((Hansel Williams, The Things We Lost In The Fire))
When the bags got to be too much, and Hansel thought his left shoulder was going to fall off, he sought refuge in the hospital. It was a dangerous move - Hansel knew that flat out - but he needed to refresh his bandage, take stock of what he had available after the snatch and grab, and catch his breath. He was dehydrated, smelly, and exhausted, but he was alive and had three times the amount of stuff he had started with.
So, get somewhere high, without a lot of entrances, take stock, and resupply.
Walking the hospital corridors brought a sense of eeriness, an unnatural quietness that was too easily filled with the voices of his conscience. Tongues that had been held too long, put at bay by the adrenaline of his charge to eliminate his competition suddenly came loose, thoughts and discoveries and mistakes and musings swirling and filling his head.
Somewhere along the way, the FAMAS in his hands had become his FAMAS. The initiative to survive and stay the course had been dunked in murder, blood, and sweat. Somewhere along the way, he had changed from playing the part of a murderer to instill fear to being the murderer.
Three names were on his conscience, now, and were any of their placement noble, or good?
He arrived at a maternity ward on the third floor, his movements slowed and bogged down by the bags he carried - both physical and mental. He was tired, he was hungry, and he was worried about his wound - the wound that Theo had inflicted on him - being too far gone to save. Dragging the bags behind him with his good arm, he stepped past the waiting room, into a large room lined with cribs on either side.
Slowly, reverently, he lowered his gun, his bags, to the floor. Removed his hat, placed it on the three bags.
The room called for - no, demanded - silence. So many tiny cribs, lining the walls, reminders of live to be born again and given. Pink balloons with IT'S A GIRL!! in fun, feminine script, chairs that were begging to be filled with anxious fathers, calm mothers, excited siblings. The room had an energy - of hope, cheer, ambience.
It was here that life was supposed to be revered and held aloft for the first time. It was here that good news was to be delivered and accepted, cigars to be handed out and lit up in celebration.
And now, it was soiled, torn asunder. Now, where there should be hope and joy, there was only misery and silence.
Death.
Hansel let the stillness, the quietness, seep over him, permeate his bones and fill his lungs as he breathed it in and felt it. He gave himself five seconds - five glorious seconds - to just be. No bottles heaved at him, no hostages taken, no threats or acts of violence.
No deaths on his conscience.
Five seconds.
On the fifth, he pulled off his sweat soaked red dress shirt, grunting in pain as the sleeve passed over his left shoulder. Moving to a sink - a small, two basin metallic number - he flicked both knobs, hopefully.
The water was weak, gurgling forth, but it came.
Hansel shifted his shoulder, peeling the gauze from his shoulder with a slight hissing sound, rotating the wound to get a decent glance. The skin around it was slightly pink and it throbbed faintly, but he didn't have a fever. The early field dressing he had given the wound had apparently done a decent job.
He stepped back towards the three bags, rummaging until he uncovered a medkit. Carrying it over to the counter, he laid out soap, dressing, alcohol pads, and hand sanitizer.
With a quick, bracing breath, he got to work.
Forty five minutes later, Hansel was seated cross legged, with the three bags stationed around them, their contents open and spread out on the floor. His clothes - the shirt, his jeans, his underwear and the stetson - had been washed as best as he could get them, wrung dry, and were hanging up over various IV poles and cribs, drying out.
The cold tile felt good and bracing against his skin - slightly pink from the scrubbing to get the grime off, courtesy of the meagre water supply and the soap - as he regarded each bag, the white of his fresh bandage a stark contrast to the brown tan of his skin. His fingers were clasped in his lap, thumbs rubbing his skin gently as he watched over his supplies.
He had been doing this all wrong.
Survive had been the only word in his vocabulary so far, the only word that had mattered. Whenever someone asked him why, whenever someone addressed him, that had been on the tip of his tongue. He did what he had to, to survive.
And yet, he'd been reckless. Figuring himself larger than life, banking on his classmates' fear and hatred of him to keep them away and in cover. He'd been wrong - Bianca, Aileen, Ray, and Mallory had all been a testament to that. He couldn't rely on fear as a means of ensuring he survived anymore. It wasn't working.
But playing smart? Picking his moment? That had potential. His first attempt to steal, he'd been outnumbered and had failed. The second time, he had had a hostage, and made it out with triple the supplies he had started with. If it hadn't been for whoever had thrown the golf ball, he would've had a bullet proof vest and Claire's extra rations.
One step at a time. His name was on the announcements, now, and his classmates knew what he was willing to do. He couldn't take any more stupid chances, and he couldn't afford to be overpowered. The name of the game was lie low, keep quiet, pick your moment. He'd already paid his dues - offered up the sacrifice the game demanded.
Surviving wasn't the only goal on his mind anymore.
But winning had a nice ring to it.
Quietly, he began to pack all of the medical supplies into one kit, and divided up the rations - keeping four rations, a bottle of water, and the whip from Daniel Whitten as the only things in one of the three bags. Another was filled with everything it could hold, leaving the third empty. Carefully, he climbed onto a chair in the waiting room, lifted up one of the ceiling tiles, and slid the least full of the bags into the space between the cheap tiles and the ceiling of the building.
Next, he found a privacy curtain - made of some cheap plastic - and cut a hole in the middle using the scissors from a med kit, large enough for his head to slip through. His very own poncho.
He got dressed after his clothes were sufficiently dry, feeling human again - refreshed, ready, maybe even a little happy. He had protection from the rain, food and supplies to last him another few days, and he had a game plan.
All he needed now was to save his strength and bide his time.
If I had known this, I would have put that patch on 35 years ago.
Open.
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NotAFlyingToy
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[Andi Victorino, girl no. 001, continued from: ALL I NEED IS ME]
When she ran, the world fell away. There were no people or problems, no tears or anger, just the shriek of her shoes meeting hard asphalt and the burning of her lungs begging for air. She savored the burn, the fight against her body telling her to stop, an internal struggle that, for all intents and purposes, served only to keep her mind distracted and distanced from the real world.
