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MurderWeasel
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That boy needs therapy!
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And off they went. It was a stumbling, awkward, awful trip, made worse by the fact that Liz couldn't seem to fucking stay on her feet. This meant Kimberly had to very casually stuff the gun into the lefthand pocket of her jeans, reaching across herself and all that shit, so she could actually help Polanski along. Right now, she just had to hope her hostage didn't get that her left arm was fucked. Didn't really seem like Liz was that analytical at the moment, though.

They walked, and Kimberly smiled at Liz. Yes. This was how it had to be. Shooting holes in Liz, though a mildly attractive idea, wasn't really worth shit when it came to revenge or accomplishing anything. No, real payback meant hurting someone. Kimberly understood hurting. She understood that, bad as physical pain could be, it was nothing compared to when someone did a number on your psyche. It was something Kris had taught her, something Jeremy had driven home. The physical abuse she had suffered at their hands had been painful, crippling even, but what burned was what it had shown her about herself.

It was time to show Liz Polanski a couple things about herself.

As they staggered along, two injured girls using each other for support, Kimberly's gimmicked flashlight holder swung side to side, sending crazy shadows flickering over the walls, lending the whole situation an almost surreal feeling. Kimberly could imagine flames dancing around them. Whatever. In the past, at the start of this, maybe she would have reveled in it, imagined it as a setting for a horror movie or a short story or something. Now, all it did was make her pause for a moment, ponder whether there was some way she could use it to dramatic effect, then give up and keep moving.

Yes. Wouldn't be long now. Damn good thing Kimberly could remember paths pretty well. It'd just be around this corner. She could smell it. This was the tricky part, the place where she could really fuck up and wind up in trouble. As they turned the corner, Kimberly abruptly ceased forward momentum, sidestepping and depriving Liz of support. Counting on that to distract the girl for a second, she clawed the gun free again, pointed it at her captive. Stepped back, behind Liz. She gave her shoulder a little twist, setting the bag swinging again, flashing light sporadically over the dark form up ahead. Moments of clarity slipped through: blood pooled, body there.

How d'you like this, Liz?

And Kimberly smiled so broadly, and she said, "Come on. Get a bit closer."

A nudge from her boot to encourage movement.
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