toy soldiers with broken parts. | lenox vs. syd, day seven

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

[attr="class","table"]

[attr="class","scroll"]

The anthem begins to play, the horizon turning a digital blue as faces begin to be broadcast across the night sky. I hope for the best but expect the worst. It's like holding onto a cloud's silver lining even though it's dark enough to carry a storm. I stare up with eyes that glisten with the safety of familiarity and security, but the twinkle is quickly taken away and melted down into a tear. Garrison Basalt, District Two.

And yeah, I think part of me knew that one of the cannons yesterday would be his, part of me knew that he didn't have long left the second he said he didn't think he could win. And man, it breaks my heart a little to know that that is probably what killed him the most; it would never be the physical wounds for a career like Garrison, but the mental ones. Going through years of bigging yourself up for everyone else must surely take a mental toll or impose some sort of syndrome at least, and that makes me feel awful for him. I guess all careers aren't as ruthless as Silk because all that glitters is never gold.

He glittered, and so did Kane and Fitz. They don't have to be gold, they can be iron. It's tough, shiny and proud of the crooks and nooks it has - I think they'd like that better anyway. Who wants to be perfect anyway?

I wipe my tears from my cheeks and turn away from the rest of the anthem. I can't care about anyone else because whoever is dead or alive means nothing to me. Everyone is the same to me now, everyone knows me as Lachance and nobody knows me as Lenox. That means that I'm another legacy for them to crush, but they don't know I've already been crushed and just like a lousy bit of coal under pressure, I consider myself a little bit of a diamond.

Only a little bit, I mean, I've gone through enough trauma to leave me with permanent broken parts. But I'm realising that I can put them together in new ways, and sometimes in better ways that can make me the best version of myself. Or the worst - I'm not decided on that yet.

Time, the ultimate truth teller.

---

The sun rises. Day seven, and I am completely and utterly alone, in the best way. No ties, no connections, no hearts to break, no heart to protect. My mind has spun this situation into a necessary evil because I want so badly to be at home living a simple life that doing the worst feels justified. And that's probably some sort of condition which doesn't lead to the fairytale ending I'm after, but if my own delusions can stop me from breaking, again, then I'll look at the world through rose-tinted glasses anyday.

Because I don't want to break, not again. I've already spent too many days in this arena with my head in my hands, screaming into the air like it is an abyss that will swallow me if I'm loud enough. I think if I screamed now, the abyss would cower away in fear. I'm not the same ghost-ridden girl anymore, I've conquered my past and burned my bloodline to the ground. The rubble is dusty, it's not that nice to be in, but I'm still standing. And that seems like a tiny victory in the grand scheme of things, but to me, that's one hell of an accomplishment.

The ghosts never really go away, I know that, but I like to think they no longer hold my hands. I'm not reliant on the comfort of their touch. I've taken control and organised them into an army behind me, and yeah, I'm not that big but I think I'm pretty bold leading us all to war.

The smoke from the tire fire clears and I begin to walk the bloodstained dirt. The mechanic skyscrapers around me creak in the breeze but it's a normal sound for someone who has lived so eerily. I leave a trail of footprints behind me as I make my way to the centre of the abandoned statues because I want to be found. And when I get there, I lean against Silk's spear, running my finger over the handle and watching the dried blood crust off on the ground. I stand ready for whatever lurks in the distance, no longer afraid of what may be around the corner because this time, I've got there first.

Nah, not afraid anymore, because I am what lurks around the corner. I have to be.

And then from the distance emerges a figure, a face I can't really recognise. As the body moves closer, my grip on the spear gets stronger and I know that my heart broke yesterday when I became a murderer.

I hope today it'll shatter. But that's okay, I'm convinced, because doing that is a self-sacrifice that means I'll still have just enough life in me to pick up the pieces and glue them back together. I'm a murderer, now, sure, but my cause is just as good anyone else's. Ripred, just let me breathe - and if you don't, I'll try to find a way anyway.

"I never wanted it to come to this," I speak out, the abyss carrying my words across the way. "But man, I'm so close, and I'd rather lose my mind than lose my life."

