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Mr. Danya
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“Well you sure as fuck didn’t think to get in the fucking way, did you?!”

If she’d been startled by the shelf’s collapse, it hadn’t taken the fight out of her. She got to her feet, still clinging to Cameron’s heavy, limp body, and kicked one of the empty boxes that had scattered in front of her straight at Enzo.

“This is all your fucking fault, you braindead shit! If you’d just paid some fucking attention, or not been picking your fucking asshole, it wouldn’t be- it wouldn’t be like-“ her voice was catching in her throat, as she looked down at her friend who had become so damn heavy. She tried to keep going, but she was choking on her tears.

“She’s fucking dead, Vinny! She’s fucking dead! What am I supposed to do? How could you let this happen?”

She wanted to vomit, to let go of Cams, to drop to her knees and cry into the floor. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. She couldn’t deal with this real.

This whole time she’d been in this shitstorm, she’d thought ‘hey, at least if I find Cams there’s that. At least I’ll be with my BFF as terrorists make us kill each other’. She’d had a goal that would’ve at least made the situation just a bit more bearable, just a tiny shred of hope in the nightmare that she was trying her best to bear and get through, and figure out just something she could do about it.

Now, there was nothing. Now, there was no hope.
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