"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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MurderWeasel
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Somehow we drifted off too far...
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Kimberly actually managed a laugh, a nice long one, for once not at anyone else's pain or the absurdity of this whole situation, but at Erik's comments. Fuck, she'd missed people. Especially, she'd missed having people on a somewhat even footing with her. Everyone she'd met had either thought she was worthless and tried to push her around or baby her or had been worthless themselves, useless and helpless and scared and demanding of her attention. Well, okay, no, that wasn't quite true. There'd been Aislyn. Aislyn would've maybe been a good companion, someone to share the days with while waiting to die. Kimberly had just fucked that up beyond all belief.

As her laughter shrank to chuckles and then silence, she considered. She hadn't told anyone what was going on, not that she could remember. Not beyond the group that had saved her life, and they were all gone now. Erik asking felt a little intrusive, but what the fuck, right? He'd seen Kris. He'd been scared of her, run from her. Good enough. It meant they had some common ground, a bonding experience.

"Yeah," she said. "Bitch shot me... ah, fuck, a week and a bit ago? Maybe a half hour after I woke up? She'd killed Ishida by then, and she came over and we tried to talk and she shot me."

She yawned. Considered lighting something on fire. No, she'd need her matches. Everything else, all the other shit she'd lugged around, it was all gone, but these matches were different. She'd need them until Kris Hartmann had paid. Then maybe she'd toss the pack into the sea, but not a second before.

"I was pretty damn lucky," she said. "Some people helped me. Stitched me up. I haven't died of infection yet, so hopefully it'll be alright."

She really hoped she would be fine. That would be a horrible way to go. Wasting away—that was for other people. Not her. Never her. When her time came, it would come with a roar. She wasn't about to settle for anything less. She'd made it this far, had lived through more guns being pointed at her than she could count, had wriggled off the hooks of numberless killers and psychopaths. She figured at this point she could pretty much die however she wanted.

"Don't think I have much of a chance overall with an arm down, though," she said. "I just figure I'll find Kris, make her day a little worse."

A little? You wish, Kris. I owe you for ten days of bullshit. I owe you for treating me like garbage, like just another number on your little kill counter. You're going to regret not finishing me off.

You're going to regret it for a long, long time.
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