((Gavin Hunter continues abusing chess metaphors from Resisting Against Fate))
There was nothing that eased tension more effectively than relaxing beside a blazing bonfire whilst listening to the gentle lapping of waves against the seashore. Even with all the pressures of the island weighing down upon his shoulders, Gavin Hunter still felt a pleasant sensation of tranquillity as he lay recumbent on an old sheet spread over the sand in the shadow of the freighter, sipping a plastic cup of hot, salty broth and letting the sound of the ocean wipe his mind clean of worry and anticipation.
The idea for building a fire on the beach had been thought up more or less on the spur of the moment, and had initially met with some resistance. After all, why run the risk of attracting unwanted, potentially hostile attention? Gavin had countered this argument by reminding people that a decent-sized fire would serve as an excellent warning to potentially hostile students that the area had been claimed by a group large enough not to be worried about announcing its presence to the island.
In the end, that argument and the prospect of an actual hot meal for a change had won the rest of his group over. The rest of the afternoon had been spent gathering driftwood and kindling - a task made none too easy by the light showers of rain which had struck without warning shortly after they had disembarked from the freighter. Fortunately, there had been just enough gasoline left in the fuel cans Gavin had salvaged from town to get the damp wood burning without too much trouble.
Cooking with improvised tools over an open fire was a massive nightmare, but after four days of ration bars and decades-old tinned food, Gavin had been prepared to risk third-degree burns and the angriest spider-crabs in the world for a little variety. The fact that he knew Megan liked seafood had only served to further cement his resolve. A trip to the galley aboard the freighter had turned up a few serviceable aluminium pots and pans, and a bit of beachcombing had resulted in a rich haul of fresh green seaweed, mussels and shrimp to add to the evening menu.
Despite the lack of appropriate utensils and a general lack of cooking experience, the resultant meal had been delicious. The seas around the island had been unpolluted by sewage and the general detritus of civilisation for over a decade, and this had caused the quality and quantity of marine life to expand almost exponentially. The boiled seaweed was sweet and crunchy, while the roasted mussels were pleasantly soft and robustly flavoured. Even the shrimp had been pretty good after a couple of aborted experiments had been conducted in how exactly to prepare them. When everyone had eaten their fill, Gavin had stirred whatever was left into one of the empty cooking pots and made a hot broth, the last few drops of which he was now savouring.
A small part of his mind was still worried about what was about to occur. All the lapping waves and crackling bonfires in the world couldn't completely negate the nervousness that came with the prospects of impending death, after all. Yet despite this tiny thread of lingering anxiety, Gavin simply didn't feel like bothering with morbidity at the moment. If he was going to die in the next few hours, it would at least be on a stomach pleasantly full of good food. He almost felt as if he was on holiday. In fact, only the presence of the collar weighing down his neck reminded him of the gravity of the situation around him.
Not that I'll have to deal with that for much longer. One way or another, anyway...
Gavin wasn't sure how to react to that thought. A few hours ago he had been a nervous wreck. Now he was almost relaxed enough to be enjoying himself again. A tiny part of his mind kept telling him that he ought to be afraid, even terrified of what was before him, yet it was being constantly drowned out by other, stronger signals.
The more he thought about it, the more it was becoming clear to him that he was enjoying SOTF. The concept behind the game was repugnant to him, but he couldn't deny that the adrenaline and the heady sensation of defying the expectations of an omniscient authority were addictive to him. In a game that was supposed to be about death, Gavin Hunter was more alive than he ever had been. He felt as if he was almost buzzing with vitality even while at rest, all his senses operating at a heightened level of awareness. Hyperawareness.
He was beginning to see why some people murdered simply for the thrill of it. In another world, another time and place, Gavin might've become one of those people. But not in this time and place. Not now. Not when he still had things to hold dear and to cherish, even if they were abstract concepts like morality and personal integrity.
I just need to remain steadfast, unmovable. It's not in my hands anymore. Sit back, relax, let others do their part.
After all, he wasn't going to have to wait long. Everything was ready. The chess pieces had been aligned on the board for the execution of a master strategy. Gavin had been instrumental in bringing those pieces together, but he was not the one to make the first move.
That honour was reserved for the Queen.
The Only Winning Move
Major kudos to Grim Wolf for this title. (Private)
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Ghost Of Ravenstar†
- Posts: 99
- Joined: Sat Sep 22, 2018 5:27 am
The Only Winning Move
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(Karen Idel continued from Resisting Against Fate)
They gathered the stuff Gavin instructed them to gather. No need to walk a fine line, not yet--at the moment, Gavin was being inventive, not rebellious. He could offer his reasons without triggering any alarms.
When they returned to their makeshift base, they built a fire. Again, Gavin's idea--for warmth and security, he said aloud, and to make it clear that the people in this freighter weren't fucking around. Karen wasn't sure she agreed, but it was something to do, and it would make things a little easier.
Karen insisted on helping, over the objections of Megan and the others. Forced herself to work, to get right in the path of the smoke, to cough as soon as it hit her lungs. Karen couldn't breathe too fast--that would be a dead giveaway as to what she was doing. Maybe that was too paranoid, but she wasn't going to take any risks, not now.
So she coughed.
She coughed only a little at first. Then a little more. She clutched at her chest and tugged at her hair. And as she went, she let herself lose control.
You couldn't beat asthma with pure will, but you could control it a little. Quiet its effects. Force yourself into a calm that didn't let it break your body. She'd been exerting such rigid control of herself for days, exhausting herself with it. In a way, it was a sweet relief to let go.
And in another way, it was a wretched pain.
Her breath was tight in her chest, her mind pressed in on all sides by pain. She could barely think. Barely see.
But that was necessary, yes. She didn't know what details their enemies might have. What information they might be able to glean from her. Everything had to be perfect, down to the last psychotic detail. Karen Idel was having an asthma attack.
So she sank to the ground, wheezing and gasping. This was the first (and possibly the last) gamble. The start of something big, or the end of an attempt that should never had been. And she'd be here, wheezing away, killing herself because that was the one fundamental assumption she was absolutely certain her enemies would have made. After all, there were psychological records, counseling records, medical records. Karen Idel was smart and strategic, but she was a paranoid hypochondriac survivor, and she would never have killed herself for the sake of strangers.
And they were right. This wasn't a sacrifice, a messiah complex, an attempt to rescue strangers. This was her attack. Her brutal, beautiful, unexpected attack. She was killing herself because that was what a strategist would do. What a winner do.
She was going to be ruthless. Even at the cost of her own life.
But it was only as her body began to seize up that she wondered if she really should have written a note to her parents.
They gathered the stuff Gavin instructed them to gather. No need to walk a fine line, not yet--at the moment, Gavin was being inventive, not rebellious. He could offer his reasons without triggering any alarms.
