Chapter Text
Her teachers lied about a lot of things, Mizi has realized over the past few weeks – including the painlessness of death.
It hurts. Her ribs feel like they are going to implode, the pain is the only thing her body can focus on as blood steadily trickles from her abdomen.
An alarm blares.
They were stupid, rushing in knowing that their captors would be expecting an encore. Now she's paying the price.
A tinny voice shouts her name over the discarded communicator. Mizi wishes she could respond, but she can't feel her fingers.
She sees Hyuna out of the corner of her eye, struggling to get up, to get to Mizi. The emergency lighting – as well as her blood – bathes her body in red.
What was the point? They've already missed their chance. Even over the alarm, the cheering of the audience could be heard. Another one of her friends has died, and more guards would be coming soon to finish the rebels off.
The feeling of a warm hand on Mizi’s arm startles her, not having realized how cold her skin had become. The warmth then moves to her wound, and Mizi almost screams. She doesn't remember when her wound stopped hurting before, but the pain returns tenfold.
Mizi admires Hyuna’s drive, even though it's about to kill her. Even though it's going to kill Hyuna too if she doesn't leave right now. Still, she smiles softly as the pain begins to fade once again, despite the increasing pressure on her wound.
Please, God, just let me see her again…
When Mizi opens her eyes again, she can't tell whether she's alive or not. Honestly, she'd rather be dead. She's already lost everyone.
It's dark, and there's a dull ache in her side where the bullet went through. Her head feels heavy.
Mizi doesn't know how long she sits there in total darkness. She thinks about her friends, and wonders who won the latest round and by how much.
She has a lot of time to think before her thoughts are interrupted by footsteps. They're too heavy to be Hyuna’s (or Sua’s, Mizi’s mind helpfully supplies), and her heart sinks.
They stop, and a door to her right slides open. An alien guard stands in the doorway. The same kind that shot Mizi. Shot her.
Mizi’s breathing picks up, and she scrambles backward, eyes fixed on the gun strapped to their side. The guard steps inside, making no move to reach for the gun, instead motioning for her to stand up. She obeys, pushing herself up onto shaky legs.
They must have caught her. If she hadn't died then, she's certainly about to. The guard steps closer, placing a cold hand on her back, and leads her into the bright hallway.
Once Mizi’s eyes adjust to the light, she realizes where she is. This is where she stayed in between rounds.
They're going to drag her on stage and execute her on live television. The cruel fate that the rebellion saved Mizi from was just postponed, and now it's caught up to her.
As Mizi walks closer and closer to her demise, she wonders what happened to Hyuna and the others.
She hopes they managed to escape. Probably not.
They stop in front of an open door, and Mizi is pushed inside. It's a dressing room. The same dressing room where she and Sua had had their last conversation before their round. Mizi steps inside numbly and looks up into a mirror.
Mizi’s hair is long and shiny, tips dyed the shade of blue she had wanted so badly. She begins to shake.
There are footsteps in the hallway again, two pairs this time. They stop outside the door, and someone steps inside, light footsteps making their way towards her. Mizi feels a sick sense of deja vu.
Reflected in the mirror is a ghost.
Mizi is on her in an instant. Arms wrap so tightly around her friend that she's almost afraid she'll kill her again.
Her breath tickles Mizi’s skin, “Mizi–”
Sua is warm and solid and here, and Mizi doesn't care if this is the afterlife or just a hallucination.
“We have to get changed,” Sua sighs into Mizi’s hair.
“Why?” Mizi dares to loosen her grip, pulling back to look at her.
Sua hesitates, a concerned look on her face “Our round,” she cocks her head towards the back wall.
There hang two dresses. Mizi’s eyes are drawn toward bright white fabric. Sua’s dress is spotless. Like nothing ever happened.
Sua slips out of her now weak grip, walking towards the dresses. Mizi’s feet are frozen to the floor.
“The stylists are waiting.”
Mizi stares at the back of Sua’s head the entire time they get dressed. Sua never meets her eyes.
As the platform rises, Sua squeezes her hand. Mizi squeezes back.
God has given her a second chance, and Mizi is going to take it.