I wish I hadn't survived this long. Living in prolonged fear is not exactly ideal. I shouldn’t even have to worry about this, that manor was meant to last, to survive wars. Conquests! Trust me to believe all of that….

 But it did last quite a long time. Almost a year in a post-mist world, with relatively little struggle, other than the odd murderous break-in every once in a while, but that’s to be expected. The riots around the house wouldn’t have gotten as bad as they did if Mr. Hall was still here. He was more than just a butler. I know it’s cliche to say but he truly was family, we loved him. He did his best to console us after the first mist occurred and father died. He protected us until the very end. Then a freedom fighter shot him through the head whilst he was hunting food for us to eat. What a sad waste of his life. Everything went south after that happened. Prescilla couldn’t handle the pain and turmoil that surrounded us, and so killed herself. I never found out what happened to Xander. I just woke up one day and he was gone. He probably ran off on his own, he was always a free spirit. I wish I could’ve kept at least one of them safe, just one. I’m the worst elder sister in all of history.

Now it’s just me. Me and a small gang of strangers. A small gang of strangers who burnt down my house. I must be grateful for them however, if it weren’t for them the rioters would have probably broken in anyway at some point in the future and I would have burnt down with the house. Not to say I feel completely safe around these people. People who kill and rob with ease. Cameron seems sweet, but half the time he’s either spaced out or has his head to the ground. Hard to trust someone like that. Grace is kind, but incredibly unhinged, I’d be lying to say I’d feel safe in a room alone with her. And don’t get me started on Isabelle. Isabelle is horrible. I’ve never seen a girl so heartless and cutthroat. She reminds me of my father in that regard. Except at least my father seemed to love me deep down. Isabelle wants to get rid of me as soon as possible. She’s convinced I’ll get them killed - I hope to God she isn’t right. 

Khalil, however, is very kind. Handsome too. I know you’re not meant to judge a book by its cover, but I think that’s also what makes me trust him more. He’s the one I trust the most as of yet. He might be as willing to kill as the others but he’s even more willing to protect. I think if I stick by him I might be fine. 

I wake up at the brink of dawn within the damp and repulsive bungalow. Probably the worst sleep I’ve ever had in my life. But I mustn't complain, I don’t want to give them any excuses to consider me more of a burden. I climb out of the bed I share with Grace and Isabelle. I look to Grace who not only drools in her sleep, but snore so loudly I could’ve sworn it’s vibrating the room slightly. Isabelle on the other hand sleeps incredibly still and quiet with her hands resting on her midsection, as if she is being laid in a coffin. 

“The duality of sleep.” I joke to myself. Mr. Hall would’ve found that one very funny. 

 

I walk out of the room and down the corridor, towards a small room that functions as both a kitchen and living room. I see Khalil sitting on the dining table, feet resting on a chair. In his hand is a rifle which he wipes down with a cloth slowly. That’s a sight that could strike fear into the heart of anybody. I approach him carefully with a wave and a smile. 

“Good morning.” I greet. 

Khalil pauses his gun-wiping. He smiles back at me. 

“Morning.” he responds.

He puts his gun to the side, making room for me to sit next to him on the table. There’s an initial silence. We both exchange fair-weather smiles, allowing an awkward tension to build between the both of us.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asks, breaking the silence. 

“I couldn’t get back to sleep.” I answer. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?” 

I let out a deep sigh as I stare outside the cracked window and into the rising sun. It’s quite a pretty sight. Actually makes me feel slightly better. 

“My brother and sister.” I sigh. “I miss them so.”

Khalil nods, a sympathetic look overcoming his face. “Dead?”

I nod. I feel a large uncomfortable lump in my throat. This always happens when I talk about them.

“I know the feeling.” assures Khalil. “Of losing a brother and a sister.”

“His name was Tyrel, wasn’t it? The one who died from the mist?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

I see something change within Khalil’s kind hazel eyes. As if he’s trying to contain a well of emotions that could burst any minute. Should I stop talking?

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” I mention. “Was she older or younger?”

“She was my younger twin,” he confirms.

“Did she die during the first mist too?” 

