((Daniel Whitten: Continued from Tower of Alexandria))
Ah, good job, Daniel. I always knew you had tracker blood in your veins. Look at the extravagant way you've managed to get yourself lost in a maze of bike trails! Truly a sight to behold.
Daniel sighed. Whatever had possessed him to head in this direction? It wasn't exactly as if there was a specific place he was headed, seeing as he had absolutely no idea where his friends could be, but still. He had originally intended to use the trails as a shortcut to reach the farm, which was a good a place to start looking as any.
Instead, Daniel'd managed to completely lose track of where he was, and he was pretty sure he'd lost Alex, too. She'd been behind him just a few minutes ago, but as Daniel was definitely the best around, there was no sign of her anywhere. Alex was probably still in his general area, at least.
Screw it. From what Daniel could tell (using his oh-so-heightened senses) there wasn't anyone else around, and even if there was, they certainly wouldn't be inclined to hurt him. Of course. Optimism, man. It beat huddling up in a corner and crying. Which he certainly had not done.
Daniel raised his voice, calling out to the woods around him. "Er, yo, Alex? Where'd you go? This is kind of putting a damper on our whole 'stick together, find friends' thing." Assuming that Daniel hadn't magically been teleported to the other side of the island or something, that was probably loud enough to catch her attention. Hopefully, they'd be able to reunite in short order.
There ain't no more cowboys, only men with violent hearts
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
((Mara Montalvo continued from Last Days))
Mara's shoulder was starting to hurt from carrying around her duffle full of things. She whined and pouted and finally decided to just leave it near a shack. She took a hard look at it to remember which shack it was so she could tell the rescuers where they could go to get her stuff. She didn't plan to utilize the food bars which looked gross or the aid kit, so it was no big deal to her to chuck it.
It made the most sense to her to try and get to a beach. That's where help would show up first and she was very sure she wasn't going to miss the ride home.
Mara walked out of the woods, looking at her nails and hoping there wasn't dirt under them, when she suddenly walked into another student.
"Hey watch it!"
Mara backed up and brushed herself off. They didn't collide very strongly. Mara looked up to see who it was and recognized him as the kid who did sign language and who was friends with the deaf kid. That one piece of information was all she had to go off of, but it followed that the one thing she knew meant he'd be a nice person.
"Uh, hi."
Mara's shoulder was starting to hurt from carrying around her duffle full of things. She whined and pouted and finally decided to just leave it near a shack. She took a hard look at it to remember which shack it was so she could tell the rescuers where they could go to get her stuff. She didn't plan to utilize the food bars which looked gross or the aid kit, so it was no big deal to her to chuck it.
It made the most sense to her to try and get to a beach. That's where help would show up first and she was very sure she wasn't going to miss the ride home.
Mara walked out of the woods, looking at her nails and hoping there wasn't dirt under them, when she suddenly walked into another student.
"Hey watch it!"
Mara backed up and brushed herself off. They didn't collide very strongly. Mara looked up to see who it was and recognized him as the kid who did sign language and who was friends with the deaf kid. That one piece of information was all she had to go off of, but it followed that the one thing she knew meant he'd be a nice person.
"Uh, hi."
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NotAFlyingToy
- Posts: 323
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:49 am
- Location: Burlington, Canada
- Contact:
((Hansel Williams, Stagecoach, and other vehicles))
There was fire, and there was brimstone.
If Hansel could channel either, he'd have gladly used it in this moment, furiously slapping a spare ammunition clip into his FAMAS, the exhausted one clattering to the forest floor on a muted sound. He slapped his palm onto the locking mechanism, cocking the FAMAS with an angry yank, the chick-chack a satisfying noise, if primal. He had a loaded gun, now. A powerful loaded gun, and he wouldn't be taken by surprise like that again.
Fire and brimstone, he thought again, the rage and terror of the encounter with Theodore, the standoff with Adonis and Mallory, and the brief yet intense chase with Tyler fueling his current blackened mood, overcoming him with a sense of purpose.
For Theodore, he'd have used fire. He'd have lit alight that cocksucking little fuck and watched him burn until the gun melted into his hand and there was nothing but ash. Tyler was too good for fire, though. He'd need brimstone and blunt force, something to cave in that thick skull, stop him dead in his tracks.
To hell with them. To hell with both of them.
Adjusting the duffel bag onto his shoulder, Hansel finally took the time to view his surroundings. He hadn't planned much beyond leaving Tyler, Travis, and the amusement park far behind him, and now that he had achieved that goal, it was time to refocus. If there had been any doubt as to his ability to work with others on the island, that doubt became full on denial now.
He'd been shot, hit with a water bottle, and attacked. Shot when he'd tried to reason with Theodore. Hit with a bottle when he'd asked for extra supplies. Attacked when all he'd been trying to do was patch himself up.
No, Hansel thought grimly, his jaw setting into a hard line. If there was a way to survive this, he couldn't do it with someone - anyone else.
He'd have to go it alone.
Hansel's cursory glance to his current environment revealed some kind of bike trail system, judging by the hardened dirt surfaces and small makeshift jumps. His wound had finally clotted, but with his freshly ripped shirtsleeve revealing his entire arm, it was a noticeable weakness. He'd need to slap another bandage on it.
Which meant finding another medkit. Which meant taking one from a classmate, seeing as going back to the amusement park was completely out of the question, even if he could gather up the doubtless scattered contents.
Hansel swore softly to himself, his right index finger curling around the safety of the FAMAS, clicking it from off to auto to semi and back. The three setting made slightly different sounds, the repitition soothing him even as the pain in his left arm raged and his forearm trembled.
Snick, click, clack, click, snick, click, clack, click, snick.
Okay.
Leaving the small piece of metal hovering over the safe setting, Hansel delved deeper along the trails, both hands on the gun, muzzle pointed towards the dirt because his shoulder hurt too damn much to lift it higher. He'd need to stop and rest, soon, maybe try and sleep in a tree or something, somewhere where nobody could sneak up on him-
There was a boy through the trees.
