Better Than Cobalt

[ViolentMedic]

((Russell "Fitz" Fitzroy continued from Knowing You.))

Fitz had passed through the forest once more and collected branches. The only requirement for them was that they be thick enough to stand on their own if jammed into the ground.

Fitz had spaced the branches out across the snowfield. He’d walked in a long row, spacing them in roughly once every twenty-five meters – though he had gauged it by eye and occasionally lying down in the snow, so inaccuracies were rampant.

Eventually, these sticks crossed further than Fitz could see with his naked eye. But he trudged and placed the sticks until he had the last one left. He dug it into the ground, then went into his bag and retrieved Mildred’s squirrel puppet. He placed Mister Fluffernutter on top, so that he was overlooking the range.

“Guard my spot,” he said, before he walked over to the next stick. Not too far off, but far enough to pose a challenge.

With him, Fitz took the Halloween mask that had been Cedar’s assigned weapon. This, he draped over the stick. Then he walked back to Mister Fluffernutter.

“Okay. So I need to be accurate, right? No matter what I do, I need to be accurate,” he told the puppet. “Manual says that this thing should shoot real far. So if I miss, the only excuse is that I’m not a world-class sniper. Because duh. But maybe if you tell me where to aim, I can become at least a mediocre sniper.”

As he spoke, Fitz flexed his hands. The knuckles were bruised from beating up Daniel earlier in the day.

“We don’t have a lot of daylight left… so it’s now or never. ...Or tomorrow. Maybe. If I survive the night.”

Fitz paused, as if giving the puppet a chance to respond, but he didn’t do the voice this time. So he just turned the puppet so that it was facing the right way, then set the rifle up properly and laid in the snow.

“...Okay. It’s just a mask,” he breathed. “Just a mask. Just...” He tailed off. He inhaled.

…

……

………

He wheezed out the breath he’d been holding, coughed, then inhaled again.

…

He pulled the trigger. A fluff of snow, some much further distance beyond the mask, burst into the air and settled once more.

Fitz wrinkled his nose, and out of the corner of his mouth did the squeaky voice he’d designated for Mister Fluffernutter.

“At least you didn’t kill anyone! Good job, Mister Fitzroy!” He returned back to his normal voice. “Thanks. ...Jackass.”

He shook his head slightly, then lined up another shot.

-

Some time later, a shot hit the mask. Just clipped it, leaving part of the cheek a ragged edge.

Fitz blew out the breath he’d been holding. “...Okay.”

He stood up, taking the rifle with him. He took the mask, then walked to the next stick. He draped the mask over that one, then returned to his spot. Double the distance.

“Let’s go again.”

-

This one took longer to hit. But eventually, Fitz did it. Not straight on, but part of the jaw dripped from the mask. Fitz picked it up, eyeing it.

“You are not going to survive this, are you?” Fitz murmured. He sighed, and walked to the next stick. He put the mask on it, then reached up and held the choker for a moment, fingers resting just above the metal of the collar. He closed his eyes, opened them, then walked all the way back to Mister Fluffernutter.

“Let’s go again,” he said, quieter this time.

He flattened himself back in the snow, and lined up the sniper rifle once more.

[decoy73]

((Victor Grail continued from Top Ten Anime Betrayals))

Victor ... didn't like it. Thing had broken the team up just for some stupid ego trip. Ashlee was dead, and Karen and Julia were God knows where. The only good thing about it was that Thing was going to have an even harder time of it now, given how he'd taken its stuff. The gun, and where it came from, was more bittersweet. He just wanted to get some time to relax, and hopefully get his bearings.

BOOM.

Victor stopped for a second. Was someone actually getting into a fight? It just caused Victor's grip to tighten on his gun, and his gait to slow. Not reverse and bail, against his better judgement, but still walk towards the scene of a slaughter, of corpses, of ...

A guy shooting at sticks and talking to himself.

Wow. He really came on a problem here.

[ViolentMedic]

Fitz cleared one of his ears, then shook his head a little before lining up another shot. Listening, watching…

The slow footsteps reached his ears.

He turned to look at Victor, keeping the gun pointing at his original target. His eyes flickered down to the old-fashioned gun in his grip. Then back up.

“Victor, yeah?”

He shifted his hands away from the trigger. He kept his tone even.

“You keep the gun pointed away from me? I’ll do the same. Point it at me, and I shoot to kill. Cool?”

[decoy73]

It was that Fitz guy. He basically said to keep the gun in Victor's hands pointed away from Fitz. Which, fine. Of course, looking at the gun that Fitz had, it was quite fine. even a bad shot could ruin his day.

So Victor just nodded to Fitz and kept his gun aimed towards the ground.