Khalil shakes his head. He lets out a nervous and uncomfortable chuckle. 

“No…Lorel left us long before that.”

The silent tension returns. I look back out at the rising sun, distracting myself with its beauty. I look back to Khalil.

“Is this why you’re up so early? Gun cleaning?”

“Of course.” confirms Khalil. “We’re running low on ammunition. Need to make every bullet count.”

I nod my head, pretending I have a single clue about what he’s saying. I get off the table and walk over to leave the room. 

“Lysandra.” calls Khalil as I’m about to exit. I turn around and look towards him. 

“Try not to let any of that eat you up.” he advises. “I let it do so, I’d hate to see the same happen to you.” 

He musters up a smile, to which I can’t help but smile back. See what I mean? Gorgeous and kind. What more could you ask for?

I go back to the room and sit myself inbetween the dozing Grace and Isabelle. Time to get some real sleep. I turn myself over to try and face the window. But when I look outside, I notice something frighteningly strange:

A short yet muscular shirtless young man stares at me, with a gun in his hand. Who is that? A friend of Khalil’s perhaps?

 I certainly don’t recognise him. He’s pale, has long jet-black hair and sports a malicious grin.

 He chuckles then points his gun in my direction. Sorry what? What’s going on? What on Earth is he doing?! I can’t help but scream. 

“What’s wrong.?” murmurs a half asleep Grace. I feel bad for waking her but someone has to see this.

I frantically point out the window, but when Grace goes to look, the man is gone. Grace shakes her head, groans and goes back to sleep. I think my fear’s getting the best of me. I should just get to sleep. He’s gone now. He’s gone.

I wake up hours later, back in bed. But this time, Grace and Isabelle do not surround me. I leave the room and walk towards the main room. Everyone is now awake, gathered around the dining room table. They discuss plans on how to find money in order to get Dubois’ cure. Looks like they didn’t even bother to wake me up for this meeting.  It’s not like I’d be of much use anyway, I can’t fight or steal. I could’ve been of great help had all my possessions not gone down with the manor. I still can’t get over how desperately those rioters wanted to kill me. I’m living in an era in which my wealth and privilege are having a negative impact on myself and the people around me. How cruel. 

“I have an idea!” beams Grace as she shoots her hand up. “How about we take a long-needed trip to the Arenas?”

Isabelle rolls her eyes at the suggestion. Khalil shakes his head. 

“No.” he blurts out, bluntly. 

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean that is a stupid and dangerous idea.” he explains.

“How else are we gonna get money? Ransacking houses in Western Menoa?” Grace suggests sarcastically. I try to follow the conversation, but this is all gibberish to me. 

“It’s less of a deathtrap than the Arena’s” informs Isabelle. 

“No it’s not! Right Cam?”

Grace gives Cameron a wide-eyed stare, awaiting his response. He shrugs back at her. 

“Whatever.” sighs Grace. 

I take a glance at Cameron, we make brief eye contact but he soon diverts his gaze. Maybe I was too harsh on Cameron. He’s the only one close to feeling the way I feel. Useless. I see the way they treat him. The way he fits into the group. The way he is always having to apologise for his mistakes. Though I would much rather be in his position right now. I’d rather not be able to do anything right, than not be able to do anything at all.

The group’s planning is interrupted with the sound of knocking at the door. The house goes silent. Everyone is immediately on high alert. Khalil and Isabelle look at eachother then look at Grace who makes a “Shhh” gesture. Khalil makes a gun gesture to Cameron. Cameron nods his head and wastes no time to run towards his and Khalil’s room. What’s happening?

Another knock is heard at the door, this one as polite-sounding as the last. Grace hides behind a withered couch, a gun in hand. Khalil and Isabelle both approach the door with caution. Unsure of what to do I hide behind the entrance door to the main room. 

“Check through the peephole!” Grace utters in an unnecessarily loud whisper. 

“It’s just one guy on his own…” says Isabelle. “..holding a pamphlet.”

“A pamphlet?” I think to myself. My thoughts are interrupted by the subtle sound of Cameron readying his sniper. Is there going to be another gunfight? How dangerous could a man with a pamphlet be?