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[ d7f lenox lachance attacks d12 syd scoria ; electric spear ]

oILGZhxVnc1-50

[ extinguished ]

spear

[ 3044 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage ]

1-50·spear

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I may be a bird in a cage
But at least I have my wings

Syd doesn’t know how long he runs. He doesn’t look back to the place he left behind, where the giant mutt skewered Coach’s skull on its talons. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that if he keeps going, if he doesn’t look back, then it won’t have happened at all. Maybe he can pull himself around this godforsaken Arena on his bad leg and outrun the world waiting to end him.

Eventually, he comes to an area he hasn’t been before. Giant machines stretch into the sky, rivaling the Capitol skyscrapers for their grandiosity. The sun is setting by the time the machines start appearing in the distance, and the moon and the stars don’t light his way. So when Syd steps into a pool of something dark and pungent, it comes as a shock, and he makes a face at his soiled boot.

He doesn’t know what the substance is, but at least it doesn’t appear harmful. After some consideration, he continues trekking through the dusk, ignoring the lingering pain in his knee.

There’s a lot of time to think. Too much time. He doesn’t like this... this being alone. There’s an emptiness in his chest, a gnawing sense that he is not meant to be like this. He doesn’t know how to be alone.

And then it hits him, clear as the sky on a summer’s day--

Maybe that’s why he did it. Maybe that’s why he stepped up for this, why he searched and searched for people to protect above all else. He thought back then that there was no place for him on this whole goddamn Earth, no people that would see him for who he really is.

Because that’s it, you know? How does anyone live with the feeling that there’s nothing for them?

Syd doesn’t know. But yet… he’s still here.

He’s still here.

When the anthem blares across the sky and shows the face of Coach DeLuxe, Syd’s heart aches for him. Coach didn’t deserve to die, nor Benedict, nor any of the others whose faces have outshined the stars in this hellish place. Guilt rips through his thoughts, but it’s soon replaced with worry.

Even in the darkness of a night without stars, he sees something moving his direction.

It looks like a person, but he can’t… really tell. It’s faint, like a shadow, but its movement is hobbled, unsteady. And then there’s another, and another, like wisps of smoke in mirror image. They solidify as they shuffle closer, and Syd sees that they look like… well, people that used to be.

They don’t move quickly enough to worry him. Maybe because they’re broken, diseased, but he doesn’t flinch when they shift around him. Some pass by, but one in particular sticks close to his side.

In the small light of the glowing orb hovering behind his head, he can see the details. Its skin is rough, inflamed, raw. One time, when Syd was much younger, he accidentally overcooked a piece of cow’s liver over the fire in their small kitchen. This creature has the same texture, but more feeble.

It doesn’t follow him, not exactly, but it seems to be heading in the same direction.

This is the closest thing to pleasant human company he’ll ever have again, he thinks.

”You’re pretty hopeless, you know?” he says, after a while of walking in silence. Now he’s not going anywhere that matters at all, just following the poor creature around like a puppy who has lost its person.

It doesn’t respond, obviously.

”Yeah, same here.”

Following his favorite creature aimlessly, he doesn’t sleep. He’s torn between grogginess and fatigue and the knowledge that he won’t be able to find this creature again if he leaves it. The hours stretch on, moving without direction, and Syd wonders if he can just sink into the background of this Arena. Perhaps he’ll blend in so well with the wandering monsters that nobody will notice he’s still here.

That hope is dashed when he sees a figure in the distance, clear in the morning sky. As the figure nears, he can make out the features of the uniform, torn and ragged as it may be.

His heart thump, thump, thumps in his chest.

He whispers to his newfound wandering friend: ”You gonna help me or nah?”

He accidentally nudges it with the tip of his finger. The creature crumbles into ash.

”Ah,” Syd says. ”Fuck.”

It’s just him, then. Him and his bloody knuckles and no-good pride.

He’ll take it.

As the figure nears, he recognizes the face, but can’t put a name to it. The girl’s moving quick now that she sees him, and her words are carried like a warning on the breeze: "I never wanted it to come to this, but man, I'm so close, and I'd rather lose my mind than lose my life."

Newly introduced to his own desperate need to live, Syd nods like he understands. He only sort of does.

His pulse thrums in his veins as she lunges forward with her spear. He gasps as it rips through his arm, and grits his teeth against the pain. He backs up, frantic, raising his fists.

”You’ll lose your life eventually,” he spits. ”Best be prepared.”

