Survival Of The Fittest

The gun roared in her hands as pain roared across her face.

She hadn't known pain yet on the island. Not the true kind. Her hands had felt the dull ache in the backlash from the work of murder, but nothing like this. Hot, visceral, searing, pounding. She tried to straighten out, to step back and evaluate her opponent face to face, but the fists and the elbows and the knees flew with a fury that frightened her to her core. Fury lined the face that the old part of her mind recognized as Bella, but which the new part recognized only as an atrocity-seeking missile bearing down with its full payload.

Katarina staggered back, swiped and clawed, but she couldn't slip a strike in edgewise. She was a killer, not a fighter. She'd ripped people apart, but not with her bare hands. Would Bella do that? Adrenaline spiked in her gut so powerfully it made her feel ill. Was she going to stop? She had a gun. Was she going to use it?

No. No, no, no! She couldn't let it happen. Her knees regained their strength. Her heartbeat flushed the agony from her face and her neck and her gut. She struck back with fingernails poised to tear flesh, to rip throat and eyes and tender flesh until her opponent knelt in tatters. And then Bella used the gun.

The world flashed black and Katarina crumpled on the floor. The iron impact throbbed and pulsed wetly. Too warm, too thick for sweat. Her own gun wasn't in her hands, and she knew vaguely it was out of reach. She'd heard it skitter over the ground. One of her sticks of ammunition drooped and flopped out of her pocket and onto the ground, and the other sent pulses of pain through her hip where she'd landed on it. She had to get up and run and fight and survive an

Don't move.

There was no choice but to obey. No alternative, because the alternative was certain death. Don't move. Don't cry. Don't even let them see you breathe, or they'll finish the job. Her eyes drooped half-open, half-shut. A pair of feet blocking the way. Behind them, her bag. Her freedom. She stared like she'd never stared before at absolutely nothing. Don't let them see a single twitch. Don't let them know there's yet more pain they can extract before it's over.

She heard the gun rattle off.

For a moment, Ami thought she was dead. But the pain in her leg, wait, wasn't the pain supposed to go away? Unless she was in hell. Then in that case, the pain was too manageable. She expected fire and brimstone and what she received was a child touching a heated stove.

Hesitant, Ami's hands fell away from her face.

Mira started hitting Katarina. She was smiling. A speckle of blood hit Ami's pantleg. Mira was going in for the kill. She kept her promise. She trusted Ami.

Ami didn't say anything. There was no "Good job Mira," no pat on the head. Instead, the only reaction Ami gave was a smile, the first in oh-so-many days. Smiled so hard it nearly stretched the corners of her lips just under her ears. Grinned so vibrantly, Ami looked more like a Bunraku Puppet than an actual person.

She rose to her feet. Katarina stabbed her in a spot where each contraction burned but she could stand without much incident. The real problem was dealing with the wound. How many people had Katarina stabbed with that exact same blade? Did Ami contract any diseases from the collected blood on that blade?

Putting pressure down on her wound, Ami hobbled. She picked up Katarina's gun, pocketed the scalpel. The weight of the MAC-10 paled in comparison to the monster she gave Mira. It felt light, usable, right.

Ami almost laughed! That was it, wasn't it? She understood now. The past several days, every second spent questioning and debating in her own head, leading up right to this stunning crescendo. And Lord, was that crescendo mind-blowing.

Part of her wanted to believe God orchestrated all of this, to give Ami a sign. She knew it wasn't true. God wasn't looking out for her, God has abandoned them all on this horrible island. She'd have to row her own damn boat. She should have been rowing it the second she woke up. But before? She had an oar that was much too big to be usable. And after? With Katarina on the ground, pretending to be dead? Heh. Now, she had a jet engine. And she had every intention of using it.

Ami Flynn, the third, cut, bleeding, and with actual purpose, snapped back into reality. The Cheshire's Grin faded, bewildered and surreal, when she realized Mira was still hitting Katarina.

"Mira." Ami said. "Mira, stop. That's enough."

The initial strikes were in defence; the first the only way of saving Ami, and the second an attempt to ensure Katarina went down.

But even then, Bella couldn't stop.

As she brought the barrel of her gun down again and again, it was no longer about saving Ami, not after she'd already subdued her attacker. It was now about releasing everything she'd bottled up, every pent-up emotion and feeling that she'd struggled to keep under control over the last few days, onto a girl whom she knew assuredly deserved it. There weren't any moral qualms or moments of indecision - Katarina had murdered five others, so she deserved this, didn't she? She deserved every bludgeoning that transpired against her, every injury Bella induced upon her. The names of Kat's victims had long since fled her memory, and in some distant part of Bella's mind she knew that she was just coming up with some rushed rationalisation behind her continued strikes, but she was beyond caring, now.

