It was funny. She'd always liked the idea of exploring an abandoned hospital. Kingman had a few laying around, so it wasn't like she hadn't been to some for urban exploration. And yet, here Jennifer was, inside what had to be the world's most decrepit art room. It smelled like rotten wood, too.
To be honest, Jennifer had mixed feelings about whether or not they'd be rescued. On one hand, wouldn't people have caught on by now? Buses go missing, it's SOTF. Period. Maybe the FBI or CIA was getting on that, and they'll be rescued in the next few hours. Maybe. On the other, it took a few days before rescue happened in 2008. Also, she was sure some of her classmates were morally bankrupt enough to start killing anyways. That Bradley boy, for example.
Jennifer had looked through the bag they'd given them, of course. There was plenty of food and water, though a chain? Really? Well, she guessed that it was useful in its own way. Then there was the manual. It was written in a way that suggested that Danya pleasured himself to the idea of people killing each other. And yet, it was only another reminder that she wasn't just off exploring an abandoned hospital.
She'd read it over and over while sitting at this art table, just in front of a tree that had fallen through the window. She closed the manual with a small thud.
Jennifer felt herself shake some. She knew Blake wasn't here, so that was a relief. That was a small one, though. She didn't remember who did go on the trip. Graham, though...
The image of Graham's head exploding had come up again. Jennifer quickly stood up, rubbing her forehead for a few seconds. But those few seconds were enough to inspire something stronger in her. Her teeth gritted, and she felt herself breathing louder. A wordless roar left her lips.
The manual flew through the air, hitting an easel and falling to the ground.
Maybe she shouldn't be so emotional. But it still was hell.
Little Pig
Start of G055
((Bart Cappotelli continued from Season Cut Short))
Bart's walk through the asylum was not a pleasant one. He had never been a fan of horror movies, so taking a walk in a decrepit old mental hospital that looked like the set of some summer slasher movie did nothing to put him at ease. His stress level was still quite high, and his face still had noticeable salt trails from his crying jag back at the cafeteria. From his expression alone, it was easy to see that he was an emotional mess.
He walked through the lonely halls with nothing to keep him company but the sounds of his own footsteps and the occasional reminder of how the building has felt the combined forces of nature and the passage of time. Strangely, the random patches of indoor vegetation and eroded scenery didn't bother him as much as he would have thought. Despite how unnerved he was by his current location, it was more the situation that was making him miserable.
Bart's aimless wandering eventually brought him to a new area of the asylum. As he continued to look around, his attention was drawn to a couple of paintings lying on the ground in a nearby doorway. He approached the paintings cautiously to get a better look at them. They looked a bit messy, but not too bad.
He was crouching to pick one up when he heard a sound come from inside the room, like something had hit a wall. He froze and looked through the doorway to see a tall girl standing inside. He didn't know what to do, but he was too nervous to make a move.
Bart's walk through the asylum was not a pleasant one. He had never been a fan of horror movies, so taking a walk in a decrepit old mental hospital that looked like the set of some summer slasher movie did nothing to put him at ease. His stress level was still quite high, and his face still had noticeable salt trails from his crying jag back at the cafeteria. From his expression alone, it was easy to see that he was an emotional mess.
He walked through the lonely halls with nothing to keep him company but the sounds of his own footsteps and the occasional reminder of how the building has felt the combined forces of nature and the passage of time. Strangely, the random patches of indoor vegetation and eroded scenery didn't bother him as much as he would have thought. Despite how unnerved he was by his current location, it was more the situation that was making him miserable.
Bart's aimless wandering eventually brought him to a new area of the asylum. As he continued to look around, his attention was drawn to a couple of paintings lying on the ground in a nearby doorway. He approached the paintings cautiously to get a better look at them. They looked a bit messy, but not too bad.
He was crouching to pick one up when he heard a sound come from inside the room, like something had hit a wall. He froze and looked through the doorway to see a tall girl standing inside. He didn't know what to do, but he was too nervous to make a move.
Jennifer, for a second, glared at the manual. For another, she wondered if she should pick it up. There wasn't much else she needed to know about the game. Just the same information that they told them before. You know, kill or be killed, there are metal collars that explode, don't die like Graham.
Her breathing was loud; her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She felt her fists tighten, as if she was going to punch the next person that she saw. Damn it all. Again, she didn't need to be this emotional. She knew deep down that staying calm was the way to go. But she swore to god, any second now she would rip the paintings into shreds.
She was this close to graduating. Jennifer was supposed to get her diploma, go to Columbia, eventually go to the graduate school. But it turned out fate had other plans for her, and now? Now she was here. She hated every second of this.
Then Jennifer saw movement. A person? It had a shadow like a person, at least. Jennifer's eyes narrowed. As she stepped forward to get a better look, the yellowed paintings dampened the sound of her heels stomping against the carpet.
"Hello?" she called out. "Who's there? I'm really not in the mood to get murdered right now."
Her voice was snappish.
Her breathing was loud; her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She felt her fists tighten, as if she was going to punch the next person that she saw. Damn it all. Again, she didn't need to be this emotional. She knew deep down that staying calm was the way to go. But she swore to god, any second now she would rip the paintings into shreds.