When they returned to their makeshift base, they built a fire. Again, Gavin's idea--for warmth and security, he said aloud, and to make it clear that the people in this freighter weren't fucking around. Karen wasn't sure she agreed, but it was something to do, and it would make things a little easier.
Karen insisted on helping, over the objections of Megan and the others. Forced herself to work, to get right in the path of the smoke, to cough as soon as it hit her lungs. Karen couldn't breathe too fast--that would be a dead giveaway as to what she was doing. Maybe that was too paranoid, but she wasn't going to take any risks, not now.
So she coughed.
She coughed only a little at first. Then a little more. She clutched at her chest and tugged at her hair. And as she went, she let herself lose control.
You couldn't beat asthma with pure will, but you could control it a little. Quiet its effects. Force yourself into a calm that didn't let it break your body. She'd been exerting such rigid control of herself for days, exhausting herself with it. In a way, it was a sweet relief to let go.
And in another way, it was a wretched pain.
Her breath was tight in her chest, her mind pressed in on all sides by pain. She could barely think. Barely see.
But that was necessary, yes. She didn't know what details their enemies might have. What information they might be able to glean from her. Everything had to be perfect, down to the last psychotic detail. Karen Idel was having an asthma attack.
So she sank to the ground, wheezing and gasping. This was the first (and possibly the last) gamble. The start of something big, or the end of an attempt that should never had been. And she'd be here, wheezing away, killing herself because that was the one fundamental assumption she was absolutely certain her enemies would have made. After all, there were psychological records, counseling records, medical records. Karen Idel was smart and strategic, but she was a paranoid hypochondriac survivor, and she would never have killed herself for the sake of strangers.
And they were right. This wasn't a sacrifice, a messiah complex, an attempt to rescue strangers. This was her attack. Her brutal, beautiful, unexpected attack. She was killing herself because that was what a strategist would do. What a winner do.
She was going to be ruthless. Even at the cost of her own life.
But it was only as her body began to seize up that she wondered if she really should have written a note to her parents.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
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simpleinsanity†
- Posts: 21
- Joined: Sat Sep 22, 2018 6:23 am
((Cyrus White continued from Resisting Against Fate))
"Oh dear."
Cyrus watched her fall, his eyes wide. He expected to see this, and he thought he had prepared himself. Unfortunately, you can never completely prepare yourself until it happens.
"OhdearohdearohdearohdearohdearOHDEAR." He told himself he wouldn't panic, that he would keep calm for the group. He was able to keep composed, externally at least. Internally he was something of a whirlwind at the time, but it would pass. He knew it. Until then, he had to at least try to stay calm.
"...uh, anybody know where her inhaler is?" Cyrus laughed nervously. "She's, uh...looking like she might need it right now." He never realized how sarcastic that might have sounded.
"Oh dear."
Cyrus watched her fall, his eyes wide. He expected to see this, and he thought he had prepared himself. Unfortunately, you can never completely prepare yourself until it happens.
"OhdearohdearohdearohdearohdearOHDEAR." He told himself he wouldn't panic, that he would keep calm for the group. He was able to keep composed, externally at least. Internally he was something of a whirlwind at the time, but it would pass. He knew it. Until then, he had to at least try to stay calm.
"...uh, anybody know where her inhaler is?" Cyrus laughed nervously. "She's, uh...looking like she might need it right now." He never realized how sarcastic that might have sounded.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler simpleinsanity. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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Ghost Of Ravenstar†
- Posts: 99
- Joined: Sat Sep 22, 2018 5:27 am
The sound of Karen's first cough stirred Gavin from his quiet reverie. He had been expecting it subconsciously all evening, but the abruptness of the sound and all that it signified was still enough to set his heart beating rapidly the moment that it registered. It wasn't just a normal cough; it was a dry, racking cough, the kind that made the lungs spasm and ground the soft tissues of the throat like sandpaper.
By the time Karen had managed to draw enough breath to cough again, Gavin was already moving towards her. It wasn't a move he'd rehearsed, just a reflexive response to another person's torment. Gavin hated seeing innocents in pain, be they humans or animals, and Karen Idel certainly counted as innocent in his mind.
This duty should never have fallen to her! Snarled a voice in his head as he rushed to Karen's side just as her legs gave way and she collapsed to the sand beneath her. He caught her half-way, his strong arms encircling her back and lowering her gently to the ground before she could sprawl in an unseemly heap. He was struck by how light she was, weighing in at only about a third more than the backpacks the group had toiled around the island with for the past few days. Yet despite her almost emaciated frame, she had still insisted on shouldering the same responsibilities and workload that had left people with 100 pounds more muscle mass than her sweating with effort. In those few moments when adrenaline began pumping and time seemed to slow down, Gavin found himself envying Karen for her resolve.
"She's having an asthma attack," he said, somewhat unnecessarily, as he knelt by her quaking body. "She must've inhaled the smoke from the fire. Where's her inhaler?"
A single glance round the campfire revealed that the vital lump of plastic was nowhere in sight. Feeling his heart beat faster, Gavin turned his attentions to riffling through Karen's pockets as she lay wheezing on the sand. It was no use; the inhaler was nowhere to be found.
That left only one option; the freighter, which was no option at all. The towering grey hulk was hundreds of feet away across the sands, and getting back to their cabins would take far too long. Karen's lips already seemed to be turning blue, which meant that even if Gavin made a dash for it she would most likely be beyond help by the time he got back.
"It isn't here..." He breathed, looking up at the rest of the group with a doom-laden expression. "We can't do anything expect..."
Except...
The words caught in his throat. It wasn't artifice, but instead the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. This was it. This was either his moment of triumph, or his moment of abject humiliation. In the next few seconds he, Gavin Hunter, would either be vindicated as the person who shattered the primary support mechanism of this twisted game beyond all repair, or vilified as a fool whose efforts had resulted in manslaughter. It was the ultimate glory-or-disgrace gamble, everything resting on the final throw of a die which every involved party knew to be loaded.
He could hear the crowds cheering him.
He could hear the terrorists jeering him.
He could hear his classmates pleading with him.
Throw the dice. End it here. End EVERYTHING here!
"It's no good." He said quietly, his voice almost too low to be heard over Karen's wheezing breaths. "We can't do anything for her... and I can't stand to see her suffer, either. This is all we can do."
As he spoke the last sentence, Gavin reached into the deep pocket of his trenchcoat and drew out his pistol. The lacqured grip of the beautiful weapon felt cool and dry to his sweaty palms, and he laid his trigger finger along the twin barrels and his thumb on the safety lever as he pulled it free and aimed it squarely at Karen's heaving chest, right where the twin bullets would tear through her spine and strike her dead before her ears could even register the noise of the shot.