Hansel immediately dropped low, his right index flicking the safety back to automatic, squinting through the treeline. He had the height advantage, being on top of a decent sized hill with deep tire grooves spattered throughout it. The boy - Daniel, he recognized - was half-facing away, his attention elsewhere.
Over his shoulder was a duffel bag, and in that bag, Hansel figured, was a medkit.
Whatever moral dillema that could've crossed his mind at that point was stamped out by the pain in his arm flaring again as he tried to adjust his hat with his left hand, grunting when it got to shoulder height. He had the advantage, this time. He couldn't afford to lose this chance.
Hansel shrugged out of his duffel bag, got to one knee, and flipped the safety again to semi-auto, figuring he'd only need one shot. One shot, above Whitten's head, just close enough so that the boy would know he meant business. Then snag the bag, take off.
The boy placed the butt of the rifle against his right shoulder, squinted one eye closed as the other glared through the iron sights. He centered Daniel's head in them, then lifted the gun with his trembling left hand, the position making his arm scream in pain, gravity fighting to keep the gun lower. He let out a short grunt, the sights trembling with his aim. Muscles screamed, guilt loomed, pain and anger and fear and frustration and you could be wrong all filling his head and his thoughts and his emotions and-
Hansel fired his warning shot.
The last thing he saw in the iron sights was Daniel's perfectly framed temple.
There was fire, and there was brimstone.
If Hansel could channel either, he'd have gladly used it in this moment, furiously slapping a spare ammunition clip into his FAMAS, the exhausted one clattering to the forest floor on a muted sound. He slapped his palm onto the locking mechanism, cocking the FAMAS with an angry yank, the chick-chack a satisfying noise, if primal. He had a loaded gun, now. A powerful loaded gun, and he wouldn't be taken by surprise like that again.
Fire and brimstone, he thought again, the rage and terror of the encounter with Theodore, the standoff with Adonis and Mallory, and the brief yet intense chase with Tyler fueling his current blackened mood, overcoming him with a sense of purpose.
For Theodore, he'd have used fire. He'd have lit alight that cocksucking little fuck and watched him burn until the gun melted into his hand and there was nothing but ash. Tyler was too good for fire, though. He'd need brimstone and blunt force, something to cave in that thick skull, stop him dead in his tracks.
To hell with them. To hell with both of them.
Adjusting the duffel bag onto his shoulder, Hansel finally took the time to view his surroundings. He hadn't planned much beyond leaving Tyler, Travis, and the amusement park far behind him, and now that he had achieved that goal, it was time to refocus. If there had been any doubt as to his ability to work with others on the island, that doubt became full on denial now.
He'd been shot, hit with a water bottle, and attacked. Shot when he'd tried to reason with Theodore. Hit with a bottle when he'd asked for extra supplies. Attacked when all he'd been trying to do was patch himself up.
No, Hansel thought grimly, his jaw setting into a hard line. If there was a way to survive this, he couldn't do it with someone - anyone else.
He'd have to go it alone.
Hansel's cursory glance to his current environment revealed some kind of bike trail system, judging by the hardened dirt surfaces and small makeshift jumps. His wound had finally clotted, but with his freshly ripped shirtsleeve revealing his entire arm, it was a noticeable weakness. He'd need to slap another bandage on it.
Which meant finding another medkit. Which meant taking one from a classmate, seeing as going back to the amusement park was completely out of the question, even if he could gather up the doubtless scattered contents.
Hansel swore softly to himself, his right index finger curling around the safety of the FAMAS, clicking it from off to auto to semi and back. The three setting made slightly different sounds, the repitition soothing him even as the pain in his left arm raged and his forearm trembled.
Snick, click, clack, click, snick, click, clack, click, snick.
Okay.
Leaving the small piece of metal hovering over the safe setting, Hansel delved deeper along the trails, both hands on the gun, muzzle pointed towards the dirt because his shoulder hurt too damn much to lift it higher. He'd need to stop and rest, soon, maybe try and sleep in a tree or something, somewhere where nobody could sneak up on him-
There was a boy through the trees.
Hansel immediately dropped low, his right index flicking the safety back to automatic, squinting through the treeline. He had the height advantage, being on top of a decent sized hill with deep tire grooves spattered throughout it. The boy - Daniel, he recognized - was half-facing away, his attention elsewhere.
Over his shoulder was a duffel bag, and in that bag, Hansel figured, was a medkit.
Whatever moral dillema that could've crossed his mind at that point was stamped out by the pain in his arm flaring again as he tried to adjust his hat with his left hand, grunting when it got to shoulder height. He had the advantage, this time. He couldn't afford to lose this chance.
Hansel shrugged out of his duffel bag, got to one knee, and flipped the safety again to semi-auto, figuring he'd only need one shot. One shot, above Whitten's head, just close enough so that the boy would know he meant business. Then snag the bag, take off.
The boy placed the butt of the rifle against his right shoulder, squinted one eye closed as the other glared through the iron sights. He centered Daniel's head in them, then lifted the gun with his trembling left hand, the position making his arm scream in pain, gravity fighting to keep the gun lower. He let out a short grunt, the sights trembling with his aim. Muscles screamed, guilt loomed, pain and anger and fear and frustration and you could be wrong all filling his head and his thoughts and his emotions and-
Hansel fired his warning shot.
The last thing he saw in the iron sights was Daniel's perfectly framed temple.
It would have been noble, had Daniel's lasts thoughts been of the people he cared about.
Thoughts of his family. Of his father, who had always shared Daniel's passion for literature, always supporting him. Of his mother, who, while often busy with work, had still always loved her son with all her heart. Of Erica, who had never passed up on an opportunity to tease her little brother, but had still always been there for him.
Thoughts of his friends. Of Rachael, the girl Daniel had grown to love. He would've regretted that they had never got the chance to fully sort out their feelings. Of Maynard, Naomi, everyone who had made his book club such a wonderful thing. Of Michael, his best friend since childhood, who had been practically inseparable.
Indeed, if Daniel had had any time to contemplate his fate, these would have surely been his final thoughts. Reality, however, is seldom so accommodating towards nobility.