[ViolentMedic]

Fitz nodded back, then fixed his eyes back on the target – though not without them occasionally flicking back to Victor.

“So… anyone acting up that I should know about? I don’t have much more to say that the announcements haven’t said for me… but not like they report everything accurate. Oh, I’m gonna shoot again in a second, so block your ears, maybe.”

He lined up the shot on the mask, putting his hand back near the trigger.

Bang.

Miss.

“Ah, beans,” he muttered.

[Dr Adjective]

[Evie McKown keeps looking for her Way Home, but it’s not through here.]

Day. Fucking. Four.

The novelty, such as it was, had long since worn off. No more denial, no more feeling lost, no more rationalising, no more praying for rescue. Just the gnawing, ongoing paranoia. The certainty that unless she died here, Evie was going to kill someone to make it home.

So day four. Long past time to look into making that happen. She was as healed up as she was going to be, and as useful as communications and night vision were as utilities, neither health nor any other force multiplier was going to be worth much without a force to multiply. Fit and sprightly Evie may have been, but she didn’t fancy her odds bringing fists to a knife fight, let alone a gunfight. Even a slugging match the the death was a weighted coin flip at the absolute best, not the sort of gamble she felt like staking her life on.

So the target remained Alex. He was a known quantity. Get the drop on him, get his spear, kill him, have his spear. That would be a start. Then the dynamic duo could use their assigned “weapons” to turn a mere pointy stick into the finale of any number of clever ruses. Just had the get the damn thing first.

Gunfire pierced the quiet of the afternoon stroll.

Immediately, Evie came to a stop, raised an open hand in a gesture to Claire to stop, then pointed a finger downwards. Then she dropped prone, careful to let her uninjured side hit the ground first. Her clothes were poor camouflage against mostly snow, but at least she might pass for a log at a glance. Evie had played enough shooters to know that standing upright in the open was a great way to respawn quickly.

Feeling marginally safer, she grabbed for the radio at her hip, eyes forwards and scanning for any source for the noise. She could whisper into the walkie-talkie, meaning she and Claire could stay both still and quiet, whilst staying in communication.

“Claire? Reply if you can hear me? Over.”

In the meantime, another shot snapped out. Evie was no expert on gun sounds, but it sounded the same. Everyone had been given distinctly different weapons, right? That’s how the kidnappers did things? So probably the same person, or at least the same weapon. No sign of a muzzle flare, or any other indicators of life. Had to be a decent ways off.

“Past that drift, I think. Either alone or fighting over one gun. Maybe best we split up? Over.”

[Dogs231]

Seconds, minutes, then hours ticked on, devoid of anything. For a long time, there was nothing else but the punctuated notes of the snow as it crunched below their shoes. There wasn't anything to discuss—the cards laid on the table already—so neither said anything, only marched on and on. If either of them questioned their directive, they did so in silence.

As was always the case, Armageddon was prosaic.

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

Eventually, though, something had to give; their spirits or the stillness.

As Claire quickly noted, it was the silence—shattered like glass by the sound of shots in the distance. She could hear the call of the birds from the sky above, flying away, as the sound rippled across the biome like a stone thrown into a small pond. Their peaceful walk across the island had ended, a reminder of the situation driven home like a nail in their caskets.

Her companion hit the deck swiftly as if she'd had the foresight that this would happen. She, meanwhile, merely ducked out of the way behind a large rock near the treeline. It was clear that her dark clothes would do little to conceal her in broad daylight and that she would stick out like a sore thumb amidst the blank white landscape.

It wasn't even worth the attempt.

Claire fell into position. Then, her hand jutted out to fix the glasses on her face, which had slipped down her nose. The next moment, her walkie-talkie buzzed with sound, and she held it to her ear just in time to catch Evie's quote. She looked at Evie, a little ways away, nodded, moved the device closer to her mouth, and then spoke.

"I can hear you. Over."

After that, she dared to peek her head out from the corner and take a gander at the source of the noise. If she reckoned correctly, the vantage point on her end would give her a better view of the situation than Evie's. In the distance, she saw two people, one prone, one standing, both with objects in their hands—most likely, they were armed.

It didn't take long for her to put the pieces together.

Claire dropped back into cover. Then, deftly, she hooked the walkie-talkie to her coat pocket, one solid motion to clamp it tight and securely. A hand darted to her side, bumped against her glasses case, but soon drew out the list of the dead and the damned and held it close to her face. She tapped her index finger against the paper, eyes narrowed on a name.

RUSSELL FITZROY •

She knew it well. Fitzroy had received the black spot that morning—per her prior ruling, that made him irredeemable. And, now, he lay in the snow, firing shots into the distance with a large gun; a sniper rifle, she guessed. He was a known quantity—his two kills were under similar circumstances, the same modus operandi—predictable, but still dangerous.

