Post by bennett on Nov 18, 2021 23:15:59 GMT -5
A Friend of the Devil
November 25th
3:08am
Just outside Whalan, MN
A makeshift shelter stands between the banks of Root River to the east, and the town of Whalan to the west. Looking like it has been hastily constructed with a canvas tarp and several stakes of wood, it sits far off the main road into town.
In the dark that smothers the fields surrounding it, only a single, flickering light from within the tent provides a bulwark against the black abyss of night. And inside is one of the competitors for the bloodbath to come later in the day: Billy Bennett. In front of an oil lantern, wrapped in a heavy coat to provide some protection against the temperatures, she sits cross-legged. Laying in front of her is a collection of equipment, removed from her duffel bag and arrayed between herself and the lantern.
Her trusty bowie knife lay unsheathed on the ground alongside several other items: a map of Whalan, a large loop of snare wire, small throwing knives with handles wrapped in black paracord, an unlabeled bottle of pills, a few plastic baggies containing a crystalline substance, a few bottles of moonshine, a pair of binoculars, her camouflage-print neck gaiter, cigarettes, and a rusty Zippo lighter bearing the state flag of Florida. She believes in coming prepared, even to feed her vices.
Billy stares into the lantern's flame, the reflection of it lighting up her otherwise dead, faraway eyes. Arms wrapped around herself, she rocks back and forth; as though she were matching the rhythm of some unheard music. The only counterpoint to the overwhelming silence is the occasional howling blast of wind, which shakes the canvas walls of the tent and sends a fresh chill running down her spine.
While she could easily step into the open and construct a fire to warm herself in the pre-dawn chill, she doesn't seem the least bit interested in doing so. She has come early to acclimate herself to the cold of this northern state; it's something she has never had to experience, outside the occasional bit of family business with contacts in North Dakota. Allowing herself the comfort of a fire would defeat the whole purpose. If warmth was what she sought, there was no shortage of roadside motels on the drive up here.
She passed them all, abandoning the stolen vehicle some distance away from her present spot and making her way here on foot and under cover of darkness. Her paranoid, ever-vigilant mind had her looking out for possible attackers; she did not survive in a place as dangerous as the Everglades, and with a family as ruthless as hers, by being sloppy or careless. She knew someone might have a mind to start the Purge a little early, and rid themselves of some pesky competition ahead of time.
So far, there has been so sign of anyone following her, no ambushes set on her path. Just darkness, and quiet... without the near-constant hiss of snakes, insects buzzing about, or gators breaking the surface of water only to descend into the depths once more, the silence is almost eerie. Fortunately for her, she has company of sorts. Billy's eyes remain fixed on that lantern, mumbling the occasional word under her breath; as though she were listening - and responding - to some voice from within the flame.
Finally, there’s a bit of movement beyond the nodding of her head and back-and-forth rocking of her body. Reaching out with one hand, she grabs the handle of her Bowie knife. Opening one of the small baggies laid out alongside her equipment, she dips the tip of the blade into the pile of crystalline powder within. Guiding the small bump to her nostril, she snorts it up like a thirsty man wandering the desert might guzzle water. Immediately, the rocking of her body stops as pupils dilate to encompass the entirety of her irises; black holes driving away the brown of her eyes in an instant.
A heavy sigh, practically dripping with ecstasy, pours out of her slackened mouth as the effects of that substance take hold. And with that, her shaking and nodding have ceased; mind frosting over with a renewed focus. She grits her teeth together, spit forming little cotton balls in her mouth as the dopamine surges through her body and floods her brain with pleasure.
Billy resumes the nodding of her head, her gaze still fixed on the lantern. At last, there is a gravelly, phlegmy noise as she clears her throat and begins to speak in uncharacteristically hushed tones.
"I know you ain't a fan of me usin' the product, old man... but ya don't exactly get a say no more. Hell, it's a special occasion if I ever seen one; ain't every day that your li'l girl gets to practice her craft on somethin' even deadlier than the gators back home.”
