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Cracking
Topic Started: Apr 12 2011, 02:16 AM (1,696 Views)
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[ *  *  * ]
And you wanted to see the killer, didn't you?

But Alice wasn't a killer. She was holding a Nazi gun too big for her frame, a souvenir of her mixed legacy. She wanted Sarah back, her boss, her purpose, because you're crazy, she would have snapped, she would have killed you eventually. She didn't know how to react to this girl, this new girl, tall and fierce, Aston Bennet. She looked like she had a plan. She looked like she knew what she was doing. She looked like she might snap Alice in half, with her glare and her fire and her visible purpose that Alice envied, that Alice had lost long ago.

The wind was bitter. She felt blown away.

"Hi." She said. It was English. It was hard to speak, this second language. It will be alright. It will be alright. I promise you, Sarah. I will not leave you.

"I'm Alice." She said. "You're Aston. I have a gun. And I don't know what to do."

She wished, vainly, that she could crack. Go insane. She could be Danya's pet, then, like Sarah was, like Maxwell was. Terror of the island. Away from her mind.

But you could never crack. Not even when Sarah got you. You wished so hard you were deluded then, when you had to film Brock, when you had to watch her kill him, but you saw it all, like she never did. And when you slit her throat, you saw it too. And you aren't anything else now.

So she was just empty. Devoid of will. Hollow. Butterflies in her stomach. She should do something now. Finish Sarah's job. Murder Maxwell Lombardi. The rest of the island was trying to do it. It should be easy. See your justice done.

But she couldn't move.

Aston was staring at her.

Tell me what to do.
--------


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

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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[ *  *  * ]
"...what do you mean, you don't know what to do? You took out Atwell, aren't you just gonna keep on going with that? Not many other players like her have weapons like...well, like that."

-----------

It took Alice a moment to parse.

Aston thought she was a player-killer.

Oh.

"I'm not--I'm not a player-killer." Alice tried to explain. "I never wanted to kill anyone."

But here I am, holding a gun.

"Sarah was my friend." She said, slowly. She wasn't sure if she said it in English or in French.

Lick her lips. Keep talking. Make the words come out not broken. "Sarah was my friend. And then I killed her. I'm not sure--I'm not sure I want to talk about it now." Yes. That was good. Then she wouldn't have to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about it.

Aston looked unfocused. Her lips were grey. Was the shore here sapped of color? Maybe Alice just hadn't eaten in a long time. Strange things were happening to her eyes.

But Alice had a gun now, which meant she had responsibility. So she should do something to Aston. With Aston.

"Is there someone--is there someone you want to kill?" Alice asked carefully. "I could help kill them. If you want."

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Alice Boucher should be the leader. Taking charge. The French would say she ought to redeem herself. She didn't want to redeem herself. She wanted Sarah back.

But it was this girl, Aston Bennet, who was here, with her scarred face and her eyes that snapped and crackled, alive like Sarah had been. And she had a mission, she must have a mission and she had orders, and she had a plan.

Here's a lullaby to close your eyes.

"What should I do?"
--------


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

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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[ *  *  * ]
"His name is Quincy Jones. He killed one of my friends, and...I don't have anything else to do. The other girl responsible for my friend's death...died yesterday."

Alice hadn't been paying attention to the announcements; she didn't know who the girl could be. Still, Aston wore a smile, an unnerving smile, a smile because she knows what she's doing. She had killed the girl, killed the girl maybe, and she knew what she was doing, and she was just, more just than Sarah, killing the killers, good girl, like you're supposed to. But who was this killer, this Quincy Jones? Alice had vague recollections of him, but nothing came into focus. Thinking tall, dark-haired, murderer only put her in mind of Maxwell Lombardi.

No. But she had to know, she had to know one thing. Just to make sure she wasn't making a mistake.

"How did Quincy Jones--how did Quincy Jones kill your friend?"

Because we have to make sure the killers are guilty, and the killers of the killers are innocent. Because we're not going to kill somebody who killed in self-defense. Because we're better than that.

Mixed legacy.

But this girl was better than that. Better than Sarah.

And since when did that stop you?

And she knew what to do.

No. Alice couldn't put it to herself like that, because even now, she wasn't deluded. She has something to do. Not she knows what to do because there was nothing to do on the island, nothing that would get them out. No right answer. You can obey all the rules and it won't help you in the end.

Yes. They were dead people walking, both of them.

And they needed something to do.

No. Alice needed something to do. Alice needed something to distract her from her kill, from that sour taste in her mouth, from Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. And Aston needed to do this thing, kill this man, Quincy Jones, because people who were not Alice felt hot rage, and wanted people to die, and not only die, but die by their own hand, because it is right, somehow.

But she would have some standards. She would not, she would not kill a man who had killed out of self-defense, only out of self-defense, and she couldn't remember Quincy Jones, couldn't remember his name.

Mama, Papa, be proud of me now.

But there was precious little to be proud of.
--------


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

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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[ *  *  * ]
"Quincy shot him. He had him down on the ground, he had nothing, no way of harming him--he had a rifle to his head, and--bang."

No more smiles from Aston Bennet. Is that how you describe a death? --he had a rifle to his head and--bang. It sounded cartoony, somehow. I had a knife to her throat and--slit. But it was no use thinking like that. There was no better way to describe a death.

But this girl was honest. Hesitant, but honest. Alice was good at sniffing lies.

Probably angry with Alice.

Alice didn't care.

She had something to do, now. To live, on the island. She would kill this man, this Quincy Jones, kill him--bang--because killers should be killed. Killers should be killed. Yes, killers should be killed. That was a good thing. That's what Sarah would have wanted. Redeem ourselves.

That was somewhat psychotic.

Yes.

Alice Boucher was nothing if not self-aware.

"I'll do it."

Her response to Aston was numb. There was no enthusiasm there, no boiling desire for implicit revenge, or to complete a mission that she had never entirely bought in to. There was just…something that tasted strangely like duty, a reason to stay alive on the island for the next few days, until her inevitable death. Something that needed to be done.

Such a fatalist. And to think, three days ago, you would have done anything to survive.

But that was then.

(Alice Boucher continued in So Give Me Something To Believe)
--------


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

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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