She pushed herself hard, well past the point she should have, her lungs feeling as if gripped by an icy hand, but she even then she didn't stop. She couldn't. Wouldn't. The minute she stopped, the world would piece itself back together and she'd be left to deal with it. And she was ready for that, not yet. She needed just a while more to not have to feel anything apart from the tightness in her chest and the ache of her legs.
But the world wouldn't be ignored for long, she found, and eventually she was double over on the side of the trail fighting back dry-heaves as tried to reintroduce air into her lungs. She could feel people, other runners, WASPy moms out with their kids, the aforementioned kids themselves, all gawking as they passed, but she didn't care. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, not with Noni gone. As far as she was concerned, she was alone in the world without Noni and she stopped at no expense to make that very clear to her family. She refused to grieve with them, she didn't want to look through old photo albums with them or share stories, they wouldn't understand what Noni meant to her. They all had each other, but Noni was all she ever had and they'd never understand that.
Hell, without Noni, maybe she'd just run away, let them think she was dead too.
"You should pace yourself," a silky, albeit slightly labored voice came from behind her, startling in and forcing her to glance behind her, despite her hunched position. "Do you need a drink? I don't have cooties."
Andi eyed the water bottle in his outstretched hand before directing her attention to his face. He looked to be about as old as her, familiar. Attractive in a pretty boy kind of way, if you were in to that thing. She wasn't. Straightening her back and wheeling around, she came face to face with the boy, whom she was almost positive she'd seen once in the school halls, maybe one of the upperclassmen. Not that that mattered. She was already pissed and wanted some time to herself, so some dick trying to lecture her was asking for whatever he got.
"What, are you trying to roofie me in broad daylight, you fucking creep?" She lashed out, still trying to regain her breath as her hands flew to her hips, "I've got a rape-whistle, asshole, so crawl back to whatever bridge you live under.
He offered a chuckle, retracting his offered water bottle and shrugging. "You just looked like you were having a hard time. I wanted to help, that's all."
Her hands moved from her hips and crossed in front of her, which didn't relieve the pressure already bearing down on it, but she worried what she'd do otherwise. "Oh, that's weird, because I don't remember asking for it. I don't need your fucking help."
"Alright, whatever. Sorry I tried," He said, rubbing his eyebrow as he motioned to move past her.
But Andi wasn't done, hadn't said all she wanted to say. Didn't feel satisfied unleashing all her anger over Noni's death and her family on the kid, not yet.
"I don't need anyone worrying about me, let alone some fuck-off who doesn't even look like he can take care of himself," She spat, walking after him, arms coming undone as she gesticulated angrily with them. "Like, what, you think you're fucking prince charming riding in on a fucking horse in the middle of Seattle to save the poor weak girl? I'm not weak, douche-bag, I don't need anyone's fucking help."
"Jesus Christ," He wheeled around, frustration written on his face, "I just thought you might want a drink of water, fuckin' a. If I'd know you were a goddamn lunatic bitch, I'd have crossed to the other side of the park."
Once again, he turned his back on her and continued walking. Once again, she followed.
"I'm not a bitch," she shot back, hastening her pace to match his, "I'm going through a hard time, asshole, alright?"
"Yeah, well so am I," He said, not bothering to turn around. Just by his voice, she could tell he was being genuine, the sombre tone, the regret or sorrow just about dripping from it. Everything in his tone matched exactly how she'd felt the past couple of days and, immediately, she regretted saying the things she had. Maybe it was why he'd approached her in the first place, maybe there was some animal instinct in him telling him that she was feeling the same as him.
She was quiet for a moment, still following after him.
"Can I have a sip?" She asked, not sure what else. He turned around in response, a puzzled, but defeated look on his face as he handed her the bottle. She took a long sip before handing it back.
"I'm Andi."
"Sven."
She offered a smile, which wasn't something she did often, especially to people she picked fights with. This boy was different though, somehow. She felt connected to him, even without knowing anything about him. Maybe she just watched too many movies or something, but she wanted to know him, find out his story.
"I'll tell you about my week if you tell me about yours."
Whether it was some divine intervention from Noni or just a case of being in the right place at the right time, Andi, for the first time since Noni passed, didn't feel completely alone in the world.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
The world had a funny way of bringing people together when they most need each other.
Andi wasn't sure what attracted her to the hospital, let alone the maternity ward, but it wasn't just a case of her stumbling upon it like it had been with the school. It screamed at her on the map, maybe she was feeling nostalgic or missing Fiona, but whatever it was she knew she had to go there.
When she finally got there, it made sense. She roamed, in a way feeling overwhelmed by all the festivity of the place and her own memories of giving birth, but also comforted and reinvigorated. Everything that happened drained her of her resolve, but thinking of Fiona waiting for her back home gave her the push she desperately needed.
She stood at the window to the viewing room for a while, one hand pressed against the glass. It wasn't that long ago that she and Sven were in the same position watching Fiona sleep and now he was gone and she was the one that had to get home for their daughter.
She had to win.
No matter what, she had to win. And she would. She didn't know how, but she would.
With one last look of longing, she walked away from the window and further down the hall, headed for large double doors at the end. She needed to find a weapon, that much she knew, something that had better defense potential than her hammer, something that she could use when she had to. Pushing her way through the doors, she was surprised to see another figure already in the waiting area, someone she would have avoided a couple days ago, but today she saw an opportunity.
Hansel's name had been on the announcements more than once and he was, in all regards, likely a very dangerous person. Had the opening of the double doors been quieter and had she been given the chance, she may have just walked away from him. But they weren't and she hadn't. If Hansel was going to kill her, he'd be able to do it and there wasn't much she could do to stop it.
Her mind instantly jumped to action, forming contingency plans and looking for points of escape, standing frozen in the doorway.
But the world had a way of bringing people together and maybe this was its way of giving her an out.
Slowly, she raised her hands, duffel hanging heavily off her shoulder.
"Don't shoot," She said softly, her eyes darting from his gun to his own eyes and back again,
"I know who you are and what you've done and I want in."
When she ran, the world fell away. There were no people or problems, no tears or anger, just the shriek of her shoes meeting hard asphalt and the burning of her lungs begging for air. She savored the burn, the fight against her body telling her to stop, an internal struggle that, for all intents and purposes, served only to keep her mind distracted and distanced from the real world.
