Corpsewalker

[Slam]

It was useless, no matter how much she struggled and screamed, Kris had too tight a hold on a bunch of her hairs to break free without scalping herself, and she was too busy hobbling on her impaled foot to make that happen if she wanted to. The ground scrolled by under her feet like a bird looking down at the ground, gliding over it rather than walking along it, until Kris abruptly let go.

Then she gave her a sharp blow to the back of the head, and all bets for survival were off.

Stars swam before her eyes as Kris gripped her by the shoulders, roughly turning her over as Janet staggered blindly at her mercy, as if she was already limp and dead. She was trying to tell her arms to lash out, to fight back, but everything around her was moving too fast for her to get any coordination of her limbs whatsoever.

Something was poking into her back.

CRUNCH

Staring eyes.

She was looking upwards, but it wasn't straight upwards. She was being propped up.

CRUNCH

It was between her bones. She had been stabbed through the back, and now it was sticking between her rib cage.

The pain was starting to become more prominent than the shock of being stuck onto a jagged piece of metal.

CRUNCH

It was cutting the edge of her organs, and now it was obvious to the person you'd expect would understand the situation first.

CRUNCH

The bitch, she had impaled her on a piece of metal. She had been impaled, she had been impaled, she was bleeding so much....

CRUNCH

"You cow." she spat weakly, the offending strut now penetrating her lung quite effective, air rushing out of the rough crooked hole.

Suddenly everything in front of her eyes was swimming. Kris was becoming a shadow, a disembodied thing, an irrelevant factor in her death. The air was leaving her body, and the rage that had clouded her mind for two days was finally calming.

It really didn't matter, everything that she had thought was so important. It was sad, everything, but what did it matter. They were dead from day one, and now she was meeting her maker.

"Chadd..." she whispered with the last breath she could manage, and instantly she had regretted it. She had loved Chadd, but was he really the only point in her life? Couldn't she had said something more meaningful? Couldn't she had said goodbye to her brother, who would have to grow up without her now? Couldn't she had wished her parents her love, who'd always been so kind and patient with her, even when she'd been on the brink of expulsion for her temper? Couldn't she had told the bitch in front of her that she had hoped she was happy with herself?

There, that was it. Anger was her life, anger was consuming her, and she had done nothing. Even in a dying moment, all she could think of was spite. Spite for this bitch who'd done away with her in a cruel, painful (SO FUCKING PAINFUL she realised all of a sudden, and opened her mouth in a silent scream) manner, and spite for herself at not being more perfect.

Dying does strange things to one's opinions on themselves.

There weren't any more colours any more. Her eyes were still seeing things, and the world was going by without her, but she wasn't a part of it any more. Now she was a decorative lawn ornament, would probably make for a fun sight for the next student to come across her, and she hadn't even done anything useful with her time on the island.

She hadn't killed anyone though. Her family would be happy about that.

It was a little light in the overwhelming darkness.

She could pass on without guilt.

G011 - JANET CLAYMONT: DECEASED

[Namira]

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.

Holy shit.

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))