(Chester Folk, continued from Run to the Hills)
Chester was not in a good place.
Ever since he left the mine, he had made his way to the nearby town. In the time it had taken him to get there, night had fallen, and the snowfall had become persistent. Fortunately, he found shelter at the sheriff’s office. However, he had to share company with the body of Bethany. He decided to sleep in one of the cubicles in the office space.
On the morning of the seventh day, he was hit with some devastating news. Amos and Aion, who he’d met on the first day, had both died. According to the announcement, Aion was killed by Daniel Ozanne, who pushed him down into a rock. Amos followed not too long afterward and hung himself.
That was three people who were in Chester’s SOS fire plan, gone. Perante, Aion, Amos…
Chester was overcome with an overwhelming sense of despair. He couldn’t help but think that if they had stuck together instead of splitting up the first day, they’d all still be alive. Or heck, maybe if Chester hadn’t come up with this SOS plan, then maybe…
Chester remained in the sheriff's office throughout the rest of the day, silently wallowing in guilt and self-pity. Before he knew it, night had fallen once again, and he slept once more.
The following morning, the announcements came on once more. This time with some uplifting news. Daniel, who had killed Aion, had himself been killed, by Juanita Reid. Guess that was karma for what he did to Aion. Speaking of Juanita, she had been mentioned twice during the announcements. Chester remembered playing skee-ball with her at the arcade. He never figured she’d end up a killer. Another important note was that the mine in general had become a danger zone, so better not make plans to back track to that area.
What Do We Do Now?
Day 8, Open
((Trinity Ashmore continued from Clarification))
To end someone else’s life. That was the ultimatum Trinity had set for herself.
No point beating around the bush with it any longer, after all, trying to be all cute and coy with what her intentions had been. As if they were difficult to parse, anyway. How many goddamn ‘ultimatums’ could you make in this place? To let yourself die, she supposed that was one of them. Some kind of moral purity nonsense, telling yourself that you were no longer letting yourself be trapped by the terrorists’ ploy, that you would refuse to participate in their game. As if they would look at your sacrifice as an act of defiance, rather than with a shrug and another name crossed out in permanent marker.
Perhaps others could be convinced they’d be happy with that outcome, but not her, no fucking way. She had no intentions of just letting her last memories be of this cold and miserable place, not without a fight. And she certainly wasn’t prepared for said last moments to occur before she’d even crested the midway point of being eighteen years old. She could wait, of course, hold out day by day, hoping that she would persist until the end, stay alive while everybody else killed each other around her, and then… remain in captivity until the terrorists decided she was useful again.
Or she could take the plunge, and take somebody’s life, knowing that this brief, brutal act would guarantee her safety, so long as she could survive against the elements for the following few days.
It was easy to admit to herself now. Now that she had another path laid out in front of her.
Albeit, it was a pretty rough, thicket-coated road, one where she could see about two steps ahead before they were forced to stop again, and clear out the brambles and branches that descended upon them. The goal was obvious and solidified now, but even that had taken about a day for Trinity to become certain what they were aiming for. Norbert was the one with the actual schematics of the plan in his head; she was just the enforcer, the one to give the okay signal or the sign to cut and run. It was an uphill battle just to communicate, let alone for him to convey those ideas to her without anyone watching from the nooks and crannies of the island figuring out what they were doing.
Doubly so, when she had no intentions of letting Norbert out of her line of sight. When she was constantly scanning his person for a hidden knife, or a heavy rock clutched in his fist.
It was why she stood behind him, a good half-metre away, as they looked up at the front face of the sheriff’s office, a building that could have belonged to any settlement, anywhere in the universe. He had mentioned something about it, back when they’d been in the changing rooms. Dutifully, she had followed along towards it. Disobediently, she was on her toes, spear held tight in her hands, at the ready to spring into action in case he was leading her towards his gang of murderous cronies. Or his hidden death trap. Or maybe just somewhere quiet and out of the way so he could smash her head in with a goddamn lead pipe.
“This should be it,” Trinity said, as casually as she could muster - which, of course, her being her, was about as light and breezy as a trip to the DMV. “Unless the map was labelled wrong.”
A cruel trick to play, most certainly. But along the lines of what the terrorists liked to play at, if she had the measure of them correctly.
“You think we’ll find what we’re looking for inside, then?”
To end someone else’s life. That was the ultimatum Trinity had set for herself.