She pushed herself hard, well past the point she should have, her lungs feeling as if gripped by an icy hand, but she even then she didn't stop. She couldn't. Wouldn't. The minute she stopped, the world would piece itself back together and she'd be left to deal with it. And she was ready for that, not yet. She needed just a while more to not have to feel anything apart from the tightness in her chest and the ache of her legs.
But the world wouldn't be ignored for long, she found, and eventually she was double over on the side of the trail fighting back dry-heaves as tried to reintroduce air into her lungs. She could feel people, other runners, WASPy moms out with their kids, the aforementioned kids themselves, all gawking as they passed, but she didn't care. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, not with Noni gone. As far as she was concerned, she was alone in the world without Noni and she stopped at no expense to make that very clear to her family. She refused to grieve with them, she didn't want to look through old photo albums with them or share stories, they wouldn't understand what Noni meant to her. They all had each other, but Noni was all she ever had and they'd never understand that.
Hell, without Noni, maybe she'd just run away, let them think she was dead too.
"You should pace yourself," a silky, albeit slightly labored voice came from behind her, startling in and forcing her to glance behind her, despite her hunched position. "Do you need a drink? I don't have cooties."
Andi eyed the water bottle in his outstretched hand before directing her attention to his face. He looked to be about as old as her, familiar. Attractive in a pretty boy kind of way, if you were in to that thing. She wasn't. Straightening her back and wheeling around, she came face to face with the boy, whom she was almost positive she'd seen once in the school halls, maybe one of the upperclassmen. Not that that mattered. She was already pissed and wanted some time to herself, so some dick trying to lecture her was asking for whatever he got.
"What, are you trying to roofie me in broad daylight, you fucking creep?" She lashed out, still trying to regain her breath as her hands flew to her hips, "I've got a rape-whistle, asshole, so crawl back to whatever bridge you live under.
He offered a chuckle, retracting his offered water bottle and shrugging. "You just looked like you were having a hard time. I wanted to help, that's all."
Her hands moved from her hips and crossed in front of her, which didn't relieve the pressure already bearing down on it, but she worried what she'd do otherwise. "Oh, that's weird, because I don't remember asking for it. I don't need your fucking help."
"Alright, whatever. Sorry I tried," He said, rubbing his eyebrow as he motioned to move past her.
But Andi wasn't done, hadn't said all she wanted to say. Didn't feel satisfied unleashing all her anger over Noni's death and her family on the kid, not yet.
"I don't need anyone worrying about me, let alone some fuck-off who doesn't even look like he can take care of himself," She spat, walking after him, arms coming undone as she gesticulated angrily with them. "Like, what, you think you're fucking prince charming riding in on a fucking horse in the middle of Seattle to save the poor weak girl? I'm not weak, douche-bag, I don't need anyone's fucking help."
"Jesus Christ," He wheeled around, frustration written on his face, "I just thought you might want a drink of water, fuckin' a. If I'd know you were a goddamn lunatic bitch, I'd have crossed to the other side of the park."
Once again, he turned his back on her and continued walking. Once again, she followed.
"I'm not a bitch," she shot back, hastening her pace to match his, "I'm going through a hard time, asshole, alright?"
"Yeah, well so am I," He said, not bothering to turn around. Just by his voice, she could tell he was being genuine, the sombre tone, the regret or sorrow just about dripping from it. Everything in his tone matched exactly how she'd felt the past couple of days and, immediately, she regretted saying the things she had. Maybe it was why he'd approached her in the first place, maybe there was some animal instinct in him telling him that she was feeling the same as him.
She was quiet for a moment, still following after him.
"Can I have a sip?" She asked, not sure what else. He turned around in response, a puzzled, but defeated look on his face as he handed her the bottle. She took a long sip before handing it back.
"I'm Andi."
"Sven."
She offered a smile, which wasn't something she did often, especially to people she picked fights with. This boy was different though, somehow. She felt connected to him, even without knowing anything about him. Maybe she just watched too many movies or something, but she wanted to know him, find out his story.
"I'll tell you about my week if you tell me about yours."
Whether it was some divine intervention from Noni or just a case of being in the right place at the right time, Andi, for the first time since Noni passed, didn't feel completely alone in the world.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
The world had a funny way of bringing people together when they most need each other.
Andi wasn't sure what attracted her to the hospital, let alone the maternity ward, but it wasn't just a case of her stumbling upon it like it had been with the school. It screamed at her on the map, maybe she was feeling nostalgic or missing Fiona, but whatever it was she knew she had to go there.
When she finally got there, it made sense. She roamed, in a way feeling overwhelmed by all the festivity of the place and her own memories of giving birth, but also comforted and reinvigorated. Everything that happened drained her of her resolve, but thinking of Fiona waiting for her back home gave her the push she desperately needed.
She stood at the window to the viewing room for a while, one hand pressed against the glass. It wasn't that long ago that she and Sven were in the same position watching Fiona sleep and now he was gone and she was the one that had to get home for their daughter.
She had to win.
No matter what, she had to win. And she would. She didn't know how, but she would.
With one last look of longing, she walked away from the window and further down the hall, headed for large double doors at the end. She needed to find a weapon, that much she knew, something that had better defense potential than her hammer, something that she could use when she had to. Pushing her way through the doors, she was surprised to see another figure already in the waiting area, someone she would have avoided a couple days ago, but today she saw an opportunity.
Hansel's name had been on the announcements more than once and he was, in all regards, likely a very dangerous person. Had the opening of the double doors been quieter and had she been given the chance, she may have just walked away from him. But they weren't and she hadn't. If Hansel was going to kill her, he'd be able to do it and there wasn't much she could do to stop it.
Her mind instantly jumped to action, forming contingency plans and looking for points of escape, standing frozen in the doorway.
But the world had a way of bringing people together and maybe this was its way of giving her an out.
Slowly, she raised her hands, duffel hanging heavily off her shoulder.
"Don't shoot," She said softly, her eyes darting from his gun to his own eyes and back again,
"I know who you are and what you've done and I want in."