I hear the two of them open the door. I crouch down and peer through the keyhole of the door. I see a man tall in height, even towering above Khalil. He’s very handsome in a calming way -  short brown hair, soft, clean face and bright grey eyes - quite a unique look. His body however tells a different story. He is incredibly muscular with what looks like scars from blades covering every bit of unclothed skin, apart from his face. Whoever this is he’s clearly been through a lot. 

“Hello.” greets the man. “I’m Ryan McKeown.”

Ryan extends his hand out for a handshake. Both Khalil and Isabelle glare at him wearingly. Ryan chuckles.

“I’ve got no weapons on my person, see?” he assures them, lifting up his shirt and turning around. “Plus, I’ve come alone.”

The pair share a glance as if to non-verbally ask and grant each other the permission to let him live. 

“What are you here for then?” questions Khalil. Ryan hands Khalil the pamphlet. 

“To spread awareness,” he quietly says. 

Khalil opens the pamphlet. I can’t make it out from over here but whatever is in it must be horrific judging by both his and Isabelle’s reactions. 

“What the fuck is this?” exclaims Khalil, throwing the pamphlet back to Ryan. 

“This barely scratches the surface when discussing the misdeeds of the late Xavier Devon.” says Ryan.

I feel my heart immediately drop to the floor.  Xavier Devon? What does he mean? What does he want with father?

“Xavier Devon…” repeats Isabelle as she looks towards the pamphlet. 

“Yes, Xavier Devon. But I’m not here to just talk about the pain his company caused before” explains Ryan. “I’m here to talk about the pain his company continues to cause us to this day.”

Ryan’s appearance and demeanour changes to that of an incredibly serious melancholic one.

“My people and I are of the firm belief that Devon Manufacturers and the chemical trials they hid from the public are responsible for creating a reaction in the atmosphere that caused both mists to occur.” he explains further.

Crap. Thanks Ryan, give them another reason to hate me. He’s lying right? Father can’t have been the one who caused all of this?  Could he? No!  Surely not! Please tell me he couldn’t…

“How do you know they were in any way responsible?” asks Khalil. 

Ryan chuckles condescendingly as he shakes his head at the unconvinced pair. 

“Before the mist there were rumours about Devon Manufacturers being in talks with wealthy investors, for the potential creation of a youth potion. During that time period their domestic factory experienced a minor explosion with there also being news of similar difficulties in international factories .” Ryan explains. “Shortly after these mishaps, the mist occurred. The very same mist that causes violent rejuvenation in the young and a rapid-paced death in the old. Does that sound like a coincidence to you?”
Khalil and Isabelle stare at Ryan as they process the information. I can feel my body growing weaker. Please, please, please tell me none of this is true. I don’t know how I’ll cope if it is. I need to relax. I can’t just assume he’s telling the truth. What do he and ‘his people’ even know?

“I just have one question…” poses Isabelle.

“What is it?” asks Ryan.

“What the fuck does any of this have to do with us?” she snaps at him. For once I’m grateful for her dismissive personality. Ryan clenches his jaw in anger. 

“Xavier Devon has a daughter, who my sources say they’ve seen wandering around this area,” he explains.  “Have you seen Lysandra Devon?”  

Oh fuck. Oh no. Oh God. This is it. They’re going to throw me to the wolves. 

“No.” lies Khalil.

“You haven’t?” 

“No.” he repeats assertively. Ryan does not seem satisfied with this answer. 

“Listen. I’m trying to usher my people into a new age. I’m cultivating a clan to brave the perils of this mist-ridden society and overcome it.” continues Ryan. “I cannot do that if they are distracted and they will not rest until all the Devons are dead.”

Why? Why can’t they just leave me be?

“Well, we’re sorry, but we can’t help you there.” says Isabelle. 

Ryan nods. Something tells me he doesn’t buy a word they said. He takes a few paces away from the house. A large beaten up Land Rover drives with great speed, stopping right behind him. The vehicle is filled to the brim with fighters - Ryan McKeown’s ‘people’ I assume. Ryan opens the car door and enters. Before he leaves he looks back to Khalil and Isabelle.