He grunted in surprise as someone bumped into him, then spun around and saw Mara. "Oh, hey, sorry." He said, smiling. "Didn't think there was anyone else-"
Daniel heard a loud crack, felt a quick flash of pain, and then
Daniel Whitten thought no more.
B074 Eliminated.
149 students remain.
Thoughts of his family. Of his father, who had always shared Daniel's passion for literature, always supporting him. Of his mother, who, while often busy with work, had still always loved her son with all her heart. Of Erica, who had never passed up on an opportunity to tease her little brother, but had still always been there for him.
Thoughts of his friends. Of Rachael, the girl Daniel had grown to love. He would've regretted that they had never got the chance to fully sort out their feelings. Of Maynard, Naomi, everyone who had made his book club such a wonderful thing. Of Michael, his best friend since childhood, who had been practically inseparable.
Indeed, if Daniel had had any time to contemplate his fate, these would have surely been his final thoughts. Reality, however, is seldom so accommodating towards nobility.
He grunted in surprise as someone bumped into him, then spun around and saw Mara. "Oh, hey, sorry." He said, smiling. "Didn't think there was anyone else-"
Daniel heard a loud crack, felt a quick flash of pain, and then
Daniel Whitten thought no more.
B074 Eliminated.
149 students remain.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
He seemed to be keeping in line with her conclusion that he was a nice person by apologizing. It was his fault she'd bumped into him because if he hadn't been standing there she wouldn't have hit him.
But in an instant it seemed that he was a rather nice un-person. Mara's face went from a flat, default expression of listening to his apology, to shock the moment his head suddenly gushed blood like a piñata full of sweet, red jam. Her eyes were the size of saucers and she couldn't do much else than watch him crumple like a sack of trash. He was still staring at her from the ground with that kind of half apologetic look he was in the middle of going through.
The gun shot cracked the earth and now everything was kind of muffled, like there were cotton balls stuck in her ears. Maybe that's why in movies and stuff with police training they wore those earmuff looking things. Mara's heart started picking up, beating faster and faster until her chest was heaving and she took one big gulp of air at the end of one of her breaths and let out a scream that pierced the air, disturbing whatever birds that remained in the trees after the gun shot.
It lasted perhaps 5 seconds before Mara turned on her heels and ran back into the cover of the forrest.
((Mara Montalvo continued in Decathect))
But in an instant it seemed that he was a rather nice un-person. Mara's face went from a flat, default expression of listening to his apology, to shock the moment his head suddenly gushed blood like a piñata full of sweet, red jam. Her eyes were the size of saucers and she couldn't do much else than watch him crumple like a sack of trash. He was still staring at her from the ground with that kind of half apologetic look he was in the middle of going through.
The gun shot cracked the earth and now everything was kind of muffled, like there were cotton balls stuck in her ears. Maybe that's why in movies and stuff with police training they wore those earmuff looking things. Mara's heart started picking up, beating faster and faster until her chest was heaving and she took one big gulp of air at the end of one of her breaths and let out a scream that pierced the air, disturbing whatever birds that remained in the trees after the gun shot.
It lasted perhaps 5 seconds before Mara turned on her heels and ran back into the cover of the forrest.
((Mara Montalvo continued in Decathect))
((Nina Clarke's story continues from Black Hearts))
Nina heard the gunshot while she was eating.
She'd sat down on a bench along a trail, chewing angrily into a nutrient bar. On one hand, it was good for you. On the other, it wasn't good. Still, she needed to eat; she had a startlingly high metabolism for her petite frame.
Then she heard a gunshot.
It was a familiar sound from the firing range, where she occasionally went when she was too angry for the gym. Still, here it meant trouble. Someone was firing on someone else, maybe killing them. She needed to investigate; for her sake and the sake of others.
As Nina crept closer down the trails, heading towards the source of the sound, she was saw movement in the trees. Whipping to look, she saw a girl racing away. Nina froze, hoping the girl didn't see her. After a moment, she continued.
Into a hideous sight.
The corpse of what appeared to be a human, with a massive gunshot wound to the face, lay on the ground in a heap just off the path. Roughly feet away was Hansel Williams, carrying a huge gun, standing a considerable distance away on an incline of the path.
He'd shot a boy.
And now here she was, unarmed and defenseless, a perfect target. She felt her body tense up, ready to flee, but something compelled her to stay. With the other two, she didn't catch them in the act of whatever they'd done. But here...she was just seconds after a murder had occurred. What would her mom do? Call backup, catch the perp if she could.
But she wouldn't walk away.
"Hey! What the fuck did you do?!" She screamed at him. "Did you fucking shoot him?" She pointed towards the offending remains. She knew as soon as she said it she'd let her temper get the better of her. Aggravating a killer was a horrid plan, but Nina was too disgusted to care. He'd murdered an innocent, for no reason she could see.
It was unforgivable.
Nina heard the gunshot while she was eating.
She'd sat down on a bench along a trail, chewing angrily into a nutrient bar. On one hand, it was good for you. On the other, it wasn't good. Still, she needed to eat; she had a startlingly high metabolism for her petite frame.
Then she heard a gunshot.
It was a familiar sound from the firing range, where she occasionally went when she was too angry for the gym. Still, here it meant trouble. Someone was firing on someone else, maybe killing them. She needed to investigate; for her sake and the sake of others.
As Nina crept closer down the trails, heading towards the source of the sound, she was saw movement in the trees. Whipping to look, she saw a girl racing away. Nina froze, hoping the girl didn't see her. After a moment, she continued.
Into a hideous sight.
The corpse of what appeared to be a human, with a massive gunshot wound to the face, lay on the ground in a heap just off the path. Roughly feet away was Hansel Williams, carrying a huge gun, standing a considerable distance away on an incline of the path.
He'd shot a boy.
And now here she was, unarmed and defenseless, a perfect target. She felt her body tense up, ready to flee, but something compelled her to stay. With the other two, she didn't catch them in the act of whatever they'd done. But here...she was just seconds after a murder had occurred. What would her mom do? Call backup, catch the perp if she could.
But she wouldn't walk away.