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NotAFlyingToy
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It unsettled him.
Seeing Andi standing in the doorway, her tone calm, hands in the air, eyes dancing from his gun to his face, brought back memories - heavy handed ones - of the halls of Aurora. Finding out about her kid, smirking at her in smug disapproval every time he saw her in the halls, rolling his eyes when he heard her voice. In a way, back then, her little error in judgement had devalued everything she ever said and did in his eyes. After all, how could someone who had made such a huge mistake with their life be responsible, hold valid opinions, be seen as just?
But that was in Aurora, and that was a lifetime ago.
Even now, his hand shook lightly on the grip of the FAMAS, the urge to just begin firing in her direction one that nearly took hold of him. She appeared to be alone, defenseless - and the right thing, the smart thing, was to eliminate her now.
One less on the road to a win.
But her words didn't make sense, what she said made him frown in confusion and blink as if he'd misheard her. When she said in...
He made his voice drop an octave, coming out in a near growl as he lowered the FAMAS to his waist, barrel pointed towards the ground.
"I'm listening."
Seeing Andi standing in the doorway, her tone calm, hands in the air, eyes dancing from his gun to his face, brought back memories - heavy handed ones - of the halls of Aurora. Finding out about her kid, smirking at her in smug disapproval every time he saw her in the halls, rolling his eyes when he heard her voice. In a way, back then, her little error in judgement had devalued everything she ever said and did in his eyes. After all, how could someone who had made such a huge mistake with their life be responsible, hold valid opinions, be seen as just?
But that was in Aurora, and that was a lifetime ago.
Even now, his hand shook lightly on the grip of the FAMAS, the urge to just begin firing in her direction one that nearly took hold of him. She appeared to be alone, defenseless - and the right thing, the smart thing, was to eliminate her now.
One less on the road to a win.
But her words didn't make sense, what she said made him frown in confusion and blink as if he'd misheard her. When she said in...
He made his voice drop an octave, coming out in a near growl as he lowered the FAMAS to his waist, barrel pointed towards the ground.
"I'm listening."
Andi lowered her hands slowly, carefully maintaining eye contact with Hansel to show him she meant no harm, but kept her position by the door in case he changed his mind. A lump had grown in her throat since she'd entered and she swallowed hard to try and rid herself of it, but to no avail. She kept telling herself that this was the chance she needed, finding someone who'd already started playing the 'game' that had been set up for them, someone she could attach herself to and learn from, especially when they had a weapon like Hansel did.
"I need to get home," She spoke slowly in an attempt to keep her voice steady, "And I'm sure you feel the same way."
Hansel seemed receptive to her, so she took a step forward. Grimly, she was reminded of her time in pageants trying to sell herself to the judges, where she wanted hunger to end and world peace for all.
"But people are gonna be looking for you and they're gonna want revenge," Her eyes once again darted from his gun and back, "And that thing won't last forever. The minute you run out of bullets, you're a sitting duck for someone with a better weapon."
She took another step, heart feeling as if it'd burst from her chest at any second.
"We can help each other. I'll watch your back and make sure you have the numbers. And you can... teach me. Show me what it takes to do what you do."
"I need to get home," She spoke slowly in an attempt to keep her voice steady, "And I'm sure you feel the same way."
Hansel seemed receptive to her, so she took a step forward. Grimly, she was reminded of her time in pageants trying to sell herself to the judges, where she wanted hunger to end and world peace for all.
"But people are gonna be looking for you and they're gonna want revenge," Her eyes once again darted from his gun and back, "And that thing won't last forever. The minute you run out of bullets, you're a sitting duck for someone with a better weapon."
She took another step, heart feeling as if it'd burst from her chest at any second.
"We can help each other. I'll watch your back and make sure you have the numbers. And you can... teach me. Show me what it takes to do what you do."
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NotAFlyingToy
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Hansel raised his eyebrows at her proposal, incredulity bubbling to the surface first, followed by suspicion. What, was he supposed to drag this girl through the rankings until it was convenient for her to shoot him in the back? She was a large girl, looked strong and fit - but she'd be a liability.
The implication that he was some kind of master at killing classmates should have disturbed him more, maybe caused him to vehemently deny it, explode in righteous indignation.
But the emotion that was most prevalent when she said the words was a weariness, a tired feeling that seeped into his skin and left him feeling somewhat boneless, loose, weak.
"What makes you think I need you?" his mouth responded, letting the gun hang from his shoulder strap as he folded his arms, the white bandage on his shoulder a bright contrast to the dirty red shirt and tanned skin.
"H-how can I trust you?"
The implication that he was some kind of master at killing classmates should have disturbed him more, maybe caused him to vehemently deny it, explode in righteous indignation.
But the emotion that was most prevalent when she said the words was a weariness, a tired feeling that seeped into his skin and left him feeling somewhat boneless, loose, weak.
"What makes you think I need you?" his mouth responded, letting the gun hang from his shoulder strap as he folded his arms, the white bandage on his shoulder a bright contrast to the dirty red shirt and tanned skin.
"H-how can I trust you?"
Andi was taken aback by Hansel's response, but her cogs instantly started turning. Truthfully, there wasn't any reason for him to trust her. She was unarmed and couldn't provide him with any support that way, nor was she at all devoted to him as a person. But he had one of the biggest body counts and she could very easily use that to her advantage, maybe get a weapon from it and keep the blood off her hands until she got to the end before cutting him lose.
So she had to think quick. Appeal to the judges, her mom had always said. Find out what they enjoy and run with it. There wasn't much Andi knew about Hansel, aside from him being a backwoods hick who was hot for Jesus. Well, that and that he was a tremendous dick, the kind that had always given her those side-eyes when she'd gotten pregnant and made it hard live. She didn't mind that much now, though. It made using him easier on her conscience at the very least.
"We believe in the same things," She said, pulling her cross from out of her shirt to show him, "You don't need me, but I could make life a lot easier for you. Four eyes looking over your shoulder instead of just two, right?"