She was this close to graduating. Jennifer was supposed to get her diploma, go to Columbia, eventually go to the graduate school. But it turned out fate had other plans for her, and now? Now she was here. She hated every second of this.
Then Jennifer saw movement. A person? It had a shadow like a person, at least. Jennifer's eyes narrowed. As she stepped forward to get a better look, the yellowed paintings dampened the sound of her heels stomping against the carpet.
"Hello?" she called out. "Who's there? I'm really not in the mood to get murdered right now."
Her voice was snappish.
Bart felt a shock go through his body when the girl in the room spoke. Her voice sounded angry and irritated, not friendly at all. He dropped the painting he was holding, raised his hands, and slowly stood back up. He could feel his legs shaking as he did so. He really didn't want to come off as intimidating or menacing. Considering how mad the girl seemed, that could only end very badly for him.
"I-it's Bart! Bart Cappotelli!" He nervously stammered out. "I was just looking at the pictures on the ground! I didn't know anyone was here!"
He started to sweat a little. He wasn't ready for a fight, and he was very afraid that one may be about to occur. He remained still while he waited for the girl to respond, less out of patience and more because he was very afraid about what was going to happen next.
"I-it's Bart! Bart Cappotelli!" He nervously stammered out. "I was just looking at the pictures on the ground! I didn't know anyone was here!"
He started to sweat a little. He wasn't ready for a fight, and he was very afraid that one may be about to occur. He remained still while he waited for the girl to respond, less out of patience and more because he was very afraid about what was going to happen next.
"Bart? Is that you?"
Jennifer sighed in relief. She was still pretty damn angry. Furious, even. But to know it was Bart? That helped somewhat. For a moment, Jennifer wondered if it was some kind of trick. Oh, I was just looking at all the pictures, psyche I'm going to kill you, she guessed. But his rough shape had its arms up. His voice stammered. If anything, she startled him.
"Bart, it's Jennifer. Wallace, not Su. Don't worry, I'm not killing. I'm just really p-"
She cut herself off, and started again.
"I'm just really upset."
She stepped to the doorway, and yes, the smell confirmed it. It was Bart. She couldn't help but remember that one day at the museum. Did he still have hard feelings about her behavior there? Normally the concern there would be upsetting someone. But for all she knew, he could... do something. Find a reason to kill her. He didn't seem armed, but you never know.
Her hand held onto the door's frame as she looked outside. She saw his face within a heartbeat. You could tell the man was scared out of his wits.
Jennifer sighed in relief. She was still pretty damn angry. Furious, even. But to know it was Bart? That helped somewhat. For a moment, Jennifer wondered if it was some kind of trick. Oh, I was just looking at all the pictures, psyche I'm going to kill you, she guessed. But his rough shape had its arms up. His voice stammered. If anything, she startled him.
"Bart, it's Jennifer. Wallace, not Su. Don't worry, I'm not killing. I'm just really p-"
She cut herself off, and started again.
"I'm just really upset."
She stepped to the doorway, and yes, the smell confirmed it. It was Bart. She couldn't help but remember that one day at the museum. Did he still have hard feelings about her behavior there? Normally the concern there would be upsetting someone. But for all she knew, he could... do something. Find a reason to kill her. He didn't seem armed, but you never know.
Her hand held onto the door's frame as she looked outside. She saw his face within a heartbeat. You could tell the man was scared out of his wits.
Oh good, it was someone Bart recognized. Jennifer, from the writing club. He remembered running into her at the art museum a while ago as well, but the writing club connection was probably what she would remember more. "Y-yeah! It's me!" He squeaked out.
When Jennifer came up to the doorway, Bart became very nervous. She had sounded so irritated just moments ago, and now she was right in front of him, looking right at him. He didn't know how to respond. If she had a gun, then she could jut shoot him right there and be done with it. Without thinking beforehand, he suddenly began to recount his experiences in the asylum thus far.
"I, uh..." He began unsteadily. "I woke up in a cafeteria, and I... I was really freaked out, and I didn't know what to do..." He was breathing very heavily, hoping that he wasn't making himself look suspicious. "I st- I started walking through the halls... there, uh... there wasn't really a lot to see..." He was having a bit of trouble putting sentences together. "And I, uh... I saw the paintings on the floor, and I wanted to- wanted to get a better look at them."
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Then I heard a noise come from in here and I got freaked out, so I froze up, and now... now..." He couldn't come up with a way to finish that sentence. He just sniffed and winced as he stood in front of Jennifer, hoping that she wouldn't respond with violence.
When Jennifer came up to the doorway, Bart became very nervous. She had sounded so irritated just moments ago, and now she was right in front of him, looking right at him. He didn't know how to respond. If she had a gun, then she could jut shoot him right there and be done with it. Without thinking beforehand, he suddenly began to recount his experiences in the asylum thus far.
"I, uh..." He began unsteadily. "I woke up in a cafeteria, and I... I was really freaked out, and I didn't know what to do..." He was breathing very heavily, hoping that he wasn't making himself look suspicious. "I st- I started walking through the halls... there, uh... there wasn't really a lot to see..." He was having a bit of trouble putting sentences together. "And I, uh... I saw the paintings on the floor, and I wanted to- wanted to get a better look at them."