Then Gavin hesitated. Adrenaline made the moment seem far longer than it really was, but even so, it was enough time for him to stare directly into Karen's eyes and register all the emotions contained with them. It was almost too much for him to bear, but he forced himself to keep up the contact. No matter what his own personal stake in this, something deep inside would not let Gavin Hunter forget what he was about to do to a fellow human being.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered softly, and meant it. Then he pushed the safety lever of the pistol down, and steeled himself for what was about to happen. Mere seconds had passed since the whole affair began, but it felt like it had already been hours.
1.
By the time Karen had managed to draw enough breath to cough again, Gavin was already moving towards her. It wasn't a move he'd rehearsed, just a reflexive response to another person's torment. Gavin hated seeing innocents in pain, be they humans or animals, and Karen Idel certainly counted as innocent in his mind.
This duty should never have fallen to her! Snarled a voice in his head as he rushed to Karen's side just as her legs gave way and she collapsed to the sand beneath her. He caught her half-way, his strong arms encircling her back and lowering her gently to the ground before she could sprawl in an unseemly heap. He was struck by how light she was, weighing in at only about a third more than the backpacks the group had toiled around the island with for the past few days. Yet despite her almost emaciated frame, she had still insisted on shouldering the same responsibilities and workload that had left people with 100 pounds more muscle mass than her sweating with effort. In those few moments when adrenaline began pumping and time seemed to slow down, Gavin found himself envying Karen for her resolve.
"She's having an asthma attack," he said, somewhat unnecessarily, as he knelt by her quaking body. "She must've inhaled the smoke from the fire. Where's her inhaler?"
A single glance round the campfire revealed that the vital lump of plastic was nowhere in sight. Feeling his heart beat faster, Gavin turned his attentions to riffling through Karen's pockets as she lay wheezing on the sand. It was no use; the inhaler was nowhere to be found.
That left only one option; the freighter, which was no option at all. The towering grey hulk was hundreds of feet away across the sands, and getting back to their cabins would take far too long. Karen's lips already seemed to be turning blue, which meant that even if Gavin made a dash for it she would most likely be beyond help by the time he got back.
"It isn't here..." He breathed, looking up at the rest of the group with a doom-laden expression. "We can't do anything expect..."
Except...
The words caught in his throat. It wasn't artifice, but instead the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. This was it. This was either his moment of triumph, or his moment of abject humiliation. In the next few seconds he, Gavin Hunter, would either be vindicated as the person who shattered the primary support mechanism of this twisted game beyond all repair, or vilified as a fool whose efforts had resulted in manslaughter. It was the ultimate glory-or-disgrace gamble, everything resting on the final throw of a die which every involved party knew to be loaded.
He could hear the crowds cheering him.
He could hear the terrorists jeering him.
He could hear his classmates pleading with him.
Throw the dice. End it here. End EVERYTHING here!
"It's no good." He said quietly, his voice almost too low to be heard over Karen's wheezing breaths. "We can't do anything for her... and I can't stand to see her suffer, either. This is all we can do."
As he spoke the last sentence, Gavin reached into the deep pocket of his trenchcoat and drew out his pistol. The lacqured grip of the beautiful weapon felt cool and dry to his sweaty palms, and he laid his trigger finger along the twin barrels and his thumb on the safety lever as he pulled it free and aimed it squarely at Karen's heaving chest, right where the twin bullets would tear through her spine and strike her dead before her ears could even register the noise of the shot.
Then Gavin hesitated. Adrenaline made the moment seem far longer than it really was, but even so, it was enough time for him to stare directly into Karen's eyes and register all the emotions contained with them. It was almost too much for him to bear, but he forced himself to keep up the contact. No matter what his own personal stake in this, something deep inside would not let Gavin Hunter forget what he was about to do to a fellow human being.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered softly, and meant it. Then he pushed the safety lever of the pistol down, and steeled himself for what was about to happen. Mere seconds had passed since the whole affair began, but it felt like it had already been hours.
1.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ghost Of Ravenstar. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
(Skipping and GMing with permission from simple)
Through eyes going dark as her brain starved from lack of oxygen, Karen tried to get a sense of what as happening above her.
There were hands above--Cyrus was arguing with Gavin, saying this wasn't necessary, she might get better. One hand on her, one hand on Gavin's gun. Perfect.
So perfect. So close to dying.
"P...p....please..." she wheezed, and then broke off, coughing. "P..."
Fuck, she hurt. More than she'd hurt in years. Since she fell down on that playground, trying to run during kickball. She'd overestimated herself then. Underestimated just how dangerous the world was.
Lying on the ground, her weak little body shivering and shuddering, and all the fear in the world had come over her. All the things she'd never done. The games she'd never played. The fact that she'd never seen her parents again. And this sudden self-hatred, wondering why she hadn't listened to her teachers and not tried to run.
She was still terrified now. There was so much she hadn't done. So much time wasted on preparing for disasters that never came. And now here she was. Dying for the cause. And god, she didn't want to.
"K-k...kill..." she coughed, tears running down her face, and then broke off, coughing as her chest burned, as her body ached. Oh god, she hurt.
But that was a soldier's job, to hurt. And for a strategist, a player, a winner, those were just details.
Message delivered. No doubts now, just action.
Do it, Gavin.
Through eyes going dark as her brain starved from lack of oxygen, Karen tried to get a sense of what as happening above her.
There were hands above--Cyrus was arguing with Gavin, saying this wasn't necessary, she might get better. One hand on her, one hand on Gavin's gun. Perfect.
So perfect. So close to dying.
"P...p....please..." she wheezed, and then broke off, coughing. "P..."
Fuck, she hurt. More than she'd hurt in years. Since she fell down on that playground, trying to run during kickball. She'd overestimated herself then. Underestimated just how dangerous the world was.
Lying on the ground, her weak little body shivering and shuddering, and all the fear in the world had come over her. All the things she'd never done. The games she'd never played. The fact that she'd never seen her parents again. And this sudden self-hatred, wondering why she hadn't listened to her teachers and not tried to run.
She was still terrified now. There was so much she hadn't done. So much time wasted on preparing for disasters that never came. And now here she was. Dying for the cause. And god, she didn't want to.
"K-k...kill..." she coughed, tears running down her face, and then broke off, coughing as her chest burned, as her body ached. Oh god, she hurt.
But that was a soldier's job, to hurt. And for a strategist, a player, a winner, those were just details.
Message delivered. No doubts now, just action.