She kept going, even when her victim's form ceased to continue moving, even when she'd released as many of those bottled up feelings as she possibly could. It wasn't until Ami's voice pricked the air, audible even beyond the buzzing in her ears and the drumming of her heartbeat and sound of metal on flesh, that her movements slowed, the gun she'd kept such a tight grip upon falling to the ground with a hollowed clatter.

She stared at her handiwork for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into years, before wrenching her eyes upwards to see Ami's reaction, eyes wild and glassy and smile still etched widely upon her face.

"I did well, didn't I, Ami?"

As Ami gave her assent, Bella's smile grew even wider, despite the warmth of the tears she could feel rolling down her face.

And then she laughed; long, hard laughs that shook her entire body as the warmth of Ami's approval ran through her.

.




"Y... Yeah, Mira." Ami's brows creased. "You... You did a nice job."

Mira was laughing. She was laughing and smiling and asking Ami if she did good. Hindsight. 20/20. This is you. You did this to her. Your fault.

Ami could not bear to look Mira in the eye. She tilted her head towards the ground and thought. Then, with a hand, she gestured towards the direction of the body. The blade and the dufflebag sprawled out on the floor.

"I've got her gun. Go check and see if she has anything else."

Bella nodded eagerly at Ami's request, her grin never once leaving her face as she lowered herself to inspect Katarina's body for any hidden weapons. A few idle strands of hair floated into her vision, ones that had escaped the cutting they'd received back in the alleyway. Her eyes narrowed as she took them in, before twisting her fingers around their length and removing them in a single sharp tug. She relished the burn it brought to her scalp, the detachment of follicles jolting her with energy as she returned to the task at hand.

She suspected Kat would be well-stocked, given how many people she'd taken out over the past week, and as she roughly patted down the girl's prostrate form, those feelings were quickly confirmed in the form of a pair of magazines in her jeans' pockets. Bella rolled them over in her fingers, eyes lingering upon the set of ammunition before she handed it over to Ami. It was a weird feeling, to have bullets in her hand - it wasn't something she expected to ever do, and the metal's cool touch brought a feeling of warmth to her, like another coating of protection against the island. There was nothing else on Katarina's person, though her dufflebag was much better stocked - the usual assigned belongings, alongside a veritable cornucopia of spare bandages, water bottles, and the like; over a dozen ration bars; and the empty bag of one of Kat's kills.

Katarina had done and garnered so much over the past week, when she'd started off with merely her provided blade. Bella wondered if something similar would've happened to her, if she hadn't found Megan so early or if Aria hadn't jacked her club five minutes after waking up. She hoped she wouldn't have, but as she recalled the rush downing the girl in front of her brought to her, she couldn't be sure any longer. The slightest amount of guilt rose within her chest as she glanced over the downed girl beside her, but she pushed it back down just as quickly. She couldn't think about things like that right now, couldn't let herself empathise with Katarina. She had to do what she'd done, for herself and for Ami. And Katarina deserved it. If there was anything Bella could be sure of, it was that the girl she'd just bludgeoned deserved every injury bestowed upon her.

She stood up, having ensured no part of Katarina's form had gone unchecked, and turned back towards Ami, her smile having never once left her face.

"Well, that was fun. I guess we should get going, huh?"

To think, only a minute ago, Ami was happy to be alive! But then Mira had to go and say that 'this was fun'. Fun. She called it fun. And despite how painful it was to admit, Ami knew that it was not hyperbole.

God. It hurt to look Mira in her bright, shining face. That smile was genuine, her expression almost pleasant.

Ami forced eye-contact and faked a gentle smile in turn. A nod in agreement, a hesitant step forward. Reaching, Ami took Mira's hand into hers, squeezed it, rolled her thumb over the palm. She scrolled through the script of lines her father taught her and decided on the most common. When she spoke, she meant every word.

"I'm sorry Mira."

Mira didn't ask why. Ami brought the gun down on her head before she could open her mouth.

Mirabella Strong dropped like a sack of potatoes and she did it with a smile on her face.

(Mirabella Strong continued in All for You.)

Ami genuinely frowned when she saw Mira's smile. She wiped her tears off of her sleeve and sniffed.

"I'm sorry Mira. I'm so so sorry."