“You guys are taking part in Dubois’ competition aren’t you?” he asks irreverently. “The race for the cure am I right?”

“And what if we are?” grills Khalil. 

Ryan shakes his head in disappointment. 

“Don’t let the rich and powerful sell you false dreams.” he advises. “It’s what caused all of this in the first place.”

The vehicle drives away with Ryan in it. Good riddance. Grace emerges from her hiding spot. Cameron walks from the bedroom into the living room.  I remain in my hiding spot behind the door. I can’t bear to even face them.  

“What was all that about?” asks Cameron. 

“Like we needed more crusaders.” scoffs Grace.

Isabelle starts to sarcastically clap. 

“What a surprise!” she quips sardonically. “And you all thought I was exaggerating when I said she would get us killed!”

"Do you think any of that stuff about her Dad is true?" asks Cameron. 

I hear a silence. The sound of contemplation. The sound of my death knoll. 

I can’t stand this. I need to explain myself. I burst the door open and run towards the group. 

“I promise I’m not trying to manipulate you or sell you a dream. That stuff?  About my father? It’s not even close to being true!” I cry. “Please, please don’t give me up to them. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Please!”

I grab Khalil by both his hands, pleading for mercy with the most sympathetic looking face I can possibly muster. 

“Woah, Lysandra, calm down.” says Khalil. “We’re not going to hand them over to you.”

“You don’t understand!” I blubber between tears. “Those rioters, they’re brutal! They won’t stop until they kill me!”

“I won’t let that happen.” assures Khalil. “We’ll move house, sneak you out of the area, and make sure they don’t find us or you.”

I start to calm, my anxious shaking subsiding. I hope he means it, I really need it. I turn towards Isabelle, awaiting her verdict. She seems disgruntled, but makes no arguments. I guess even she isn’t as callous as to leave me high and dry. Someone else makes a protest however, someone I much less expected.

“Are you sure spending the time to find a new house is a good idea?” queries Cameron. “I know it’s dangerous for her but…do we want to risk another group getting the five thousand before we do?”

My mouth gapes open in surprise. How could that be his top priority right now?

“What on Earth are you talking about?” I press. Cameron simply gives me a weak shrug. 

“He makes a fair point.” says Grace.

“If we stay here, I might die.” I emphasise. 

Isabelle gulps. “We’ll just have to risk it, I guess.” 

Grace places her hand on my shoulder in an attempt to console me. I push her off, crumbling to the floor with my head in my hands. I feel so weak.

“We’re not risking anything.” declares Khalil. “If we travel to Western Minoa as opposed to Eastern Minoa we can find houses to ransack and collect money there whilst also being far away from this area and Ryan McKeown.” 

Isabelle crosses her arms as she contemplates.

 “Actually you're right. That could work.”

“We’ll find another house whilst we get the money, alright?” repeats Khalil.

Everyone nods in agreement with Khalil. He looks towards me, a serious, protective look in his eyes. I knew I could trust him. 

We arrive at Western Menoa one long car journey later. This area of the county is much greener than where I’m from, especially after the mist. With the car parked on a hill overlooking a swamp, we all exit the vehicle. 

“That journey took a toll on the car, so we’re going to need more fuel.” explains Khalil. “ Luckily for us, I spotted a gang hoarding petrol canisters on our journey here. Isabelle and I are going to go over and ‘appropriate’ them.”

“And what we gon’ do?” says Grace in an odd voice. Why is she talking like that?

“In the meantime you guys go down to those flooded houses by the swamp. There’s bound to be something of salvageable monetary value down there.” orders Khalil. “Take the car with you, we’ll meet you by the swamp houses in an hour.”

Khalil looks to everyone to make sure they understood their assignments. Once sure, Grace and Cameron enter the car. Isabelle starts to walk down the hill, the duffel bag of weapons around her shoulder bumping against her with every step. Before I can enter the car, Khalil carefully grabs me by the hand and pulls me aside. 

“Can you do me a favour?” he whispers. 