"And it ain't just this Purge that's got me feelin' good. This Fallout thing might be the only place outside the swamp where I felt like I really belonged. A bunch of crazy fucks who got the same love of blood and sufferin' that I do. A home away from home, finally..."
"So, yea, I'm goin' to indulge a bit. There's no need to play at bein' civil, pretendin' to follow the rules, when Arik Holt is lettin' us all loose like this. I don't know where they found that man, but I'm damn glad he's runnin' the show now... lettin' us do what we do best, God bless him."
"Today, we make the town of Whalan come alive with screams of agony. Any bullshit illusions these folk might have about humanity are going to disappear when this whole thing kicks off."
A pause, as if she were listening to a reply from deep within the lantern's flame.
"Hell naw, I ain't afraid! Ya oughta know better than that... after all, ya raised me this way, didn't ya? Wasn't that your whole plan? Make me and the boys so scared of what you'd do to us, that we didn't have any room left in our minds to be scared of nothin' else? Well, mission accomplished, because now that you're gone there ain't a damn thing on this earth that can put the fear of God into me."
"Be honest, for the first fuckin' time in your... well, I guess I can't call it your 'life' no more. But anyway, ya never wanted children, right? Not like most parents want 'em. Ya wanted attack dogs, snarlin' beasts that would kill - and die - to protect your territory, trained animals that ya could aim at the family's 'problems'. Thing with fightin' dogs is, ya never really OWN 'em. Ya feed 'em, ya teach 'em, ya hope ya can make 'em afraid of ya. But if ya can't, if for a second that terror fails, if they decide they'd rather feed on your guts than the scraps ya see fit to throw 'em... well, then ya got a problem, huh? Somethin' ya learned a bit too late, I guess. I'd say 'better luck next time', but that's the kind of mistake ya only get to make once."
"Ya must've seen it comin'... or maybe ya didn't. Maybe ya thought we really were that afraid, that we knew our place, and wouldn't try to strain against the leash until ya were already dead and buried."
"Might have even been true, but for one thing: Bo ain't like the rest of us. Your firstborn was always hungrier than us other kids. Been that way as far back as I can remember. Not satisfied with bein' second man on the totem pole, always thinkin' he could do a better job runnin' the show. I'd see him, lickin' his lips whenever he looked at your spot on top, wantin' that for himself more than anythin' else. Ya really thought he'd wait, huh? Fuckin' stupid, if ya ask me; but ya never were as clever as ya wanted everyone else to think."
"Well, shit, guess I'm gettin' off on a rant here. Where was I..."
She lifts one icy hand to scratch the underside of her chin, eyes twitching as she tries to find the point she lost somewhere in this drug-fuelled, rambling conversation with herself. Finding her train of thought once more, she snaps back into it; hardly missing a beat.
"Right. My opponents. Well, they're fighters, nothin' more. No matter how violent they might be, they don't have the same skills I do, or the same experience survivin' in a place where the laws of society don’t mean shit. Their home is in the ring, squarin' up toe-to-toe on even footin'. They won't last in a proper hunt; they ain't used to keepin their wits sharp every fuckin' second... they go out, they wrestle, and they relax until next time."
'Relaxing' wasn't something that Billy had much experience with. Being aware of her surroundings every waking hour held a lot more importance out in the swamp than any place these city dwellers would be familiar with. In civilization, you could drop your guard... that wasn't the case in the place the Bennetts called home. The climate this far north might not be something that Billy is used to, but the principles of the hunt remain the same regardless of the location.
"Me? Well, I grew up lookin' over my shoulder. That was the only way to survive in our family, right? Even without the enemies we make in our line of work, we can't be caught slippin' out in the marsh... wouldn't have made it past childhood if I didn't keep one eye open. Sure as shit wouldn't still be drawin' breath if I weren't so damn careful."
"I could always smell trouble; the scent of blood in the air, even before it was spilled. That static noise that fills my ears just before things go bad. Ya can’t learn that in some air-conditioned gym, trainin’ for a fight.”
"Huh, what'd you say? True Society? Naw, I ain't forget about 'em..."
Silence again, listening to the response which only she can hear.
