Persist In The Doomed World You Have Created

[ViolentMedic]

((Mônica ‘Molly’ Oliveira continued from My Brother's Keeper.))

“No. No. No, no, no, no...”

In the snow, Molly had collapsed. She’d fled the research station in the darkness, and likely avoided death fumbling around in the snow through sheer luck. She’d just kept going, until the familiar crackle of the announcements broke through the air.

Until Danya’s voice condemned her for what she’d done, and told the world of her sin.


"The next kill on our list is some good old-fashioned fratricide as Lúcio Oliveira was slashed in the guts by Molly Oliveira. I hope Mum and Dad aren't watching because otherwise, that's gonna be awkward at family dinners.”


The announcement had since faded. But she remained curled up despite the snow chilling her legs, arms and face as she pressed her head to the ground, hands digging into the snow and numbing her fingers.

“No. No. No, no, no, it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that...”

They’d told the world she did it on purpose. She’d known from the start that they were probably stretching the details, but… but...

“It was an accident! It was an accident, I wasn’t trying to hurt him, I was trying to save him!” she sobbed into the ground. “She was supposed to die quietly, she was supposed to lie down, it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault!”

She continued to beg and plea at the snow, like the terrorists would broadcast a correction if she just cried enough.

But there was only silence outside of her.

Molly had never been truly alone before.

Even when she wanted to be, or wanted to stand out, there was always Lúcio’s shadow. In some ways irritating, but still a protective sheet over her no matter what happened.

So much of her life was built on him. Right down to her name. She couldn’t remember the first time it happened, but her parents had told her that Lúcio was the first to call her Molly.

She’d craved being able to step out of his shadow one day, and now his shadow was gone and all she wanted was for it to come back, for this to be a bad dream, for her to wake up and find that she’d just nodded off in the middle of explaining to Leslie the weapon triangle.

Molly eventually ran out of sobs, but she remained scrunched up on the snow, her forehead pressed to the cold ground like she was begging forgiveness. From who? God? Her classmates? Her parents? Lúcio himself?

She might as well have kicked God to the curb the moment that she decided to kill Aracelis. She had no illusions about that. She didn’t think a confessional could fix that, even if she found one here. Even if she’d got her aim right.

All her classmates would know that she’d done something worse than any of them. Even Shu, having strangled his girlfriend with barb wire, would be able to look upon her with disgust at what she’d done and be justified in doing so.

Her family would never be able to forgive her. If she returned now, she expected to find changed locks. If Lúcio had killed her… maybe that would have been different. She was one of six daughters. They could spare one. But not this way. Not one of two sons. Not Lúcio, the one who could make the world smile.

Lúcio said he’d forgiven her. Had he really? She couldn’t ask. She’d never know if he was just lying through his teeth to be kind. It hadn’t been her that he wanted comfort from in his last moments, after all. It had been Aracelis. It made sense… Aracelis hadn’t killed him. It stung anyway, even amongst all the rest.

No forgiveness was coming. She was unforgivable.

Eventually, Molly sat up. Her make-up, kept tidy each morning – some routine to keep, anything to keep a sense of normalcy – was smeared into a big, blurry mess. She cupped her hands, already numb even under her gloves, under the snow and collected some to try and scrub her face. Better than using what little drinking water she had left.

When she was done, her eyes were still rimmed red, but the rest of her face was nearly normal again. She pressed her face to her hands and shut her eyes.

The sword rested against her leg, the blade still coated in Lúcio’s blood.

Eventually, she lowered her hands to scoop more snow, this time rubbing it on the blade and then using the end of her ruana to try and wipe the blade clean of her crime.

Lucio had left her some last wishes. But they weren’t compatible with each other.

Forgive herself.

Don’t hurt anyone else.

Be kind to Aracelis.

Don’t die.

Don’t hurt anyone else. Be kind to Aracelis. Don’t die. Those just wouldn’t mix. Because to not die, she’d have to kill. Even if Lúcio counted as the kill she needed to leave… what were the rest going to do? Fall over, die and let her walk away? If Aracelis saw her again, would they hug it out and then both be allowed to leave?

And then there was the last. Forgiving herself. Perhaps the hardest of them all.

In the few days she would have left as a loser of the game… it would be impossible. She’d killed the one person that had always been with her, no matter what. She was alone. Even getting past the loss… the fact that she’d caused it? She’d need years. Decades. Maybe even a lifetime.

The sword was clean. She stared down at it for a long moment.

Her grip tightened on the handle.

She'd already killed, and she'd already burnt that bridge with Aracelis.

Nothing she did from now on could be as unforgivable as what she'd already done. And if she lay down and died - and not killing, being kind to the people who would despise her, it was tantamount to suicide - it would make Lúcio's death even more pointless.

With that in mind... there was only one choice, wasn't there?

((Mônica Oliveira continued in FUBAR.))