My eyes burned under the dusky sunlight coming from the windows.

My arm hurt, my hand, my knees, my chest, my head - everything felt heavier like the gravity had been dialed upwards. Like I would have to crawl painfully from A to B, my head feeling compressed and about to explode.

That's how I felt.

I licked my dry lips, opening my eyes and moving my head slowly of the pillow placed under it. I moaned softly as my muscles felt like rusty parts of a car, pins and needles rising up my legs and arms. I stretched out my hands only to find something there.

My knuckles had been bandaged tightly, blood seeping through the fabric. I inspected them closer and saw bruises peeking out from them extending up my fingers.

I went to move off the bed, in hopes to see if anyone was outside the door of the room. I was in the bedroom they used to perform surgery on Carl when he had been shot. I remembered it was on the first floor of the Greene's house.

But my right arm was being restrained by a small needle sticking into it, connecting to an I.V.

I groaned deeply, using my shaky arms to sit up. My weakness was sickening and made me incredibly frustrated.

I breathed heavily through parted lips, my hands grazing the walls as I walked along them.Something inside me said that this was heaven and this was the "light" people always talked about.

But I wasn't going to heaven.

There was a thin layer of sweat on my skin, a feverish coldness painting my body even as I felt inside like I was on fire.

I blinked hard, hoping my vision would become less blurry and more focused.

My throat and stomach convulsed, warm liquid erupted from my mouth and I brought my still bandaged hands to my chin. The bile spilled down my past my lips and neck, falling to the floor. I coughed violently, spitting the aftertaste to the space around me.

My stomach contracted multiple times, sucking in and out rapidly.

My stomach upturned itself again, burning my throat and the substance falling onto the floor again.

It was like a clock that just didn't tick, it was doing all the inside work too fast and my body wasn't even doing its job. My body hurt - it hurt and it was coming from the inside, something I couldn't fight or try to prevent; it was like a curse... well, it must have been a disease of some sort and I had no idea.

I crawled the best I could to the edge of the bed, gripping the fabrics and leaning over so I could throw up more. All until there was nothing left. But my throat still tried to rid itself of every single, little bit of burning vomit and tainted saliva.

Hands came to my shoulders, rubbing my back softly in caring circles.

I looked around quickly, lashing out automatically to see Maggie with a concerned expression that made me feel even sicker.

"You're not doing too good," she stated, a small wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. She kept rubbing my back and looked into my eyes. "My dad says you need bed rest. You were dehydrated and malnourished."

I must have looked like one of the walkers exploring the highway and fields that forest that surrounded the farm.

She brought the back of her hand to my forehead, my initial response was the flinch away but her fingers were a releasing cold temperature on my slick skin.

"Your fever's not as worse as yesterday," she leaned back, adjusting her legs on the bed.

The room was a dark, dusty, and glowing atmosphere.

"You need to be looking after yourself."

She abruptly stood, reaching over to the hanging IV and taking it away to leave with herself. She stepped to the edge of the doorway, turning on her heel and watching me intently and worriedly. She fiddled with the IV in her hands, as she took one last look and made her way out of the room.

Like the room, I felt so bare - stripped of things I didn't know what. Hours were stolen from me, and I needed to know what had happened.

What had happened to Randall?

The determination to find out surpassed the ache my whole body held, and I started for the door. Following in the steps of Maggie.

I gripped the doorframe as I peered through the hallways, watching shadows pass and figures scurry from room to room.

Everyone; they were all arranging things and carrying belongings.

There was nothing special I spotted until Glenn passed my glance with a guitar and a purple backpack. My purple backpack.

They were bringing my belongings inside, even more as I peaked around, they were bringing everything in. I had missed a lot and I needed to know what happened to Randall.

Was he dead?

Hershel had not been compliant or welcoming enough to let us live in his house, but now everyone was rolling out blankets and making indoor picnics?

The breath caught in my throat when someone's hands came to my shoulders.