No point beating around the bush with it any longer, after all, trying to be all cute and coy with what her intentions had been. As if they were difficult to parse, anyway. How many goddamn ‘ultimatums’ could you make in this place? To let yourself die, she supposed that was one of them. Some kind of moral purity nonsense, telling yourself that you were no longer letting yourself be trapped by the terrorists’ ploy, that you would refuse to participate in their game. As if they would look at your sacrifice as an act of defiance, rather than with a shrug and another name crossed out in permanent marker.
Perhaps others could be convinced they’d be happy with that outcome, but not her, no fucking way. She had no intentions of just letting her last memories be of this cold and miserable place, not without a fight. And she certainly wasn’t prepared for said last moments to occur before she’d even crested the midway point of being eighteen years old. She could wait, of course, hold out day by day, hoping that she would persist until the end, stay alive while everybody else killed each other around her, and then… remain in captivity until the terrorists decided she was useful again.
Or she could take the plunge, and take somebody’s life, knowing that this brief, brutal act would guarantee her safety, so long as she could survive against the elements for the following few days.
It was easy to admit to herself now. Now that she had another path laid out in front of her.
Albeit, it was a pretty rough, thicket-coated road, one where she could see about two steps ahead before they were forced to stop again, and clear out the brambles and branches that descended upon them. The goal was obvious and solidified now, but even that had taken about a day for Trinity to become certain what they were aiming for. Norbert was the one with the actual schematics of the plan in his head; she was just the enforcer, the one to give the okay signal or the sign to cut and run. It was an uphill battle just to communicate, let alone for him to convey those ideas to her without anyone watching from the nooks and crannies of the island figuring out what they were doing.
Doubly so, when she had no intentions of letting Norbert out of her line of sight. When she was constantly scanning his person for a hidden knife, or a heavy rock clutched in his fist.
It was why she stood behind him, a good half-metre away, as they looked up at the front face of the sheriff’s office, a building that could have belonged to any settlement, anywhere in the universe. He had mentioned something about it, back when they’d been in the changing rooms. Dutifully, she had followed along towards it. Disobediently, she was on her toes, spear held tight in her hands, at the ready to spring into action in case he was leading her towards his gang of murderous cronies. Or his hidden death trap. Or maybe just somewhere quiet and out of the way so he could smash her head in with a goddamn lead pipe.
“This should be it,” Trinity said, as casually as she could muster - which, of course, her being her, was about as light and breezy as a trip to the DMV. “Unless the map was labelled wrong.”
A cruel trick to play, most certainly. But along the lines of what the terrorists liked to play at, if she had the measure of them correctly.
“You think we’ll find what we’re looking for inside, then?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Norbert wasn't an elusive person to keep fixed in one's line of sight. He was sprinting nowhere fast.
Even if he could race around like a rabbit, he wasn't. He was too busy fixating, thinking, trying to cram too many hypotheticals into too little concrete foundation. The dangerzone placement was frustrating. They could have investigated the scene of a detonation from their previous position, had the operators not kept the area on lockdown. Maybe attempting to corral them all closer together.
If it wasn't for his leg, Norbert might have scoped the area out, looking for the best entry, and then taken the risk of a sprint. Incredibly reckless, but the longer this dragged out, the greater the chances he just died anyway. The watchers behind their lenses would definitely have suspected, he'd have had to dress it up behind some poor pretence that he was trying to grab a weapon or supplies, probably lay low with Trinity until their scrutiny wavered.
Except then there was his leg. With this knee, getting in and out like that would be outright impossible.
Getting to the point they would have to risk memory alone, or do something more dramatic, just to get more information. And if the price of that, just to have a better chance at not-even-a-sure-thing was somebody else's life... He didn't know.
Trinity spoke and snapped him from his thoughts.
"We might. I'm not sure."
No time like the present.
Norbert pushed the door open and limped inside.
Even if he could race around like a rabbit, he wasn't. He was too busy fixating, thinking, trying to cram too many hypotheticals into too little concrete foundation. The dangerzone placement was frustrating. They could have investigated the scene of a detonation from their previous position, had the operators not kept the area on lockdown. Maybe attempting to corral them all closer together.
If it wasn't for his leg, Norbert might have scoped the area out, looking for the best entry, and then taken the risk of a sprint. Incredibly reckless, but the longer this dragged out, the greater the chances he just died anyway. The watchers behind their lenses would definitely have suspected, he'd have had to dress it up behind some poor pretence that he was trying to grab a weapon or supplies, probably lay low with Trinity until their scrutiny wavered.