Do it, Gavin.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
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Ghost Of Ravenstar†
- Posts: 99
- Joined: Sat Sep 22, 2018 5:27 am
Everything was a blur to Gavin, everything except the small body under him and Karen's cracking voice pleading with him to end her misery. There was too much data to deal with, too many variables, not enough time to process them all in. His right hand hurt, and Gavin noticed with surprise that there was blood on his knuckles and staining the lacquer of the pistol grip clenched between his fingers. He wondered vaguely how it had gotten there, and then remembered a flash of movement, followed by a grunt of pain. Had he hit somebody with the butt of his gun? He ought to apologise for that when all this was over.
It was funny how the mind dwelt on irrelevant things at a time of crisis. Perhaps it was some form of coping mechanism, a way of easing the pressure of the decision-making process. If so, it wasn't working all that well. Still, the process did serve to alert him to a key fact that he had neglected up to this point; earplugs.
Like any good marksman, Gavin always carried a pair of earplugs. They were in the breast pocket of his trenchcoat, and he fumbled for them now with his left hand. Each one was a simple yellow cone of foam slightly more than an inch long, and together they were indisputably the most valuable items in Gavin's inventory apart from ammunition. They didn't block sound, but instead filtered it, preventing the excessively loud noise of a gunshot from tearing the delicate tissues of the inner ear and causing permanent hearing damage. Once they were inserted, Gavin could still hear everything going on around him, but in muted tones, as if he were coming from the other side of a thick panel of glass.
With the earplugs in place, Gavin finally felt as if he could focus again. There were no more distractions, no more interference, and no more time. His heartbeat was like a drum pounding away in his chest, yet his breathing was easy and regulated. He no longer existed in the real world, instead occupying that plane of thought where nothing beyond his immediate goal and the tools to achieve it made any impact on his psyche. Seconds ticked by with glacial slowness, and as he gripped his gun tightly between his fingers and let his breath out half-way, Gavin found that he wasn't finding this whole business even half as hard as he had anticipated.
"Just relax," he said gently. "It'll all be over soon."
One way or another, it's over for all of us.
The safety lever on the AF2011 made a delicate click as Gavin's thumb pressed it into the inactive position. Then there was another click as he cocked the hammer, priming the elegant weapon to fire. It was a gun which had stolen the life of its previous wielder, and now it would either repeat the process, or it would be redeemed.
Fallen White Angel, shine your light upon us all. Platinum Lucifer, reflect the prowess of your namesake!
What happened next occurred in the breath between seconds. Gavin moved faster than he ever had before in his life, his muscles exploding into action with the speed of a man who understood that absolutely certain death awaited him if he did not channel every last reserve his body possessed into this one action. If he lived beyond the next few hours he knew he would pay for this action in the form of a litany of strained muscles, but now was not the time to get distracted by such things.
His left hand tangled itself in Karen's hair, dragging her head forwards at the same instant his right hand brought the AF2011 over her shoulder to lay the chaste, silver-inlaid barrel along the nape of her neck, the rifled apertures pressed squarely against the one object that lay between the group and freedom; her collar.
Gavin had no regrets, no hesitations. He pulled the trigger. The hammer fell, the priming ignited, and the calm of the evening air was shattered by an almighty thunderclap as the AF2011 disgorged two expanding .45 calibre bullets from its maw into the collar around Karen's neck. Gavin's arm was driven up into Karen's back by the force of the recoil, and the brilliant muzzle flash left bright orange spots dancing in front of his vision.
It was funny how the mind dwelt on irrelevant things at a time of crisis. Perhaps it was some form of coping mechanism, a way of easing the pressure of the decision-making process. If so, it wasn't working all that well. Still, the process did serve to alert him to a key fact that he had neglected up to this point; earplugs.
Like any good marksman, Gavin always carried a pair of earplugs. They were in the breast pocket of his trenchcoat, and he fumbled for them now with his left hand. Each one was a simple yellow cone of foam slightly more than an inch long, and together they were indisputably the most valuable items in Gavin's inventory apart from ammunition. They didn't block sound, but instead filtered it, preventing the excessively loud noise of a gunshot from tearing the delicate tissues of the inner ear and causing permanent hearing damage. Once they were inserted, Gavin could still hear everything going on around him, but in muted tones, as if he were coming from the other side of a thick panel of glass.
With the earplugs in place, Gavin finally felt as if he could focus again. There were no more distractions, no more interference, and no more time. His heartbeat was like a drum pounding away in his chest, yet his breathing was easy and regulated. He no longer existed in the real world, instead occupying that plane of thought where nothing beyond his immediate goal and the tools to achieve it made any impact on his psyche. Seconds ticked by with glacial slowness, and as he gripped his gun tightly between his fingers and let his breath out half-way, Gavin found that he wasn't finding this whole business even half as hard as he had anticipated.
"Just relax," he said gently. "It'll all be over soon."
One way or another, it's over for all of us.
The safety lever on the AF2011 made a delicate click as Gavin's thumb pressed it into the inactive position. Then there was another click as he cocked the hammer, priming the elegant weapon to fire. It was a gun which had stolen the life of its previous wielder, and now it would either repeat the process, or it would be redeemed.
Fallen White Angel, shine your light upon us all. Platinum Lucifer, reflect the prowess of your namesake!
What happened next occurred in the breath between seconds. Gavin moved faster than he ever had before in his life, his muscles exploding into action with the speed of a man who understood that absolutely certain death awaited him if he did not channel every last reserve his body possessed into this one action. If he lived beyond the next few hours he knew he would pay for this action in the form of a litany of strained muscles, but now was not the time to get distracted by such things.
His left hand tangled itself in Karen's hair, dragging her head forwards at the same instant his right hand brought the AF2011 over her shoulder to lay the chaste, silver-inlaid barrel along the nape of her neck, the rifled apertures pressed squarely against the one object that lay between the group and freedom; her collar.
Gavin had no regrets, no hesitations. He pulled the trigger. The hammer fell, the priming ignited, and the calm of the evening air was shattered by an almighty thunderclap as the AF2011 disgorged two expanding .45 calibre bullets from its maw into the collar around Karen's neck. Gavin's arm was driven up into Karen's back by the force of the recoil, and the brilliant muzzle flash left bright orange spots dancing in front of his vision.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ghost Of Ravenstar. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
I'd like to tell you Karen Idel died defiant. I'd like to tell you that when she died, she died without regret, confident that she couldn't have done otherwise. I'd like to tell you Karen died a good, quick death.
But that would be a lie.
Because the gunshot was so loud, so bright, it blew one of her eardrums and half-blinded her, and in the haze of deaf unseeing pain she more felt than saw the firecracker sound of her collar blowing around her neck, shredding her flesh and smashing through arteries. But there was so much pain for a moment that she couldn't quite process it--nothing had priority over anything else.
She would have screamed, if her throat hadn't been blasted open and exposed to the world.
