HEAT UP

[Namira]

((Connie continued from Desire For Execution))

Connie's eyes gleamed, reflecting firelight.

After all these days. Perfect.

The cellar was a fifty fifty at first glance. Connie had found it almost by accident, creeping through the church with an uncomfortable feeling of being watched, and then pretty much tripping over the door whlie she navigated past the wardrobe on top of it. At first, she'd actually thought that the stairs led to more tunnels, like back at the research station. Instead, a cellar.

So... fifty fifty. It was stonework, a positive, but also pretty dank, a negative.

She was here, though, and she wasn't so sure about the church just yet, so she kept looking around, looking around and... and yeah.

A cellar was perfect. Smoke rose. So go low and let it filter upward. And someone had managed to light candles in here and those had clearly stayed alight for a good while. The barrels probably wouldn't serve particularly well as kindling—given how gloomy and damp it was they were surely too permeated by moisture—but they'd do great as a makeshift firepit.

And Connie had already been collecting plenty to burn.

Soon enough, a flame blossomed in the bottom of that first barrel. The remaining wood that had felt a little too much for her 'campfire' in the research station, nestled away safely in some cloth from the houses. That went up faster than she expected. Just as well there was that fuel.

Next barrel. Whatever more wood she'd grabbed from a house. Two chair legs in there. More linen.

She lit it up, watched it burn. Watched the smoke begin to rise up to the ceiling, questing for a way out.

Connie's eyes shone.

[SOTF_Help]

Connie's collar emits a single shrill beep, lasting about two seconds. Immediately after it finishes, a speaker hidden somewhere in the room screeches to life.

The man's voice is coarse and somewhat nasally, with an accent like he's from the American Midwest or maybe Canada. In the background, the commotion of rapid conversations and footsteps can be heard.

"Hey you with the hair dye, this is your last and only warning. Light any more fires whatsoever and you're dead."

[Namira]

Instantly, she cracked up, bursting into peals of laughter. The sound echoed back, hollow and desperate.

"You with the hair dye? It's just me here, dude!" Connie ran a hand through the bird's nest passing itself off as hair. "Can you even tell it's dyed right now? I figure it looks like dirt for sure." She shot a haphazard finger gun at her best guess of the voice's origin. "You're looking at a before and after, aren'tcha?" She switched into Japanese, rusty after weeks of disuse, pitching her voice up. "Terrorist-senpai. Have... have you been watching me!?"

She dissolved into another fit of giggles.

It was a while before Connie straightened back up again. By the time she did, her expression had entirely flattened. The manic energy was gone.

"Sure. Whatever." Her voice was dull and disinterested. "Not putting these ones out. Bet the snuffographer with a hand on the controls and the other on their dick will use it as an excuse."

Connie rocked back on her heels, looking at the ceiling.

She coughed into her arm, and then pulled her facemask over her mouth and nose.

[Gundham]

((Juanita Reid continued from If You Want Blood, I'll Give You Some))

The smoke stung her eyes, and Juanita pulled the hood of her sweater across her mouth and nose to keep from coughing. The intruder was down here -she'd heard the terrorists squawking at them over the loudspeakers, and the muted echoes of a response.

She made no attempt to hide her footsteps coming down - whoever was down there didn't have a gun. You didn't start a fire and stick around if you had a weapon you knew how to use.

"Whoever's down here," she barked, her voice muffled by the fabric, "I have a shotgun, and I'm giving you one chance to come out of there with your hands up and your weapons on the ground." A cough overtook her briefly. Once she could speak again, she wheezed, "O-Otherwise you're gonna have to tangle with Evie, and you do not wanna do that."

[Namira]

Connie's head snapped towards the stairs.

She was in a bit of a reverie, didn't hear the footfalls, only the call out.

A fresh smirk spasmed its way across her face.

"So is your shotgun named Evie?" she shouted back. "Not sure which thing I'm supposed to be afraid of! Also if I just walk out right in front of you unarmed what's stopping you redecorating the room with my brains?"

Connie kept the whole sentence going almost in the same breath, giddiness rebuilding, ricocheting off rock bottom and rocketing back up.

[Gundham]

Juanita recognized the voice. That weird girl who'd mocked her and ran away after John died. She sounded different now. Unhinged. Was she mocking Juanita to throw her off guard or just driven slightly mad by the island? Hard to tell. Didn't really matter.

One chance. That was what she'd said, one chance.

She'd been merciful, a lot more merciful than anybody else would be at this stage of the game. And the girl had blown it by screwing around. She was stalling for time, trying to trap Juanita into making a mistake. What happened next would be on her own head. She'd basically pushed Juanita into it.

She trained the shotgun in the direction of the arsonist's voice. Ready or not, here she c-

Gunfire. Close. Outside.

So that was the game, huh? Send Chuckles down to start a fire, and then send in reinforcements afterwards while Juanita and Evie were distracted. Juanita's teeth gnashed together. The basement was a trap - the Cobray was a one-shot wonder at best. If she wasted it on Chuckles here, then she'd be out of the rest of the fight. Going at her with the knife or the naginata would get the job done, but it'd take time and leave Evie by herself - and if Evie died and the killers added her guns to their arsenal, it was game over. Lose the church and Chuckles now or lose everything later. That was the choice.

"Grrrgh!" Juanita growled, turning and running back up the stairs.

((Juanita Reid continued elsewhere))

[Namira]

Connie's eyes remained fixed on the stairs. If someone—Connie felt as though she recognised the voice but who knew at this point—came strolling down with a shotgun, then what next?

She could almost picture it. Camera focused on her face, maybe a shot cutting back and forth to the steps. Heavy breathing and wide eyes as the killer unhurriedly made their way down, each footstep tuned up with reverb. Thump, thump, thump. Maybe synchronised to a heartbeat, if they were feeling artsy, or a growing suspense.

Then gratutiously gory death scene. At least she wouldn't die off screen.

Alternatively, maybe a final girl chase sequence. few enough of them were left alive so she wasn't far off qualifying. she just wasn't sure if she was cut out for it you know? A miscasting.

Connie buried her face in the crook of her arm and muffled a cough. Her eyes were beginning to stream. Some irony if she smoked herself out.

Whatever. She wasn't diving headlong into the lion's jaws. She waited. And waited some more.

No words, and no SOTF's next top slasher storming the cellar.

Huh.

Huh. Okay.

Well throw out that script. She preferred the one that was on fire anyway.

(Connie continued in SHSL Lucky Student)