Not just hitting her. For everything. For breaking her promise. Hindsight. 20/20. You killed two girls. You turned Sara's head into ground beef. You turned Mira into a shell of herself. You killed Sara's body and you killed Mirabella's soul. This is you, Ami, you did this. You, not Sean or Ruby or Katarina. You.

It had to be this way though! Ami knew what she had to do and, foolishly, she thought Mira would understand. But that wasn't true. Mira wouldn't understand. How could she, when she smiled and laughed and ate out of Ami's palm? She couldn't deal with Mira. She didn't want to deal with her. That's why she knocked her out.

Ami bit her thumbnail, visibly crusted with dirt. What was she going to do with Mira? She couldn't just leave her, that would be breaking her promise (if it wasn't broken already). She'd think of something.

Think about that later though. There was one last thing she had to do.

Limping, Ami left Mira's unconscious body and went straight to Katarina's corpse. She stopped at Kat's feet, giving it an inquisitive glance. She squinted when her attention returned to the late Katarina Konipaski.

...

"You know. My father runs a funeral parlor out of our home. My entire life I've seen dead bodies and their relatives. I can't count how many funerals I've been to."

Ami swallowed. She tapped a tile with the heel of her shoe.

"I know a corpse when I see one."

Ami had to give her credit. For the brief moment between Mira hitting and Mira laughing, Kat almost convinced her. Almost. But no matter how long she held her breath, Ami could tell that she was still conscious. The quiver in her eyelids, the subconscious twitch of her finger. These signs, Ami could see.

Katarina kept the act up though. Or maybe she was shocked that Ami saw through her ruse. She didn't know what was going through Katarina's head but it sheer stubbornness made Ami roll her eyes.

She could see Katarina starting to break though. Slowly but surely. Ami knew this, because when she trained the gun on her, Kat winced.

"C'mon. Enough playing possum. You aren't fooling anyone."

Katarina said nothing.

Ami said nothing.

Everything was silent.

...

Katarina pushed her luck.

Deja vu. Ami hated that phrase, but seeing Katarina scramble, arm raised, head tucked, it reminded her of the exact moment when Sara stood in front of her. The main difference was that Sara wasn't a killer, she wasn't a threat. Katarina was both.

So when Katarina made a move, Ami retaliated. Katarina came up, Ami swung her leg and kicked her back down.

The kick held little direction. With Sara, Ami could not explain why she did what she did. But Ami knew exactly why she resorted to violence. The intention was not to harm, it was to keep Katarina from getting away. The thought of her slinking away like a dog with it's tail between it's leg made Ami's blood boil. So she leaned back and ran with it.

Her foot caught Katarina straight in the face. There was a loud snap, like a tree branch breaking in half, that Ami could not attribute. Katarina flew back and hit the tile floor, hard. She covered her face with her hands and whined, like a neutered puppy.

Hindsight, 20/20, Ami stared down at Katarina's crumpled body. The sounds she  made were muffled by her hands but Ami was sure she was moaning and not saying anything tangible. It took a moment for the blood to start seeping out, in small little lines running down her cheeks.

Ami may have just broken Katarina's nose. That wasn't how it was supposed to happen. It just... happened...

... Under normal circumstances she would apologize. Ami didn't, though, because it was what Katarina wanted. She wanted to get cut, she wanted to get shot, she wanted to trip and stumble, right? Katarina asked for a monster to come and make her cry, that was why she stabbed Ami in the leg. Hindsight, 20/20, Ami Flynn was the monster, cold and hard, a beast made of filth and aged leather, and Katarina was the little girl, bleeding and sobbing, just making her way.

That's why, when Katarina started crying, Ami felt nothing. Really, Ami ran out of fucks to give when Mira started laughing like a circus clown. It was really hard to hate someone when they were crying, though, so Ami managed a pitying frown instead.

Christ. She really needed a cigarette.

Ami fished into her back pocket. The pack was slightly crushed but they were still in good shape. As she placed one between her index finger and thumb, Ami finally spoke again.

"I should kill you," Ami said, reaching for her lighter. She lit. "That's what I planned when I came up here. It'd be the smartest thing to do, if I were thinking long-term. Besides, if I don't stop you now, you're going to keep hurting people. So, really, I'd be doing a dozen other people a favor."

Katarina didn't respond. Really, Ami would be surprised if she did, even without a broken nose.

Ami exhaled. She really did not like what she was becoming. Leather jacket, tired eyes, smoking. She promised her uncle she'd quit. Then again, a bunch of terrorists kidnapped her on a trip to Disneyland and thought it would be a good idea to give her a gigantic gun. So it wasn't like Lung Cancer was an immediate threat.