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Then I heard a noise come from in here and I got freaked out, so I froze up, and now... now..." He couldn't come up with a way to finish that sentence. He just sniffed and winced as he stood in front of Jennifer, hoping that she wouldn't respond with violence.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Kizi had never been a peaceful sleeper.
She was a deep sleeper, certainly. Dreams and nightmares alike never disrupted her gravely, or rendered a serene slumber impossible, even when they were at their most vivid and engrossing. What she did do was thrash and fidget and toss and turn with a liveliness that evaded her while awake. Making her bed in the morning had, for her at least, always been an arduous task, one that required her to engage with skills like planning and spatial awareness and critical thinking first thing in the morning. But hey, it was all worth it. She had never struggled too much, or felt restive and sleep-deprived the morning after, of course. She had always woken up well-rested.
So when she had woken up, from a placid and drowsy sleep, it was quite worrying that she had clearly not disturbed her environment at all, that her sleep had apparently been composed and calm to the outside world.
And when she was not well-rested, that was another jarring break from normalcy. She felt tired. Awful. To be expected, of course. It was likely the chemical-induced drowsiness, to which she reckoned she had been among the first to succumb to, was no substitute for actual voluntary sleep. At least for her.
She looked around, not lifting her head up, not wanting to unnecessarily disturb her still-untouched surroundings until necessary. Took stock of her surroundings. There was a fallen tree to one side, gnarled and weathered, and her body lay on and next to many paintings and drawings, forever crumpled by her presence. She grimaced, and felt bad for damaging the artwork, as eclectic and inconsistent in style and quality as it was. Kizi had never been much of an artist, something she regretted now, with mortality staring her bluntly in the face. It would have been nice, to find a creative venue of expression, to have become a more well-rounded person, to really make the most of the advantages she had been lucky to receive.
Kizi's sleep had been atypical. But what she did once awake, that was much more normal. She liked lying awake for a bit, embraced by the comfort of her bed and consciously resting her muscles, and though she lacked the luxury of an actual bed, at least she could just lay there. And rest. Wait. Hopefully another slumber would ascend upon her soon.
But nope. None came.
Well. Darn.
Instead, noise. First the sound of a loud clunk. Not a gunshot, she realised, or an explosion, and she released her breath. She hadn't even noticed she'd held it in fear. And then voices. Oh, voices. She missed them. Never mind the content, but hearing a familiar voice, one not promising murder and terror and brutality, that was a sweet reprieve she had not known she'd missed. She would never hear her mother's voice again, or her sister's or her brother's or Aunt Tolulope's or anyone else's, but she would take comfort in the voices of her friends.
Jennifer's voice. Jennifer was honest, smart, a good person. An aspiring journalist. No matter how small some perceived the stakes to be, Kizi always admired the journalistic instinct. Great journalism, real accountability, that always started at the bottom. It was good to hear her voice.
It meant she would die too. Die or become a murderer.
Kizi felt selfish now. Hearing Jennifer's voice was not a comfort. No. It meant one more good person destroyed by the traumas of this game.
And then Bart's voice. Bart was nice. Gentle. Talented. Promising. Promise that would never be actualised. Was she being pessimistic? Or a realist? She did not know. These two, they had done things with their lives.
They were writing club buddies, she had recalled. Well, the conversation would have reminded her of that fact anyway. Kizi should have joined.
She felt almost rude to disrupt them. Almost like an uninvited obstruction. But honesty was all Kizi had left. So she began to stand up, and announced her presence. "Hello?" Her voice was tentative, fearful, but better that than bold and dangerous. She was not a threat. She knew better than to give that impression. She ignored the shotgun and the duffel bag for now. Too much to think about. She was not a threat, even with them. "It's Kizi here. Kiziah. Hello guys. I can go if you want." She doubted that. Things looked heavy.
She was a deep sleeper, certainly. Dreams and nightmares alike never disrupted her gravely, or rendered a serene slumber impossible, even when they were at their most vivid and engrossing. What she did do was thrash and fidget and toss and turn with a liveliness that evaded her while awake. Making her bed in the morning had, for her at least, always been an arduous task, one that required her to engage with skills like planning and spatial awareness and critical thinking first thing in the morning. But hey, it was all worth it. She had never struggled too much, or felt restive and sleep-deprived the morning after, of course. She had always woken up well-rested.
So when she had woken up, from a placid and drowsy sleep, it was quite worrying that she had clearly not disturbed her environment at all, that her sleep had apparently been composed and calm to the outside world.
And when she was not well-rested, that was another jarring break from normalcy. She felt tired. Awful. To be expected, of course. It was likely the chemical-induced drowsiness, to which she reckoned she had been among the first to succumb to, was no substitute for actual voluntary sleep. At least for her.
She looked around, not lifting her head up, not wanting to unnecessarily disturb her still-untouched surroundings until necessary. Took stock of her surroundings. There was a fallen tree to one side, gnarled and weathered, and her body lay on and next to many paintings and drawings, forever crumpled by her presence. She grimaced, and felt bad for damaging the artwork, as eclectic and inconsistent in style and quality as it was. Kizi had never been much of an artist, something she regretted now, with mortality staring her bluntly in the face. It would have been nice, to find a creative venue of expression, to have become a more well-rounded person, to really make the most of the advantages she had been lucky to receive.