Claire stowed the list again in her pocket. The radio crackled in her pocket, and she unclamped it, held it close, and listened. Then shot one more glance at the two in the distance, then one at Evie. She swallowed the fear—here, you couldn't let it rule—and spoke again into the radio in her hands, her goal to answer and relay; communication was critical.

"Roger. I see them," she said, through bated breaths. "Both of them seem to have weapons, but they're not fighting—talking, maybe? I think they're firing shots into the distance." Then, she hesitated, a search for the words. "One of them's clear. The other's on the list, a black spot: Russell Fitzroy. As of our last announcement, he's got two marks on his record."

She paused a moment.

"He shot one of them in the back."

Then, she continued, nervous hands clutched tight to her scarf: "Consider them armed and dangerous. I say we split up and approach with caution." With that said, she took a long deep breath and let the cloudy white vapor disperse like the last few wisps of smoke amidst the embers of a dying fire. Her hand went taut once more, held the button down.

Claire's eyes hovered over the two in the distance, cold, like a hawk's, her words like ice in her throat.

"Over."

[decoy73]

Fitz asked if there was anyone to watch out for. Of course Victor knew one person who was, in fact, quite dangerous.

"Th-Karin Han. I-she, shot Ashlee," he said. He did have to keep himself from flinching at the shot. Wasn't there any way for them to make the damn thing quieter? He thought he heard something. Like static. He shook his head. Probably just the shot.

"You know anyone to stay away from?"

[ViolentMedic]

Fitz stayed quiet through the fumbling, though he did at one point try to dig into his ear to clear it better from the gunshot.

"Karin. That's a new one. Must have happened today, huh?" He pauses to glance sideways at Victor. "That's rough. Sorry."

He returned his attention to the scope. Though he did lift his head, looking at their surroundings for a few moments. Then he looked down again.

"Not much new. Haven't... seen much today." His hands flexed involuntarily on the gun, knuckles red and bruised. "Except that you should consider Alex a double killer. He shot Tenshi in the arm, right before he..." He paused, then said, "Dawn had to try and amputate the arm to save her from infection. Didn't work. So, uh... Dawn's okay. Trying to help. That's really an Alex murder. Shooting again."

He pulled the trigger.

A hit. Not clean, but okay. The witch mask was missing a chunk of the edge of its cheek now.

"I gotta move the mask further back. You wanna walk with me over there? Mister Fluffernutter's guarding the base line. Or you can wait here with him. Figure you'll feel safe if you're closer, though. Your gun doesn't look like it shoots as far."

[Dr Adjective]

”I was going to say the same thing, but,”

The same thing that becoming two targets might be safer than one, at least.

But. But, Evie peeked up just a touch, gazing across the largely featureless white plain sprawling before them.

”Approach how?”

Another shot shattered the calm air once again. There was something about it that stuck in her head. She couldn’t see them, but based on what Claire had said, it didn’t sound like they were trying to hit a human target, like somebody running away or hiding from them. Target practice then? Mastering the gun in advance of getting in a real fight, or indeed as a result of using it poorly the last two times?

”I think he’s practicing, maybe we can circle around? Which way are they shooting? Over.”

Wait… why would they want to approach at all? Getting their hands on guns sounded great and all, but this didn’t seem like a particularly optimal way to do it. Common Evie move, just going along with what other people said. The exact thing she’d been trying to make herself do less of. But she’d already said over, hadn’t she? Her objections could wait until whatever Claire had to say in response. Maybe she had a cunning plan?

[Dogs231]

It was a simple plan.

But, as Claire knew well, plans were fragile things. Even the best-laid plans could go awry, and no plan—regardless of how well-crafted—survived direct contact with the enemy. Those were just the rules of life, and who was she to contend with them? Either way, they had to try something or leave with nothing.

"We move when the shots ring out. The sound will cover our approach. As long as we're careful, we should be able to get within hearing range of their conversation without notice. Then, we can make our judgment call."

She paused to breathe, and another plume of cold vapor went forth. Then, she watched it fade, swept away on frozen wings, into the air.

"That sounds about right, I think," she said with an unseen nod. Practice made perfect—and here, your aim could be the difference between life and death. "About them practicing, I mean, and us circling them."

She stuck her hand in her bag, swatted aside some other things, then, after a short moment, pulled the compass out and checked it quickly.

"East. They're firing east, towards the direction of the mountain," she said, looking down at the little needles on its face. Then, she glanced back at the two. "We should be fine as long as we avoid that range. Over."

They would advance at the sound of the next gunshot—as if it was just a starter pistol, firing blanks to mark a footrace's beginning.

