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The girl who dreams on the back of a giant space turtle.
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Isabel ripped the halberd out of the boy's skull, a trickle of blood making way to a full flow, gush after gush leading to more chunks of brain and bloody pieces of bone and flesh sloughing onto the ground next to the corpse.

Whatever movement the boy had demonstrated after slashing his throat stopped shortly after impact, the only motion left being some mild twitching of the fingers and thighs. He was gone.

Isabel took ragged breaths as she stared down at the corpse, the metallic stench of a violent death filling the air. Any and all feelings of power that she had gotten out of this had gone away in an instant. He defied her. He demonstrated that in the end, he was the one that was really in control of his destiny. Not her.

After spending a few minutes regaining her breath and her composure, she screamed in frustration.

Isabel let her legs give out from underneath her and she fell to her knees, only to get to work on the boy's bag. Her own duffel bag was stuffed full of the supplies she had pillaged from those she had killed, but she could fit a few more bottles and some more food, if she tried hard enough, she could probably get the medical kit in there too.

Isabel wrapped her hand around the sickle the boy had used to slash his throat. A decent weapon that would likely compliment her current fighting style well, given that she had been swinging her sword around mostly one handed up to this point.

Isabel fished her makeshift flail out of her pocket and dumped the padlock and rock out of it, before putting the sock back on the foot she had pilfered it from. She had no need for her flail anymore, and she needed the space in her pockets to stick the sickle's handle. With some careful positioning she could keep it nice and steady without it poking her or cutting into her flesh, provided she didn't attempt to run with it like that.

And, well, she was probably never going to have any need to run in any situation where having an extra weapon in her hand is a bad thing.

Swinging her now chock full bag over her shoulder and re-fastening the halberd to the bag and her bag, Isabel set off for a new place, one that hopefully didn't smell of death.

((Isabel Ramirez continued in Violence Is Usually The Answer))
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TFW you will never find out what's in the basement · Helipad