"Mmm. Fair point, I suppose. Let me tell ya, though: for all the advantages their numbers provide, they ain't invincible. Might be a few minutes, might be an hour, might even last until there's only a few people left... but eventually, their ties will snap the moment that 'allies’ start to look the same as enemies to 'em. They'll stare at one another, and wonder who is going to be the first to stick a knife in their back."
"Hell, as I recall it wasn't more than two weeks ago that Havoc and Baker turned on one of their own. Don't rightly know what that was all about, but if they'll throw one of their own to the wolves, what makes ya think they'll last when the going really gets tough out here?"
"They ain't family; they ain't even friends, far as I can tell. Their alliance won't last when it comes down to the wire. And I hope I get to see it... see 'em at each other's throats as they turn on their own. Snakes bitin' at their own tails, somethin’ you and I know aaaall about…”
"Now, if I had to bet money, I'd say that Slade Castle will be the first to realize the truth. That their little group ain't as much of an asset in the Purge as it is everywhere else. Even if I didn't hear about his past in the service, a killer can always recognize one of their own. The moment I saw that man... the way he moves, how he carries himself, the viciousness hidin’ in that thousand yard stare... well, I don't doubt he's taken more lives than all us Bennett kids combined. Excitin', ain't it?"
"See, a former Marine surely knows what real violence looks like. They have to work as a unit, but they know what happens when a weak link threatens the safety of the squad. I don't think a man as serious as Castle will take that chance with so much on the line. How can ya really rely on anyone else when there are no rules, and only one person walks out with their arms raised?"
"As for the rest of the roster, it seems a lot of these folk have history. Grudges, rivalries, fuckin' pathetic high school drama, all that bullshit. Draggin' that nonsense into this sort of thing ain't goin' to end well for 'em, that much I'm sure of. Can't have emotions durin' times like these, that shit only acts as a liability... it's dead weight, keepin' 'em from bein' as fast, as ruthless, as brutal as they're going to need to be."
"Add to that the titles that are up for grabs, and I bet they'll be rushin' into the fray like a pack of blind pigs who smell slop. Messy, predictable, ready for the slaughter. Now, me? I don't care about no gold belts. Let the herd fight for their precious, meaningless prizes, for all the good it'll do 'em in the end. I only want one thing: to make 'em scream for a mercy that ain't ever comin'."
Another pause, longer than the last, before Billy scoffs and offers a nod in concession to the spirit she communes with.
"Alright, ya got me. Guess ya know your li'l girl too well, huh? There is something else I got my eye on tonight... the one that got away, if ya want to call him that. Syndicate. He might not know it, but Arik did him a hell of a favor when he switched up our li'l tag team match. And yea, I heard what he had to say about me beforehand... somethin' about 'it's not the swamp, you ain't shit outside your fuckin' backwater'. Ignorant ass city folk won't ever understand the truth..."
"...that no matter the place, there are some things that are universal. Ya hit a bone hard enough, it breaks. Ya cut somethin', it bleeds. Ya hurt someone juuuuust right, and they make such beautiful music. And if ya put enough pressure on something's neck, then it won't be doin' anything else ever again. Just as true in this frozen shithole, or in the wrestlin' ring, as it is back in Florida."
"If I'm lucky, I'll find that boy before he's too weak, run-down and tired to give me a proper fight. He owes me that."
Her hands have been trembling as she rambled and raved for the past several minutes; as if realizing it for the first time, she pauses and looks down at them. Clenching her eyes shut to steady herself, the shaking finally subsides.
"Ya ain't here to breath down my neck no more, papa, but I ain't forget the lessons. Ya taught me to be tougher than the rest of 'em. More ruthless than the boys could ever be... hell, I'd even wager I'm smarter than mama when it comes right down to it. How the fuck could I not be? Should've died more than a handful of times growin’ up, since y'all never bothered protectin' me like I was your daughter. But why would ya? Ya never saw me as that. Naw, I was just another weapon for you to use against your enemies. Well, that weapon is sharper than ever, and I've only got one person to thank for that."