Kizi's sleep had been atypical. But what she did once awake, that was much more normal. She liked lying awake for a bit, embraced by the comfort of her bed and consciously resting her muscles, and though she lacked the luxury of an actual bed, at least she could just lay there. And rest. Wait. Hopefully another slumber would ascend upon her soon.
But nope. None came.
Well. Darn.
Instead, noise. First the sound of a loud clunk. Not a gunshot, she realised, or an explosion, and she released her breath. She hadn't even noticed she'd held it in fear. And then voices. Oh, voices. She missed them. Never mind the content, but hearing a familiar voice, one not promising murder and terror and brutality, that was a sweet reprieve she had not known she'd missed. She would never hear her mother's voice again, or her sister's or her brother's or Aunt Tolulope's or anyone else's, but she would take comfort in the voices of her friends.
Jennifer's voice. Jennifer was honest, smart, a good person. An aspiring journalist. No matter how small some perceived the stakes to be, Kizi always admired the journalistic instinct. Great journalism, real accountability, that always started at the bottom. It was good to hear her voice.
It meant she would die too. Die or become a murderer.
Kizi felt selfish now. Hearing Jennifer's voice was not a comfort. No. It meant one more good person destroyed by the traumas of this game.
And then Bart's voice. Bart was nice. Gentle. Talented. Promising. Promise that would never be actualised. Was she being pessimistic? Or a realist? She did not know. These two, they had done things with their lives.
They were writing club buddies, she had recalled. Well, the conversation would have reminded her of that fact anyway. Kizi should have joined.
She felt almost rude to disrupt them. Almost like an uninvited obstruction. But honesty was all Kizi had left. So she began to stand up, and announced her presence. "Hello?" Her voice was tentative, fearful, but better that than bold and dangerous. She was not a threat. She knew better than to give that impression. She ignored the shotgun and the duffel bag for now. Too much to think about. She was not a threat, even with them. "It's Kizi here. Kiziah. Hello guys. I can go if you want." She doubted that. Things looked heavy.
Wow. He really was nervous, wasn't he? Bart just recited, step-by-step, everything that he'd experienced thus far. So he'd woken up in the cafeteria, then made his way here? It didn't seem like he'd encountered anyone else, though.
"I've been in here since I woke up," Jennifer said, looking off to the other side, then back. "You're the first person I've seen thus far."
Was she still mad as hell? Of course. But she still calmed down, at least to talk to him. Bart, as far as she could tell, was harmless. The part where he went into detail about what he'd been doing without prompting was a little weird, of course. It seemed more like fear if anything, though. Like he was so terrified, he overshared information just to be sure she wasn't going to do anything. That could be a sign of lying, of course. It often was. But he was tripping over his words and sniffling.
Her fingers tightened on the door frame as she heard a new voice. She turned her head, and saw Kiziah. Kiziah was a kind, intelligent woman, if a little... impressionable. Hopefully she wasn't impressionable enough to believe that she had to kill everyone here. But she seemed normal. Scared, but normal.
Jennifer let out a breath. She doubted Kiziah and Bart would be the type, but it was still messed up how she had to worry anyways.
"I don't mind you two sticking around," she said. "Just as long as you won't... you know."
She tried to smile, to make herself friendly. The red lipstick she usually wore had faded into an uneven stain. But even then, she still tried.
"I've been in here since I woke up," Jennifer said, looking off to the other side, then back. "You're the first person I've seen thus far."
Was she still mad as hell? Of course. But she still calmed down, at least to talk to him. Bart, as far as she could tell, was harmless. The part where he went into detail about what he'd been doing without prompting was a little weird, of course. It seemed more like fear if anything, though. Like he was so terrified, he overshared information just to be sure she wasn't going to do anything. That could be a sign of lying, of course. It often was. But he was tripping over his words and sniffling.
Her fingers tightened on the door frame as she heard a new voice. She turned her head, and saw Kiziah. Kiziah was a kind, intelligent woman, if a little... impressionable. Hopefully she wasn't impressionable enough to believe that she had to kill everyone here. But she seemed normal. Scared, but normal.
Jennifer let out a breath. She doubted Kiziah and Bart would be the type, but it was still messed up how she had to worry anyways.
"I don't mind you two sticking around," she said. "Just as long as you won't... you know."
She tried to smile, to make herself friendly. The red lipstick she usually wore had faded into an uneven stain. But even then, she still tried.
"Oh... oh good." Bart managed to speak once his terror had partially subsided. He stepped into the room and looked around in hopes of finding a place to sit and calm down. However, a quick scan of the room revealed that most of the things that had once been meant for sitting upon had been either destroyed or left in a state that Bart honestly did not trust to hold for more than a few moments without breaking. Upon this discovery, he stepped to the nearest wall and leaned against it.
The two of them wren't the only ones in the room. Kiziah had made her presence known to the room, which admittedly made Bart feel a little bit better. She had always been nice as far as he could remember, and she didn't sound too aggressive when she had spoken up a moment ago. Considering how unwelcoming the rest of his experience had been thus far, even the slightest sense of familiarity was a comfort for him.