Not Like You by Cat Clyde

[Syd attacks Lenox, fists]
4RQ1mU8j5funarmed
5070 -- Knocked Backwards -- 0.5 damage
(Unarmed) + 3.0 Brass Knuckles

unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

[attr="class","table"]

[attr="class","scroll"]

The spear's lightning fails to charge enough to do any damage. Stupid thing, I think to myself - maybe Silk's dying words were a curse put on it that makes it useless in the hands of anyone but her. It still manages to prod the boy in the arm deeply, a new wound blossoming open on his canvas of a body. And it bleeds like how teardrops fall: hopelessly, because it cannot handle the pain.

He nods as if he knows what it is like. But I'm not sure he could ever understand the extent of it. To cast yourself aside because your name carries such a burden that it becomes impossible to breathe - it's harder than anyone knows. It's the fearfulness crippling life to nothing more than a fizzle, not a fire, not even a spark, just a measly, sad and tired little fizz that dies as quickly as it is born. I'd become so used being dead that I lost track of what it means to live, and now that I've tasted it, it is like a nectar, an elixir that is the sweetest honey and man, I have to have it. It's been too long.

I've died a hundred times before. Now, I draw the line.

His fists arise, jaw clenching as he readies himself to throw a punch. With knuckles laced with little knives, his shove is enough to knock me over but it's not enough to keep me down. Fall nine times, get up ten; I've got a whole life ahead of me that is mine to live. A whole universe that is mine to reign over and explore. Nah, I'm not staying down. I quite simply cannot.

"You'll lose your life eventually," his words trickle from his mouth, "best be prepared."

But little does he know I'm fighting as someone who's already been there. I've befriended all those ghosts and raised an army from ashes. The past does not have to be the hell I always thought it was because there's power in it too - because it's not just my history that means nothing, it is everyone else's too. That nothing is what I cling so dearly to, I hold it so tightly because it has become my everything. And it makes me feel so silly because I was scared of transitioning into the killer I am now - scared, and for what? Because I couldn't navigate past the gravestones in my tunnel vision?

It's all behind me now. Reese, Tobias and Diana, even Kane, Fitz and Garrison - their bodies carry the weight of the world for me. Their sacrifice does not have to be my submission. Their sacrifice can be my saving grace, all it takes is a little bravery, and that's fine by me.

Maybe I will lose my life eventually, but I've lost it before and that is the exact reason I fight. I can't do that again. And maybe I should be prepared to have it taken away again, but I want to get to a point where I can breathe carelessly, comfortably and completely unafraid of what might lurk in life's blindspots. Preparation for something that can't be a possibility seems like lost time.

"I've been preparing for death my whole life. I've prepared so many times that I swear I've died because of it. I've not had a life before, that's what nobody understands." I look at him with eyes that grow fiercer. I don't mean to take it out on him, I mean, he doesn't deserve it, no one does, but I've had the epiphany I've been searching my whole life for and everything has come into focus. "I have nothing left, and that has become everything to give."

"Syd, I'm sorry, but I can't die all over again."

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[ d7f lenox lachance attacks d12 syd scoria ; electric spear ]

xb0egPPJcnspear

[ miss ]

[ accuracy ]

spear

[ 3090 -- Deep Gash on Back -- 8.5 damage ]

spear·spear

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I may be a bird in a cage
But at least I have my wings

Upon closer inspection, Syd sees the shape of her spear, the weird electricity of it, and it reminds him of Coach.

His heart clenches in his chest.

And then Syd notices something familiar about the girl. The lilt of her voice scrapes against his eardrums, and the way of her movement reminds him of the day Benedict died.

She was there. She was there, in the smoke, tearing Bene down.

With a sudden power, the memory floors him like he’s still in the swamp, like Bene’s still breathing next to him, like the smoke’s still swirling and they’re caught in a never-ending fight. The loss of his allies weighs him down, rips the slightest purpose from his continuing life, and he doesn’t know what to do with all of that leftover guilt.

He isn’t supposed to be here, he thinks.

But he is.

He’s here, standing in front of one of Bene’s killers, and she’s telling him that nobody understands.

By the time her weapon slices through his back, he’s still reeling from the strength of his own shitty memories. He cries out, crumples for a moment. His hands smack against the dirt as he catches himself. Fresh blood blooms from the new wound on his back, and the cloth stings where it touches open flesh.

He stares at the ground, lost. He can’t bear to look at her.