"That's right, I never said it while ya were livin', but thanks. Can't have been more than 6 or 7 when ya put that ol' Winchester in my hand, and had me takin' turns on sentry duty with them boys. When other kids were in fuckin' grade school learnin' their numbers, you taught us the only numbers that REALLY mattered: nine millimeter, sixteen ounces to a pound, twelve gauge shells, ten inches of blade, and six feet under. Ya knew well enough what was important, and ya taught us how to survive in this world. No more, no less.”
"Guess I'm takin' the long way of sayin' it, but I'm grateful. I can't imagine bein' as ignorant, as naive, as fuckin' weak as the rest of these fools. So, I appreciate the work you put into raising us. And that's all you'll get out of me, old man. I sure ain't about to apologize for what happened to ya that day... ya had it comin', you've got to know that much, no matter how stubborn ya are."
She falls silent again, as her hands move towards the equipment laid out in front of her. The bowie knife - placed back into its leather sheath - is attached to her belt. The baggies containing that illicit stimulant are deposited into one of the inside pockets of her ratty winter coat. The collection of throwing knives are then secreted in various places on her person. The zippo lighter bearing the state flag of Florida is tossed into her pants pocket, and one bottle of moonshine is placed to the side. The camoflague neck gaiter is pulled down her head and - slick with the grease from her unwashed hair - brought to rest around her neck.
As for the rest - the map, the binoculars, the remaining bottles and cigarettes and assorted pills - they are shoved back into her small olive-green backpack. Tossing her bag out of the shelter's opening, Billy rises into a crouch and pushes her way outside the makeshift tent - making sure to grab the lantern and bottle before she exits out into the elements.
Taking a few steps away from the shelter, she turns around to face it. Minutes pass, as she stands in the cold and dark, the only light coming from the lantern held in her right hand.
At last, she opens her mouth and begins to sing. The voice sounds like it is coming from someone else; ANYONE else, other than the crude and feral Billy Bennett. But no, it's her; the polar opposite of her gravelly, harsh speaking voice. If it weren't coming out of her mouth, you might even mistake it for that of a lounge singer down in Miami.
"I lit out from Reno, I was trailed by twenty hounds..."
"Didn't get to sleep that night 'till the mornin' came around..."
"Set out runnin' but I take my time..."
"A friend of the Devil is..." her melodic, strangely beautiful singing is cut off by a sudden laugh that strangles the words in her throat. Whatever it is that she finds funny, it doesn't just cause her to chuckle or giggle; her entire body is wracked with laughter, bending forward as she comes dangerously close to dropping the lit lantern on the ground in front of her.
She gasps out the rest of the words between barking laughs, as she struggles to regain control of herself, "a... friend... of... mine..."
That said, she surrenders herself to the cackling once more; only stopping, finally, to uncap the bottle of moonshine and down a few mouthfuls. Slowly, the manic energy is leeched out of her body, and she stands tall once more.
With calm, steady hands, she empties out the remainder of the bootleg liquor onto the tent. The bottle now empty, she casts it to one side and takes a few steps back before throwing the lantern forward with an overhead toss... the glass containing the flame shatters once it hits the ground, immediately igniting the highly flammable liquid and setting the shelter ablaze.
She stands and watches in silence for several minutes, until something spurs her into action once more. Billy shrugs her shoulders, as if dismissing the entirety of the conversation she had been holding with the imaginary specter of her father; none of it matters, anyway. There's only one thing she cares about now, and that's sharing a little bit of the pain she has grown accustomed to with the rest of the Fallout roster... showing them the meaning of agony, the truth behind the mask of civility which even the most savage fighters wear to some degree.
"Maybe I'll see ya soon, papa. In the meantime, sit back and watch the monster ya created. It's going to be one hell of a show, I promise that."
Her final words, before turning her back on the dying blaze and staring into the distance at the town. The time until her next hunt grows short, and she begins to walk towards her destination as if driven by some outside force. Like she had no choice in the matter, and was unconsciously spurred on by the promise of violence in the abandoned town.
And on Billy's otherwise impassive face is a wide, toothy, twitching smile which serves as the only hint of the bloodlust dwelling within the diminutive hunter.