“Yeah, of course.”

“Can you keep an eye on Grace? She won’t admit it but she’s going through something right now.” he tells me. “She’s usually prone to making rash decisions. But it’s getting worse now.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her.” I promise. 

And here I thought she was babysitting me. Khalil gives me a thumbs up, then jogs to catch up with Isabelle. I join Grace and Cameron in the car, taking up one of the backseats. As soon as Khalil and Isabelle have walked out of seeing distance a wry smirk comes across Grace’s face. 

She drives down the opposite direction of the hill away from our ransacking destination. 

“What are you doing?” asks a panicked Cameron. “The swamp houses are down that way!”

“We’re not going to the swamp houses.” says Grace, her wry smirk turning into a mischievous smile. Concerning… 

Grace drives  us to an open field in which many one-on-one fights are being initiated. Large muscular officiators watch these fights with stacks of money in their hands. The longer I observe, the more uncomfortable I become. She turns around in the seat and looks towards me 

“Hope you’re ready to rumble.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask her. 

“Welcome to the Arena’s.” she answers. 

Cameron and I share a concerned glance. Grace excitedly exits the car. I don’t know anything about the Arena’s aside from the fact that Khalil and Isabelle both agreed it was dangerous to be here. That alone fills me with dread. Grace approaches an officiator who holds a wooden board with a piece of paper on it. He hands her a pen of which she pricks herself, drawing blood, which she uses as ink to sign something. That cannot be a good sign. No pun intended. 

Cameron and I follow Grace and the officiator as they take us to Grace’s opponent. I look towards Cameron, finding comfort in the level of fear of discomfort he shares with me. 

“Are we going to have to fight?” I ask him. 

Cameron shrugs. He gulps, the colour from his face slightly draining. 

“I hope not.”

Grace is matched up with a woman who has to be at least six-foot-four, a whole foot taller than she is. Nonetheless, Grace does not seem phased at all -  she really is insane.

 The two women exchange punches and blows.  The mighty woman’s hits seem to be more calculated whereas Grace takes a more wild approach to boxing. Cameron is to the side of me, spectating in an even more anxious manner than I am as he bites his nails. Khalil did say there was something up with Grace. That she’s becoming even more prone to rash decisions…. Oh God. What if this is her way of committing suicide. 

Unsure of what to do, I attempt to approach the fight. Perhaps I can convince Grace to stop. I am blocked by the large officiator who places his hand across my chest to stop me. 

“Are these fights to the death?” I ask as I look up to him. 

“They can be.” he grumbles, keeping his hand across my body to block me. He looks down to me with a malevolent smirk on his face. I suppose there’s nothing I can do, for now.

I look back to Grace’s fight to see that in my distraction she has turned the tides in her favour.  Grace sits on top of the body of her fallen opponent as she continues to beat the woman's face with no mercy. As Grace continues to beat her to death, the  officiator is forced to drag her off of the bloodied woman.

“It’s over, she’s dead!” shouts the officiator. “You’ve already won for fucks sakes!”

“Give me my fucking money then.” mutters Grace, yanking the bag of money out of his hand. The officiator shakes his head in judgement. He turns towards Cameron and I. 

“Your turn.” he chuckles as he pokes us both on our heads. 

“My hopes were wrong.” comments Cameron. 

I’m shortly introduced to my opponent. She is much smaller and frailer than I am, which gives me some hope. But then I remember what happened in Grace’s fight and my hope diminishes. 

The fight begins and I cannot stop myself from shaking with fear. I have never been in anything close to a fight in my life before, and now a loss could mean my life on the line. I attempt to throw a punch but it is effortlessly dodged. My opponent lands just a single punch to the gut. She follows it up with a blow to my face, knocking me to the ground. This is much more painful than I expected. I  hear Grace’s complaints from the sideline.

 “For fucks sake Lysandra!” she yells. 

All I hear is white noise as the small woman continuously punches my face in. I feel myself slowly fading away. Accepting my fate.

 “What a horrible way to die.” I think to myself as I take my beating. “I’ll see you soon Prescilla…I’ll be with you soon Xander. 

