wasn't to be trifled with. It hadn't been to gain Garrett's supplies, or to steal a weapon, or to defend something, or to manipulate.
Ultimately, it had been about the game all along. It had been Hansel seeing Garrett and knowing that he was an adversary. It had been about getting the jump on potential competition, and the drive to best him.
It had been about survival of the fittest.
And, all at once, those fucking words that Garrett had put into his head, those four little words that he'd been so blessedly clear of when he had focus, direction, came rushing back in the cracks that Garrett had left in his wake.
You could be wrong.
Hansel wiped an errant streak of sweat from his cheek, lifted his eyes to the sky, and exhaled slowly. He stooped to pick up his bag - heavier now, impossibly heavy - and stared downwards at Garrett's body, eyes closed, facing upwards, arms askew. With the toe of his boot, Hansel fixed his arms so that they were straight and at his sides, making him look almost peaceful.
"I did." Hansel said, quietly. "I did win."
With that, he stooped to snatch up his stetson, beat the dirt off of it with his free hand, and followed after Andi.
((Hansel Williams, Arcadia ))
It was different this time - the kill. Something about having Garrett pinned and alone, purposefully blinding him with a hand on the back of his skull, making sure he couldn't see Andi's approach, had him feeling less secure. Like his actions were more than necessity, more than a drive to be the survivor of the game.
Garrett's death hadn't brought him any sort of relief, or satisfaction. It hadn't been done because he was directly in between Hansel and his goal, or because he needed to establish a presence of someone who wasn't to be trifled with. It hadn't been to gain Garrett's supplies, or to steal a weapon, or to defend something, or to manipulate.
Ultimately, it had been about the game all along. It had been Hansel seeing Garrett and knowing that he was an adversary. It had been about getting the jump on potential competition, and the drive to best him.
It had been about survival of the fittest.
And, all at once, those fucking words that Garrett had put into his head, those four little words that he'd been so blessedly clear of when he had focus, direction, came rushing back in the cracks that Garrett had left in his wake.
You could be wrong.
Hansel wiped an errant streak of sweat from his cheek, lifted his eyes to the sky, and exhaled slowly. He stooped to pick up his bag - heavier now, impossibly heavy - and stared downwards at Garrett's body, eyes closed, facing upwards, arms askew. With the toe of his boot, Hansel fixed his arms so that they were straight and at his sides, making him look almost peaceful.
"I did." Hansel said, quietly. "I did win."
With that, he stooped to snatch up his stetson, beat the dirt off of it with his free hand, and followed after Andi.
((Hansel Williams, Arcadia ))