the hard way {fast + bi leisure day 3}

It's humiliating, really. Running from an enemy once is nothing to be ashamed about, especially when you're entering on a blank slate. The first retreat is an opportunity to analyze, take notes, regroup, reorganize, so when the second engagement happens, it's on even ground.

Running from an enemy twice? There's no way you could excuse that.

Every advantage you possibly could have mustered up on hand. The initiative - attacking Grim Mercer before she and her alliance knew you were even there. The skill - you and Turner, the two most proficient with your respective weapons. The chaos - leave Fridae to take care of Saylor, the boy you two shared a soft spot with, keep the fight locked to pairs.

And it had all gone to shit in five minutes flat.

Now Turner lay on the ground, dying if not dead. Saylor had fallen behind - was that second cannon his? Had the Wealth Alliance broken their word, struck him down from behind as he ran? And she had her water, had what she needed - but at what cost? The wounds dealt to Grim were significant but far from fatal, and far from putting a hole in the wall of the Wealth, you'd just managed to bloody yourselves on their shields instead.

What was the point of it all? You'd strutted onto the stage, into the training center, into the arena proper, all with such confidence. You'd handpicked your team - Saylor, the shy naive cute boy who could play up a sympathy angle; Fridae, the battle-hardened street fighter that reminded you so much of the boy that had killed your brother two years prior; and Turner, a savage Career who would help keep you accountable in leadership but would be easy to turn on when the going got tough.

Now that team was split. Splintered. Fractured. All because even with every advantage you possibly could think up, you simply couldn't kill Grim fast enough.

You spot Fridae in the distance, and everything slows. Right. Not everything is hopeless yet. Nothing ever is, not until your fate matches Turner's and your royal blood is spilling all over onto the irradiated dirt. You have your water. You have your spear. You have your life. It's not over yet.


And for Ripred's sake, even if you have to carve through each and every one of your foes single-handedly to make it to the end, then so be it.

The water is bittersweet - laced with defeat, but nevertheless tasting of victory. A consolation on the eve of this dark day.