"Hey! What the fuck did you do?!" She screamed at him. "Did you fucking shoot him?" She pointed towards the offending remains. She knew as soon as she said it she'd let her temper get the better of her. Aggravating a killer was a horrid plan, but Nina was too disgusted to care. He'd murdered an innocent, for no reason she could see.
It was unforgivable.
[Carlon Wheeler entering from The Last Battle]
It became clear to Carlon upon exiting the destitute remains of a well-to-do community behind him that there was nowhere to hide on this island. Putting aside the ever-growing number of cameras, there was a ridiculous amount of students on a small island. Every time he thought he was safe or alone, he heard another noise and had to dive behind a building or into cover, heart racing and breaths quick and shallow. There was no chance to close his eyes; no chance to ignore the abandoned and dilapidated structures. Their presence breathed colour into an island of ghosts; remnants of lives and times past and gone. Carlon preferred to think that way especially after everything he had heard on his brief travels so far. Shouting, crying. Sounds of despair and pain – nothing joyous. Nothing worth saving.
Isolation emboldened Carlon to be brave. Removal from the reality of the situation gave his naivety room to dream beyond what was envisioned for all on the island. He was determined to find the pieces of humanity worth saving in this sick game where the only assumed rules were the ones that the players made. He believed himself a good person, and that if he put that forward there would be no one who would dare destroy a piece of themselves to perform for the terrorists that had put them here.
It was at the edge of the forest to the north of the island, lost in his fanciful thoughts of salvation and freedom that Carlon decided to sit down and examine what he had been given in great depth. He had gone through the bag briefly after he had woken up. Others might have fared better, but all he had was a lock and some basic instructions on how to set the combination. It was no weapon; a clever tool to defend himself or his supplies at best. He had seen a school on the map earlier and wondered if there were lockers that he could hide his satchel within. Maybe lock a door so that he could get a restful night's sleep somewhere? Sooner or later he was going to have to risk interacting with others on the island and face up to reality that kindness and faith could carry him and the others through this trial unharmed.
He had almost convinced himself that that belief could be transferred to others before it was too late as he heard the shot ring out through the silence, head jerking up to look at the direction it had come from – the forest. Before he had chance to think, a scream echoed in the wake of the horrific sound, its utterance twisting Carlon's innards in an uncomfortable way that sat against everything he had hoped for. He was on his feet in an instant, bags slung over his body and poised to run, direction undetermined.
He had avoided making his presence known in the little town earlier because there had been mention of a gun, so why was he hesitating now when he knew there was a gun in that direction? Another scream, the words indistinct from this distance but something in him jolted at the sound nonetheless. Whomever the voice belonged to was angry, and most definitely alive. What if that was the person that had been shot? Could you still shout so animatedly if you had a bullet rip right through you? In the films you could, but the realist in Carlon doubted that getting shot in real life was anything like fantasy. Not that he wanted to think about what getting shot was like.
The fact was that there might be someone alive and wounded in that forest with someone else who was clearly armed and not afraid to unload ammunition into fellow students. Fear lanced through Carlon as he took the first running steps towards the source of the shouting, focusing on getting to whomever was yelling rather than on what he was going to do once he got to them.
It became clear to Carlon upon exiting the destitute remains of a well-to-do community behind him that there was nowhere to hide on this island. Putting aside the ever-growing number of cameras, there was a ridiculous amount of students on a small island. Every time he thought he was safe or alone, he heard another noise and had to dive behind a building or into cover, heart racing and breaths quick and shallow. There was no chance to close his eyes; no chance to ignore the abandoned and dilapidated structures. Their presence breathed colour into an island of ghosts; remnants of lives and times past and gone. Carlon preferred to think that way especially after everything he had heard on his brief travels so far. Shouting, crying. Sounds of despair and pain – nothing joyous. Nothing worth saving.
Isolation emboldened Carlon to be brave. Removal from the reality of the situation gave his naivety room to dream beyond what was envisioned for all on the island. He was determined to find the pieces of humanity worth saving in this sick game where the only assumed rules were the ones that the players made. He believed himself a good person, and that if he put that forward there would be no one who would dare destroy a piece of themselves to perform for the terrorists that had put them here.
It was at the edge of the forest to the north of the island, lost in his fanciful thoughts of salvation and freedom that Carlon decided to sit down and examine what he had been given in great depth. He had gone through the bag briefly after he had woken up. Others might have fared better, but all he had was a lock and some basic instructions on how to set the combination. It was no weapon; a clever tool to defend himself or his supplies at best. He had seen a school on the map earlier and wondered if there were lockers that he could hide his satchel within. Maybe lock a door so that he could get a restful night's sleep somewhere? Sooner or later he was going to have to risk interacting with others on the island and face up to reality that kindness and faith could carry him and the others through this trial unharmed.
He had almost convinced himself that that belief could be transferred to others before it was too late as he heard the shot ring out through the silence, head jerking up to look at the direction it had come from – the forest. Before he had chance to think, a scream echoed in the wake of the horrific sound, its utterance twisting Carlon's innards in an uncomfortable way that sat against everything he had hoped for. He was on his feet in an instant, bags slung over his body and poised to run, direction undetermined.
He had avoided making his presence known in the little town earlier because there had been mention of a gun, so why was he hesitating now when he knew there was a gun in that direction? Another scream, the words indistinct from this distance but something in him jolted at the sound nonetheless. Whomever the voice belonged to was angry, and most definitely alive. What if that was the person that had been shot? Could you still shout so animatedly if you had a bullet rip right through you? In the films you could, but the realist in Carlon doubted that getting shot in real life was anything like fantasy. Not that he wanted to think about what getting shot was like.
The fact was that there might be someone alive and wounded in that forest with someone else who was clearly armed and not afraid to unload ammunition into fellow students. Fear lanced through Carlon as he took the first running steps towards the source of the shouting, focusing on getting to whomever was yelling rather than on what he was going to do once he got to them.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Imehal. 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.
((Alex Ripley continued from Tower of Alexandria))
This wasn't good.
