Snippet #1492999

A. Golikova
Castle Main Building, Second Floor (F4)

Golikova moved between still-twitching bodies, ending lives as quickly as possible with tugs of her knife across throats. There was something almost... ritualistic about the repetitive motion of such a thing, as though her muscles remembered exactly how. She had thought it would be best to not dwell on such things, that they were ultimately irrelevant to survival, but the more she saw, the less she was able to believe this. Her name had been on a floppy disk here. Hers. It gave her the feeling that whoever the lot of them were, they were all connected to whatever was going on here, and therefore anything they could know about themselves, down to the tiniest detail, would be beneficial.

The thought was disconcerting, representing as it did a complete change from her attitude until this point. Looking up from her grim task at last, she caught sight of P, looking a little worse for wear, but otherwise fine. Frowning, she searched for Taylor, only to see that he was against a wall, bleeding from one arm. P seemed to notice about the same time she did, and since he was closer, he made it to the man's side first.

"What the hell happened?" The words struck Golikova with the force of a truck, because she knew exactly what had happened. The wound was obviously from a bullet, and none of the Handless were capable of wielding one, which meant the party responsible was either P, or... herself. The Russian knew what the real answer was. If the bullet had been from the other man's gun, Taylor would have been struck from behind, not the side.

The knowledge froze the blond woman in place for a painful few seconds, before another question reminded her that the world was still moving. "You need to disinvect as much as you can, or at least clean vis vater. Zen dig out ze bullet. Probably vis a knife, as clean as possible," she answered automatically, though her tone lacked its customary strength. "Zen bandage. No stitches, because unless ve can find better supplies, zat will probably just cause infection." She looked down at the blood covering her right knife and arm, and then at her left. It was much cleaner, and she flipped it, holding it handle-out for P to take if he so chose. She swallowed thickly, unable to shoot so much as a glance at Taylor.

She had shot him. She had injured one of her teammates. Not panicky Stone, not evasive P, not aggressive Taylor. Her, the one who was supposed to be calm, rational, precise.

The worst part was... she was fairly certain, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, that this was not the first time.

Individual Movement
Offers Newman knife