But he does, eventually. With seething, directed rage, he pushes himself up from the earth.

”And Benedict?” he asks, fists clenched. His voice is quiet, but full of fire. ”He didn’t have nothing. He had everything.”

How is he here? How is she here?

Neither of them deserve it. Not like Benedict and his heart full of love.

Maybe Syd can’t bring himself to fight for his own life. But god, he can take someone down with him.

Not Like You by Cat Clyde

[Syd attacks Lenox, fists]
yfUr72SYNGunarmed
5055 -- Gash/Bruised Left Collar Bone -- 3 damage
(Unarmed) + 3 Brass Knuckles

unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

[attr="class","table"]

[attr="class","scroll"]

"And Benedict?" He says, and in that second, I can sense his breaking. Because he stares at the ground as if he's trying to make it collapse beneath me. He stares at the ground as if evil leaks from the bottom of my feet and threatens the world around him. He stares at me like the nothing I am.

Good, I think to myself. It just reinforces what I already know to see that shift in his demeanour. Lenox LaChance isn't someone who has to be destined to failure like the past has so desperately tried to make my future. The name can mean just as little as Syd Scoria and that's so powerful to me. So I look at the ground by his feet as if he, too, has planted a seed of despair and is watching it flourish into devastation. I look at the ground like he is proud of the killer he's been forced to become. I look at the ground like he is nothing too - because that's the truth.

And man, it's so liberating to not be afraid.

I don't know if Syd has reached that point yet. I'm not sure if he's found the feeling of nothingness to be as freeing as I have. Maybe that's just how it is when there's still fear inside. His heart is still closed off, afraid of letting the darkness in - but it doesn't have to be bad like everybody makes out. The darkness can be just as good as the light if you're just willing to stand in it.

His voice is turbulent, but that turbulence turns his words into a roar. They pierce my mind. "He didn't have nothing. He had everything."

And I ponder that for a moment. Everything - and then I feel sorry for the guy and it's sick, but it almost justifies what we did to him. Because if he had everything, then that's one hell of a burden to live with. Everything is what would keep him up at night living in fear of losing it all, that everything is enough to slash him into half the person he could be, closing off his body because it is too afraid to function. Everything is a poison, I think to myself, and I'm glad I was able to realise that.

"So, he had everything. I think that's an impossible weight to carry. I think that's the type of weight that is heavy enough to pull someone six feet into the ground." I tell him, my eyes journeying from the ground around him to his eyes. I stare at him coldly. It's bittersweet that Benedict died; to be released from that is a euphoria, but undoubtedly, dying is the coward's way out. I know, I've considered it myself.

"Some people, Syd, some people have everything and that means they have nothing to kill for. I'm not one of those people. There's things I still want, breaths I still want to take, and I might be crazy for chasing those dreams but I'm okay with crazy." I'm more than okay with crazy, I think to myself, especially if it means I get to live the six years I've lost.

I killed Silk Le Roux searching for those things, and the relief that came with prying this spear from her dead body was a euphoria that gave me a taste of the life I so badly want. That's all I want, really, just to exhale one last heavy sigh and then live in peace, and I don't think that is too much to ask.

Yet Syd stands in my way. The ground burns beneath our feet and he stares at me like the nothing I am.

Good, I think to myself. Bloody good.

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[ d7f lenox lachance attacks d12 syd scoria ; electric spear ]

9H2KySc8wuspear

[ 3151 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage ]

spear

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I may be a bird in a cage
But at least I have my wings

”I think that's the type of weight that is heavy enough to pull someone six feet into the ground.”

She looks at him then, with those eyes full of ice, and he feels a chill sweep through his very being.

Upright now, he backs up, and they circle each other like wild animals in a brawl, looking for the right opening to strike. Syd can feel the way his skin prickles against the tension, like a rabid dog with its hackles raised.

The girl explains herself plainly, almost calm. She’s run her calculations and done the mental math to get everything to make sense in her twisted little head, and Syd grimaces as her words reach their end. She takes that pause to angle her spear at his stomach, but he catches her movement before it turns fatal. There’s the slicing of skin, the stinging of the nerves, but he doesn’t fall this time.

His face is solemn, his fists raised. As he speaks, he’s looking for that perfect moment to crash forward.

”It makes sense, it does,” he says. ”And you’re not crazy. Ha! Anyone with a half a fucking brain wants to make it out of this.”