Things were going well. Granted, no process as of yet, but she was sure she had Daniel nearby. But something must have happened along the way, and when she turned to say something to him, he had disappeared, as if there was some kind of magic trick she wasn't in on.
This part of the island was very vast. Alex wasn't a big outdoors person. Nothing against the great wilderness, she just wasn't someone particularly fond of it.
She knew how easily someone could get lost here. It was kind of a given, seeing as they were essentially in an abandoned area. Mostly. Except for the killers.
But one thing was certain:
She needed to find Daniel.
So Alex had backtracked her way, looking around her slowly. He couldn't have gone too far, could he?
Mallet in hand, she gently treaded through the trail. The tenseness had come back, and it wasn't a good feeling. But he had to be somewhere, right?
Alex got an answer in the form of a cracking noise.
A few seconds later, she heard someone curse.
Alex knew that she shouldn't approach, but she found herself running towards the source of the noises. Very quickly, she got an answer.
The person shouting was Nina Clarke. Her eyes swiftly traced to who she had been shouting at. Hansel Williams, holding a gun. And crumpled on the ground was...
Alex gritted her teeth as her fingers gripped the handle, the knuckle showing white through the skin.
She knew something like this would happen. But so soon? And to him? Daniel?
Congratulations, Williams, congratulations. You just proved yourself a horrible person. Of course, Alex had known him from school, and she didn't like him too much. But here? He was, if she wasn't wrong about what she was seeing...
"Williams, what the FUCK is wrong with you?" she snapped, feeling the anger build up in her body.
This wasn't good.
Things were going well. Granted, no process as of yet, but she was sure she had Daniel nearby. But something must have happened along the way, and when she turned to say something to him, he had disappeared, as if there was some kind of magic trick she wasn't in on.
This part of the island was very vast. Alex wasn't a big outdoors person. Nothing against the great wilderness, she just wasn't someone particularly fond of it.
She knew how easily someone could get lost here. It was kind of a given, seeing as they were essentially in an abandoned area. Mostly. Except for the killers.
But one thing was certain:
She needed to find Daniel.
So Alex had backtracked her way, looking around her slowly. He couldn't have gone too far, could he?
Mallet in hand, she gently treaded through the trail. The tenseness had come back, and it wasn't a good feeling. But he had to be somewhere, right?
Alex got an answer in the form of a cracking noise.
A few seconds later, she heard someone curse.
Alex knew that she shouldn't approach, but she found herself running towards the source of the noises. Very quickly, she got an answer.
The person shouting was Nina Clarke. Her eyes swiftly traced to who she had been shouting at. Hansel Williams, holding a gun. And crumpled on the ground was...
Alex gritted her teeth as her fingers gripped the handle, the knuckle showing white through the skin.
She knew something like this would happen. But so soon? And to him? Daniel?
Congratulations, Williams, congratulations. You just proved yourself a horrible person. Of course, Alex had known him from school, and she didn't like him too much. But here? He was, if she wasn't wrong about what she was seeing...
"Williams, what the FUCK is wrong with you?" she snapped, feeling the anger build up in her body.
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NotAFlyingToy
- Posts: 323
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:49 am
- Location: Burlington, Canada
- Contact:
As Daniel's corpse fell to the dirt floor, the words pretty little headshots floated through Hansel's mind, seeking something - anything - to connect with, but failing. They floated, aimless and directionless as his scattered thoughts tried to focus, tried to see beyond that explosion of blood and bone and brain, beyond the ache in his shoulder and the twitching of his index finger. He still rested his cheek on the guard of his gun, still had the lifeless corpse of Daniel Whitten in the iron sights.
No.
He unfolded himself from his kneeling position, standing at his full, six foot one frame as Nina burst onto the scene, screaming something - sounds, just sounds - in his direction.
He had meant it to be a warning. He had meant to scare Daniel, have him back up, but the gun was too heavy. He couldn't hold it above his head. He couldn't fight the gravity off, and then the trigger had been pulled.
Carlon crashed through the brush behind Nina as Hansel began walking down the incline on which he had been perched, the gun moving to lean over his right shoulder, finger straight and off of the trigger. His expression carefully blank - just like you've practiced, Hansel - pace slow, easy.
Why hadn't he just stopped? The sight of the gun was enough - the sight of the gun had scared Theodore. It had scared Mallory and Adonis. He could've just shown them the gun.
But the gun had enraged Tyler, hadn't it? Hadn't he been attacked over it?
Alex, now. Making sounds, loud sounds at him as his ears rang, his eyes moving to hers as he closed the last few feet, feeling nothing. Nothing but numbness, a blank static prickling that covered his body, his hearing, his vision.
Theodore had shot him without an advantage. Tyler had charged at him without a moment's hesitation. And here he was now, walking towards three people whom could turn on him at once and had the clear upper hand in a fight.
He couldn't afford weakness.
Without conscious input, Hansel's gait turned to a swagger. His left hand came up, tipping his stetson lower over his eyes as he stopped in front of the three, a foot away from Daniel's corpse, eyeing all of them.
When he spoke, the deep voice came out - the voice that he had trained himself to utilize to cover up his stutter and bury his weakness. A familiar retreat inside himself, into his defenses, where nothing could hurt him.
"Reckon this is how it's gonna go," he said, evenly, as the FAMAS was shifted off of his shoulder and into his left hand. Deftly, his index finger switched the gun from semi to automatic.
"Y'all get the fuck out o'here, and I won't shoot ya. I ain't inclined to extend this courtesy more than the one time, so my suggestion's t'make good on the initial offer."
The gun came up, butt against his shoulder.
Hansel narrowed his eyes.
No.
He unfolded himself from his kneeling position, standing at his full, six foot one frame as Nina burst onto the scene, screaming something - sounds, just sounds - in his direction.
He had meant it to be a warning. He had meant to scare Daniel, have him back up, but the gun was too heavy. He couldn't hold it above his head. He couldn't fight the gravity off, and then the trigger had been pulled.
Carlon crashed through the brush behind Nina as Hansel began walking down the incline on which he had been perched, the gun moving to lean over his right shoulder, finger straight and off of the trigger. His expression carefully blank - just like you've practiced, Hansel - pace slow, easy.