Except then there was his leg. With this knee, getting in and out like that would be outright impossible.
Getting to the point they would have to risk memory alone, or do something more dramatic, just to get more information. And if the price of that, just to have a better chance at not-even-a-sure-thing was somebody else's life... He didn't know.
Trinity spoke and snapped him from his thoughts.
"We might. I'm not sure."
No time like the present.
Norbert pushed the door open and limped inside.
Curiosity killed the cat, as they said. A phrase which Norbert had clearly either never heard of, or that he’d never given a rat’s ass about, as he strode brazenly through the front entrance. Trinity remained outside for a moment, frowning at the now-ajar door. She supposed it was brave, in a sense, to head directly inside without even briefly checking the perimeter of the building for traps, or listening in for a few moments for signs of life. But she had always been a student of the idea that a venn diagram of ‘Bravery’ and ‘Foolishness’ was just one perfect circle, and Norbert’s actions had done nothing to dissuade this notion. There was every chance that she would carefully step over the threshold only to find her travelling companion held up at gunpoint. Or that he had immediately broken through the floorboards, weakened by years of neglect and water damage, and was lying broken and bruised in the foundations of the office. Or that the worst had already happened, and she would arrive to find him with a knife firmly planted in his back.
All very viable options. Unless, of course, he was already aware of what was inside this building.
It was the theory that would never leave, partially because she continued to willingly feed and nurture it, of course. But the fact would remain, until she had stepped off of this island for good - nobody still alive on these shores was implicitly trustworthy. She hadn’t inquired as to Norbert’s actions before they’d bumped into one another on the beach; they hadn’t had the time to do so while they’d been working, she hadn’t had the drive or desire to do so in the interim. This could be it; the location where he kept his victims, luring them back here with promise of safety and suggestions of escape, dropping their guards with his busted knee, ready to slaughter them when their back was turned.
Her scowl deepened. She was thinking like a Saw film - no, worse, like a Hostel one. The point was clear to herself, though; never lower your hackles.
Trinity’s knuckles gleamed white against her polearm, a grimace set on her face, as she slowly stole her way inside.
“Oh God-”
She had been right about this place being a slaughterhouse. As cold comfort as that was. She had thought there had been something on the breeze while standing outside, but the smell of decay hung over everything now. The soil had grown fat with scattered blood. Inside, it was even worse. The stench was piercing, the acrid cocktail of blood and rot stinging her nostrils and flooding her lungs. She covered her mouth with one hand, the other barely clinging to the sasumata like it was a buoy in the midst of a raging storm.
The scent was horrifying. The sight, even worse.
And all she caught was a glimpse. It was enough though; the fleeting glance of the pale skin and the blank expression and the body drained of everything that had made it a person, it was all more than necessary to set her mind reeling and her stomach churning.
Seven days. Seven days she had been stuck out here, and not a single corpse seen until this moment. A whole week of blissful unpreparedness, only to leave her stranded in the deep end.
With a wobble, and a sound like an animal in distress, Trinity hobbled over to the corner of the reception lobby, bent over, and retched.
All very viable options. Unless, of course, he was already aware of what was inside this building.
It was the theory that would never leave, partially because she continued to willingly feed and nurture it, of course. But the fact would remain, until she had stepped off of this island for good - nobody still alive on these shores was implicitly trustworthy. She hadn’t inquired as to Norbert’s actions before they’d bumped into one another on the beach; they hadn’t had the time to do so while they’d been working, she hadn’t had the drive or desire to do so in the interim. This could be it; the location where he kept his victims, luring them back here with promise of safety and suggestions of escape, dropping their guards with his busted knee, ready to slaughter them when their back was turned.
Her scowl deepened. She was thinking like a Saw film - no, worse, like a Hostel one. The point was clear to herself, though; never lower your hackles.
Trinity’s knuckles gleamed white against her polearm, a grimace set on her face, as she slowly stole her way inside.
“Oh God-”
She had been right about this place being a slaughterhouse. As cold comfort as that was. She had thought there had been something on the breeze while standing outside, but the smell of decay hung over everything now. The soil had grown fat with scattered blood. Inside, it was even worse. The stench was piercing, the acrid cocktail of blood and rot stinging her nostrils and flooding her lungs. She covered her mouth with one hand, the other barely clinging to the sasumata like it was a buoy in the midst of a raging storm.
The scent was horrifying. The sight, even worse.
