Phasma (phasmic) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-10-01 16:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | marvel: comics: melissa gold, star wars: canon: phasma |
Who: Phasma and Melissa Gold
What: Dead End
When: Late Day 8
Where: The Sewers and into the Fallout Shelter
Warnings: Hunger Games, TBD
All Phasma knew was that she had to get out of that cave. The oppressive damp atmosphere and the heat from the steaming pools - though a relief just a few days ago - was starting to sink in now and raise a bolt of tension up her spine and into the base of her skull. She should have left a trail of dead behind her when she left, too; it would have been a mercy. Instead, she slipped out unnoticed and started through the chaos of caverns looking for anything, anyone who might choose this moment to test her increasingly frayed patience. This needed to end, and it needed to end quickly. Where she found herself, however, was at the end of a long sewer system. After days camping near the sulfurous hot springs, the stench hardly bothered her, nor did the dim light. It was the calf-deep water that had her recoiling slightly and reconsidering her course of action. But this entire place was filled with water in some way or another and her only options right now were either investigating what was at the end of this or finding her way back to that cave of bones. The latter was far less appealing. She should have just stayed down in those strange, desolate caverns, where the whispers coming from the walls drowned out the whispers coming from her own head. But she hadn't. So Phasma adjusted her bag and pulled her flashlight out, taking a monumental risk in shining it across the surface of the water as she checked for any unseen hazards. Then she carefully stepped from one broken piece of concrete and debris to the next. Her stride had always been a benefit to her in navigating her rocky homeworld, and so it was here. As long as he feet stayed out of the water, she could more than handle the occasional sharp pinch of rock trying to bite up through her boots. How many other people had been through here, she couldn't tell; nor could she tell whether she would find a fight or not at the other end of this. But every move in this place was a risk and whether or not it was one worth taking was no longer something she could measure. There was no logic, no sense of reason to anything. She couldn't help but think - and was it her own voice she was thinking in or someone else's? - that the only course of action that made sense was to systematically kill every last person there and get it over with. What difference did it make? This was who she was. Why was she trying to prove that she could be any different and who was she even trying to prove it to? It was folly, utter nonsense. And yet... here she was trying to seclude herself from people rather than going after them. Really, all she wanted was some damn quiet. |