At her back, a chill wind blows, pushing her forward towards the killing fields of Whalan.
November 25th
3:08am
Just outside Whalan, MN
A makeshift shelter stands between the banks of Root River to the east, and the town of Whalan to the west. Looking like it has been hastily constructed with a canvas tarp and several stakes of wood, it sits far off the main road into town.
In the dark that smothers the fields surrounding it, only a single, flickering light from within the tent provides a bulwark against the black abyss of night. And inside is one of the competitors for the bloodbath to come later in the day: Billy Bennett. In front of an oil lantern, wrapped in a heavy coat to provide some protection against the temperatures, she sits cross-legged. Laying in front of her is a collection of equipment, removed from her duffel bag and arrayed between herself and the lantern.
Her trusty bowie knife lay unsheathed on the ground alongside several other items: a map of Whalan, a large loop of snare wire, small throwing knives with handles wrapped in black paracord, an unlabeled bottle of pills, a few plastic baggies containing a crystalline substance, a few bottles of moonshine, a pair of binoculars, her camouflage-print neck gaiter, cigarettes, and a rusty Zippo lighter bearing the state flag of Florida. She believes in coming prepared, even to feed her vices.
Billy stares into the lantern's flame, the reflection of it lighting up her otherwise dead, faraway eyes. Arms wrapped around herself, she rocks back and forth; as though she were matching the rhythm of some unheard music. The only counterpoint to the overwhelming silence is the occasional howling blast of wind, which shakes the canvas walls of the tent and sends a fresh chill running down her spine.
While she could easily step into the open and construct a fire to warm herself in the pre-dawn chill, she doesn't seem the least bit interested in doing so. She has come early to acclimate herself to the cold of this northern state; it's something she has never had to experience, outside the occasional bit of family business with contacts in North Dakota. Allowing herself the comfort of a fire would defeat the whole purpose. If warmth was what she sought, there was no shortage of roadside motels on the drive up here.
She passed them all, abandoning the stolen vehicle some distance away from her present spot and making her way here on foot and under cover of darkness. Her paranoid, ever-vigilant mind had her looking out for possible attackers; she did not survive in a place as dangerous as the Everglades, and with a family as ruthless as hers, by being sloppy or careless. She knew someone might have a mind to start the Purge a little early, and rid themselves of some pesky competition ahead of time.
So far, there has been so sign of anyone following her, no ambushes set on her path. Just darkness, and quiet... without the near-constant hiss of snakes, insects buzzing about, or gators breaking the surface of water only to descend into the depths once more, the silence is almost eerie. Fortunately for her, she has company of sorts. Billy's eyes remain fixed on that lantern, mumbling the occasional word under her breath; as though she were listening - and responding - to some voice from within the flame.
Finally, there’s a bit of movement beyond the nodding of her head and back-and-forth rocking of her body. Reaching out with one hand, she grabs the handle of her Bowie knife. Opening one of the small baggies laid out alongside her equipment, she dips the tip of the blade into the pile of crystalline powder within. Guiding the small bump to her nostril, she snorts it up like a thirsty man wandering the desert might guzzle water. Immediately, the rocking of her body stops as pupils dilate to encompass the entirety of her irises; black holes driving away the brown of her eyes in an instant.
A heavy sigh, practically dripping with ecstasy, pours out of her slackened mouth as the effects of that substance take hold. And with that, her shaking and nodding have ceased; mind frosting over with a renewed focus. She grits her teeth together, spit forming little cotton balls in her mouth as the dopamine surges through her body and floods her brain with pleasure.
Billy resumes the nodding of her head, her gaze still fixed on the lantern. At last, there is a gravelly, phlegmy noise as she clears her throat and begins to speak in uncharacteristically hushed tones.
"I know you ain't a fan of me usin' the product, old man... but ya don't exactly get a say no more. Hell, it's a special occasion if I ever seen one; ain't every day that your li'l girl gets to practice her craft on somethin' even deadlier than the gators back home.”
"And it ain't just this Purge that's got me feelin' good. This Fallout thing might be the only place outside the swamp where I felt like I really belonged. A bunch of crazy fucks who got the same love of blood and sufferin' that I do. A home away from home, finally..."