And all she caught was a glimpse. It was enough though; the fleeting glance of the pale skin and the blank expression and the body drained of everything that had made it a person, it was all more than necessary to set her mind reeling and her stomach churning.
Seven days. Seven days she had been stuck out here, and not a single corpse seen until this moment. A whole week of blissful unpreparedness, only to leave her stranded in the deep end.
With a wobble, and a sound like an animal in distress, Trinity hobbled over to the corner of the reception lobby, bent over, and retched.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
(Posted with permission from Pippi)
Chester’s eyes widened as he realized the front door to the office had opened. He steeled himself, as he grabbed his belt knife. He wasn’t sure if these were killers coming in, looking for their next victim, or scavengers looking for a place to stay. Either way, Chester wasn’t ready to go down without putting up some kind of resistance. He laid low, waiting in the cubicle he was camping in.
Chester’s eyes widened as he realized the front door to the office had opened. He steeled himself, as he grabbed his belt knife. He wasn’t sure if these were killers coming in, looking for their next victim, or scavengers looking for a place to stay. Either way, Chester wasn’t ready to go down without putting up some kind of resistance. He laid low, waiting in the cubicle he was camping in.
The smell hit Norbert like a hammer, creating instant regret and instant reality.
His plans relied from the start on being able to inspect a body. Grim enough as a hypothetical, but nothing could truly steel him for what that really meant.
Trinity keened, retreated, and then puked. Norbert's stomach roiled, and his first instinct was to try and breathe it out, before realising just in time what a horrible idea that was. Instead he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and did his best to try and take shallow breaths through that.
He backed up over to Trinity.
"Take it easy, take it easy. I can uh, crack a few windows, maybe? It'll be cold but it'll cycle the air."
His plans relied from the start on being able to inspect a body. Grim enough as a hypothetical, but nothing could truly steel him for what that really meant.
Trinity keened, retreated, and then puked. Norbert's stomach roiled, and his first instinct was to try and breathe it out, before realising just in time what a horrible idea that was. Instead he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and did his best to try and take shallow breaths through that.
He backed up over to Trinity.
"Take it easy, take it easy. I can uh, crack a few windows, maybe? It'll be cold but it'll cycle the air."
Chester took a quick peek from behind the cubicle wall, trying to get a glimpse of the two at the entrance. It looked like a guy and a girl. The girl had puked, likely because of the smell. Chester was disgusted by the smell when he first arrived, but he had a strong stomach. The guy looked like he was hurt, so perhaps he was stopping by to rest. A likely story, but what did Chester know? He stayed hidden, waiting to see if they'd stay or go.
The stench of vomit almost provided an instant feedback loop, mingling in the air with the existing scent of decay and hitting Trinity while she was already reeling. It was a true gut punch, making her hack, and gag, and then slam her hand over her mouth as she felt the bile rise up her throat once again. She was close, real close, to spilling her guts far too literally once again; it would have been easier, honestly, to just let go and throw up again, get it out of the way.
She managed to somehow stop herself, though, using every bit of willpower to force it back down, a sensation that was nearly as unpleasant as the alternative. Her free hand pressed against the wall, as the one covering her mouth slowly slid down her body to hold her stomach. She took deep, slow, steady breaths, a Herculean effort back towards some measure of normality.
Her legs were shaky. Her throat was sore, and her mouth felt like she’d just finished guzzling acid. There were tears in her eyes, stinging as she tried to blink them away. She felt dizzy, like this was all just a nasty dose of seasickness, rather than the visceral reaction to the remnants of what had once been her classmate.
But she couldn’t afford to drop her guard. Not even for a millisecond. That had been part one of the principles that had been guiding her this entire time.
Case in point, her first reaction upon hearing Norbert’s voice, much closer to her than she had been anticipating, was to choke out a gasp and push herself back upright, ignoring how groggy she felt in order to crane her neck and look back over her shoulder towards him. She half-expected him to be clutching some kind of hidden weapon; a dagger, or a bludgeon, or that makeshift wooden spear that had been lying against the reception desk. The fact that he wasn’t, that he genuinely seemed to be checking in on her out of concern for her wellbeing, went some distance in increasing the level of trust she felt towards him.
Not all the way, mind. It would be nigh-impossible to reach that point now. But what better chance would someone with more pragmatic aims have than this, with her dizzy and doubled over?
“Yeah, could you… guh, could you do that? Appreciate it.”