You bleed out pretty fast when explosives sever the line of blood connecting your heart to your brain, but a person can survive a beheading for up to seven seconds. The artery was severed, not destroyed. She could still think. She could still feel pain.
And she didn't want to die. She desperately didn't want to die.
She hurt, worse than she'd hurt in her entire life, her body burning from asthma, her neck leaking blood, her ear deafened into muffled numbness. But she lingered on for minutes, feeling her body dying, leaking away into the dust.
She wanted to believe she'd never had a choice. That the only way she could have won was to gamble against the tyrannical fucks who'd put her here. But she could have clung to life in the shadows, scrambled and scrapped and swore. She could have used others to test her theories. She could have found another way.
She could have lived. She could have avoided all this fucking pain.
She'd never been a strategist, a player, a winner. She'd just been a scared little girl screaming at the darkness as it devoured her.
I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die
The despair was almost worse than the pain. It choked her insides, clouded her brain, painted the world black and made her ache somewhere deep inside, where even her wounds didn't reach. She wanted to fight it off. Wanted some kind of consolation.
But there wasn't any to be found. She'd been doomed the moment she'd found herself on this island. It was only a choice of how to die, and she'd chosen to risk her life in one mad gamble against the people who'd put her here, battered her head against the wall they'd erected to trap them here on the off chance she found a crack.
She'd failed. And the awful dread of it had come together in this moment, in agony more than she could bear, as she gagged and gurgled and tried with a malformed mouth to make any kind of last words.
But there were none to be found, not even in her own head. Her death, her defiance, had no meaning. She was just a scared little girl, suffering and bleeding for no reason at all.
She'd wanted to be a strategist, a player, a winner. She'd wanted to take on this game and break it down.
And then clarity. Sharp and sudden, not driving back the pain but somehow putting in in context. Everything felt very sane for a moment.
No. Be honest with yourself, Karen. Not like you've got time to spin lies. You were still playing a game.
Yeah. Her game. With players of her own choosing. She'd wanted to play against the people who'd put her here. She'd wanted to take on the system.
And she'd wanted to win. Oh God, she'd wanted to win. Her dying? She could live with it, that was the honest truth. She'd induced that asthma attack on herself because this was worth it. Winning was worth it.
But she'd lost. She'd lost and now she'd die for nothing.
No consolation there. Just pain, and defeat, all too clear to her blood-starved brain. Pointless. The whole thing was fucking pointless. Her defiance, sure, and this game, and the game they'd all been forced into. All fucking pointless.
To die a meaningless death. To die so stupidly, so easily. To die with this much pain.
She'd lost.
Game over.
GO53 KAREN IDEL: ELIMINATED
But that would be a lie.
Because the gunshot was so loud, so bright, it blew one of her eardrums and half-blinded her, and in the haze of deaf unseeing pain she more felt than saw the firecracker sound of her collar blowing around her neck, shredding her flesh and smashing through arteries. But there was so much pain for a moment that she couldn't quite process it--nothing had priority over anything else.
She would have screamed, if her throat hadn't been blasted open and exposed to the world.
You bleed out pretty fast when explosives sever the line of blood connecting your heart to your brain, but a person can survive a beheading for up to seven seconds. The artery was severed, not destroyed. She could still think. She could still feel pain.
And she didn't want to die. She desperately didn't want to die.
She hurt, worse than she'd hurt in her entire life, her body burning from asthma, her neck leaking blood, her ear deafened into muffled numbness. But she lingered on for minutes, feeling her body dying, leaking away into the dust.
She wanted to believe she'd never had a choice. That the only way she could have won was to gamble against the tyrannical fucks who'd put her here. But she could have clung to life in the shadows, scrambled and scrapped and swore. She could have used others to test her theories. She could have found another way.
She could have lived. She could have avoided all this fucking pain.
She'd never been a strategist, a player, a winner. She'd just been a scared little girl screaming at the darkness as it devoured her.
I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die
The despair was almost worse than the pain. It choked her insides, clouded her brain, painted the world black and made her ache somewhere deep inside, where even her wounds didn't reach. She wanted to fight it off. Wanted some kind of consolation.
But there wasn't any to be found. She'd been doomed the moment she'd found herself on this island. It was only a choice of how to die, and she'd chosen to risk her life in one mad gamble against the people who'd put her here, battered her head against the wall they'd erected to trap them here on the off chance she found a crack.
She'd failed. And the awful dread of it had come together in this moment, in agony more than she could bear, as she gagged and gurgled and tried with a malformed mouth to make any kind of last words.
But there were none to be found, not even in her own head. Her death, her defiance, had no meaning. She was just a scared little girl, suffering and bleeding for no reason at all.
She'd wanted to be a strategist, a player, a winner. She'd wanted to take on this game and break it down.
And then clarity. Sharp and sudden, not driving back the pain but somehow putting in in context. Everything felt very sane for a moment.
No. Be honest with yourself, Karen. Not like you've got time to spin lies. You were still playing a game.
Yeah. Her game. With players of her own choosing. She'd wanted to play against the people who'd put her here. She'd wanted to take on the system.
And she'd wanted to win. Oh God, she'd wanted to win. Her dying? She could live with it, that was the honest truth. She'd induced that asthma attack on herself because this was worth it. Winning was worth it.
But she'd lost. She'd lost and now she'd die for nothing.
No consolation there. Just pain, and defeat, all too clear to her blood-starved brain. Pointless. The whole thing was fucking pointless. Her defiance, sure, and this game, and the game they'd all been forced into. All fucking pointless.
To die a meaningless death. To die so stupidly, so easily. To die with this much pain.
She'd lost.
Game over.
GO53 KAREN IDEL: ELIMINATED
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
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Ghost Of Ravenstar†
- Posts: 99
- Joined: Sat Sep 22, 2018 5:27 am
Failure
Complete, utter failure.
Fragments of metal sliced into Gavin's cheek and knocked his glasses askew as Karen's collar exploded. The explosion wasn't very impressive, more of a pop than a boom, and muffled almost to the point of inaudibility by his earplugs. It was just enough to reduce Karen's neck to a pulp, and leave Gavin's hand badly singed. He barely felt the pain, there was too much adrenaline coursing through him for any other sensation besides crushing failure to make an impact.
"No..." he whispered. "No..."
This was it. He was about to die. There would be no glory for Gavin Hunter, just the cold embrace of death. Additionally, he had not just failed himself, but also Karen, Cyrus and Meg-
Wait, where is Megan?
She wasn't here. In fact, Gavin couldn't recall her presence distinctly ever since the mid-afternoon, when he had instructed her to help Karen gather driftwood for the fire. But hadn't he just recently helped make an evening meal for four people instead of three?
