Survival Of The Fittest

Yet again, Claire's eyes flitted toward their fearless leader's bag. The pressure had built to a breaking point—soon, it would explode, and, likely, blood would spill. For a moment, she could almost picture the result if she were to try her hand: a lunge, the gun seized, and the explosion of righteous fury towards her. It was a risk she couldn't afford to take.

Still, she knew, they knew, everybody knew: this was a doomed venture. There was no plan of action, no idea of how to proceed—a recipe for an early end, she supposed, to it all. Of course, to say this would only serve to poke at the ashes, to draw fire from their embers. Discretion was advisable lest Chloé take their opposition as a newfound hostility.

Claire leaned in and whispered to Evie. "We should try and get some space between us and those two. I see this conversation going only one way—badly." Caution was crucial, even if it was only one step away from paranoia. "I'm not going to force your hand—if you want, we can stay—but I recommend we make like some trees and leave."

Evidently Lara’s objections took centre stage, and Evie’s desire to calm things down and/or fish for information on anyone else she might hope to find had fallen on deaf ears. Fine. Sure. Whatever. She was accustomed to letting other people talk when they wanted to, just as much as she was to leading conversations with more introverted types. She was Mercy when everyone else wanted to play tank and DPS; she filled in.

Except, she really fucking wanted to know if anyone had seen Alex. Or Kelsey. So she could ram his stupid fucking spear into his guts. Or… no, the turn of phrase would be in too poor of taste and too crass. So being spoken over annoyed her, was the short of it. And then to echo her own private thoughts from the day prior, dying as herself, except in the sense of not letting the terrorists ‘mangle her identity’? What did that even mean? It sounded like taking some moral high ground in accepting her death as inevitable. Like she’d somehow listened in and judged Evie for even thinking that killing to survive could be morally justified. As if her family hadn’t been in the business of killing for years now. Fucking hypocrite. That it was literally impossible for that to be the case hadn’t quite sunken in yet: Evie was too busy reacting emotionally to have caught up logically yet.

Scowling, Evie listened to Claire’s advice, turned it over in her less-than-level head, and declared simply:
“Whatever, let her go then.”

Now space, space was a funny thing. If everything went to shit as predicted, being close to Lara would probably be bad. Evie didn’t like her chances in a melee with the big girl. But bring further from Chloé just multiplied the danger of her gun… assuming she hadn’t just been lying about having one all along. So Evie hovered, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to dash towards or away from as the situation demanded.

She had failed. She had tried, and she had failed. Chloé listened to her heartbeat slow in the quiet that followed Lara’s outburst. She sighed deeply, trying to blow the panic and the grief and the rage out like candles on a cake. The last puffs of breath came out as a humourless laugh.

“…If you’re going to play the game they want you to play, they’ve already taken your identity.”

Chloé stepped aside. A sad smile accompanied her farewell.

“Goodbye, Lara.”

"Hah! You don't know me, class president. You have no idea what my identity is," Lara hissed, frankly insulted by Chloé claiming that she knew who she was after only a day of getting to know each other. As if she could read someone else that easily.

"Do not attempt to force your morals and beliefs upon me, or try to implant your own sense of identity upon my own. However, I know you are going to try and do so with whomever you come across on the island. I do hope, for their sakes, that they are able to see through whatever propaganda you spew at them."

Lara had no idea what Marshall, Jess, and the others Chloé had supposedly recruited had on their minds when Chloé met them. Perhaps she was a bit more convincing back then. Maybe they were just more malleable. Lara did not claim to know what went through their heads. She only hoped they broke out of the spell in due time. It certainly would not do if Chloé succeeds in building her little peace cult.

"I believe I must be going now. I have important matters to attend to."

Just like that, Lara had severed ties with the class president, and possible Claire and Evie as well. While parting with Evie was... regretful, staying in packs and building groups was still not a good idea in the long run. Lara needed to go it alone, which was how she preferred to get things done, anyway.

Without any further hesitation, Lara swung open the infirmary door and stepped out into the snow, ready to tackle whatever her classmates felt like throwing at her. She would do it alone, as she should have done this past day. There was no more time to waste, only practical actions to be taken and pragmatic reasoning to be formulated. With that, she headed as far away from the research station as her legs could carry her

Claire blinked. Just like that, Lara was gone—and, thankfully, with a less violent exit than expected. The gun, while still a temptation, was no longer crucial for their survival, so long as Chloé didn't change her tune. She hated the thought, but it would've been a relief to have an excuse to take it from the other girl; she wanted the grip of a weapon in her hands.

After all, the two of them had plans to hunt, and a hunter, she thought, would need a weapon—especially when their prey likely had an arsenal of his own at his back. But, for now, her morality was strong enough to prevent her from taking that step, taking it for herself. How long would that last? After all, earlier that day, she'd contemplated murder.

How long could she dance on the edge before she slipped?

How long could she stare into the abyss before it stared back?

Claire didn't know. There were no solutions here—all the more reason to set out for greener pastures. She sighed. Her gaze rested on the open door until she shifted it to Chloé, azure eyes aimed at dark brown hair. "You can stay if you'd like," she said. "But we're going to leave tomorrow either way—the two of us." There was a lull. "It's your choice to make."

In truth, the answer wouldn't change a thing.

S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "The Path of the Guillotine"

When the verbal sparring ended, the release of tension in the room was almost palpable. Tension remained in Evie's immediate thoughts, however. Surrounded by hypocrites, so ready to benefit from killing right up until they had to see it happen. Right up until they had to pull the proverbial, or possibly literal, trigger.

But she was in no mood to argue, not with Chloé and her gun, nor with Claire and her unilateral decision that the dynamic duo would be taking their leave in the morning. Despite everything, Evie's instinct was still to bite her tongue, not say anything to upset people around her. No, she'd make do with displaying her displeasure passive-aggressively.

"Yeah. Do what you want."

No longer immediately worried of violence breaking out, Evie took her leave, wandering off to the small office where she could slump in a chair and be alone with her thoughts for some time. The familiarity was comforting, like settling in front of her own PC after a long day of school, for a long night of simulated warfare. Comforting for a few seconds, before it turned to pining for her old, mundane life. A life where she didn't have to worry about who she was going to have to kill, or when, or how, to ensure she had even a chance of making it home alive.

At least she could be reasonably sure of the who.

Alex fucking Avanesian.

[Evie McKown knows her way home.]

Chloé didn’t say anything when Lara left. She didn’t say anything when Claire said, firmly and finally, that they would not be sticking around either. She didn’t say anything when Evie got up and left too, even though she had been Chloé’s last hope. It was only when she had opened the door again, and given herself a second to adjust to the incoming chill, that she turned her head over her shoulder and spoke.

“We’ve got a street in the town, you can’t miss it. Come find us when you need us. Stay safe, Claire.”

Chloé set off back the way she had come, sticking to the original plan. It would be harder without Lara to cover more ground, but Chloé needed him now more than ever. She hadn’t been able to find any new allies- but maybe she could still find an old one.

((Chloé Delacroix continued in If You're Feeling Sinister))