Truth be told, she hadn’t fully heard what Norbert had suggested - something about grabbing the windows? - but she could infer what he meant regardless. She had turned around fully at this point, and gave him a quick nod, both as confirmation that she was in a better state now, and additional approval to his plan. She bent down to pick up the sasumata and, thank fuck, it hadn’t fallen into the puddle of vomit when she’d dropped it.
She could see the body out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t think she was quite ready to face it properly. Not just yet.
“Think I’m gonna…”
Trinity cleared her throat, taking another gulp of air in the process.
“Gonna step into the other room. Just for a little bit. I’ll see if I can, mm, find anything while I’m there.”
She walked past the reception desk, deeper into the building.
She managed to somehow stop herself, though, using every bit of willpower to force it back down, a sensation that was nearly as unpleasant as the alternative. Her free hand pressed against the wall, as the one covering her mouth slowly slid down her body to hold her stomach. She took deep, slow, steady breaths, a Herculean effort back towards some measure of normality.
Her legs were shaky. Her throat was sore, and her mouth felt like she’d just finished guzzling acid. There were tears in her eyes, stinging as she tried to blink them away. She felt dizzy, like this was all just a nasty dose of seasickness, rather than the visceral reaction to the remnants of what had once been her classmate.
But she couldn’t afford to drop her guard. Not even for a millisecond. That had been part one of the principles that had been guiding her this entire time.
Case in point, her first reaction upon hearing Norbert’s voice, much closer to her than she had been anticipating, was to choke out a gasp and push herself back upright, ignoring how groggy she felt in order to crane her neck and look back over her shoulder towards him. She half-expected him to be clutching some kind of hidden weapon; a dagger, or a bludgeon, or that makeshift wooden spear that had been lying against the reception desk. The fact that he wasn’t, that he genuinely seemed to be checking in on her out of concern for her wellbeing, went some distance in increasing the level of trust she felt towards him.
Not all the way, mind. It would be nigh-impossible to reach that point now. But what better chance would someone with more pragmatic aims have than this, with her dizzy and doubled over?
“Yeah, could you… guh, could you do that? Appreciate it.”
Truth be told, she hadn’t fully heard what Norbert had suggested - something about grabbing the windows? - but she could infer what he meant regardless. She had turned around fully at this point, and gave him a quick nod, both as confirmation that she was in a better state now, and additional approval to his plan. She bent down to pick up the sasumata and, thank fuck, it hadn’t fallen into the puddle of vomit when she’d dropped it.
She could see the body out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t think she was quite ready to face it properly. Not just yet.
“Think I’m gonna…”
Trinity cleared her throat, taking another gulp of air in the process.
“Gonna step into the other room. Just for a little bit. I’ll see if I can, mm, find anything while I’m there.”
She walked past the reception desk, deeper into the building.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
(Posted with permission from Namira)
The girl was coming into the office area. It looked like she was carrying some kind of pole-like weapon. Chester thought about coming out from hiding and introducing himself. The guy she was with had offered to open a few windows to let the stink out, maybe Chester could help with that, as a sign of good gesture. He didn't want to surprise her, so he thought up how to introduce himself.
"Hey there. Don't mean to startle you."
Chester also thought to raise his arms, as a sign that he wasn't going to attack.
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, but I can help with the windows. Can't stand the smell myself."
Yeah. That's good.
As the girl walked past him, unaware of his presence, Chester walked out of the cubicle he was hiding in. As he did, however, his hand bumped into the corner of the cubicle's desk, creating a loud banging sound. The impact caused him to drop the knife he was holding.
The girl was coming into the office area. It looked like she was carrying some kind of pole-like weapon. Chester thought about coming out from hiding and introducing himself. The guy she was with had offered to open a few windows to let the stink out, maybe Chester could help with that, as a sign of good gesture. He didn't want to surprise her, so he thought up how to introduce himself.
"Hey there. Don't mean to startle you."
Chester also thought to raise his arms, as a sign that he wasn't going to attack.
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, but I can help with the windows. Can't stand the smell myself."
Yeah. That's good.
As the girl walked past him, unaware of his presence, Chester walked out of the cubicle he was hiding in. As he did, however, his hand bumped into the corner of the cubicle's desk, creating a loud banging sound. The impact caused him to drop the knife he was holding.
If the reception area was something out of a slasher flick, the office space behind it belonged to an entirely different style of horror film.