"Uh- Marley? My daddy said-" Beth's soft voice was thrown at me from nowhere but I cut her off.

"Shut up," I ordered steadily. "Just shut up."

She looked taken aback and slightly scared as she retracted her hands and looked around like she didn't know what to do.

I took my opportunity before she scurried away and lightly placed the back of my hand on her shoulder, and she stood glued to the spot.

"I'm gonna ask you once, Bethy," I whispered, hoping no one would interrupt from around the corner. "And only you need to answer yes or no."

She nodded.

"Is Randall dead?"

She looked to the ground and quickly muttered a small, "no."

Anger coursed through my body but at the same time, I was kind of glad he wasn't dead whilst I had been passed out.

As I had told Dale, I was going to watch. I was going to get satisfaction at the sight of Randall's head being split open. I was going to like seeing a disgusting human being getting given his justice.

I had figured out recently that to deal with the villains and killers our world was being built on, you had to out-villain them.

You had to be better at bad than them.

I still had my hand gently placed on Beth, just to intimidate her. I looked her straight in the eyes and she looked like she was going to cry.

"Don't cry," I assured, the corner of my mouth lifting upwards. "Just don't tell anyone I've left."

I brushed past her before she could respond, going out the back way of the house. I swung the door hard and quickly leaned up against the wall of the house.

I had to clutch my ribs to catch my breath.

What I was about to do required all the energy I could muster - in my lungs, my skin, my blood, muscles, and my bones. Everything I had inside me was being channeled by anger and adrenaline.

My steps were rushed as I made my way that damn shed. With my fist curling by my side, it came into my view.

I looked over my shoulder quickly, spotting unaware people too busy to realize I was gone.

I smiled.

It got closer, and closer - it was growing bigger, and taller, like it wanted to challenge me. A wall to climb or something to beat down.

It was like I was playing a game.

Like I was the hound and Randall was the Fox.

I stopped when I came to the door, taking deep shaky breaths and then I looked to the lock. To my surprise, it was open with the lock hanging loosely off the handle.

Ripping open the door there was Shane, leaning forward on a stool until I disturbed his peace and he looked to me.

His eyes turned wide and mine turned dark.

I spoke no words and only silently wanted the man to leave; Shane knew what I wanted to do.

He stood and I went to push him out of the way and make my way to Randall; the one thing I have been wanting to hurt that past week.

But Shane grabbed my shoulder with one hand and used his other to cover my mouth, roughly backing me up outside the small building.

He was too strong, too big for me and an obstacle in my plan.

I struggled with him as much as he could, taking the hand he had over my mouth between my teeth and biting.

I tasted blood and it dripped from my lips, the salty liquid coating the back of my throat.

He hissed and took his hand back, quickly shushing me and lowering himself to my level; where our green and brown eyes met.

I spat, the blood spraying from my mouth. I ran my tongue along my lips, tasting it and swallowing heavily.

"You can't just kill him here," Shane started, his voice gravelly and torn. I went to protest before he spoke again. "But... I have an idea."

With red-stained teeth, I grinned uncurling my fists and leaning back on the shed in ease.

+

"Shh! Go that way," Shane barked orders at the prisoner, pushing him along the forest. Randall stumbled through the leaves and uneven ground.

Whereas I took steady steps, stalking carefully behind them. My head turned down and watching him from afar.

I observed from around the trees, making eye contact with Shane only when he looked back at me.

They suddenly stopped, Shane taking the rag from Randall's mouth and shushing him desperately. He kept Randall facing away from me, so the boy couldn't make a real run for it.

It was no secret that Randall was scared of me the most.

The plan Shane had explained set me up to have no part in Randall's disappearance - that's what the others would believe.

Like we both had done with Otis, we were going to tell a story. Design what we wanted people to think, and pull the strings on what people knew.

This was going to be my design.

Randall was going to seemingly escape from his shed, slipping from the cuffs, then surpassing us both to run into the woods.