So she had to think quick. Appeal to the judges, her mom had always said. Find out what they enjoy and run with it. There wasn't much Andi knew about Hansel, aside from him being a backwoods hick who was hot for Jesus. Well, that and that he was a tremendous dick, the kind that had always given her those side-eyes when she'd gotten pregnant and made it hard live. She didn't mind that much now, though. It made using him easier on her conscience at the very least.
"We believe in the same things," She said, pulling her cross from out of her shirt to show him, "You don't need me, but I could make life a lot easier for you. Four eyes looking over your shoulder instead of just two, right?"
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NotAFlyingToy
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At her explanation, Hansel stiffened, his eyes narrowing to quiet slits as she finished speaking, the sound of her voice floating in the space between them, a dying bee without a flower. It hung, buzzing in midair, reverberating in the quiet room, before falling flat. The tension in his body was immediate, the air suddenly thick with disapproval and distrust.
She was trying to trick him. Why would Andi want to look out for him, or willingly plaster herself to him for any length of time? Further, why would she want to learn how he - as she delicately put it - did what he did?
Was there someone he'd killed that she was close to? Was this just her method of piercing his defenses, making him turn his back so she could hit him at his most vulnerable? She hung around that softball crowd - maybe Mallory had been close to those guys? Daniel? Kyle?
The gun was back in his hands, aimed from his hip without conscious thought, the barrel pointed somewhere to her left as he scrutinized her. Slowly, carefully, he flicked the safety on the gun, the quiet click like a blast of dynamite in the otherwise silent room.
"No."
She was trying to trick him. Why would Andi want to look out for him, or willingly plaster herself to him for any length of time? Further, why would she want to learn how he - as she delicately put it - did what he did?
Was there someone he'd killed that she was close to? Was this just her method of piercing his defenses, making him turn his back so she could hit him at his most vulnerable? She hung around that softball crowd - maybe Mallory had been close to those guys? Daniel? Kyle?
The gun was back in his hands, aimed from his hip without conscious thought, the barrel pointed somewhere to her left as he scrutinized her. Slowly, carefully, he flicked the safety on the gun, the quiet click like a blast of dynamite in the otherwise silent room.
"No."
((Michael Mitchellson: Continued from The Best Part of Waking Up))
It'd been the weirdest feeling, walking away from the school with only Tim, his bag, and his shotgun. Michael knew that it had to be done, that this was their only chance of tracking down Corey or Daniel, but it still stung to be leaving Rachael and the rest behind. Wouldn't Daniel want Michael to stay and watch over the girl of his dreams, instead of going off on some long-ass voyage around murder island?
Michael shrugged, then resolved to ask his friend himself, once they were reunited and regrouped with the rest. He'd chosen the bridge to cross, no sense whining about it if some asswipe burned it down later.
It'd been decided that the first place the two would check out was the Hospital, as it was relatively nearby and Corey had been there in the past. As good a place to start as any, he supposed.
The lobby had seen some significant changes over the days they'd been away, most noticeably the addition of three bullet-riddled corpses. Carlon and two other girls that Michael didn't recognize. They had to stop their search for a while so Michael could build up his manly resolve, and certainly not because he'd broken into tears like a fucking baby upon seeing one of his friends dead. Michael had never been too close to Carlon, but he'd always liked the dude, and it hurt far too much to know that yet another member of the book club had gotten killed.
Later on, when Michael had stopped cry- after he'd built up a sufficient amount of righteous fury, he and Tim had continued their search through the building. They didn't find anybody on the second floor, besides another corpse that Michael didn't recognize. It didn't feel right to just leave them there, but their first priority was the living, and Michael doubted that the families of those poor bastards would appreciate a couple strangers fucking around with the bodies.
Michael both expected and dreaded the third floor to be much the same thing. They still hadn't found the body of whoever had been presumably shot during their first visit to the hospital, after all, and Michael still held a faint hope that it had just been some asshole messing around with a gun, and not someone being gunned down in cold blood while Michael and his crew fled the scene.
With this weighing heavily on his mind, Michael swung open the doors to the waiting area, and froze for a moment, taking in the situation.
Two people. An unarmed girl, who Michael didn't know. Some big dude, who Michael also didn't know. The big-ass gun that the big dude was currently pointing in the general direction of the girl. A murder that hadn't yet been committed.
Without a second's hesitation, Michael flicked his shotgun's safety off, took aim, and aimed it at Hansel's head. He was Michael Fucking Mitchellson, goddammit, and he was not going to let someone else die who he could have saved.
Michael continued to aim, waited for Hansel's next move, did his best to convey a sense of "Any sudden movements and you die, asshole!". The intense trembling of his limbs somewhat lessened the seriousness of that message.
It'd been the weirdest feeling, walking away from the school with only Tim, his bag, and his shotgun. Michael knew that it had to be done, that this was their only chance of tracking down Corey or Daniel, but it still stung to be leaving Rachael and the rest behind. Wouldn't Daniel want Michael to stay and watch over the girl of his dreams, instead of going off on some long-ass voyage around murder island?
Michael shrugged, then resolved to ask his friend himself, once they were reunited and regrouped with the rest. He'd chosen the bridge to cross, no sense whining about it if some asswipe burned it down later.
It'd been decided that the first place the two would check out was the Hospital, as it was relatively nearby and Corey had been there in the past. As good a place to start as any, he supposed.
The lobby had seen some significant changes over the days they'd been away, most noticeably the addition of three bullet-riddled corpses. Carlon and two other girls that Michael didn't recognize. They had to stop their search for a while so Michael could build up his manly resolve, and certainly not because he'd broken into tears like a fucking baby upon seeing one of his friends dead. Michael had never been too close to Carlon, but he'd always liked the dude, and it hurt far too much to know that yet another member of the book club had gotten killed.
Later on, when Michael had stopped cry- after he'd built up a sufficient amount of righteous fury, he and Tim had continued their search through the building. They didn't find anybody on the second floor, besides another corpse that Michael didn't recognize. It didn't feel right to just leave them there, but their first priority was the living, and Michael doubted that the families of those poor bastards would appreciate a couple strangers fucking around with the bodies.