"Something is wrong." He said with finality. "This isn't the way things are supposed to be."
Tick.
Tock.
Gavin stood up slowly. His features were set in an unreadable mask, the blood on his cheeks slowly dripping down to stain the collar of his trenchcoat. He was no longer thinking about the failed escape, nor about his own imminent death. Instead, he had finally focused on an issue that had been lurking at the very back of his mind ever since he had woken up on the island.
"This doesn't make any SENSE!" He finally shouted, raising his injured hand and gesticulating towards the heavens with the scorch-blackened barrel of the AF2011. "None of this makes sense anymore! This isn't a real game; this is the fucking Kobayashi Maru! It doesn't matter what people try, you'll just keep spawning more random arbitrary bullshit until they lose! Well, I refuse to play along with your system any longer. I've seen the inconsistencies, the contradictions, the lies! This was never my reality, and I refuse to be bound by your laws any longer!"
In the space of that final sentence, Gavin placed the barrels of the AF2011 along the edge of his collar and pulled the trigger. The scene was shattered; his senses were engulfed in light... and Gavin Hunter opened his eyes.
"Well look who finally decided to come back from dreamland!"
"Uuugh... my head. What the hell happened to me? Also why does it feel like I haven't had a cup of tea in at least two months?"
"Relax, don't try and get up. You've had a severe shock to your system, you'll need time to recuperate."
"It was Myelin's fault."
"I may have been partially responsible."
"You were COMPLETELY responsible. I told you not to dispose of that malfunctioning psicrystal, not try and repurpose it as a power source!"
"Your exact words were 'to neutralise the threat that it posed'. Using it as a power source would have done just that, in time."
"The LAST time you used that argument, I ended up having to politely explain to an angry gold dragon why the spontaneous disintegration of the entire mountain that he'd been sleeping under for a thousand years was only an accident, and not the foretold second emergence of the Dracorage!"
"That wouldn't have happened if I'd been allowed to monitor the test firing. And if Charlotte hadn't dodged...
"... Er, can the two of you kindly explain what any of this has to do with me, precisely?"
"You wandered too close to Myelin's new apparatus and were hit by a random discharge of psionic energy. You've been in a coma for almost three months."
"Three months?! Wait, that actually kind of gels with my recent memories... what was that thing supposed to do anyway?"
"It was supposed to imprint photorealistic scenarios into the mind for training purposes."
"She was going to use it for self-gratification, in other words."
"Jealous, Kelian?"
"Quiet, the pair of you! Anyway, Myelin decided to use that psicrystal as a power source. Unfortunately it was unstable, and the energy fluctuations caused the device to activate prematurely and imprint an unfinished scenario into the mind of the nearest psionically-gifted individual, ergo yourself."
"Unfinished? Is that why everything was so... vague? It was as if details only started to exist when I pointed them out."
"Well, as I said, I hadn't finished programming the scenario itself. The basic elements - terrorists, kidnap, murder, etc - were from a little fantasy of mine back in highschool, but none of the details were worked out. There was a lot of placebo code. You could've called it a public beta. The imprint was much stronger than it should've been, though, and so your psyche ended up ineptly filling in the programming gaps in an attempt to keep you from going mad."
"But that same process made it virtually impossible to extract you from the scenario without causing irreversible brain-damage. Your mind had to accept the unreality of the situation first. Even then, we weren't sure if you'd make it or not."
"We did what we could, of course, doing our best to contact you and edge you towards options you might not previously had considered."
"... So that's why I kept feeling as if there was a voice whispering in my ear, especially towards the end. Was trying to break the system what I was supposed to do?"
"Sort of. By attempting the break the system you showed your unwillingness to participate in the scenario, which left your mind free to latch onto reality again. I never coded in contingencies for that event, so there was nothing you could've done that would have worked."
"In other words, your choice was correct, but for the wrong reasons. The system was was designed to fulfill a specific purpose, rather than play true to life. It gave the illusion of choice, when in fact there was none. There never were any options besides eliminating the competition; anything else would result in increasingly contrived efforts at railroading."
"My gods that's so true. I ran the program with just A.I a couple of times before, and it was a nightmare. The physics were less consistent than in a game of Dwarf Fortress, and there was an absolutely bizarre violation of thermodynamics in the fourth test run that nearly corrupted the whole thing. Eventually I just decided to let the system invent whatever bullshit it liked to keep things running smoothly and called it a day."
"And yet you keep the test log of those physics violations on your computer in the same folder as your active experiments..."
"Do you have ANY IDEA how hilarious it would be to create a spell capable of turning pools of blood into electrical traps?"
"Uh, that aside, why did everything seem to break down near the end?"
"Through a combination of our own efforts to make you more aware of the true nature of your situation and your own mind slowly discovering more and more inconsistencies. In the end, it simply refused to accept anymore input from the scenario."
"Huh, that explains why people seemed to keep vanishing without a trace... but I've known about magic for years, why was it totally absent in this scenario?"
"Funny thing; it wasn't. The cameras ran entirely on magic, since that was literally the only way the simulation would accept them. You can basically answer most of the 'why was X absent' questions with 'magic did it' and leave it at that. It's best not to think too hard about it."
"As for your own lack of abilities... I'd suppose that unlike us, you've only know about yours for a small portion of your life, so your memory tended to default back to your pre-manifestation days when looking for information to fill in the gaps of the imprint. Or possibly just because Myelin isn't a psionist, and prefers her sadistic revenge fantasies to have a more physical angle."
"Whoever said they were 'fantasies', heh heh..."
"Regardless, you're back with us now, and I've ensured that the program isn't a threat."
"I can arrange that, the kitchen is where you remember it - for a change. You're still weak, I'll help you along."
"You're most kind, thank you."
"So Myelin, do you actually turn off that program when Gavin showed signs of coming out of it?"
"No, it's still running. I was curious to see what other hiccups it would produce before the end."
"You make that sound oddly final."
"It was an experiment with a flawed, unstable power source and severely buggy code. I never had any real hopes of stabilising it, though it would've been interesting to see the results if Gavin had successfully integrated with it and supplied the missing pieces of the puzzle, so to speak. As it is, the energy levels from the psicrystal have been perceptibly dropping ever since test run one. There might be enough energy left to complete this cycle, but after the recent instabilities, I doubt there'll be enough to successfully run a sixth iteration."
"So the threat is gone?"
"Yeah, though I got plenty of neat ideas from it, so it served its purpose."
"Why is it when you get that look in your eye I want to run screaming?"
"Pussy. Call me back when I complete the lava Railgun that crazy temperature glitch inspired me to lay out the plans for."
"Just don't point it at any sleeping dragons, family members, major population centres, or Charlotte."
"She can take it."
"I don't care, don't do it. Sticking the bits back together again is annoying."