"So, yea, I'm goin' to indulge a bit. There's no need to play at bein' civil, pretendin' to follow the rules, when Arik Holt is lettin' us all loose like this. I don't know where they found that man, but I'm damn glad he's runnin' the show now... lettin' us do what we do best, God bless him."
"Today, we make the town of Whalan come alive with screams of agony. Any bullshit illusions these folk might have about humanity are going to disappear when this whole thing kicks off."
A pause, as if she were listening to a reply from deep within the lantern's flame.
"Hell naw, I ain't afraid! Ya oughta know better than that... after all, ya raised me this way, didn't ya? Wasn't that your whole plan? Make me and the boys so scared of what you'd do to us, that we didn't have any room left in our minds to be scared of nothin' else? Well, mission accomplished, because now that you're gone there ain't a damn thing on this earth that can put the fear of God into me."
"Be honest, for the first fuckin' time in your... well, I guess I can't call it your 'life' no more. But anyway, ya never wanted children, right? Not like most parents want 'em. Ya wanted attack dogs, snarlin' beasts that would kill - and die - to protect your territory, trained animals that ya could aim at the family's 'problems'. Thing with fightin' dogs is, ya never really OWN 'em. Ya feed 'em, ya teach 'em, ya hope ya can make 'em afraid of ya. But if ya can't, if for a second that terror fails, if they decide they'd rather feed on your guts than the scraps ya see fit to throw 'em... well, then ya got a problem, huh? Somethin' ya learned a bit too late, I guess. I'd say 'better luck next time', but that's the kind of mistake ya only get to make once."
"Ya must've seen it comin'... or maybe ya didn't. Maybe ya thought we really were that afraid, that we knew our place, and wouldn't try to strain against the leash until ya were already dead and buried."
"Might have even been true, but for one thing: Bo ain't like the rest of us. Your firstborn was always hungrier than us other kids. Been that way as far back as I can remember. Not satisfied with bein' second man on the totem pole, always thinkin' he could do a better job runnin' the show. I'd see him, lickin' his lips whenever he looked at your spot on top, wantin' that for himself more than anythin' else. Ya really thought he'd wait, huh? Fuckin' stupid, if ya ask me; but ya never were as clever as ya wanted everyone else to think."
"Well, shit, guess I'm gettin' off on a rant here. Where was I..."
She lifts one icy hand to scratch the underside of her chin, eyes twitching as she tries to find the point she lost somewhere in this drug-fuelled, rambling conversation with herself. Finding her train of thought once more, she snaps back into it; hardly missing a beat.
"Right. My opponents. Well, they're fighters, nothin' more. No matter how violent they might be, they don't have the same skills I do, or the same experience survivin' in a place where the laws of society don’t mean shit. Their home is in the ring, squarin' up toe-to-toe on even footin'. They won't last in a proper hunt; they ain't used to keepin their wits sharp every fuckin' second... they go out, they wrestle, and they relax until next time."
'Relaxing' wasn't something that Billy had much experience with. Being aware of her surroundings every waking hour held a lot more importance out in the swamp than any place these city dwellers would be familiar with. In civilization, you could drop your guard... that wasn't the case in the place the Bennetts called home. The climate this far north might not be something that Billy is used to, but the principles of the hunt remain the same regardless of the location.
"Me? Well, I grew up lookin' over my shoulder. That was the only way to survive in our family, right? Even without the enemies we make in our line of work, we can't be caught slippin' out in the marsh... wouldn't have made it past childhood if I didn't keep one eye open. Sure as shit wouldn't still be drawin' breath if I weren't so damn careful."
"I could always smell trouble; the scent of blood in the air, even before it was spilled. That static noise that fills my ears just before things go bad. Ya can’t learn that in some air-conditioned gym, trainin’ for a fight.”
"Huh, what'd you say? True Society? Naw, I ain't forget about 'em..."
Silence again, listening to the response which only she can hear.