Michael both expected and dreaded the third floor to be much the same thing. They still hadn't found the body of whoever had been presumably shot during their first visit to the hospital, after all, and Michael still held a faint hope that it had just been some asshole messing around with a gun, and not someone being gunned down in cold blood while Michael and his crew fled the scene.
With this weighing heavily on his mind, Michael swung open the doors to the waiting area, and froze for a moment, taking in the situation.
Two people. An unarmed girl, who Michael didn't know. Some big dude, who Michael also didn't know. The big-ass gun that the big dude was currently pointing in the general direction of the girl. A murder that hadn't yet been committed.
Without a second's hesitation, Michael flicked his shotgun's safety off, took aim, and aimed it at Hansel's head. He was Michael Fucking Mitchellson, goddammit, and he was not going to let someone else die who he could have saved.
Michael continued to aim, waited for Hansel's next move, did his best to convey a sense of "Any sudden movements and you die, asshole!". The intense trembling of his limbs somewhat lessened the seriousness of that message.
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NotAFlyingToy
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And suddenly, she had backup - backup in the form of that deaf kid from Aurora. In less than a half hour, Hansel had two grim reminders of the lifetime ago - when they could claim they were all various degrees of innocent, human, sheltered.
Michael still had that look about him, and though he had a big looking gun and his mean face on, Hansel hadn't heard his name in the announcements. So, he released his FAMAS, letting it hang from his neck on the shoulder strap, bending slowly to pick up the bag at his feet.
Straightening, he smiled at the boy, the facial expression tight, macabre - more of a grimace than any joyous grin. Slowly, carefully, he lifted two fingers of his right hand, and pressed them to his forehead as he started walking towards Michael and Andi, his gun dangling, stride unhurried, that grin still on his face.
Go ahead and shoot me, he thought, as he closed the distance between them.
And when Michael didn't, his smile grew wider, wider still until he stood in front of the deaf boy, looking him up and down.
He snorted. Shook his head. Stepped past.
He didn't give Andi a backwards glance as he started down the stairs and out into the night.
((Hansel Williams, Fill your hand, you son of a bitch.))
Michael still had that look about him, and though he had a big looking gun and his mean face on, Hansel hadn't heard his name in the announcements. So, he released his FAMAS, letting it hang from his neck on the shoulder strap, bending slowly to pick up the bag at his feet.
Straightening, he smiled at the boy, the facial expression tight, macabre - more of a grimace than any joyous grin. Slowly, carefully, he lifted two fingers of his right hand, and pressed them to his forehead as he started walking towards Michael and Andi, his gun dangling, stride unhurried, that grin still on his face.
Go ahead and shoot me, he thought, as he closed the distance between them.
And when Michael didn't, his smile grew wider, wider still until he stood in front of the deaf boy, looking him up and down.
He snorted. Shook his head. Stepped past.
He didn't give Andi a backwards glance as he started down the stairs and out into the night.
((Hansel Williams, Fill your hand, you son of a bitch.))
Andi wasn't someone who took well to hearing 'No', especially, she learned, when her life was on the line. Hansel hadn't been impressed, audibly flipping the safety of his gun while it's barrel pointed upwards in her direction. Panic bubble in her stomach, raising upwards like hot bile as she frantically tried to think of her next move.
She hadn't expected him to say no, maybe she'd given herself too much credit, but there hadn't been a back-up plan. He was her ticket and there was no 'no' as far as she was concerned. Above his teaching potential, Hansel was a big name on the announcements and people would take note of that the same way she had. They'd fear him, or try to hunt him, but either way worked out for her. She could keep the blood off her hands long enough for her to get far and keep her name out of people's minds. So 'no' wouldn't suffice.
"Listen," She began, trying to keep the panic from showing in her voice. She focused hard on his eyes, trying to get something from him, but their link broke just as quick to the loud entrance of someone entering from the doors behind her. Her breath caught in her throat when she glanced behind her and caught sight of the gun-wielding Michael Mitchellson. Instantly her heart bottomed out, dropping to the pit of her stomach. They were working together and Michael was there to cut off any escape route.
But his gun wasn't pointed at her, it's shaking aim focused past her and on Hansel, her eyes narrowing immediately once she figured out what was going on.
She appreciated the sentiment, really she did. Short-bus Michael was trying to save her and that was nice and all, but one; she had it under control, and two; he was just fucking everything up. If she'd had more time, she knew she could of convinced Hansel. He'd been interested, he was obviously open to something. She just had to find the crack and push herself through.
Hansel passed her without disruption, not attempting to hurt her, but not saying a word to her either. Glaring at the back of his head as she passed through the doors, her hands clenched into tight fists before turning her attention to Michael.
For a moment, she just stared at him, scrutinizing him. She could break him over her knee if she'd wanted, so what in the fuck kind of murder-island weed was he smoking that convinced him she needed his help?
"Thanks for fucking nothing," She said, enunciating each word very clearly and very animatedly so that he could understand before shadowing Hansel out through the doors, careful to roughly knock Michael with her shoulder.
She'd never admit it, but having someone worried for her was nice.
More than anything, though, she knew she was going to win and that if she wanted to win, she couldn't feel indebted or grateful to anyone.
Being angry was just easier for all of them.
ANDI VICTORINO, girl no. 1, continued ELSEWHERE
She hadn't expected him to say no, maybe she'd given herself too much credit, but there hadn't been a back-up plan. He was her ticket and there was no 'no' as far as she was concerned. Above his teaching potential, Hansel was a big name on the announcements and people would take note of that the same way she had. They'd fear him, or try to hunt him, but either way worked out for her. She could keep the blood off her hands long enough for her to get far and keep her name out of people's minds. So 'no' wouldn't suffice.
"Listen," She began, trying to keep the panic from showing in her voice. She focused hard on his eyes, trying to get something from him, but their link broke just as quick to the loud entrance of someone entering from the doors behind her. Her breath caught in her throat when she glanced behind her and caught sight of the gun-wielding Michael Mitchellson. Instantly her heart bottomed out, dropping to the pit of her stomach. They were working together and Michael was there to cut off any escape route.
But his gun wasn't pointed at her, it's shaking aim focused past her and on Hansel, her eyes narrowing immediately once she figured out what was going on.