Why hadn't he just stopped? The sight of the gun was enough - the sight of the gun had scared Theodore. It had scared Mallory and Adonis. He could've just shown them the gun.
But the gun had enraged Tyler, hadn't it? Hadn't he been attacked over it?
Alex, now. Making sounds, loud sounds at him as his ears rang, his eyes moving to hers as he closed the last few feet, feeling nothing. Nothing but numbness, a blank static prickling that covered his body, his hearing, his vision.
Theodore had shot him without an advantage. Tyler had charged at him without a moment's hesitation. And here he was now, walking towards three people whom could turn on him at once and had the clear upper hand in a fight.
He couldn't afford weakness.
Without conscious input, Hansel's gait turned to a swagger. His left hand came up, tipping his stetson lower over his eyes as he stopped in front of the three, a foot away from Daniel's corpse, eyeing all of them.
When he spoke, the deep voice came out - the voice that he had trained himself to utilize to cover up his stutter and bury his weakness. A familiar retreat inside himself, into his defenses, where nothing could hurt him.
"Reckon this is how it's gonna go," he said, evenly, as the FAMAS was shifted off of his shoulder and into his left hand. Deftly, his index finger switched the gun from semi to automatic.
"Y'all get the fuck out o'here, and I won't shoot ya. I ain't inclined to extend this courtesy more than the one time, so my suggestion's t'make good on the initial offer."
The gun came up, butt against his shoulder.
Hansel narrowed his eyes.
Nina froze in her steps as the gun came down at her.
With just a twitch of his finger, she'd die, full of lead. He'd have another kill to notch up, to cheer and laugh evilly about as he went about his evil duties of villainy.
He'd killed Daniel. Therefore he was "evil", right?
Nina spoke, calmly, sure-footed and soothingly (hopefully). "Hansel, we don't want any trouble, so if you'll just put the gun down we can settle this like adults instead of scared-" movement.
Hansel flicked something on the gun. Safety off? Probably.
"Run!" Nina shouted, whipping around and darting away into the thick woods which hopefully would provide cover. She quickly lost track of the other students. Did she even care if they lived?
Probably not. She was too busy saving her own skin.
She didn't want to die, did she. No, instead she wanted to run away like a cowardly little bitch to stay alive instead of die a hero standing up to a murderer. She would've been a horrid cop. She was scared, worthless. A disgrace. She was no better than Hansel.
Nina ran.
((Nina Clarke's story continues in Craven))
With just a twitch of his finger, she'd die, full of lead. He'd have another kill to notch up, to cheer and laugh evilly about as he went about his evil duties of villainy.
He'd killed Daniel. Therefore he was "evil", right?
Nina spoke, calmly, sure-footed and soothingly (hopefully). "Hansel, we don't want any trouble, so if you'll just put the gun down we can settle this like adults instead of scared-" movement.
Hansel flicked something on the gun. Safety off? Probably.
"Run!" Nina shouted, whipping around and darting away into the thick woods which hopefully would provide cover. She quickly lost track of the other students. Did she even care if they lived?
Probably not. She was too busy saving her own skin.
She didn't want to die, did she. No, instead she wanted to run away like a cowardly little bitch to stay alive instead of die a hero standing up to a murderer. She would've been a horrid cop. She was scared, worthless. A disgrace. She was no better than Hansel.
Nina ran.
((Nina Clarke's story continues in Craven))
((Skipping ahead of Ime since he asked me to))
Alex's teeth continued to grit as Hansel as he went down the incline, feeling the rage burn through her as he approached.
She knew there were going to be players. She wasn't dumb. But here she was, dealing with someone who not only was apparently killing people, but had just shot Daniel. Who the hell did he think he was, honestly? Every part of her body wanted to run up and smack Hansel acrossed the forehead with the mallet still tightly gripped in her hand.
It was clear Daniel wasn't attacking him, so he couldn't even claim self-defense!
He was threatening them now. The look on Alex's face could be compared to a wild dog, driven to madness by something unpleasant.
Nina had ran away, and she could register Carlon Wheeler nearby once she moved out of sight. She knew of Carlon, but not very well.
Even though Alex knew it was better to follow his demands than to stick around, her posture stiffened.
"Why did you do it?" she asked.
Her voice had grown cold very quickly.
Alex's teeth continued to grit as Hansel as he went down the incline, feeling the rage burn through her as he approached.
She knew there were going to be players. She wasn't dumb. But here she was, dealing with someone who not only was apparently killing people, but had just shot Daniel. Who the hell did he think he was, honestly? Every part of her body wanted to run up and smack Hansel acrossed the forehead with the mallet still tightly gripped in her hand.
It was clear Daniel wasn't attacking him, so he couldn't even claim self-defense!
He was threatening them now. The look on Alex's face could be compared to a wild dog, driven to madness by something unpleasant.
Nina had ran away, and she could register Carlon Wheeler nearby once she moved out of sight. She knew of Carlon, but not very well.
Even though Alex knew it was better to follow his demands than to stick around, her posture stiffened.
"Why did you do it?" she asked.
Her voice had grown cold very quickly.
If Carlon had been paying the slightest attention to anything other than the all too recently deceased, he might have recognised the distinctive and thoroughly unforgettable twang of Hansel Williams' voice. He certainly would have paid heed to the fact that their fellow student was striding up to the three of them, rifle in hand and not at all calm, but at present all he could focus on was Daniel Whitten's head.
He had never been near a corpse before, and he found the sight macabrely fascinating even as his stomach turned over as the illusion he had created for himself began to crack. None of them would resort to killing, he had told himself over and over as he had travelled quietly across the island. Yet here was irrefutable evidence; a perfect macabre counter argument to his original intent to help. And that was made redundant the moment that Nina's panicked shout broke through the reverie, his eyes snapping up to see Hansel. Disbelief came first, quickly replaced with fierce denial. They had been shouting at him? At Hansel?
