"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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(Naoko Raidon & Mizore Soryu --> All's Fair)

Mizore and Raidon had made it to a field.

It was a field covered in logs, but also thickets, wildflowers. Wiry undergrowth, thicket flowers, columbine, sage and and indian paintbrush. Flashes of bright colors on a background of green and grey.

Mizore breathed and slumped to the ground.

---------

They had woken to static, announcements shrieking, Mizore's knee throbbing in pain. Danya had made a tasteless joke about Raidon's kills; Mizore had winced. And then suddenly, the Residential Area was a danger zone.

Beep.

Beep.

Fuck.

"Fuck!" Raidon yelled.

Because Mizore Soryu was in no condition to walk, so Mizore Soryu was going to die here.

Mizore struggled to peel off the bedsheets, trying not to put too much weight on her bad knee. If she was going to die, she was at least not going to do it tied down in bedsheets his arm was around me, wasn't it? But agh, no time to think about how much I liked that, she was going to die, and she had to make peace with that.

Raidon was running, checking his bag, throwing her a shirt (what?), which she hastily put on, buttoned up. And fiercely, she realized she didn't want to die--not like this, not waiting, with noises ticking down, until her collar blew her up. She'd been zen, accepting her death, done this right, been a good girl but she didn't want to die.

Well, that thought hurt.

I want to die better than this.

And Raidon was looking panicked, hardening his mouth. "Get on."

Raidon was slight, beautiful, unmuscled. He couldn't carry her. That wasn't even a thing.

"Raidon--" She started.

But he silenced her, and she pulled on his jacket, and pulled her on his back, like a backpack or a small child. Bags in both hands. Rest easy. And somehow he could still move, some insane combination of adrenaline and fear, and she stiffened against him.

And they left.

----------------

The logging road had been packed--well, packed by island standards--with people evacuating the Residential District. Mizore and Raidon had stayed back, hiding in the scrub at the side of the road, making slow progress; a murderer and an injured girl made too tempting a target. At some point, Mizore had insisted that Raidon take her off his back; she could hobble, using his shoulder as a crutch. They stopped once to wrap her knee. It wasn't a break, at least; Mizore was pretty sure that it was a bad sprain the kind that might need surgical repair if that were ever an option plus a vicious, swelling bruise to make the thing look even worse than it was.

She lied to Raidon about how painful it was.

They finally found permanent shelter in this old field, the splashes of color on the mural of sage, grey-green and smelling of sawdust. It was calm here; no one else was in sight. Calm

So she was on the ground. "You need to rest." She said. "And I need to eat. And I'm going to give you a backrub, because you saved my life, and I owe you that, at least." Even though you're a terrible murderer and I should be getting away from you, but can't I be in denial for a little longer, at least?

Raidon breathed. She pulled him down in front of her, turning him to get his back, fluttering touches on tattoos, scars, dark and faintly visible when his shirt touched skin. Pretty boy. He pulled the bag over to his feet, started mechanically unloading water and bread. His breathing was calmer now.

She could turn her head now, turn it to the outside of the field where the sun was spotting the high grass. A man was there now, a black man in a black t-shirt and jeans. She couldn't recognize him from far away, but--okay, he was striding toward them.

Raidon hadn't seen a thing.

Well, let's work under the assumption that the majority of people on this island are not murderers.

Plus he didn't look like he was going to stop coming toward them any time soon.

She waved.

--------


Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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Broken Like the Sun · The Felled Forest: North