"Mmm. Fair point, I suppose. Let me tell ya, though: for all the advantages their numbers provide, they ain't invincible. Might be a few minutes, might be an hour, might even last until there's only a few people left... but eventually, their ties will snap the moment that 'allies’ start to look the same as enemies to 'em. They'll stare at one another, and wonder who is going to be the first to stick a knife in their back."
"Hell, as I recall it wasn't more than two weeks ago that Havoc and Baker turned on one of their own. Don't rightly know what that was all about, but if they'll throw one of their own to the wolves, what makes ya think they'll last when the going really gets tough out here?"
"They ain't family; they ain't even friends, far as I can tell. Their alliance won't last when it comes down to the wire. And I hope I get to see it... see 'em at each other's throats as they turn on their own. Snakes bitin' at their own tails, somethin’ you and I know aaaall about…”
"Now, if I had to bet money, I'd say that Slade Castle will be the first to realize the truth. That their little group ain't as much of an asset in the Purge as it is everywhere else. Even if I didn't hear about his past in the service, a killer can always recognize one of their own. The moment I saw that man... the way he moves, how he carries himself, the viciousness hidin’ in that thousand yard stare... well, I don't doubt he's taken more lives than all us Bennett kids combined. Excitin', ain't it?"
"See, a former Marine surely knows what real violence looks like. They have to work as a unit, but they know what happens when a weak link threatens the safety of the squad. I don't think a man as serious as Castle will take that chance with so much on the line. How can ya really rely on anyone else when there are no rules, and only one person walks out with their arms raised?"
"As for the rest of the roster, it seems a lot of these folk have history. Grudges, rivalries, fuckin' pathetic high school drama, all that bullshit. Draggin' that nonsense into this sort of thing ain't goin' to end well for 'em, that much I'm sure of. Can't have emotions durin' times like these, that shit only acts as a liability... it's dead weight, keepin' 'em from bein' as fast, as ruthless, as brutal as they're going to need to be."
"Add to that the titles that are up for grabs, and I bet they'll be rushin' into the fray like a pack of blind pigs who smell slop. Messy, predictable, ready for the slaughter. Now, me? I don't care about no gold belts. Let the herd fight for their precious, meaningless prizes, for all the good it'll do 'em in the end. I only want one thing: to make 'em scream for a mercy that ain't ever comin'."
Another pause, longer than the last, before Billy scoffs and offers a nod in concession to the spirit she communes with.
"Alright, ya got me. Guess ya know your li'l girl too well, huh? There is something else I got my eye on tonight... the one that got away, if ya want to call him that. Syndicate. He might not know it, but Arik did him a hell of a favor when he switched up our li'l tag team match. And yea, I heard what he had to say about me beforehand... somethin' about 'it's not the swamp, you ain't shit outside your fuckin' backwater'. Ignorant ass city folk won't ever understand the truth..."
"...that no matter the place, there are some things that are universal. Ya hit a bone hard enough, it breaks. Ya cut somethin', it bleeds. Ya hurt someone juuuuust right, and they make such beautiful music. And if ya put enough pressure on something's neck, then it won't be doin' anything else ever again. Just as true in this frozen shithole, or in the wrestlin' ring, as it is back in Florida."
"If I'm lucky, I'll find that boy before he's too weak, run-down and tired to give me a proper fight. He owes me that."
Her hands have been trembling as she rambled and raved for the past several minutes; as if realizing it for the first time, she pauses and looks down at them. Clenching her eyes shut to steady herself, the shaking finally subsides.
"Ya ain't here to breath down my neck no more, papa, but I ain't forget the lessons. Ya taught me to be tougher than the rest of 'em. More ruthless than the boys could ever be... hell, I'd even wager I'm smarter than mama when it comes right down to it. How the fuck could I not be? Should've died more than a handful of times growin’ up, since y'all never bothered protectin' me like I was your daughter. But why would ya? Ya never saw me as that. Naw, I was just another weapon for you to use against your enemies. Well, that weapon is sharper than ever, and I've only got one person to thank for that."