Bart sighed and slid slowly down the wall as he assumed a seated position on the floor. He was still trying to process everything that was going on. He had to accept the fact that he would probably be dead in a week, probably far less than that. It was a hard idea for anyone to grasp, let alone a terrified teenager. It was all just a big, anxiety-inducing source of despair lodged in his mind.
"I just..." Bart said with his throat catching as though he were about to cry again. "I just can't believe this is happening."
The two of them wren't the only ones in the room. Kiziah had made her presence known to the room, which admittedly made Bart feel a little bit better. She had always been nice as far as he could remember, and she didn't sound too aggressive when she had spoken up a moment ago. Considering how unwelcoming the rest of his experience had been thus far, even the slightest sense of familiarity was a comfort for him.
Bart sighed and slid slowly down the wall as he assumed a seated position on the floor. He was still trying to process everything that was going on. He had to accept the fact that he would probably be dead in a week, probably far less than that. It was a hard idea for anyone to grasp, let alone a terrified teenager. It was all just a big, anxiety-inducing source of despair lodged in his mind.
"I just..." Bart said with his throat catching as though he were about to cry again. "I just can't believe this is happening."
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
There wasn't really much for Kizi to add to that. She'd always struggled at small talk, and now? With death looming over their heads? It seemed like an even more difficult task.
They'd said everything that could be said, really. Sure, there would be the moments to turn to the cameras, say things to the family, pontificate on just how unfortunately placed they were, try and express this emotional burden in perhaps a more lucid and cogent way, try and throw some illumination on things for the sake of anybody willing to help. But Kizi wasn't ready to do that now. Wasn't ready to say the final words for her family.
That was closure, in a way. And it was too early for that. She hoped so, anyway.
And they'd said anything that needed to be said. Anything else was a redundancy, a truism, a superfluous murmur of agreement. It was impossible to believe this was happening, as Bart had said. And they sure hoped nobody around them would be going violent, as Jennifer had said. And what else was there to add to that?
So she just nodded. A sad nod, something oxymoronic she'd never done before. And she said all she could say. "I really hope this isn't real." She slumped against the tree, the closest thing to a chair there was, and buried her head in her hands. She couldn't even bear to look at the shotgun that had been assigned to her. That was what really made it seem real.
Kizi had been tricked by pranks before. She was gullible. Very gullible. She'd have liked nothing more than for this to be another elaborate prank, another funny way of pulling the wool over Kizi's eyes and having a laugh at her expense. More cruel-natured than normal. More audacious and over-the-top than usual.
She'd once been convinced into believing that you couldn't eat bananas for 24 hours before flying, because the potassium would set off the metal detectors. And that you had to talk really fast on planes, because the speed of the sound of your voice had to keep up with the speed of the plane. That was the sort of trick she fell for, that her friends and family pulled on her. Not this sort of thing.
And perhaps this was a hoax. It was an easy enough hoax to fake. Bart and Jennifer weren't the sort to plan such a hoax of course, and they were probably victims of the prank too.
But the shotgun? That made it all real. Yes, it was easy to acquire a shotgun. But it was another thing to so carelessly leave it lying around for the sake of a joke.
And whenever she looked at it, she was reminded of what had happened to Mr. Graham.
And there was no way that was a prank.
They'd said everything that could be said, really. Sure, there would be the moments to turn to the cameras, say things to the family, pontificate on just how unfortunately placed they were, try and express this emotional burden in perhaps a more lucid and cogent way, try and throw some illumination on things for the sake of anybody willing to help. But Kizi wasn't ready to do that now. Wasn't ready to say the final words for her family.
That was closure, in a way. And it was too early for that. She hoped so, anyway.
And they'd said anything that needed to be said. Anything else was a redundancy, a truism, a superfluous murmur of agreement. It was impossible to believe this was happening, as Bart had said. And they sure hoped nobody around them would be going violent, as Jennifer had said. And what else was there to add to that?
So she just nodded. A sad nod, something oxymoronic she'd never done before. And she said all she could say. "I really hope this isn't real." She slumped against the tree, the closest thing to a chair there was, and buried her head in her hands. She couldn't even bear to look at the shotgun that had been assigned to her. That was what really made it seem real.
Kizi had been tricked by pranks before. She was gullible. Very gullible. She'd have liked nothing more than for this to be another elaborate prank, another funny way of pulling the wool over Kizi's eyes and having a laugh at her expense. More cruel-natured than normal. More audacious and over-the-top than usual.
She'd once been convinced into believing that you couldn't eat bananas for 24 hours before flying, because the potassium would set off the metal detectors. And that you had to talk really fast on planes, because the speed of the sound of your voice had to keep up with the speed of the plane. That was the sort of trick she fell for, that her friends and family pulled on her. Not this sort of thing.
And perhaps this was a hoax. It was an easy enough hoax to fake. Bart and Jennifer weren't the sort to plan such a hoax of course, and they were probably victims of the prank too.
But the shotgun? That made it all real. Yes, it was easy to acquire a shotgun. But it was another thing to so carelessly leave it lying around for the sake of a joke.
And whenever she looked at it, she was reminded of what had happened to Mr. Graham.