The group could do what they wanted with that story, but they weren't going to touch us.

I put my hand on a nearby tree, fingering the box-cutter Shane had given me. It pressed against my leg as I toyed with the handle, digging the sharp side into my thigh for a moment.

I peered around the tree, watching the man and boy start walking again.

Randall talked and talked about absolutely nothing useful. He explained his group.

"Gets a little crazy sometimes, but it's a tough bunch of guys," Randall walked awkwardly on his still injured leg, hobbling left and right, looking back to Shane. "You'll fit in good."

"Less talking, more walking," Shane grumbled, pushing him along and turning around to look at me again whilst still following Randall.

He nodded at me, and I followed then faster.

As I got closer, Randall got louder.

"Look, I run my mouth when I get nervous," he shuddered.

I didn't want to hear his voice anymore, and I haunting feeling in my stomach that was incredibly hard to describe soared up my body. It was like a suit or a mask, basking me in sinful liquid - like my body was trying to catch up with my mind and what it wanted.

I ran a hand through my hair as I took a deep breath.

But with my hand came a lock of hair; it was probably more than a lock, but I was in denial.

I stopped following them to look down to my hand and assess what I was doing.

My body was dying; like it was cracking in multiple places.

It was telling me I probably wasn't built for this.

The follicles circled my fingers in red and rose gold. I licked my lips as I let the hair fall to the ground, the light wisps collecting at my feet and sending a sick feeling to my stomach.

The ghost of the person I once was hung over me, following my every move.

I walked faster now, making up for lost time.

"It ain't all about you," I heard Shane say. He seemed distant and preoccupied, not at all focused on the task at hand.

I silently jogged over to another tree trunk, on the left of them both.

Hidden from them, I passed them without a glance and only heard them walking closer to me.

Their steps were ringing in my ears like an alarm, everything I felt was heightened.

Adrenaline was pumping through my veins like wildfire and my breaths quickened as I anticipated the first look on Randall's face.

Gripping the handle of the knife tightly, feeling my knuckles lose blood and my hand ache - I waited.

"I ain't saying it's about me. Just trying to-" He cut off his own words, suspending them in his thoughts as we came face to face.

His eyes widened, he looked absolutely terrified and I took a moment to look at his horrified expression.

I was one step before him, as he took one of his last breaths I jumped into action.

With one quick swipe towards his windpipe, a thin line etched into his throat and started to pour thick, red liquid.

The pain didn't register in him, and his eyes widened and his mouth quivered. He looked me in the eyes with a mixture of disbelief and horror.

His bound hands reached up to his throat as he coughed, more blood showing, this time from his mouth. His fingers touched his neck, mixing wth his own blood.

His body leaned forward towards me, and I was too in the moment to try and stop him from starting towards me.

There was something about slitting someone's throat open that washed over me and I didn't understand it.

I started to almost hyperventilate when Randall's taller body made contact with mine and our bodies fell to the ground with his on top of mine.

His blood was warm as it washed my front and started to stain my neck, reaching my face all the whilst I watched in awe and curiosity.

The way his eyes were so desperate to keep the life in them and the way they stared at me; the way any eyes would when you had just cut them deep.

The way his hands clutched his throat so tight it looked like he was trying to kill himself, but he wasn't; he was trying to stay alive.

I grasped his wrists, roughly tackling him sideways to where he was underneath me. My knees dug into his ribs and I held his arms beside him and I watched intently.

He still struggled as his mouth gurgled with even more blood.

There was so much blood.

He struggled, and he bled and he was dying. It hadn't hit me yet.

I squeezed his wrists tightly like a vice and I spat in his face the blood that had leaked into my mouth. My eyes were crazed and my body shook on top of him, as I watched the blood pour from his neck and mouth - the life slowly and surely leaving him.

And it left.

I felt no pulse between my fingers, and yet I still sat there like I was waiting for him to die.

But he had died.