[decoy73]

Victor looked at the mask that Fitz shot at. It was getting pretty fucked up, but he was perfectly willing to stay with ... he looked around as he couldn't see ...

"Who the fuck is Mr. Fluffernutter?"

[ViolentMedic]

Fitz gestures at the squirrel hand puppet sitting on the first stick, with his dapper waistcoat and monocle.

“That’s him. He’s keeping record.”

He paused, then turned his head to look out over the snow. Then he reached up to scratch at his ear again, squinting slightly. But he soon turned and wandered towards the mask, keeping one eye on Victor as he did by doing an odd sideways shuffle to keep the other boy and his target in sight.

“Hey. Question!” he called back as he walked “You hear any helicopters close at any point? Or… engines or anything? At night, especially, maybe?”

He paused here and there to look out over the snow again.

[Dr Adjective]

Even as she moved to ask after the logic of their plan, Evie was moving to undertake it. Still, she had her misgivings, and even if she was going to passively acquiesce for now, she could still voice them.

"Uh, Claire, actually,"

She began, scrambling awkwardly on elbows and knees, eminently glad of her thick overcoat and gloves despite their negative value as camouflage.

"Stupid question: why are we going towards the gunfire right now? Um... over."

Hmm. Camouflage, that was a good idea. After the echoes died down and quiet reigned again, Evie gathered up handfuls of snow to distribute across herself. It didn't exactly turn her overcoat wholly white, and there was no way she was going to start rubbing what was ultimately cold water into her jeans, but the pale brown colour was at least mostly masked under a layer of frost. Maybe it'd help.

In the mean time, she was beginning to be able to hear a third voice. One of the two must be on the move, if he felt the need to raise his voice all of a sudden. That added more credibility to the target practice theory, maybe he was going downrange to adjust something, and his companion was staying put? Still didn't give any useful indication as to whether they'd be hostile, though. The whole scenario made Evie increasingly nervous. She'd never faced down the business end of a firearm before, but if her experience with Alex's spear was anything to go by, the version where the thing threatening to pierce her body had functionally limitless range seemed... well, the same but worse. Not something she looked forward to experiencing if the armed duo were feeling territorial, let alone aggressive.

[Dogs231]

Claire skulked through the trees, hidden in the long shadows left by the afternoon sun. A black mask covered her face, bright blue-gray eyes flitting about in the tree line like tumbled aventurine stones. Her gait was slow and steady, careful—a stable creep forward, progress made and kept, but never so sudden as to draw ire or fire from the intended mark.

Then, when the gun stopped, so did she. One sound replaced another, the crack of fire for the crackle of a radio. She listened in and waited, an unseen nod of her head in consideration. Evie had concerns, and they were more than reasonable; really, she hadn't explained anything. But she had her reasons, more or less, and she thought they were good enough.

"Trust, but verify."

Claire didn't say it aloud; she said it in her head. It was an old Russian proverb—"doveryai, no proveryai"—recontextualized in the context of the Cold War to describe nuclear disarmament policy. Right here, right now, it came to mind. To trust her classmates, but to make sure they had earned that trust in kind; give the benefit of the doubt, but entertain doubts still.

"Trust, but verify," she said over the radio. "The other one, by Fitzroy—he's not a killer. Victor Grail. He hasn't been on the announcements, not once." It was a fact, explained as such, like reading from a Wikipedia page. "And, from what I see, they're talking. So, either our two-time killer isn't as much of a killer as we thought, or they're working together."

She took a breath, then continued once again. "I'm not exactly a social butterfly, but I'm a decent listener. I pick things up. And, far as I can tell, these two haven't ever spoken. They're not close—not friends, barely acquaintances. So, either they've somehow formed that on the island, or neither are out-and-out hostiles. Think about it for a moment."

Claire stopped.

"Occam's razor. What's more likely?"

As far as she was concerned, the logic was sound enough. Their mark—Russell Fitzroy—might have had the black spot, but that didn't make him a known factor. As black-and-white as her little book of names sometimes felt, it was just paper, and it didn't cast judgments or write verdicts on its own, only make suggestions as to what they would do.

And, when it came to their two-time killer, it didn't seem like he wanted to go for a third. Otherwise, he would've tried to go for Victor, slink away, or do something other than lie around in the open, a sitting duck, bright-colored clothes like a sore thumb among the white void landscape of their winter wonderland. It just didn't make sense to act the way he did.

"Over," Claire said and then clicked the radio off. No need to pad her speech any further than she had already; typically, the more words she said, the less coherent she got. Her eyes were on the target, watched as he moved, shuffled around. Ready to move, should it prove necessary, or if the gunshots rang out across the plain once more.