And there was no way that was a prank.
Jennifer couldn't believe it, either. You'd think SOTF was one of those things that'd just... disappear. To never happen ever again. To become a thing of the past. Apparently not. Everyone learned that in 2012, and now they were learning it again in 2015. It was one of the biggest travesties in years, and... here they were, stuck god knew where.
She wished that she could believe that this was some kind of prank too. But what kind of prank goes this far? You'd need to have a lot of time, money, and energy to pull off something of this magnitude. No, it was real, as far as Jennifer could tell.
Jennifer pulled herself back towards the table. She'd been sitting down at the art table before her... outburst, but as she placed herself in front of it, she noticed Kiziah and Bart had to make do. Bart was on the floor, while Kiziah was leaning against the tree. Well, it wouldn't be fair, would it? Instead, she moved away. It was better to let them have her space. Instead, Jennifer knelt down, adjusting and soothing out her skirt as she did. She'd been dressing for a day out at the museum, so she didn't think of putting on something more practical for physical activity that morning. If she had known, she would not have worn a skirt and heels. Then again, if she had known, she probably wouldn't have gone on the trip at all.
She wasn't good at emotional conversations. But she had to speak up.
"You know... I can't believe it either. I keep hoping that this is some messed-up dream, or that it's the world's most elaborate prank. But it can't be, it just can't."
Jennifer pulled her arms around herself, feeling herself shake. Her muscles were tense. It felt like heat was coming out of her eyes.
She remembered writing posts about SOTF on her blog. It was topical, so it was worth sharing her opinions on. It was vile. Truly and simply vile. She'd heard all kinds of stories, too. Jennifer remembered hearing that there were some twisted parts of the deep web that had footage. It wasn't something she'd dare find out for herself. There were always trolls, too. Of course, there were also politicians willing to use it as part of their agenda, no matter what it was. But the worst part was how the government let it happen six times.
"Just... six times. Six times, it could have been stopped. I just simply can't believe that the CIA or FBI can't just... investigate what's going on, and put a stop to it. I swear to god, if we don't get rescued soon -"
Jennifer's voice had raised, but she caught herself off. Her blood had started boiling again. It was a good idea to stop where she did.
She wished that she could believe that this was some kind of prank too. But what kind of prank goes this far? You'd need to have a lot of time, money, and energy to pull off something of this magnitude. No, it was real, as far as Jennifer could tell.
Jennifer pulled herself back towards the table. She'd been sitting down at the art table before her... outburst, but as she placed herself in front of it, she noticed Kiziah and Bart had to make do. Bart was on the floor, while Kiziah was leaning against the tree. Well, it wouldn't be fair, would it? Instead, she moved away. It was better to let them have her space. Instead, Jennifer knelt down, adjusting and soothing out her skirt as she did. She'd been dressing for a day out at the museum, so she didn't think of putting on something more practical for physical activity that morning. If she had known, she would not have worn a skirt and heels. Then again, if she had known, she probably wouldn't have gone on the trip at all.
She wasn't good at emotional conversations. But she had to speak up.
"You know... I can't believe it either. I keep hoping that this is some messed-up dream, or that it's the world's most elaborate prank. But it can't be, it just can't."
Jennifer pulled her arms around herself, feeling herself shake. Her muscles were tense. It felt like heat was coming out of her eyes.
She remembered writing posts about SOTF on her blog. It was topical, so it was worth sharing her opinions on. It was vile. Truly and simply vile. She'd heard all kinds of stories, too. Jennifer remembered hearing that there were some twisted parts of the deep web that had footage. It wasn't something she'd dare find out for herself. There were always trolls, too. Of course, there were also politicians willing to use it as part of their agenda, no matter what it was. But the worst part was how the government let it happen six times.
"Just... six times. Six times, it could have been stopped. I just simply can't believe that the CIA or FBI can't just... investigate what's going on, and put a stop to it. I swear to god, if we don't get rescued soon -"
Jennifer's voice had raised, but she caught herself off. Her blood had started boiling again. It was a good idea to stop where she did.
Bart listened to Jennifer from his position, still mired in his own misery. She brought up what he was pretty sure they had all thought at least once since waking up: the government should be aware of what's going on. They should have at least some idea of the terrorists' plans or M.O. It's already happened multiple times in the past, so why was it still going on?
"I thought they were supposed to have it under control." Bart included himself in the conversation once Jennifer seemed to reach a pause. "I mean, it's been years, so I thought that they'd figured it out. You know, how they could stop the terrorists." He sighed again, noting that he seemed to be doing that a lot as of late. "But... then it happened again. I don't know why."
Bart moved his leg from side to side, letting the heel of his shoe drag along the ground. "I don't know why it hasn't stopped. I don't even know why they're doing this in the first place." Little by little, his voice was getting louder as he went on. "I don't understand anything. I can't do anything. All I can do is just sit here and wait!" He was visibly surprised by how loud he became at the end of his short rant, and quickly hung his head once again. His voice dropped to a barely audible mumble as he had one more thing to add.
"I should've just stayed home..."