Katarina was still crying.  Christ, Ami didn't cry that hard when she sank a huge blade into her calf, did she? She'd like to think she was more stunned than anything. Ami held the cigarette in her left hand, dug the right into her jacket pocket.

"Look on the bright side, Kat. Now you can go home and have something to show everyone. You can play the victim card. As if anybody," gesturing to the camera, "out there cares when we're the ones ones who have to live with what we've done."

No. Katarina wasn't really crying, actually. More like she was seething in pain. It didn't matter, she shed tears all the same. Katarina wasn't trying to get up. Every time she sniffed, though, it sounded like she was hacking up phlegm. Ami wanted to gag.

"I should thank you," fuck you, "though. You made me realize something."

"I'm a monster. A senseless killer."

"There's no redemption, no second chances. I'm going to burn in hell for what I've done and there's nothing I can do to stop it... but I still have time. I'm going to own up to it. Face what I've done and accept the punishment. Because if I have to die, I want to do it knowing that I tried. That's all it'll take to set things right, and that's why I'm not going to kill you... "

... If Katarina heard any of that, she couldn't tell. She didn't care. It was over. Ami explained herself so she was finished talking.

Placing the cigarette back between her lips, she walked back to the unconscious girl. Grabbing Mira by the arm, Ami slung her over her shoulder. The weight was unbearable and her leg still burned but Ami had no choice. She'd just have to carry that weight.

Once all of that was done, Ami gave herself a chance look over her shoulder, an introspective glance at Katarina and her broken nose.

"... Honestly, I don't care what you do now. Whatever helps you sleep at night." Ami looked away. "We won't meet again, though, so don't bother trying to find me."

A beat. She stared walking. She didn't hear Katarina trying to get back up so there was no point in looking back. Ami opened the door leading to the staircase with her heel and pushed it. Then she stepped through, with Mira and bags in tow.

The door closed behind them with an audible thump.

Then, silence.

(Ami Flynn continued in Lucifer Fell.)

It was torture.

She lay silent, daring herself to take ever-smaller breaths, chasing the urge to pant and cry just before her. A gasp or a shiver or a cry. A compulsive twitch of her brow. Those would kill the illusion. Kill her. But as she stared and tracked the girls in the periphery of her vision, she thought, was that any worse? She was dying already. Slowly and surely. They were slicing away everything that had made her secure, everything that had given her comfort or cause to hope. Her food, her water, her weapons. Her dignity.

A tear leaked over the bridge of her nose as they began searching her body. She was a corpse, she reminded herself. A piece of meat, no concern for decency or for personal space. But still she quivered slightly under Bella's violating touch. Her fingers were knives skating delicately over her skin, ready to pierce at any moment. Trapping her into silence, or else. Trapping her into absolute obeisance. Trapping her into watching while they systematically removed any remaining sense of security, ran over her stomach and slid her ammunition out over her thighs. Stay still or we'll kill you. —More quickly. Make that choice. Choose between death in resistance now, or die in agony knowing you watched it all and let it happen. And there's really only one choice, because if you surrender your dignity completely you can chase the slimmest chance to your doom.

And she called it fun.

They turned to leave. Relief, just a tiny bit. And then fear, washing over disgust in her mind, as Ami pointed her own gun at her. Ami spoke, and Katarina would have frozen were she not already concentrating on keeping every fiber of herself stock-still.

She knew.

It was unbearable. The floor was sapping something from her like a poison. She couldn't stay there. Death with honor was still death, she pleaded to herself, but what was life if you couldn't fucking fight for it? A week. A week of blood and screams and crawling through a sea of flesh even if she had to rip each handhold with her fingernails. The only reservation, the thing that had almost undone her, was that she'd fought too hard. Set herself up so well that each day ceased to be a constant struggle for existence. Her muscles were already coiled. She sprung forward to tear her life back out of Ami's hands.

There was a crack. A bolt of agony that washed out all the other signals of pain from her body. Things slid over each other that ought to have stayed still.

She crumpled against the wall with her hands clasped instinctively over her face. Blood flooded her sinuses, spilled into her palms, filled the cup of her hands and then began streaming over her cheeks and down her wrists. She gasped and sobbed while Ami stood over her. Ami the person, not Ami the zealot or Ami the corpse-in-waiting. Ami, whose father ran a funeral home. Ami, who had friends and made allies. Ami the person, who had won the day over Katarina the murderer. She said her bit, and then she left.

And Katarina the person could only sob.

((Katarina Konipaski continued in Vertigo))