But then, suddenly, something comes over me. I feel as if  Mr. Hall’s spirit has flown inside of me. All of a sudden I don’t want to give up. All of a sudden, I refuse to give in. As the woman attempts to send another blow towards my face I spit blood into her eyes. Disgusting. I don’t think I’ve ever intentionally spat at someone before. But it does the job. 

The woman grunts as she attempts to wipe the blood out of her eyes. This gives me enough of a chance to turn the tables, slamming her to the ground. I wrap my hands around her neck and I start to squeeze. Hard. A strong animalistic urge has taken over me. Is this adrenaline? Fight or flight? Or sheer desperation. Whatever it is, it drives me to continue wrangling this woman's thin neck until she stops moving entirely. Wait. Did I just do it? Did I…did I just get my first kill. The officiator reluctantly hands me the bag of money. My hands tremble profusely as I collect the bag. 

Is this it? Is this how much human life is worth to me? I try to control my breathing as I start to hyperventilate. What on Earth have I done?  Grace walks up to me, snapping me out of my trance with a pat on the back. 

“Well done, Lys.”

This is my life now…I just sacrificed morality for a bag of cash… and a cutesy nickname. Maybe I should stop beating myself up. The others kill people all the time! To protect each other! To protect me! Right? So why does it feel so wrong when I do it myself?  

I groggily pick myself up off of the floor, just in time to see Cameron’s fight. He’s losing, badly. Just our luck. Grace leans in next to me and whispers in my ear.

“On my signal…” she whispers. “Run.”

Oh Lord. That doesn’t inspire confidence in me at all. Grace marches over to Cameron’s fight and drags the fighter off of him. The officiator for the fight tries to stop her. But as he does, in one agile movement, Grace carefully manoeuvres out of his grasp and steals the bag of money from him.

“Let’s go!” screams Grace at me as she sprints away with the two bags of money in each hand. Cameron stumbles on his feet and joins her escape. I think that’s the signal. 

The three of us sprint away from the outraged officiators and fighters as we run back to the car. I hear the sounds of gunshots whizzing in our direction. Ever since I’ve joined this group I can no longer go a few hours without having to run for my life. We enter the car and complete our escape. Grace grips the steering wheel with great force as she escorts us away from the Arena. 

“Woohoo!” she yells in excitement. “Isn’t this great?”

Grace turns around to smile at Cameron and I in the backseat, her teeth still soaked with blood from her fight. Cameron shakes his head in disappointment, which only proves to encourage Grace as she enters a bout of maniacal laughter. This is exactly what Khalil wanted me to stop her from doing, isn’t it?

Grace takes us back to the meeting spot, where we see Khalil and Isabelle impatiently waiting for us as they stand by canisters of fuel. Grace swerves next to them and parks, allowing us to leave the car and be faced with the disgruntled duo.

“It’s about time.” snaps Isabelle. She wastes no time and picks up the  fuel canisters.

As Isabelle fills the car. Khalil looks over the three of our bruised and injured faces. 

“Did a swamp house do that?” he asks with a sarcastic frustration. 

“Yes.” remarks Grace. I see anger quickly boil within Khalil as he confronts Grace. 

“What the fuck did I say about going to the Arena’s?”

Grace walks to the car and retrieves the three bags of cash. Khalil’s angered disposition starts to instantly simmer. 

“Still doesn’t make it right.” says Khalil. “I don’t want you to do that ever again.”

Grace rolls her eyes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Isabelle finishes filling up the car, clasping her hands together. 

“Right, we can go now?”

“No you can’t.” says a familiar sounding voice. 

Oh shit. The five of us look down the hill to see Ryan McKeown and his ‘people’ following him, all equipped with knives, blades and arrows. Khalil looks for an avenue of escape only to see more of Ryan’s people approaching us from the back, and from the left, and from the right. I look around in desperation. There are at least twenty  half-clothed warriors closing us in.

“You shouldn’t have lied to us…” says Ryan in a deep and gravelly voice. “And hello Lysandra…”

My heart pounds with great force. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this much fear in my life. 

It’s over. It’s truly over…