Memory Logs

Selfless Protection

7. Selfless Protection

[ Meeting 102; Mount Ormond Resort. ]

The bite of the snow was enough to make Meg wish she'd been more prepared, although that was an impossible expectation considering they never knew where they would end up. Staring up a large log cabin, she wished she at least had some boots or something. Zarina Kassir, a relatively new survivor that had proven to be extremely kind and witty, unlooped her scarf from around her neck and carefully wrapped it around Meg's neck and shoulders. The wooly fabric was warm, comforting, and smelled like the documentarian's perfume; breathing in the scent and thanking the Lebanese woman quietly, Meg got to work on the nearby generator while Zarina snuck off.

The longer she messed with the wires on the side of the machine, trying to get it to start, the more worried she got; she hadn't heard the awful ringing of the Wraith's bell, the eerie zapping of the Doctor's electrical powers, or the howling of the Oni... or god forbid, the CLAP of any of Evan's traps.

Evan?

Since when did she start calling him that?

A breath of frustration left the red-head, shooting out in a white puff in the frigid air. Ormond Resort was a massive area, perfect for stretching her legs and seeing just how fast she could really run - but it was also dangerous, and a brief glance down at her meager tennis shoes told her she could very well slip in the snow if she wasn't careful.

"Well well well."

Meg froze. Though she hadn't heard the voice too many times, she knew it well. Still holding wires, she slowly turned her head to look at a masked figure peering down at her. The grin in his voice matched the one on his bloodied mask, and he wielded a small, razor-sharp knife, toying with it between his fingers. The Legion were some of the nastiest killers she'd come across in this hell-hole; they not only enjoyed the killing... they were extremely bloodthirsty - especially their quick, snarky, ambitious leader; Frank. She didn't know the names of most of the killers, never bothered to, but every time he killed her, he looked her in the eyes and made sure she remembered it. Even when specific trial memories were foggy, she could never forget his laugh and his insults as he stabbed her.

A shiver rolled down her spine; one that had nothing to do with the weather. "What do you want, you wrinkly mushroom?" she demanded, sounding braver than she felt.

A snicker left him. The moment he took a step closer, Meg found herself reeling back, stepping around and behind the generator to put something between them. Frank approached the generator, scraping the tip of his knife along the metal, seemingly unbothered by the horrible scraping sound it caused. "You know, for a weak little bitch with a miserable track record on staying alive, you sure do run your big mouth," he said quaintly, tilting his hooded head. "I almost wish I had a needle and thread - that way I could sew it shut. I guess I'll just have to make do with cutting out your liver. What do you say? You gonna run like you always do? You might be able to out-run one of those massive fucking fools like the Shape, or Anna, but me?" With that, he prodded the knife against his own chest. His voice went low and icy. "I'm the only killer that can keep the fuck up. Go ahead; try out-running me, you vapid bitch."

Meg swallowed the lump in her throat. His insults meant nothing - Frank always talked out of his ass - but his threats... she knew he could make good on them. She didn't want to call his bluff... because it wasn't a bluff. It was plain and simple fact. Her blue-gray eyes darted around, searching for an escape route; there was a pallet behind her, and a window she could vault through to get into the cabin. That would have to do. Boldly, she growled, "Go suck a dick, Frank."