I clenched my teeth so hard I thought my jaw was going to break; because I was still waiting for him to die, when he had already died.

It didn't have the effect I wanted.

I suddenly let go, bringing my red hands towards me as I kept my eyes on Randall's stunned expression that was painted on him, with layers of more red and more blood.

My chest was tight as I looked from my hands to Randall, and back.

I covered my mouth with my hand, silencing my panic attack that threatened to rise.

I moved off Randall, kneeling on the leaves and inspecting myself.

It didn't feel the way I wanted it to feel, I wanted it to be good - I wanted to feel good about getting rid of Randall and his disgusting self.

Randall was something I hated, I kept thinking of what he put those girls through and how Randall was a nuisance to the whole group.

I felt like I was doing a service but I still killed somebody.

I just killed someone.

So I blocked it out, I sucked in a breath looking up to the sky - breathing in the scent of metal and earth mixing together on the ground.

Then I breathed out...

"What now?" I asked out, still sensing Shane standing over this scene. I looked over my shoulder, my hair falling over my face and getting stuck to the blood that was still there. "What's our story?" What's our design?

Shane didn't speak for a moment and  knew he was just assessing the situation and me, it must have been an image to see me like this. To see me kneeling beside a dead body with its life on my hands.

"I'll go back and tell 'em he escaped," his voice was hard and still drifting off to another thought. Shane wasn't focused and he wasn't here.

I stood shakingly, my palms facing upwards in front of me. The liquid pooled in my hands and I stepped over Randall's static body.

I walked towards Shane, watching his eyes follow me.

"How did he escape?" I tried.

He looked to Randall and then back to me. "Clocked me in the face."

There was a pause but I didn't see myself swinging my fist straight into Shane's nose. His head jerked back and my knuckles bruised at how hard I hit him.

It needed to look like he got clipped.

"There," I stated, shaking my hand around.

Shane didn't protest as he pinched the bridge of his nose and sniffed.

There was so much blood.

"Yeah," he lifted an eyebrow, shifting on his feet.

"What do I do?" I asked and he gave me an answer straight away, ignoring his probably broken nose and grasping my shoulders.

"Take a different route," he whispered darkly. "I'll take care of it." He sounded so sincere it almost broke me. It almost struck a cord within me.

"Thank you," I sounded indifferent and emotionless, giving lukewarm reactions to everything around me.

Everything was off until further notice.

There was a moment he searched me like he dug amongst my brain in search for my humanity and he found nothing.

"I don't like it," I stated evenly. "It wasn't what I thought."

"I need to understand it."

Shane stepped back, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Sweat glistened on his skin from the setting sun. It was getting dark and we needed to get back.

"Thank you," I repeated.

There was more comfort I needed to give, more anything to better explain my gratitude for what he had done for me.

But I couldn't give anything without letting something in and I was too scared too, so saying thank you was all I could give.

"Thank you."

Shane had done so much for me and had never seen me as evil and I was so grateful.

I kicked some leaves towards Randall, trying my best to cover his body, but lazily. He was in the same position with a pool of blood spread everywhere on him and around him.

Then I took steps back, and so did Shane to another direction.

We nodded to each other before turning and making our journeys back to the farm.

And then the stress hit me, my head pounded hard and my body ran cold the further I walked.

It wasn't long before the sky got even darker.

I tried to spit out as much blood as I could but I still tasted it.

A stabbing pain struck my chest and I fell to my knees, I gripped the bark if a tree beside me, pressing the heel of my hand into my forehead.

More hair tangled into my hand.

I leaned my back onto the tree, closing my eyes tightly as my breathing turned hoarse like I was choking on glass.

All the strenuous activity caught up with me and I felt like I was dying.

I leaned further down, keeping my eyes closed and letting the darkness consume me.

I was surely going to hell because this was my design.

+

Well... wow

shit just got real

if you go back to the summary I've added some things you may be interested in.

how did you like this?

any questions for the future??

ty for 200k reads guys ty so much

- sylar