"That's right, I never said it while ya were livin', but thanks. Can't have been more than 6 or 7 when ya put that ol' Winchester in my hand, and had me takin' turns on sentry duty with them boys. When other kids were in fuckin' grade school learnin' their numbers, you taught us the only numbers that REALLY mattered: nine millimeter, sixteen ounces to a pound, twelve gauge shells, ten inches of blade, and six feet under. Ya knew well enough what was important, and ya taught us how to survive in this world. No more, no less.”
"Guess I'm takin' the long way of sayin' it, but I'm grateful. I can't imagine bein' as ignorant, as naive, as fuckin' weak as the rest of these fools. So, I appreciate the work you put into raising us. And that's all you'll get out of me, old man. I sure ain't about to apologize for what happened to ya that day... ya had it comin', you've got to know that much, no matter how stubborn ya are."
She falls silent again, as her hands move towards the equipment laid out in front of her. The bowie knife - placed back into its leather sheath - is attached to her belt. The baggies containing that illicit stimulant are deposited into one of the inside pockets of her ratty winter coat. The collection of throwing knives are then secreted in various places on her person. The zippo lighter bearing the state flag of Florida is tossed into her pants pocket, and one bottle of moonshine is placed to the side. The camoflague neck gaiter is pulled down her head and - slick with the grease from her unwashed hair - brought to rest around her neck.
As for the rest - the map, the binoculars, the remaining bottles and cigarettes and assorted pills - they are shoved back into her small olive-green backpack. Tossing her bag out of the shelter's opening, Billy rises into a crouch and pushes her way outside the makeshift tent - making sure to grab the lantern and bottle before she exits out into the elements.
Taking a few steps away from the shelter, she turns around to face it. Minutes pass, as she stands in the cold and dark, the only light coming from the lantern held in her right hand.
At last, she opens her mouth and begins to sing. The voice sounds like it is coming from someone else; ANYONE else, other than the crude and feral Billy Bennett. But no, it's her; the polar opposite of her gravelly, harsh speaking voice. If it weren't coming out of her mouth, you might even mistake it for that of a lounge singer down in Miami.
"I lit out from Reno, I was trailed by twenty hounds..."
"Didn't get to sleep that night 'till the mornin' came around..."
"Set out runnin' but I take my time..."
"A friend of the Devil is..." her melodic, strangely beautiful singing is cut off by a sudden laugh that strangles the words in her throat. Whatever it is that she finds funny, it doesn't just cause her to chuckle or giggle; her entire body is wracked with laughter, bending forward as she comes dangerously close to dropping the lit lantern on the ground in front of her.
She gasps out the rest of the words between barking laughs, as she struggles to regain control of herself, "a... friend... of... mine..."
That said, she surrenders herself to the cackling once more; only stopping, finally, to uncap the bottle of moonshine and down a few mouthfuls. Slowly, the manic energy is leeched out of her body, and she stands tall once more.
With calm, steady hands, she empties out the remainder of the bootleg liquor onto the tent. The bottle now empty, she casts it to one side and takes a few steps back before throwing the lantern forward with an overhead toss... the glass containing the flame shatters once it hits the ground, immediately igniting the highly flammable liquid and setting the shelter ablaze.
She stands and watches in silence for several minutes, until something spurs her into action once more. Billy shrugs her shoulders, as if dismissing the entirety of the conversation she had been holding with the imaginary specter of her father; none of it matters, anyway. There's only one thing she cares about now, and that's sharing a little bit of the pain she has grown accustomed to with the rest of the Fallout roster... showing them the meaning of agony, the truth behind the mask of civility which even the most savage fighters wear to some degree.
"Maybe I'll see ya soon, papa. In the meantime, sit back and watch the monster ya created. It's going to be one hell of a show, I promise that."
Her final words, before turning her back on the dying blaze and staring into the distance at the town. The time until her next hunt grows short, and she begins to walk towards her destination as if driven by some outside force. Like she had no choice in the matter, and was unconsciously spurred on by the promise of violence in the abandoned town.
And on Billy's otherwise impassive face is a wide, toothy, twitching smile which serves as the only hint of the bloodlust dwelling within the diminutive hunter.
At her back, a chill wind blows, pushing her forward towards the killing fields of Whalan.
