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Footage Not Found; Evening Day 9/Morning Day 10
Topic Started: Jul 1 2017, 05:32 PM (146 Views)
Violent-Medic
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((Clarice Halwood continued from Paths of Glory.))

On the evening of Day 9, Clarice found Scout.

She’d seen Bart first. He’d been more immediately obvious, a big dishevelled lump lying at the foot of the stairs. And then beyond that… Scout.

There hadn’t been any big moment of snappage, any sudden rush of grief. Clarice had walked over to Scout. Stared at her for a while. Couldn’t quite tell how she’d been killed, just that she didn’t seem quite in the right shape. It must have happened that day. She hadn’t heard about it on the announcements. There were holes in her memory, but she’d remember that.

Clarice stared at the body some more, and she waited for some proper grief. She’d almost kill for something to break through this numb haze.

She used one of the few clean parts of her t-shirt to wipe the blood off Scout’s chin. She brushed any messy strands of hair out of her face. She couldn’t wipe away the traces of obvious pain that remained on her face.

Anger? Sadness? Even warped happiness at being a little closer to being the survivor? Give her something, just something that wasn’t…

‘This was hopeless.’ That was all she had. And staring down at Scout, at the girl who was meant to be her sister one day, what had already been a strong thought spread to encompass everything. All-encompassing yet oddly… underwhelming. Just someone muting the colours on their film a little too much.

Clarice tried to pick Scout up. Maybe this time she could do what she couldn’t with Harold, with all the others. Throw Scout in the sea or give her some kind of burial, just something so that the camera wouldn’t stare at her any more, so she could be treated with some measure of respect. But the moment she tried, the moment she tried to lift Scout’s crumpled body, her bad shoulder burned white-hot, and even though she tried to ignore it that pain came with an arm spasm that sent Scout rolling back to the ground.

She sat there, and it got dark, and she smelt death, and she waited.

-

No-one came, and she didn’t sleep. It got light again. The announcements came on with a rush of static.

Ty was dead. Kimiko had killed him. He’d been dead by the time that Clarice had woken up and wondered where he’d gone. Not abandonment, just… bad luck. Bad luck and a shitload of assholery on Kimiko’s part. And there was no-one left from the library now. Not with Bart gone.

And Scout? Scout had died because of her own stupid mistake. At least, she got the fault as much as any of them could, when it was really those assholes behind the camera who should shoulder all the blame.

Who was there left? Clarice couldn’t think of anyone. So it would make sense now to go through with the thought that had been tickling her brain. To fight. To be the winner, so that when the terrorists brought her in, that she’d be able to fight them in person.

But… but even if she could, she still didn’t want to. To play the game for a chance at real vengeance was still playing their game.

That was all she had left. Whether to play their game or not. The one choice that mattered, even if mattered only to her.

Clarice tried to pick up Scout again. And perhaps, oddly strengthened by this one thought, she managed it just enough to move Scout a few inches. She rested. Then a few inches more. She moved towards the stairs, and had a struggle getting Scout over Bart’s body. But she managed it. Then she dragged Scout up the stairs, step by step with a rest in between.

She got to the little office up the top. She laid Scout down on the floor, before shutting the door. She looked at the window, then pulled down the blinds on it. And then she looked at the camera. One camera for this office. Not like an office needed more than one.

She could say something important. Whatever it was might be how the world remembered her. But whatever it was would only be shown because the terrorists deemed it so, and those weren’t words worth sharing.

She removed her shoe and raised it, staring straight at that camera. She spoke.

“A little privacy, please.”

She threw the shoe. And unlike when she'd thrown her shoe in anger, that first day next to the bell tower, this time it hit home.

The lense of the camera shattered. And the footage of Clarice went dark.

The collar went off, but no-one would ever see it.

G043: CLARICE HALWOOD - DECEASED
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