It was quiet. Dead silent, in fact; not unusual for the island as a whole, with the snow muffling all sound, and the number of inhabitants dwindling with each passing day, but it was particularly notable inside of this room. Trinity had been inside an office just like this - only once, but the memory stuck out prominently now she was wandering past cubicles once again. Hilda, ‘Fun Mom’ as she dearly wished to be known as, had needed to work late at the call centre. It just so happened that this late finishing time coincided with the end of one of Trinity’s violin recitals. Marianne, ‘Sensible Mom’ as her wife liked to call her, had served double duty as a chauffeur that evening; watching the performance, then taking herself and her daughter to pick up Hilda on the way home.
It had just been the three of them in the room that night, but the whole place had been filled with the buzz of activity, alive even with the absence of humans. A low hum had permeated the air, from the server room behind a set of double-doors at the far end, from computers that had been left running overnight, from the fan sitting on Hilda’s desk. The room was bathed in a soft, warm, orange glow from the overhead lights, a campfire in the middle of the dark night. The light on the photocopier blinked, the water cooler gurgled. It was a place that people could exist in, a place designed to be lived in.
There was nothing of that in here. No warmth. No life. The only background sound was her own heavy breathing. She’d stepped into a crypt, a dead zone dressed up in the facade of civilisation. She walked past row upon row of identical, blank white partitions, enough to make her double-take, as if she’d somehow been sent on a loop, trapped in a neverending expanse of desks and old computers. Her knuckles were bone white as she clutched the sasumata to her chest, as tight as she could.
It was silent. So goddamn silent. She could hear each and every one of her own footsteps, as loud on carpet as if each one was a sledgehammer blow. She could hear her own heartbeat, like it was trying to escape her own chest.
She could hear the moment Chester collided with the corner of the desk, as he rose from his hiding place.
Trinity’s first instinct was to scream. Her second, immediately following it, was to raise the sasumata up above her head.
Her eyes, wide and searching, caught the knife on the floor, wrenched from the boy’s hands. Everything pieced together in horrible clarity. He had been prepared, lying low with this dagger held tight, waiting for the moment she passed by. He had tried to strike, without giving her a moment to fight back. He had fucked it up. If he hadn’t, she would have been lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood, blade jutting out of her neck.
She wouldn’t give him a chance to rectify his mistake.
She swung the sasumata down hard, with all her strength and all her rage, solid wood and metal colliding with Chester’s skull with a sickening crunch. She raised her weapon up again, mouth twisted into a snarl, breathing hard with exertion.
She swung again.
Was he raising his arms, trying to cover his body?
She swung again.
No matter. You got to this stage, you couldn’t hesitate, you couldn’t try and back out from what you’d tried to do.
She swung again.
You couldn’t relent. Whichever side of the coin you were on.
She swung again.
It was quiet. Dead silent, in fact; not unusual for the island as a whole, with the snow muffling all sound, and the number of inhabitants dwindling with each passing day, but it was particularly notable inside of this room. Trinity had been inside an office just like this - only once, but the memory stuck out prominently now she was wandering past cubicles once again. Hilda, ‘Fun Mom’ as she dearly wished to be known as, had needed to work late at the call centre. It just so happened that this late finishing time coincided with the end of one of Trinity’s violin recitals. Marianne, ‘Sensible Mom’ as her wife liked to call her, had served double duty as a chauffeur that evening; watching the performance, then taking herself and her daughter to pick up Hilda on the way home.
It had just been the three of them in the room that night, but the whole place had been filled with the buzz of activity, alive even with the absence of humans. A low hum had permeated the air, from the server room behind a set of double-doors at the far end, from computers that had been left running overnight, from the fan sitting on Hilda’s desk. The room was bathed in a soft, warm, orange glow from the overhead lights, a campfire in the middle of the dark night. The light on the photocopier blinked, the water cooler gurgled. It was a place that people could exist in, a place designed to be lived in.
There was nothing of that in here. No warmth. No life. The only background sound was her own heavy breathing. She’d stepped into a crypt, a dead zone dressed up in the facade of civilisation. She walked past row upon row of identical, blank white partitions, enough to make her double-take, as if she’d somehow been sent on a loop, trapped in a neverending expanse of desks and old computers. Her knuckles were bone white as she clutched the sasumata to her chest, as tight as she could.
It was silent. So goddamn silent. She could hear each and every one of her own footsteps, as loud on carpet as if each one was a sledgehammer blow. She could hear her own heartbeat, like it was trying to escape her own chest.
She could hear the moment Chester collided with the corner of the desk, as he rose from his hiding place.