She appreciated the sentiment, really she did. Short-bus Michael was trying to save her and that was nice and all, but one; she had it under control, and two; he was just fucking everything up. If she'd had more time, she knew she could of convinced Hansel. He'd been interested, he was obviously open to something. She just had to find the crack and push herself through.
Hansel passed her without disruption, not attempting to hurt her, but not saying a word to her either. Glaring at the back of his head as she passed through the doors, her hands clenched into tight fists before turning her attention to Michael.
For a moment, she just stared at him, scrutinizing him. She could break him over her knee if she'd wanted, so what in the fuck kind of murder-island weed was he smoking that convinced him she needed his help?
"Thanks for fucking nothing," She said, enunciating each word very clearly and very animatedly so that he could understand before shadowing Hansel out through the doors, careful to roughly knock Michael with her shoulder.
She'd never admit it, but having someone worried for her was nice.
More than anything, though, she knew she was going to win and that if she wanted to win, she couldn't feel indebted or grateful to anyone.
Being angry was just easier for all of them.
ANDI VICTORINO, girl no. 1, continued ELSEWHERE
Shit shit shit that dude could snap me like a twig I'm so fucked
Michael visibly flinched when Hansel let go of the gun, straightened up, and grinned at him like a fucking maniac. He was trembling as Hansel slowly walked closer, closer, until finally he was right in front of him, just standing, grinning, and Michael still found himself unable to move a muscle. When Hansel finally left, after shaking his head in an obvious "Shit, kid, you don't got what it takes" gesture, Michael wasn't able to even let out a sigh of relief.
Everything had turned out as he had hoped, with neither Andi or himself getting shot, but it hadn't been due to any great heroism from Michael. Hansel had let both of them live. If Hansel hadn't been willing to stand down, Michael would have been completely screwed. Even as much of a prick as the giant cowboy obviously was, Michael hadn't even been able to seriously consider shooting him. That was a good quality for a hero, he supposed, but not a very good one for anyone hoping to not get their ass shot up on murder island.
The girl obviously wasn't very happy, either, which seemed odd. As unimpressive as Michael's totally heroic antics had been, she was still alive, right? Michael couldn't quite catch the words she mouthed at him, but the intent of "Wow, nice job, you bag of shitdicks" was perfectly clear, especially after she rudely knocked Michael with her shoulder.
I know that wasn't exactly the most badass thing I've ever done, but it would have been nice to at least get some, like, pathetic "You tried!" medal!
Well, whatever. After taking some deep breaths in and out to stop the trembling- to calm down the manly energy that had obviously been stirred up by his heroism, Michael finally flicked the safety on his shotgun back on, finally letting himself lower it. He slunk down against the wall, simultaneously grateful to be alive and incredibly disappointed in himself. Where the fuck had Tim gotten off to, anyway? Michael supposed that it was a good thing that he hadn't been present at that little confrontation, but he was getting a little worried.
Michael visibly flinched when Hansel let go of the gun, straightened up, and grinned at him like a fucking maniac. He was trembling as Hansel slowly walked closer, closer, until finally he was right in front of him, just standing, grinning, and Michael still found himself unable to move a muscle. When Hansel finally left, after shaking his head in an obvious "Shit, kid, you don't got what it takes" gesture, Michael wasn't able to even let out a sigh of relief.
Everything had turned out as he had hoped, with neither Andi or himself getting shot, but it hadn't been due to any great heroism from Michael. Hansel had let both of them live. If Hansel hadn't been willing to stand down, Michael would have been completely screwed. Even as much of a prick as the giant cowboy obviously was, Michael hadn't even been able to seriously consider shooting him. That was a good quality for a hero, he supposed, but not a very good one for anyone hoping to not get their ass shot up on murder island.
The girl obviously wasn't very happy, either, which seemed odd. As unimpressive as Michael's totally heroic antics had been, she was still alive, right? Michael couldn't quite catch the words she mouthed at him, but the intent of "Wow, nice job, you bag of shitdicks" was perfectly clear, especially after she rudely knocked Michael with her shoulder.
I know that wasn't exactly the most badass thing I've ever done, but it would have been nice to at least get some, like, pathetic "You tried!" medal!
Well, whatever. After taking some deep breaths in and out to stop the trembling- to calm down the manly energy that had obviously been stirred up by his heroism, Michael finally flicked the safety on his shotgun back on, finally letting himself lower it. He slunk down against the wall, simultaneously grateful to be alive and incredibly disappointed in himself. Where the fuck had Tim gotten off to, anyway? Michael supposed that it was a good thing that he hadn't been present at that little confrontation, but he was getting a little worried.
((Timothy Abrams continued from The Best Part of Waking Up))
Timothy stopped as he reached the top of the stairs and wiped the sweat off of his forehead. His whole body ached. He hadn't been in the best shape when he had first come here, and dragging around a heavy piece of junk with him didn't help at all. Those stairs were killer on his knees too.
He looked up and saw Michael continuing to walk down the hallway. He listened closely. Were those... voices? He was about to grab Michael and warn him before the other boy quickly through open the doors to the next room.
Timothy panicked. Jolting upright, he ran and hid in the closest room in the hall, waiting for things to explode. His breaths came fast and sharply as he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
After a few minutes, he heard footsteps in the hallway. Timothy waited until they left his range of hearing, and left out a sigh.
Wait a minute. What about Michael?
Timothy berated himself for his cowardice. Quickly pulling himself out of the room, he ran over to the waiting area.
If something had happened to that guy he would never be able to forgive himself.
Timothy stopped as he reached the top of the stairs and wiped the sweat off of his forehead. His whole body ached. He hadn't been in the best shape when he had first come here, and dragging around a heavy piece of junk with him didn't help at all. Those stairs were killer on his knees too.
He looked up and saw Michael continuing to walk down the hallway. He listened closely. Were those... voices? He was about to grab Michael and warn him before the other boy quickly through open the doors to the next room.
Timothy panicked. Jolting upright, he ran and hid in the closest room in the hall, waiting for things to explode. His breaths came fast and sharply as he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
After a few minutes, he heard footsteps in the hallway. Timothy waited until they left his range of hearing, and left out a sigh.
