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"That’s not a prediction, that’s a spoiler.”
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
And that Scout all alone. To herself, to her own thoughts, or lack thereof.

The bleeding subsided. The wound must have not been as deep as it felt, or at the very least it did not hit an artery. Still hurt like a motherfucker though and it made her cringe as she rose back up to her feet. She would have to treat it, and soon. Scout knew the basics of treating a wound but, like, it wasn't like she was a surgeon general or whatever, and it wasn't like she had anyone else to help her ...

... Scout was a lone wolf now. 'Lone wolf'. What a fucking name. It's what awkward loners call themselves in order to feel better about being lonely pieces of shit. 'Lone wolves'. Makes you sound dangerous, powerful. Scout was a realist though; she wasn't a fucking predator. She killed two of the highest-ranking killers on the island, sure, but that didn't mean she was a killing machine. The wound in her side was proof of that.

If you were to put Scout and Isabel Ramirez in a room and Ramirez would be the one walking out alive, no question. Shit, Scout needed nearly four people to finally kill the bitch. There was no triumph in killing Ramirez either, just pain and regret. But the fact remained that she needed help, and if the other girls weren't there, Scout wouldn't just be dealing with a stab wound. Relying on anyone, even unintentionally, made Scout deeply uncomfortable.

She should have said thank you, at least.

Oh well.

Scout wasn't going to see any of them again, so whatever. She sighed.


Scout looked down at Sawlaska Thunderfuck 5000.

"Guess it's just you and me now."

... Scout asked herself why she was talking to a fucking sawblade. She didn't have an answer.

(Scout Pfeiffer continued in Unforgiven.)
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Die Anywhere Else · Doctors’ Offices