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A Delicate Machine
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Asha hated how satisfying it was to hear Iz scream. Barbed questions of "Doesn't feel good to be on the receiving end, huh?" danced across her tongue, but she remained silent. The point wasn't to hurt Iz, to try to guilt trip her into feeling something resembling human empathy, to try to break her. The point was to kill her. Preferably as quickly and efficiently as was possible, having already missed her best chance.

Jae was doing an admirable job as backup, though Asha wished that his aim had been a bit better. Still, he had given her an opening, one she quickly moved to take advantage of. As Iz was recovering from dodging Jae's first salvo, Asha thrust her knife down, aiming for her defenseless throat. Painful, but a quicker killer than anything other than a bullet to the brain.

Unfortunately, Iz's quick grip on Asha's arm ensured that she'd live a bit longer. The two girls struggled, life and death reduced to a simple question of strength. Through countless years of tireless practice and aching feet, ballet had deigned to gift them both with endurance. Though they were close to equals, their stalemate was broken by a second bolt slamming into Iz's arm. Asha, snarling, plunged the knife into Iz's flesh. Still, her resistance had been enough to shift the blow off course, hitting her shoulder instead of her throat.

Caught off guard by this, Asha wasn't able to fend off Iz's retaliation. The scythe cut deep into her thigh, searing pain only made bearable by adrenaline. Asha shrieked, stumbling backwards, only staying on her feet through some miracle of willpower. The dripping blood from her knife was soon joined on the cold floor by the blood running down her left leg.
a tribute for the dead and dying

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Flowers Hurt · Intensive Care Wards