"Fiiiine."
"Anyway, the situation has been resolved, and I need a stiff drink to help get it out of my system. Care to join me?"
"Always!"
Complete, utter failure.
Fragments of metal sliced into Gavin's cheek and knocked his glasses askew as Karen's collar exploded. The explosion wasn't very impressive, more of a pop than a boom, and muffled almost to the point of inaudibility by his earplugs. It was just enough to reduce Karen's neck to a pulp, and leave Gavin's hand badly singed. He barely felt the pain, there was too much adrenaline coursing through him for any other sensation besides crushing failure to make an impact.
"No..." he whispered. "No..."
This was it. He was about to die. There would be no glory for Gavin Hunter, just the cold embrace of death. Additionally, he had not just failed himself, but also Karen, Cyrus and Meg-
Wait, where is Megan?
She wasn't here. In fact, Gavin couldn't recall her presence distinctly ever since the mid-afternoon, when he had instructed her to help Karen gather driftwood for the fire. But hadn't he just recently helped make an evening meal for four people instead of three?
"Something is wrong." He said with finality. "This isn't the way things are supposed to be."
Tick.
Tock.
Gavin stood up slowly. His features were set in an unreadable mask, the blood on his cheeks slowly dripping down to stain the collar of his trenchcoat. He was no longer thinking about the failed escape, nor about his own imminent death. Instead, he had finally focused on an issue that had been lurking at the very back of his mind ever since he had woken up on the island.
"This doesn't make any SENSE!" He finally shouted, raising his injured hand and gesticulating towards the heavens with the scorch-blackened barrel of the AF2011. "None of this makes sense anymore! This isn't a real game; this is the fucking Kobayashi Maru! It doesn't matter what people try, you'll just keep spawning more random arbitrary bullshit until they lose! Well, I refuse to play along with your system any longer. I've seen the inconsistencies, the contradictions, the lies! This was never my reality, and I refuse to be bound by your laws any longer!"
In the space of that final sentence, Gavin placed the barrels of the AF2011 along the edge of his collar and pulled the trigger. The scene was shattered; his senses were engulfed in light... and Gavin Hunter opened his eyes.
"Well look who finally decided to come back from dreamland!" "Uuugh... my head. What the hell happened to me? Also why does it feel like I haven't had a cup of tea in at least two months?" "Relax, don't try and get up. You've had a severe shock to your system, you'll need time to recuperate." "It was Myelin's fault." "I may have been partially responsible." "You were COMPLETELY responsible. I told you not to dispose of that malfunctioning psicrystal, not try and repurpose it as a power source!" "Your exact words were 'to neutralise the threat that it posed'. Using it as a power source would have done just that, in time." "The LAST time you used that argument, I ended up having to politely explain to an angry gold dragon why the spontaneous disintegration of the entire mountain that he'd been sleeping under for a thousand years was only an accident, and not the foretold second emergence of the Dracorage!" "That wouldn't have happened if I'd been allowed to monitor the test firing. And if Charlotte hadn't dodged... "... Er, can the two of you kindly explain what any of this has to do with me, precisely?" "You wandered too close to Myelin's new apparatus and were hit by a random discharge of psionic energy. You've been in a coma for almost three months." "Three months?! Wait, that actually kind of gels with my recent memories... what was that thing supposed to do anyway?" "It was supposed to imprint photorealistic scenarios into the mind for training purposes." "She was going to use it for self-gratification, in other words." "Jealous, Kelian?" "Quiet, the pair of you! Anyway, Myelin decided to use that psicrystal as a power source. Unfortunately it was unstable, and the energy fluctuations caused the device to activate prematurely and imprint an unfinished scenario into the mind of the nearest psionically-gifted individual, ergo yourself." "Unfinished? Is that why everything was so... vague? It was as if details only started to exist when I pointed them out." "Well, as I said, I hadn't finished programming the scenario itself. The basic elements - terrorists, kidnap, murder, etc - were from a little fantasy of mine back in highschool, but none of the details were worked out. There was a lot of placebo code. You could've called it a public beta. The imprint was much stronger than it should've been, though, and so your psyche ended up ineptly filling in the programming gaps in an attempt to keep you from going mad." "But that same process made it virtually impossible to extract you from the scenario without causing irreversible brain-damage. Your mind had to accept the unreality of the situation first. Even then, we weren't sure if you'd make it or not." "We did what we could, of course, doing our best to contact you and edge you towards options you might not previously had considered." "... So that's why I kept feeling as if there was a voice whispering in my ear, especially towards the end. Was trying to break the system what I was supposed to do?" "Sort of. By attempting the break the system you showed your unwillingness to participate in the scenario, which left your mind free to latch onto reality again. I never coded in contingencies for that event, so there was nothing you could've done that would have worked." "In other words, your choice was correct, but for the wrong reasons. The system was was designed to fulfill a specific purpose, rather than play true to life. It gave the illusion of choice, when in fact there was none. There never were any options besides eliminating the competition; anything else would result in increasingly contrived efforts at railroading." "My gods that's so true. I ran the program with just A.I a couple of times before, and it was a nightmare. The physics were less consistent than in a game of Dwarf Fortress, and there was an absolutely bizarre violation of thermodynamics in the fourth test run that nearly corrupted the whole thing. Eventually I just decided to let the system invent whatever bullshit it liked to keep things running smoothly and called it a day." "And yet you keep the test log of those physics violations on your computer in the same folder as your active experiments..." "Do you have ANY IDEA how hilarious it would be to create a spell capable of turning pools of blood into electrical traps?" "Uh, that aside, why did everything seem to break down near the end?" "Through a combination of our own efforts to make you more aware of the true nature of your situation and your own mind slowly discovering more and more inconsistencies. In the end, it simply refused to accept anymore input from the scenario." "Huh, that explains why people seemed to keep vanishing without a trace... but I've known about magic for years, why was it totally absent in this scenario?" "Funny thing; it wasn't. The cameras ran entirely on magic, since that was literally the only way the simulation would accept them. You can basically answer most of the 'why was X absent' questions with 'magic did it' and leave it at that. It's best not to think too hard about it." "As for your own lack of abilities... I'd suppose that unlike us, you've only know about yours for a small portion of your life, so your memory tended to default back to your pre-manifestation days when looking for information to fill in the gaps of the imprint. Or possibly just because Myelin isn't a psionist, and prefers her sadistic revenge fantasies to have a more physical angle." "Whoever said they were 'fantasies', heh heh..." "Regardless, you're back with us now, and I've ensured that the program isn't a threat." "I can arrange that, the kitchen is where you remember it - for a change. You're still weak, I'll help you along." "You're most kind, thank you." "So Myelin, do you actually turn off that program when Gavin showed signs of coming out of it?" "No, it's still running. I was curious to see what other hiccups it would produce before the end." "You make that sound oddly final." "It was an experiment with a flawed, unstable power source and severely buggy code. I never had any real hopes of stabilising it, though it would've been interesting to see the results if Gavin had successfully integrated with it and supplied the missing pieces of the puzzle, so to speak. As it is, the energy levels from the psicrystal have been perceptibly dropping ever since test run one. There might be enough energy left to complete this cycle, but after the recent instabilities, I doubt there'll be enough to successfully run a sixth iteration." "So the threat is gone?" "Yeah, though I got plenty of neat ideas from it, so it served its purpose." "Why is it when you get that look in your eye I want to run screaming?" "Pussy. Call me back when I complete the lava Railgun that crazy temperature glitch inspired me to lay out the plans for." "Just don't point it at any sleeping dragons, family members, major population centres, or Charlotte." "She can take it." "I don't care, don't do it. Sticking the bits back together again is annoying." "Fiiiine." "Anyway, the situation has been resolved, and I need a stiff drink to help get it out of my system. Care to join me?" "Always!"This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ghost Of Ravenstar. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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simpleinsanity†
- Posts: 21
- Joined: Sat Sep 22, 2018 6:23 am
Cyrus stared at the two corpses before him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.