"I thought they were supposed to have it under control." Bart included himself in the conversation once Jennifer seemed to reach a pause. "I mean, it's been years, so I thought that they'd figured it out. You know, how they could stop the terrorists." He sighed again, noting that he seemed to be doing that a lot as of late. "But... then it happened again. I don't know why."
Bart moved his leg from side to side, letting the heel of his shoe drag along the ground. "I don't know why it hasn't stopped. I don't even know why they're doing this in the first place." Little by little, his voice was getting louder as he went on. "I don't understand anything. I can't do anything. All I can do is just sit here and wait!" He was visibly surprised by how loud he became at the end of his short rant, and quickly hung his head once again. His voice dropped to a barely audible mumble as he had one more thing to add.
"I should've just stayed home..."
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Kizi listened, but really, there was nothing new to add, nothing new to say. They were all going over the events of the past few hours. Looking for who to blame, looking for morsels of hope, looking for some kind of rationalisation or justification or opportunity. Maybe she was projecting. That was what she was doing, after all. But what else was there? Casual smalltalk? She couldn't do that. She couldn't see how, at least for these first few tender moments, such conversation was conceivable.
She had her own demons, staring her right in the face. Her mother, her poor mother. She had faced so much, gone through so much trauma, climbed so many adversarial obstacles, all in the hope of securing a more stable upbringing for her children. And that had all been torn asunder. Kizi knew that this was not her mother's fault, not in even a convoluted or minuscule way. But she knew her mother, and knew her mother would be tearing herself apart at the news. The loss of her daughter would only further sting by the conviction that it may have been her fault.
But she did not voice that out loud. Did not want to detract from their own personal battles.
Instead, her mind went to the first comparison she could think of. She knew little about prior SOTF events. Well, not strictly true. But she knew what every fearful American schoolchild knew. No more, no less. Her mind went elsewhere, and without thinking, the thoughts soon came out of her mouth.
"In Chibok last year, Nigeria, there was that whole thing with Boko Haram abducting 276 girls from their school during an exam." She paused. It was a case close to her heart. Such atrocities always caught her sympathies, and it being in her country of birth added another sharp sting of pain. They were always prominent in her mind. "That Bring Back our Girls campaign, that was about that. They went into a school, posing as guards. Said everyone needed to be evacuated. It's just...so similar to what's happening here. They forced the girls into marriages, sex slavery, that kind of thing. It's just...it's just such a common tool of evil these days."
Perhaps she should have lied. Added a happy ending. A glimmer of hope, that the means of finding lost kids had progressed considerably since the last SOTF attack. But such a lie did not even occur to her. Instead, she realised she had shared another anecdote, another miserable reminder of the tragedy of their situation, without a point in mind. The most upbeat note she could end things on was barely upbeat at all. "The rest of the world has seen this kind of thing too. There's solidarity here. There's sharing of methods, of technology. Maybe it can help us out here?"
She had her own demons, staring her right in the face. Her mother, her poor mother. She had faced so much, gone through so much trauma, climbed so many adversarial obstacles, all in the hope of securing a more stable upbringing for her children. And that had all been torn asunder. Kizi knew that this was not her mother's fault, not in even a convoluted or minuscule way. But she knew her mother, and knew her mother would be tearing herself apart at the news. The loss of her daughter would only further sting by the conviction that it may have been her fault.
But she did not voice that out loud. Did not want to detract from their own personal battles.
Instead, her mind went to the first comparison she could think of. She knew little about prior SOTF events. Well, not strictly true. But she knew what every fearful American schoolchild knew. No more, no less. Her mind went elsewhere, and without thinking, the thoughts soon came out of her mouth.
"In Chibok last year, Nigeria, there was that whole thing with Boko Haram abducting 276 girls from their school during an exam." She paused. It was a case close to her heart. Such atrocities always caught her sympathies, and it being in her country of birth added another sharp sting of pain. They were always prominent in her mind. "That Bring Back our Girls campaign, that was about that. They went into a school, posing as guards. Said everyone needed to be evacuated. It's just...so similar to what's happening here. They forced the girls into marriages, sex slavery, that kind of thing. It's just...it's just such a common tool of evil these days."
Perhaps she should have lied. Added a happy ending. A glimmer of hope, that the means of finding lost kids had progressed considerably since the last SOTF attack. But such a lie did not even occur to her. Instead, she realised she had shared another anecdote, another miserable reminder of the tragedy of their situation, without a point in mind. The most upbeat note she could end things on was barely upbeat at all. "The rest of the world has seen this kind of thing too. There's solidarity here. There's sharing of methods, of technology. Maybe it can help us out here?"
That's right. 276 girls were abducted from a school in Nigeria. And then they went through such horror. What was worse was, most of them were still missing, if she remembered correctly. A year. A year had passed, and they still weren't saved.
A chill went up and down Jennifer's spine. If it took more than a year to solve that, a week would be a stretch here. Would it? She didn't want to give up hope so soon.
She wasn't sure about what to say to that, or to Bart's sobs. She wanted to go home, she wanted to graduate, she wanted to live. Jennifer pulled her arms tighter around herself. Yes, she was angry, but to be honest... she was also shaken. Never did she think she'd have to deal with something like this. She didn't want to cry, but she did feel her skin tremble.