Snippets and glimpses of seeing him at church events and charged discussions about everything he felt unable to discuss with so many others stole Carlon's voice. It had to be an accident; Hansel was an extremely angry individual, but he would never shoot anyone. He would never kill. Carlon forced himself to believe that – to silently repeat it– as he struggled with the comprehension that it was that very same person pointing the rifle at them, finger poised over the trigger. Nina's protests had gone unheeded, but they were acquainted. Carlon felt like he could try and understand where others were blind to Hansel, but maybe if he –
A voice like ice stole Carlon's attention for a fraction longer than could be afforded; one of the others who had come to investigate the gunshot. Green eyes surveyed, vague recognition brushing against everything that compelled him to follow Nina's lead as he again brought his focus back to the corpse between them and Hansel.
"It doesn't matter why," Carlon replied in lieu of Hansel, his voice soft and gaze wandering. staring at the rim of the Stetson, the tree behind Hansel – anything but the gun that was pointed in his direction or the man who held it.
To look too closely at either would allow his anxieties and fears to overwhelm him. To look at the gun would force him to acknowledge its destructive purpose, and think far too much about what it had done. It would cloud his judgement; emotion would prevent him from trying to do the right, no the good thing. Ignorance in this case was not bliss; it hurt far too much to look past the crimes and see the person that had committed them, and remember that once they had not had a gun in their hands. Carlon did not blame Hansel because he knew that he had to be scared. Anyone in this situation had to be petrified unless they were beyond saving, and he steadfastly believed that no one in his school was there yet.
Carlon could not find the fortitude to look at either of them, let alone speak, but he made his intent to remain even under the threat of being shot if he stayed was plain as he crouched on the grassy ground, dirt marking the edges of his grey shorts. There were tears at the edges of his eyes as he closed them and clasped his hands. Daniel had been vibrant; so very bright. He had enveloped everyone in the club with his friendliness. Carlon had always felt at ease at the book club, but Daniel was special. He had always believed that, and now he was dead. Everything that he was, and could be, had been snuffed out because of some sickness that none of them could do anything about.
Last time people had been rescued, and Carlon hoped it could – and would – happen again. For the moment there was only uncertainty and surely pain to come. The injustice of the whole situation brought to the forefront what Carlon relied upon most for strength, illogical though the pairing was. He began to murmur the words of a prayer beneath his breath, feeling the tears run down his face, faintly shaking with the effort it took not to break down. Focus on the prayer, he commanded himself. Focus on Him.
Aloud he prayed for Daniel and Hansel's souls, but privately he asked for the strength to see past what had been done. He was no fighter, no hero but that did not stop him wanting to try and be one when the corpse of a friend lay fresh barely feet away.
He had never been near a corpse before, and he found the sight macabrely fascinating even as his stomach turned over as the illusion he had created for himself began to crack. None of them would resort to killing, he had told himself over and over as he had travelled quietly across the island. Yet here was irrefutable evidence; a perfect macabre counter argument to his original intent to help. And that was made redundant the moment that Nina's panicked shout broke through the reverie, his eyes snapping up to see Hansel. Disbelief came first, quickly replaced with fierce denial. They had been shouting at him? At Hansel?
Snippets and glimpses of seeing him at church events and charged discussions about everything he felt unable to discuss with so many others stole Carlon's voice. It had to be an accident; Hansel was an extremely angry individual, but he would never shoot anyone. He would never kill. Carlon forced himself to believe that – to silently repeat it– as he struggled with the comprehension that it was that very same person pointing the rifle at them, finger poised over the trigger. Nina's protests had gone unheeded, but they were acquainted. Carlon felt like he could try and understand where others were blind to Hansel, but maybe if he –
A voice like ice stole Carlon's attention for a fraction longer than could be afforded; one of the others who had come to investigate the gunshot. Green eyes surveyed, vague recognition brushing against everything that compelled him to follow Nina's lead as he again brought his focus back to the corpse between them and Hansel.
"It doesn't matter why," Carlon replied in lieu of Hansel, his voice soft and gaze wandering. staring at the rim of the Stetson, the tree behind Hansel – anything but the gun that was pointed in his direction or the man who held it.
To look too closely at either would allow his anxieties and fears to overwhelm him. To look at the gun would force him to acknowledge its destructive purpose, and think far too much about what it had done. It would cloud his judgement; emotion would prevent him from trying to do the right, no the good thing. Ignorance in this case was not bliss; it hurt far too much to look past the crimes and see the person that had committed them, and remember that once they had not had a gun in their hands. Carlon did not blame Hansel because he knew that he had to be scared. Anyone in this situation had to be petrified unless they were beyond saving, and he steadfastly believed that no one in his school was there yet.
Carlon could not find the fortitude to look at either of them, let alone speak, but he made his intent to remain even under the threat of being shot if he stayed was plain as he crouched on the grassy ground, dirt marking the edges of his grey shorts. There were tears at the edges of his eyes as he closed them and clasped his hands. Daniel had been vibrant; so very bright. He had enveloped everyone in the club with his friendliness. Carlon had always felt at ease at the book club, but Daniel was special. He had always believed that, and now he was dead. Everything that he was, and could be, had been snuffed out because of some sickness that none of them could do anything about.
Last time people had been rescued, and Carlon hoped it could – and would – happen again. For the moment there was only uncertainty and surely pain to come. The injustice of the whole situation brought to the forefront what Carlon relied upon most for strength, illogical though the pairing was. He began to murmur the words of a prayer beneath his breath, feeling the tears run down his face, faintly shaking with the effort it took not to break down. Focus on the prayer, he commanded himself. Focus on Him.
Aloud he prayed for Daniel and Hansel's souls, but privately he asked for the strength to see past what had been done. He was no fighter, no hero but that did not stop him wanting to try and be one when the corpse of a friend lay fresh barely feet away.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Imehal. 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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NotAFlyingToy
- Posts: 323
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Hansel let the silence hang, the rifle pointed at Alex as Carlon bent down towards the corpse, uttering a prayer for him, for Daniel. That one moment almost undid the mask, stripped it away until there was nothing left but a shaky belief and a murderer.
But Hansel reigned it in. Weakness was death, here, and he would not be weak again.