Trinity’s first instinct was to scream. Her second, immediately following it, was to raise the sasumata up above her head.
Her eyes, wide and searching, caught the knife on the floor, wrenched from the boy’s hands. Everything pieced together in horrible clarity. He had been prepared, lying low with this dagger held tight, waiting for the moment she passed by. He had tried to strike, without giving her a moment to fight back. He had fucked it up. If he hadn’t, she would have been lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood, blade jutting out of her neck.
She wouldn’t give him a chance to rectify his mistake.
She swung the sasumata down hard, with all her strength and all her rage, solid wood and metal colliding with Chester’s skull with a sickening crunch. She raised her weapon up again, mouth twisted into a snarl, breathing hard with exertion.
She swung again.
Was he raising his arms, trying to cover his body?
She swung again.
No matter. You got to this stage, you couldn’t hesitate, you couldn’t try and back out from what you’d tried to do.
She swung again.
You couldn’t relent. Whichever side of the coin you were on.
She swung again.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
One window was destroyed, go figure that the opening didn't do much about the scent.
Norbert was opening the next he saw when he heard the scream.
He lurched around and moved as fast as he could.
Norbert was opening the next he saw when he heard the scream.
He lurched around and moved as fast as he could.
Before Chester could say a word, he saw that the girl had raised her weapon. Down it struck, hitting Chester's head! Chester's vision became blurred for a moment, accompanied by a throbbing pain. As he was processing what happened, Chester felt another impact on his shoulder.
Chester tried to raise his hands in self-defense, trying to plead to the girl to stop.
“P-Please! Wai--!”
The girl struck again, the same shoulder as before. Chester felt a bone break.
She struck again, this time, the other shoulder. Chester fell to his knees.
Another strike! And another!
Chester, bleeding, hurting, and disoriented, tried to crawl away. The girl wasn’t done however and struck him in the back! Chester screamed in agony. Withstanding the pain, he quickly got to his feet and ran past the guy, and out the front door. The cold air made his injuries sting. Chester ran, or rather shuffled, away from the sheriff’s office.
(Chester Folk, continued elsewhere…)
Chester tried to raise his hands in self-defense, trying to plead to the girl to stop.
“P-Please! Wai--!”
The girl struck again, the same shoulder as before. Chester felt a bone break.
She struck again, this time, the other shoulder. Chester fell to his knees.
Another strike! And another!
Chester, bleeding, hurting, and disoriented, tried to crawl away. The girl wasn’t done however and struck him in the back! Chester screamed in agony. Withstanding the pain, he quickly got to his feet and ran past the guy, and out the front door. The cold air made his injuries sting. Chester ran, or rather shuffled, away from the sheriff’s office.
(Chester Folk, continued elsewhere…)
Once more, she raised her bludgeon aloft, up and above her head, ready to bring it crashing down on this boy’s head, his shoulder, his ribs, wherever it could find purchase. This time, though, he was able to scramble away without a moment to spare, the prongs of the sasumata digging into the carpet where he’d been but a moment prior.
“Fuck! Shit!”
She spat the words out through gritted teeth, trying to wrench her weapon free, her fury and fear giving her the strength that her body lacked. A few more heaves, and she pulled it loose, a spray of splinters and shredded fabric coming with it. She looked up. She twisted around, searching for him. She heard, too late, the sound of the front entrance swinging open, scuffed footsteps hurriedly fading away to nothing.
The boy was gone. But in his place, standing in the doorway to the office, was Norbert. His body seemed to fill the frame, like a solid brick wall, a stone statue blocking her path.
“You…”
Trinity turned to face him, still breathing in short, heavy pants. Her fangs were still bared. Her quarry, not yet dealt with.
“Did you set this up?”
The question came out as a roar, as she swung the sasumata down, pointing it directly towards Norbert’s midriff.
“Fuck! Shit!”
She spat the words out through gritted teeth, trying to wrench her weapon free, her fury and fear giving her the strength that her body lacked. A few more heaves, and she pulled it loose, a spray of splinters and shredded fabric coming with it. She looked up. She twisted around, searching for him. She heard, too late, the sound of the front entrance swinging open, scuffed footsteps hurriedly fading away to nothing.
The boy was gone. But in his place, standing in the doorway to the office, was Norbert. His body seemed to fill the frame, like a solid brick wall, a stone statue blocking her path.
“You…”
Trinity turned to face him, still breathing in short, heavy pants. Her fangs were still bared. Her quarry, not yet dealt with.