"Technology?" she said. "Maybe collars like ours... well, they had to have been made somewhere, right? Even if they made them... they still ordered the supplies. And maybe that could..."
She wasn't sure where she was going with that.
Aside from explosives, metal, and whatever else it took to make a collar, they would have had to order food, weapons, and other materials en masse. No matter how, it could have raised suspicions with anyone they bought from. It might have distinctive features, too. It was obvious it had been previously inhabited, so someone could recognize it from footage.
But would that help? They could wonder about ways they could be saved all day, but it wouldn't change anything unless they actually did get rescued.
Something interrupted Jennifer's thoughts, and her head snapped up at the sound. At first, she had no idea what the hell it could be. Her head turned, looking for the source. It sounded like it was some ways away. Not too distant, but still a walk's away. Then she realized what it could be. She did see a map, but she only looked at it briefly. However, it was possible there was a belfry here. That definitely sounded like someone ringing a bell, at least.
Jennifer frowned.
"You hear that?" she whispered. "What the hell does someone think they're doing?"
It had to be a belfry. What would the point of ringing a bell here, though?
A chill went up and down Jennifer's spine. If it took more than a year to solve that, a week would be a stretch here. Would it? She didn't want to give up hope so soon.
She wasn't sure about what to say to that, or to Bart's sobs. She wanted to go home, she wanted to graduate, she wanted to live. Jennifer pulled her arms tighter around herself. Yes, she was angry, but to be honest... she was also shaken. Never did she think she'd have to deal with something like this. She didn't want to cry, but she did feel her skin tremble.
"Technology?" she said. "Maybe collars like ours... well, they had to have been made somewhere, right? Even if they made them... they still ordered the supplies. And maybe that could..."
She wasn't sure where she was going with that.
Aside from explosives, metal, and whatever else it took to make a collar, they would have had to order food, weapons, and other materials en masse. No matter how, it could have raised suspicions with anyone they bought from. It might have distinctive features, too. It was obvious it had been previously inhabited, so someone could recognize it from footage.
But would that help? They could wonder about ways they could be saved all day, but it wouldn't change anything unless they actually did get rescued.
Something interrupted Jennifer's thoughts, and her head snapped up at the sound. At first, she had no idea what the hell it could be. Her head turned, looking for the source. It sounded like it was some ways away. Not too distant, but still a walk's away. Then she realized what it could be. She did see a map, but she only looked at it briefly. However, it was possible there was a belfry here. That definitely sounded like someone ringing a bell, at least.
Jennifer frowned.
"You hear that?" she whispered. "What the hell does someone think they're doing?"
It had to be a belfry. What would the point of ringing a bell here, though?
Kiziah bringing up the Boko Haram attacks did nothing to make Bart feel better. In fact, it did the opposite. All it did was remind him about how this wasn't just some isolated incident, and SOTF weren't the only ones doing this kind of thing. That made Bart feel far worse. Not for himself, but for the state of the world in general.
Bart picked himself up off the ground. He didn't want to be in this room anymore. All of the pictures scattered on the ground in a destroyed setting... it hurt him to see work ruined like that. Even if they were just casual paintings made over the course of an afternoon, they were still art. It reminded him of his sketches back at home. He wouldn't want to see those scattered all over the floor, and he was starting to envision that the longer he stayed around.
He was going to announce his intentions to the girls, but was beat to the punch by a bell ringing somewhere in the distance. His head jerked around for a few moments as he tried to figure out where it came from, eventually staring in the direction of the noise. He hadn't checked his map before, so he didn't know whether there was a church or a town hall or whatever other sort of building would have a bell on it nearby. There had to be, unless the terrorists were playing a joke on them by pumping the sound through a loudspeaker or something. That would have been pointless, but Bart could imagine the terrorists trying to mess with them like that.
"I think they're trying to call people over." He said, still looking where he had heard the chime. "I dunno if they're trying to find some friends, or... you know..." His voice faltered as he thought about the other reason why someone in this situation would try to draw people closer to them. He took a short step back as the mental image firmly implanted itself in his brain.
"I don't think we should follow it."
Bart picked himself up off the ground. He didn't want to be in this room anymore. All of the pictures scattered on the ground in a destroyed setting... it hurt him to see work ruined like that. Even if they were just casual paintings made over the course of an afternoon, they were still art. It reminded him of his sketches back at home. He wouldn't want to see those scattered all over the floor, and he was starting to envision that the longer he stayed around.
He was going to announce his intentions to the girls, but was beat to the punch by a bell ringing somewhere in the distance. His head jerked around for a few moments as he tried to figure out where it came from, eventually staring in the direction of the noise. He hadn't checked his map before, so he didn't know whether there was a church or a town hall or whatever other sort of building would have a bell on it nearby. There had to be, unless the terrorists were playing a joke on them by pumping the sound through a loudspeaker or something. That would have been pointless, but Bart could imagine the terrorists trying to mess with them like that.
"I think they're trying to call people over." He said, still looking where he had heard the chime. "I dunno if they're trying to find some friends, or... you know..." His voice faltered as he thought about the other reason why someone in this situation would try to draw people closer to them. He took a short step back as the mental image firmly implanted itself in his brain.
"I don't think we should follow it."