His lips curl into a smile.

”But I’m a fucking idiot, and all I want is to make you pay for what you did to my friend.”

It’s not a lot, but god, it keeps him going.

Not Like You by Cat Clyde

[Syd attacks Lenox, fists]
LQWr4WJB6qunarmed
5110 -- Bruised Right Shin -- 2 damage
(Unarmed) + 3 Brass Knuckles

unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

[attr="class","table"]

[attr="class","scroll"]

"It makes sense, it does," Syd tells me. Good, I think to myself, because I've spent too long punishing myself over the uncontrollable things and hearing validation in that way means a lot. "And you're not crazy. Ha! Anyone with half a fucking brain wants to make it out of this."

I'm not sure that part is true, though. Because I'm convinced that some people would rather opt for the easy way out. A bullet to the head, electrifying themselves on the arena border, something like that - because a quick sting to numb the pain is better than a constant, dull ache that throbs every second of the day and never really goes away. And sure, maybe those people are looking for a way out too, but they aren't trying to make it out of this, they aren't trying to step out of the victim box they've been forced to stand in.

Nah, not strong enough. There's a difference between finding an escape and making it out. I still want to be standing, living and breathing at the end of all this. I still want to be the person I am now: unafraid and unashamed. I want to be fearless.

Syd's face quickly morphs into a smile. His lips pressing together as the corners twist upwards. "But I'm a fucking idiot, and all I want is to make you pay for what you did to my friend." His voice scratches through the air, digging through the tension towards my mind. And I realise he's another one of those tributes who is tied up in thoughts of revenge and retribution, hellbent on the loss he has endured and scared to isolate himself from emotion. I think revenge is a waste of time because you can't bring the dead back to life, no matter how hard you try, no matter how many lives you take. Two broken hearts never make one whole. Revenge is an attachment to a lost cause.

I could seek revenge too, heck, I've got enough reasons to want it. I could track down the boy who killed Kane and make him feel every ounce of the pain he inflicted. I could search for every worm of every size in an attempt to find closure with the fact they took Fitz far too soon. I could ask questions and try to find out what happened to Garrison so I could turn them into the dust his ghost kicks up behind me. But the satisfaction from murder isn't enough - it's not wholesome, it's not emotional, no, it's twisted, dark - it's not enough to fill a human sized hole in your heart.

Syd's fists arise once more and he lashes out, skin split open by the little dangers by his knuckles.

"Make me pay, huh?" I look down to my feet and then across the way to him. "Would killing me make you feel satisfied? Because it's not going to bring him back. Two wrongs don't make a right." His wrongs or my own - they never make a right, and I'm content with that. The spear rolls around in my palm, my grip tightening as he threatens my ground with his own. I won't allow him to knock me down; I've waited far too long and lost too much of my life to stop just because someone seeks a dream of vengeance that is actually a harsh reality. "I've told you, I have nothing to give and I have nothing to pay. I am not the therapy you're looking for. Stopping my heart will not start his."

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[ d7f lenox lachance attacks d12 syd scoria ; electric spear ]

7gbY1hf1YAspear

[ 3112 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage ]

spear

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I may be a bird in a cage
But at least I have my wings

Would killing me make you feel satisfied?

Perhaps she’s hoping to catch him in his thoughts, weighing that alongside his own sense of morality.

It doesn’t work. That spear of hers misses him by a mile as he steps to the right, feet skittering across the dirt.

Every movement makes him more aware of the gashes in his flesh and the way the fabric of his gaudy uniform grates against the wound. He clenches his teeth to keeps from crying out, but he’ll be okay. He’s no stranger to difficulty moving, not since a faceless tribute crushed his knee during the Bloodbath. It comes with the territory of being the new version of Syd: broken, beaten, bold.

There is a power that comes with being close to death.

”I am not the therapy you’re looking for,” she says.

And she’s right -- he knows it. Benedict won’t come back with a little vengeance. Nothing will be improved if he tears her down right now. The thread stringing the whole situation together is paper thin, ready to snap, and looking at it too long will make the tenuous moment fall apart.

But he doesn’t care. That’s the crux of it.

”It won’t,” he agrees. The smile has vanished from his face. His expression has turned to stone. ”I told him, right at the end, that it would be okay. But it won’t. Not for me, not for you, not for any of us.”