"Well alright, then," he said, simply.
Pointing the barrel towards the ground at Carlon and Alex's feet, Hansel pulled the trigger, sending a spray of bullets in a wide arc, chewing up grass, dirt, and Daniel's leg as the loud, angry report of the FAMAS exploded into the air.
But Hansel reigned it in. Weakness was death, here, and he would not be weak again.
"Well alright, then," he said, simply.
Pointing the barrel towards the ground at Carlon and Alex's feet, Hansel pulled the trigger, sending a spray of bullets in a wide arc, chewing up grass, dirt, and Daniel's leg as the loud, angry report of the FAMAS exploded into the air.
Alex stood her guard, feeling her temper rise even further through the roof.
A million things passed through her mind. A brief fantasy involving hitting Hansel with the mallet until he was barely recognizable was one of them. Never in her life had she been so... so... furious.
Her knuckles continued to whiten against the mallet's handles.
Carlon Wheeler had added his opinion in the form of...
It didn't matter?
She felt herself tense up even more as he seemed to whisper something as he crouched on the ground. What was he doing? The rage in her briefly and only somewhat subsided to make way for confusion. Praying? Maybe. Actually, yes, it was prayer, by the looks of it.
Alex looked between the two, waiting for an answer from Hansel.
He had pointed his gun on her, adding the feeling of nervousness in her. The sensation of having a gun pointed on you... wasn't a good one, to say the least.
Then he fired.
Even Alex, stubborn as she was, didn't want to stick around after that. She turned heel and began to run for it in the other direction.
However, her movement was caused by something that made her trip and cry out. Not thinking about what it was, she pulled herself off the ground, wincing as she did so. Her ankle was hurt, but she didn't want to think about what caused it. Alex's mind was in a flurry, and she knew what it was, but in her state of panic she didn't want to think about it.
Even with her injury, once she got up on her feet with some difficulty she attempted to flee, her leg dragging behind her and her face contorting in pain with each step.
There were a few droplets of blood behind her.
((Alex Ripley continued elsewhere))
A million things passed through her mind. A brief fantasy involving hitting Hansel with the mallet until he was barely recognizable was one of them. Never in her life had she been so... so... furious.
Her knuckles continued to whiten against the mallet's handles.
Carlon Wheeler had added his opinion in the form of...
It didn't matter?
She felt herself tense up even more as he seemed to whisper something as he crouched on the ground. What was he doing? The rage in her briefly and only somewhat subsided to make way for confusion. Praying? Maybe. Actually, yes, it was prayer, by the looks of it.
Alex looked between the two, waiting for an answer from Hansel.
He had pointed his gun on her, adding the feeling of nervousness in her. The sensation of having a gun pointed on you... wasn't a good one, to say the least.
Then he fired.
Even Alex, stubborn as she was, didn't want to stick around after that. She turned heel and began to run for it in the other direction.
However, her movement was caused by something that made her trip and cry out. Not thinking about what it was, she pulled herself off the ground, wincing as she did so. Her ankle was hurt, but she didn't want to think about what caused it. Alex's mind was in a flurry, and she knew what it was, but in her state of panic she didn't want to think about it.
Even with her injury, once she got up on her feet with some difficulty she attempted to flee, her leg dragging behind her and her face contorting in pain with each step.
There were a few droplets of blood behind her.
((Alex Ripley continued elsewhere))
For a few precious moments Carlon felt calm, steady even. The rhythmic familiarity of the prayer, words adjusted of course, allowed him to forget everything around him save for the earnest faith in the words that he spoke, and both souls that had been damaged – one ripped from earth, and the other tainted. Yet he held stubbornly – faithfully – to the belief that the person before him was still Hansel. He believed in every memory, every heated discussion and every brief encounter even as he was drowned out – deafened too – by a sound that was recognisable and yet completely alien.
His left hand broke from its clasped position, vainly protecting a vulnerable ear as his right smeared splattered red across a pale cheek. He had fallen back out of harm's way, but Daniel... Alex.
The name came like a blow, blunt and unhelpful in a moment when all instincts screamed run. Carlon scrambled back from the spray of bullets, clumps of grass coming with as the tightness of his grip tore them from the ground. Alexandria's voice cried out and Carlon made himself focus on her because she still personified something that he could protect, whereas seeing Hansel only inspired pity and a desire to appeal to the man of faith that he remembered. Not this stranger that had returned enquiry and prayer with threats and harm.
Alexandria had come just the same as the girl who had left at Hansel's first warning. Though she had come with threats and bluster to demand justice for Daniel, who had died simply because he had been their classmate, she was worth protecting. She was worth helping so that she could live.
Carlon tried not to think about the fact that soon they would all die as he followed after Alexandria's uneven steps, offering his shoulder as support as he reached her side. Here was something he could do, something to distract from how shaken and devastated he was by the fact that already, someone that he had once known – even liked - was beginning to disappear.
[Carlon Wheeler continues on The Silver Chair]
His left hand broke from its clasped position, vainly protecting a vulnerable ear as his right smeared splattered red across a pale cheek. He had fallen back out of harm's way, but Daniel... Alex.
The name came like a blow, blunt and unhelpful in a moment when all instincts screamed run. Carlon scrambled back from the spray of bullets, clumps of grass coming with as the tightness of his grip tore them from the ground. Alexandria's voice cried out and Carlon made himself focus on her because she still personified something that he could protect, whereas seeing Hansel only inspired pity and a desire to appeal to the man of faith that he remembered. Not this stranger that had returned enquiry and prayer with threats and harm.
Alexandria had come just the same as the girl who had left at Hansel's first warning. Though she had come with threats and bluster to demand justice for Daniel, who had died simply because he had been their classmate, she was worth protecting. She was worth helping so that she could live.
Carlon tried not to think about the fact that soon they would all die as he followed after Alexandria's uneven steps, offering his shoulder as support as he reached her side. Here was something he could do, something to distract from how shaken and devastated he was by the fact that already, someone that he had once known – even liked - was beginning to disappear.
[Carlon Wheeler continues on The Silver Chair]
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Imehal. 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.