Wait a minute. What about Michael?
Timothy berated himself for his cowardice. Quickly pulling himself out of the room, he ran over to the waiting area.
If something had happened to that guy he would never be able to forgive himself.
Michael's worries were thankfully soon proved to be completely baseless. No fuckin' way that Tim was gonna get hurt, not with that big-ass flamethrower lookalike. It was debatable how much of a good idea it was to continue lugging around something that heavy and that useless, but it certainly wasn't debatable how much it'd make some poor bastard shit their pants when they ran into the heavy weapon guys, Michael's new and totally stylish nickname for the pair.
He lazily waved a hand at Tim, deliberately underplaying the whole "almost got my face shot in by that asshole of a cowboy" thing. The danger had passed, after all, and though Michael was still pissed at himself, there was no need to drag Tim into the whole mess.
Yo, dude, where've you been? Michael wrote. There were a couple assholes in here, but they cleared out after seeing how much of a badass I am. He casually handed the completely truthful and in no way total bullshit note over to Tim.
He lazily waved a hand at Tim, deliberately underplaying the whole "almost got my face shot in by that asshole of a cowboy" thing. The danger had passed, after all, and though Michael was still pissed at himself, there was no need to drag Tim into the whole mess.
Yo, dude, where've you been? Michael wrote. There were a couple assholes in here, but they cleared out after seeing how much of a badass I am. He casually handed the completely truthful and in no way total bullshit note over to Tim.
Timothy sighed in relief as he saw that Michael was okay. It wasn't much of a surprising, considering the crazy weapon that he had, but still... That was a close one. Michael was the only one of the group that he had left, and they were going to have to stick together if they wanted to find the others and survive until the cavalry arrived.
He took the note from Michael's hand, giving a chuckle as he read it. He had no idea what really happened there, but he was glad that Michael was able to joke about it.
Would he be able to be this happy if he knew that Daniel was dead? Timothy looked down as he felt a knot form in his stomach. He wanted to tell Michael the truth, but he just couldn't. The explanations could come after they got off this rock. Michael would understand, wouldn't he?
As Timothy looked back up, he became aware of how long he had left Michael without a response. Quickly, he took the pen and scribbled a quick note and handed it back.
It's getting kind of late. Do you want to take a rest here? We can keep looking for Cody in the morning.
Yes, sleep would be good. It would take his mind off of today's screwups, at least.
He took the note from Michael's hand, giving a chuckle as he read it. He had no idea what really happened there, but he was glad that Michael was able to joke about it.
Would he be able to be this happy if he knew that Daniel was dead? Timothy looked down as he felt a knot form in his stomach. He wanted to tell Michael the truth, but he just couldn't. The explanations could come after they got off this rock. Michael would understand, wouldn't he?
As Timothy looked back up, he became aware of how long he had left Michael without a response. Quickly, he took the pen and scribbled a quick note and handed it back.
It's getting kind of late. Do you want to take a rest here? We can keep looking for Cody in the morning.
Yes, sleep would be good. It would take his mind off of today's screwups, at least.
Alright, everything was okay and everyone was cool. Tim sorta spaced out for a minute, which wasn't exactly an advisable thing to do on murderdeathisland, but Michael and his shotgun were thankfully there to keep an ever-vigilant watch on their surroundings. After dealing with Daniel for most of his life, Michael was very used to dealing with dudes who easily got thrown into the thought abyss without a map or even a torch.
Shit, why would you even need a map in the abyss? Or a torch? You use the torch to read the map? What's the map even gonna say? "OH SHIT, THERE'S SOME ABYSS RIGHT HERE. THERE, TOO. LOOK TO THE NORTH, I HEAR THE ABYSS THERE IS REALLY FUCKING NICE THIS TIME OF THE YEAR. YOU ARE CURRENTLY ABYSS."
Michael wasn't exactly immune to spacing out, either.
Thankfully, Tim soon came back to his senses, handing Michael a note that was filled with about the closest thing there was to not-sense. What the hell was he thinking, suggesting that they sleep in an abandoned hospital? That was, like, how at least 30% of all horror movies started. There'd be some creepy-haired ghost chick creeping up on them, and Michael just didn't think he was prepared to deal with that sort of shit.
Even discounting that, it was still really unnerving to be sleeping in the same building as at least four corpses, one of them a good friend. His stomach still churned a bit, thinking on the poor pulverized bastard they'd found on the second floor.
Fuck it, I doubt anyone else is gonna want to sleep here, either. I am gonna haunt Tim SO HARD if we get our souls dragged to hell or some shit, though.
Michael took back the pad, scribbling back his response. Man, that kid needs to stop being such a little shit and just let us find him, already. Anyway, I'm cool with sleeping here.
Shit, why would you even need a map in the abyss? Or a torch? You use the torch to read the map? What's the map even gonna say? "OH SHIT, THERE'S SOME ABYSS RIGHT HERE. THERE, TOO. LOOK TO THE NORTH, I HEAR THE ABYSS THERE IS REALLY FUCKING NICE THIS TIME OF THE YEAR. YOU ARE CURRENTLY ABYSS."
Michael wasn't exactly immune to spacing out, either.
Thankfully, Tim soon came back to his senses, handing Michael a note that was filled with about the closest thing there was to not-sense. What the hell was he thinking, suggesting that they sleep in an abandoned hospital? That was, like, how at least 30% of all horror movies started. There'd be some creepy-haired ghost chick creeping up on them, and Michael just didn't think he was prepared to deal with that sort of shit.
Even discounting that, it was still really unnerving to be sleeping in the same building as at least four corpses, one of them a good friend. His stomach still churned a bit, thinking on the poor pulverized bastard they'd found on the second floor.
Fuck it, I doubt anyone else is gonna want to sleep here, either. I am gonna haunt Tim SO HARD if we get our souls dragged to hell or some shit, though.
Michael took back the pad, scribbling back his response. Man, that kid needs to stop being such a little shit and just let us find him, already. Anyway, I'm cool with sleeping here.