He shakes his head, mouth twisting into a grimace.

”If nothing matters, why shouldn’t I kill you?”

In the silence that follows, he lunges.

Not Like You by Cat Clyde

[Syd attacks Lenox, fists]
IcBHeYdIC7unarmed
5133 -- Bruised Left Forearm -- 2 damage
(Unarmed) + 3.0 Brass Knuckles

unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

[attr="class","table"]

[attr="class","scroll"]

"It won't," he says, and I'm thankful that he's capable of understanding that. "I told him, right at the end, that it would be okay. But it won't. Not for me, not for you, not for any of us."

And he's probably right about that. But I think I'm okay with not being okay; it doesn't have to be some sort of life sentence or destiny that leads someone down a dark path. The trauma can be coped with just as everything else can be, and besides, I've been through enough of it already to know what works and what does not. So he's right that I'll probably never be okay again, but I'm fine with that if it just means I can get out of here alive. I don't have to be okay, I just have to be breathing.

His head shakes. "If nothing matters, why shouldn't I kill you?" He pauses before taking action - his fists jabbing me in the arm. The tiny spikes sink into my skin and draw blood but I don't let myself feel the pain because I've wasted far too much of my life feeling sorry for myself already. I don't want to lose another moment of it.

Tunnel vision sets in. Because his death means that I still get to live, even if it's only for another day - that's something I'd always pick over having to say my goodbyes to the person who killed me. I don't want to be pushing daisies besides my brothers, I want to be laying the daisies on their graves, talking to them until the moonshine turns to a faint morning glow. But of all the things I want and need to do, killing Syd Scoria is number one. He is my public enemy in this moment.

"Because being nothing has made me realise a lot of things, Syd," I say, kicking at the ground with my left foot. "I don't have to be a product of the past. I don't have to be a poster girl. I don't have to be anything that makes me scared, or sad, or feel a stabbing through where my heart should be. Being nothing has made me feel free, Syd, I can't just let that go."

"And I know that's not a good enough reason for you to keep me alive, but it's enough to make me fight for my life."

I look to the ground and then back to him. My honesty is a vulnerability that I haven't shown before - sure, I've screamed into the void and heard it scream back but that was a breakdown. This is controlled emotion, it's a decision I have made that lays my feelings in the line of fire. I know damn well it isn't enough for anyone else but me, but that's okay, because it has taught me a lot of things about the duality of life that has made me unafraid.

This freedom is bliss - I have no ties, no attachments. I am completely alone and my own company has proven the strongest.

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[ d7f lenox lachance attacks d12 syd scoria ; electric spear ]

ph2Kvlisorspear

[ 3156 -- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage ]

spear

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I may be a bird in a cage
But at least I have my wings

This is not a rabid fight to the death.

It's a fight to the death, to be sure, but Syd looks at her with a clarity that makes this all the more difficult. The more she speaks, the more he realizes that she is a living, breathing person, and revenge won't change that fact. Avenging poor Benedict Nolan won't change the fact that this girl wants to live. And he's depriving her of that.

Still, that doesn't stop the anger from seething beneath his skin. He can feel it, that rage and overpowering drive for survival.

He hates her for what she did.

He tries to cling to the thoughts that pull the strings of that anger -- of the life Benedict could have had, of the girl he had back home, of the future he might have had.

It helps, sort of. He can barely look at her in the face, not after what she did.

"You're right," Syd says, his stare going blank, faraway. "It's not a good enough reason."

He doesn't know why he keeps going. He just does.

Not Like You by Cat Clyde

[Syd attacks Lenox, fists]
iqbBKFJCxEunarmed
5095 -- Black Eye -- 3 damage
(Unarmed) + 3.0 Brass Knuckles

unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

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"You're right," Syd responds, "it's not a good enough reason."

Well, that's fine. But it's not going to stop me from trying to make it out of here alive. His friend is dead and there's not much I can do about that now. We killed him, sure, but I don't feel bad about that; it's a necessary evil. My mind has slowly twisted these repeated necessary evils into the norm. There's not really anything evil about them anymore, they are just necessary. It breaks part of me to kill, killing Silk hurt me, too - but it was necessary.

The sunset back in Seven is waiting for me.