"Wha...I...wha...why?!" He shouted at the mess in front of him. "Why did I participate in this?! What could I have gained?" His collar began to beep, but was drowned out by his screams.
"What good would have come of an escape? Nobody else would be spared! We wouldn't end this thing! We would just be saving ourselves!" The beeping began to increase in speed, but Cyrus ignored it. He raised the ice axe he had been assigned in front of his face. "I didn't even need to participate in this! I could've taken them by surprise at any moment! Saved myself, just like they were trying to do." He sighed, his eyes lowering toward the piece of metal on his neck. "I could've played. Easily." He groaned loudly, his collar's beeping picking up even more. He sighed, looking out at the ocean. The beeping seemed as though it couldn't get any more rapid.
"Lord..." He sighed, watching the waves pass over the sand. "...forgive me for what I've said. But it wouldn't have made a difference anyway." He closed his eyes as the beeping got to a plateau, taking one last breath as he tossed his ice axe backward.
"Halleluja."
BO72 CYRUS WHITE: ELIMINATED
"Wha...I...wha...why?!" He shouted at the mess in front of him. "Why did I participate in this?! What could I have gained?" His collar began to beep, but was drowned out by his screams.
"What good would have come of an escape? Nobody else would be spared! We wouldn't end this thing! We would just be saving ourselves!" The beeping began to increase in speed, but Cyrus ignored it. He raised the ice axe he had been assigned in front of his face. "I didn't even need to participate in this! I could've taken them by surprise at any moment! Saved myself, just like they were trying to do." He sighed, his eyes lowering toward the piece of metal on his neck. "I could've played. Easily." He groaned loudly, his collar's beeping picking up even more. He sighed, looking out at the ocean. The beeping seemed as though it couldn't get any more rapid.
"Lord..." He sighed, watching the waves pass over the sand. "...forgive me for what I've said. But it wouldn't have made a difference anyway." He closed his eyes as the beeping got to a plateau, taking one last breath as he tossed his ice axe backward.
"Halleluja."
BO72 CYRUS WHITE: ELIMINATED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler simpleinsanity. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Megan Emerson continued from Resisting Against Fate))
Megan was quiet as the others worked and planned. She bit her tongue, because that was what was expected of her at the moment. She tried not to think too much about what was coming, what they were going to do. It was dangerous, getting too hopeful, but she couldn't help letting some of the optimism seep into her. It was infectious. It was the only way to justify ignoring her doubts, really, her doubts about what they were doing and her doubts about Gavin.
When the time came, it was hard for her to play her part, to show her confusion and concern and make it genuine without breaking down and actually trying to help somehow. She had very mixed feelings about Karen, but hearing the girl choke and sputter was torture.
It had nothing, though, on what came next.
Gavin stepped forward, and he fired, and it was exactly like it was supposed to be except that there was a loud explosion and Karen dropped to the ground. Megan waited for her to get back up, for them to move along and get the collars off everyone else, to start the real part of their resistance. That had to be how this went. She'd been counting on it. As her collar started to beep, in time with Cyrus', she truly came to understand how much she'd been counting on it.
She could hear Gavin saying something, see him doing something. Was his collar beeping too? It didn't seem to be. He was moving the gun towards his neck, like maybe it'd go better the second time, but there was another boom, and he dropped.
This was what she'd come so far for?
Megan turned, then, and started to run. Cyrus was shouting something, but she didn't care. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. She'd made mistakes, hurt people, taken risks, and for it all to end like this? No way. Not a chance. She wouldn't let it, somehow she'd stop it from happening. She thought, for a second, that maybe she could outrun it somehow, get away and get another chance, try again, do anything to just stay alive.
But, of course, she couldn't. There was a noise and a light and pain, and she toppled at exactly the same time as Cyrus.
Megan was quiet as the others worked and planned. She bit her tongue, because that was what was expected of her at the moment. She tried not to think too much about what was coming, what they were going to do. It was dangerous, getting too hopeful, but she couldn't help letting some of the optimism seep into her. It was infectious. It was the only way to justify ignoring her doubts, really, her doubts about what they were doing and her doubts about Gavin.
When the time came, it was hard for her to play her part, to show her confusion and concern and make it genuine without breaking down and actually trying to help somehow. She had very mixed feelings about Karen, but hearing the girl choke and sputter was torture.
It had nothing, though, on what came next.
Gavin stepped forward, and he fired, and it was exactly like it was supposed to be except that there was a loud explosion and Karen dropped to the ground. Megan waited for her to get back up, for them to move along and get the collars off everyone else, to start the real part of their resistance. That had to be how this went. She'd been counting on it. As her collar started to beep, in time with Cyrus', she truly came to understand how much she'd been counting on it.
She could hear Gavin saying something, see him doing something. Was his collar beeping too? It didn't seem to be. He was moving the gun towards his neck, like maybe it'd go better the second time, but there was another boom, and he dropped.
This was what she'd come so far for?
Megan turned, then, and started to run. Cyrus was shouting something, but she didn't care. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. She'd made mistakes, hurt people, taken risks, and for it all to end like this? No way. Not a chance. She wouldn't let it, somehow she'd stop it from happening. She thought, for a second, that maybe she could outrun it somehow, get away and get another chance, try again, do anything to just stay alive.
But, of course, she couldn't. There was a noise and a light and pain, and she toppled at exactly the same time as Cyrus.
G014, Megan Emerson: DECEASED