“Did you set this up?”
The question came out as a roar, as she swung the sasumata down, pointing it directly towards Norbert’s midriff.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
More screaming. It wasn't Trinity he didn't think it was Trinity but if so what the hell was happening Norbert was so slow he was too damn slow—
Someone stumbled past, bleeding, staggered. Norbert whipped around, but he couldn't even register who it was or what exactly was wrong before they were gone.
Where was Trinity—
oh. there.
All the air whooshed out of him as the weapon slammed straight into his solar plexus. He sagged against the door frame, barely catching himself. He stared at her. She was white eyed, terrified, furious.
Stay cool. Watch for another swing. Talk. They could talk this out.
"How could... I have... set this up? We've been... together... days."
Someone stumbled past, bleeding, staggered. Norbert whipped around, but he couldn't even register who it was or what exactly was wrong before they were gone.
Where was Trinity—
oh. there.
All the air whooshed out of him as the weapon slammed straight into his solar plexus. He sagged against the door frame, barely catching himself. He stared at her. She was white eyed, terrified, furious.
Stay cool. Watch for another swing. Talk. They could talk this out.
"How could... I have... set this up? We've been... together... days."
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
It came out as a hiss rather than a roar this time, with the venom behind it to match. The staff had connected, right into Norbert’s midriff, but he had managed to stand firm against the savage blow. He wasn’t budging from his position right in the doorway, and that meant she couldn’t try the same tactic as she’d used against his little murderous friend. Any overhead swing would just clatter against the top of the frame and she’d be on the back foot immediately.
Without a weapon, she still had her teeth. She still had her nails. But for muscles, she was hopelessly outmatched.
Her breathing still hadn’t let up; if anything it had grown even more ragged, even more harsh. The tip of the sasumata, pointed directly towards Norbert’s neck, twitched as her whole body shook. This thing wouldn’t work for shit as an actual spear; she’d tried it out during her hike through the woods. The prongs were pointed outwards, the blades were barely sharp enough to nick fabric. A sudden jab to the vital parts, though, that would work to incapacitate. That would give her the opening she needed.
The first sign of any sudden movements. The first wrong step, the first loose thread that tumbled out of his goddamn mouth. She would lunge. She would not hold back.
“Whole fucking… fuckload of ways you coulda done it. Coulda met up on the first day and planned to bring people back here. Coulda snuck out and planned shit while I was asleep. Hell, all I know, you’ve got some fucking walkie-talky bullshit in your bag right now.”
Her lips, unconsciously, curled upwards into a smile.
“Maybe you already killed someone. Before you wandered onto that beach. The announcements are total bullshit, after all.”
She didn’t dare relinquish her grip on the sasumata, her palms so slick with sweat she felt sure she’d drop the thing if she relaxed for even a moment.
“Tell me the fucking truth.”
It came out as a hiss rather than a roar this time, with the venom behind it to match. The staff had connected, right into Norbert’s midriff, but he had managed to stand firm against the savage blow. He wasn’t budging from his position right in the doorway, and that meant she couldn’t try the same tactic as she’d used against his little murderous friend. Any overhead swing would just clatter against the top of the frame and she’d be on the back foot immediately.
Without a weapon, she still had her teeth. She still had her nails. But for muscles, she was hopelessly outmatched.
Her breathing still hadn’t let up; if anything it had grown even more ragged, even more harsh. The tip of the sasumata, pointed directly towards Norbert’s neck, twitched as her whole body shook. This thing wouldn’t work for shit as an actual spear; she’d tried it out during her hike through the woods. The prongs were pointed outwards, the blades were barely sharp enough to nick fabric. A sudden jab to the vital parts, though, that would work to incapacitate. That would give her the opening she needed.
The first sign of any sudden movements. The first wrong step, the first loose thread that tumbled out of his goddamn mouth. She would lunge. She would not hold back.
“Whole fucking… fuckload of ways you coulda done it. Coulda met up on the first day and planned to bring people back here. Coulda snuck out and planned shit while I was asleep. Hell, all I know, you’ve got some fucking walkie-talky bullshit in your bag right now.”
Her lips, unconsciously, curled upwards into a smile.
“Maybe you already killed someone. Before you wandered onto that beach. The announcements are total bullshit, after all.”
She didn’t dare relinquish her grip on the sasumata, her palms so slick with sweat she felt sure she’d drop the thing if she relaxed for even a moment.
“Tell me the fucking truth.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017