And I don't want to be like Reese and Tobias. Becoming another body in the ground is not an option for me - I can't add myself to a legacy of dead people because I don't think I've even properly lived yet. And thinking about dying makes my skin crawl, my hairs stand on end because it's still a scary thought, in some ways, because what if it did happen, right here, right now? I wouldn't be content with anything. Nah, I'd be disappointed. I'd be sad, but worst of all, I'd be dead.

I wouldn't have any time to go back and make changes. There's no last chance for a dead LaChance. There's regret and a sorry looking grave where the flowers die every Friday, exactly two weeks after being placed. To be a memory that waxes and wanes in and out of existence isn't enough for someone like me; there's still more to do, more breaths to take, more life to live. I can't end up like Reese and Tobias, nor Diana, nor Kane, Fitz and Garrison.

I've been collecting bodies for far too long. I don't want to add my own to that list and collect it like some sort of final charm on the bracelet.

"Fine, it's not a good enough reason for you, that's fine, sure." I say, huffing a breath. "But that's not going to stop me from trying to make it out, Syd. Because it's enough for me. I'm alone and yeah, a little selfish because I want to sleep in my bed at home again. But nobody wins thinking of others."

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[ d7f lenox lachance attacks d12 syd scoria ; electric spear ]

zz2BqGJFJTspear

[ 3165 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage ]

spear

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I may be a bird in a cage
But at least I have my wings

Because it's enough for me.

Her words echo in his head, and he tries to stop them from taking hold. Try as he might, Syd knows that he is not capable of holding hatred in his heart forever. The dying image of Benedict’s face stays strong at the forefront of his thoughts, and that’s what keeps him going: the dwindling urgency of revenge.

Maybe it’s the blood seeping from his wounds or the brokenness of his body, but he can feel himself slowing. Now they are less like wild animals and more like what they are: two struggling kids, beating each other to death, losing energy as the hellish world crumbles around them.

Her words come out in a huff. Maybe she’s feeling it too -- the exhaustion.

Syd can’t let it get to him. He -- he has to fight. For Benedict. For… something.

Fighting for the sake of fighting.

Or for himself. Maybe somewhere in the back of that sad head of his, he wants to keep going.

Problem is, he doesn’t have a lot of time to weigh what he wants. His primal instincts -- fight or flight -- have kicked in, and with numbers decreasing every day, flight is becoming less and less possible by the moment. This is it.

”You know” he begins, rising from his thoughts like a diver surfacing the water, ”I don’t think you’re selfish. But I -- “

He struggles to form the words.

”I’m so angry,” he admits.

And he has to do this. Something deep in his very being drives him forward.

Not Like You by Cat Clyde

[Syd attacks Lenox, fists]
Qclv1WAGFjunarmed
5056 -- Gash/Bruised Right Hand -- 3 damage
(Unarmed) + 3.0 Brass Knuckles

unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

[attr="class","table"]

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I stare across the way; my body leaking blood from all sides. It's a difficult position to be in, I mean, to be a dead girl walking was hard but to begin to feel life slipping through your fingers - I think that's a lot worse. My vision starts to glisten a little bit, maybe I'm seeing stars, maybe it's just the shine of hell luring me in. Whatever it is, I want it to stop because I'm still standing and still willing and wanting to put up a fight.

"You know," he opens his mouth to begin again, "I don't think you're selfish. But I," he pauses. There's a silence, as if drought has struck in his throat. "I'm so angry," he says, and I feel the world crash down around him.

Because I think I've had a similar revelation myself, and it's liberating to be in the depths of destruction and know that you're still alive despite all that has fallen. Anger doesn't have to be a bad thing like everybody makes out, well, I don't think so anyway. I think anger can be just as powerful as any other emotion; it is raw and vulnerable just as it is sharp and dangerous. Anger is part of the reason I'm still alive: I've been angry at myself and that is what made me change.

No more fear and heartache - I've shed too many tears.

"So am I," I tell him, feeling said anger pulse through my veins with each breath. It's a mix of adrenaline that fuels my system like a drug, begging me to do this and that regardless of the fatal consequences. I exhale a sigh, gripping the spear tighter as my wounds throb. The air plumes with a sickly scent of desperation and I look to Syd and repeat my last. "So am I."

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[ d7f lenox lachance attacks d12 syd scoria ; electric spear ]

ok0lRCc|86spear

[ 3115 -- Deep Gash on Right Calf -- 8.0 damage ]

spear