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Chib
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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
[ *  *  * ]
[Used to be a sweet girl... --> Ema Ryan]

So. She was up. That was progress. Progress is always good, right? Walking was shaky at first, an outright terrifying prospect for the first few steps, but Ema managed to correct for the lack of depth perception eventually. It was the same as always, right? Just, harder to do the foot-eye-coordination thing for when you see an obstacle and you need to avoid it without breaking your stride.

Breaking stride was something Ema did pretty often that morning. Sometimes her left leg would just decide to give up, and it was plain to see, even with one leg of her jeans rolled up all the way above her knee and obscuring her already limited sight, that the bandage wrapped around the hole in her shin was already turning a nauseating shade of red-brown. Sometimes she just didn't have the energy to even think about where she was going, and sometimes one wrong step would send lightning bolts of pain shooting through her veins. But she just got up, reminded herself how far she'd already come, how lucky she was to still be alive and mobile, and somehow, somewhere, found the will to keep moving.

And yet... the girl had no idea where or why.

She'd missed the morning announcements, all she really needed to know was that she was now likely public enemy number one. Seven kills now, right? Or had the Japanese boy died too? She had shot him, he'd shot back, but she hadn't looked back to see if she'd actually killed him. Seven or eight then. Yo homes, smell ya later... Christ on a bicycle I am the worst human. Point was, she didn't need the calmly disinterested voice of Greynolds to confirm she was probably tied for the lead if she didn't have it outright. Who else could claim to have killed possibly five people in a single day? Not even Lombardi. Nobody. Just Ema Ryan. It's always the top killers that win. Dodd, Calvert, Rizzolo, they were all number ones. Maybe I won't catch up to the British prick but I've got the record-holding down in another way, it'll do.

How can I
not win this now? I can say "I'm Ema Ryan" and it means something here. I am Ema Ryan and my infamy demands that I don't lose.

...probably demanded the same of Maxwell, too.

No, no, he was asking for it. Too much too fast. Trying too hard. Loser gameplay. The winner takes it carefully.

...yeah, getting my face chopped in half is careful.


Thoughts like these roamed freely in Ema's head for what felt like hours. In truth, maybe one had passed since she woke up, whenever that had been. Probably less than one. The slow pace on a mangled leg, guided by a maimed eye, made everything seem to pass more sluggishly, and the obstinate crawl at which the sun sailed through the morning sky felt almost like a personalised attempt to aggravate her. It was when the girl lowered her eyes Eye. Singular. Remember that one when you're narrating yourself, hon. that she noticed where she'd arrived.

Strength had more or less returned to her body by now. Well, almost. She had the physical capacity to walk, as long as she was careful to be gentle on the wounded leg. The bandage would need changing, and that would be gross and messy, but she'd probably survive. As long as she got to a hospital quickly enough to make sure it wasn't infected. And that'd be fine, since she was going to win, right? Couldn't be more than a day left in the game anyway, probably about ten people left alive. What, no, she wasn't focusing. She'd arrived in the centre of the town, big fountain, lovely fragrant flowers, smell those later. Focus on the two girls sharing the locale with her for the time being.

Reiko Ishida. That was a face Ema recognised, and a name she knew. She was well known for... some reason or other. Ice hockey? No, something similar though. Ice dancing? Figure skating? Weren't those the same thing? She didn't know. Point was Reiko had been a pretty big name around Bayview, even Captain Outsider had heard of her. And possibly been a little attracted to her, if she was being perfectly honest. More importantly, it was a name she'd heard far more than once over the announcements. Probably her closest competitor.

The other girl? Didn't have a clue. She did look familiar, perhaps they'd had classes together but not talked socially. Wouldn't be surprising. Ema's past was littered with cool-seeming people that she'd done assignments with and gotten along with well enough in class, then never spoken to again. Could easily be one of them. And she did look horribly familiar.

Most importantly, the two didn't look hostile. Hell, they looked pretty civil. Speaking to each other and everything, like real humans. Ema didn't even recall saying a single word the previous night, nary a witty one-liner nor a badass boast, just, mostly-silent killing spree. What did that say about her? A shrink would probably have fun with it, at least. But no, no, she wasn't destined for loneliness, even if she was a pirate now with her one eye and her gimpy leg. She could talk to other people, that was a thing she was capable of. She just had to open her mouth and say... something.

"Um..."

Not the best start.

"...private party?"

It occurred to Ema then, that she couldn't remember at all where any of her weapons were. Two of them were empty, at least. The revolver and Vera, they weren't, but where were they? In the bag, in her pockets? Fuck. No time to check, no future in looking as though she was actually going to pull it out. Just... fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fagballs shitbollocks this isn't good.
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.


Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

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