((Allen Birkman continued from Testing Faith....1...2..3))
'Run, just keep on running!'
Allen had no idea how long he had been running for. Too long possibly, seeing as his calves felt like they'd burst into flames. As much as he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to keep up the pace for long, not without agonising pain coursing through his legs.
'No, I can't go on, I need to stop...'
As he started to slow down, he noticed he was heading right into the residential area. There were buildings around him. Buildings meant shelter.
Slowing down to a near halt outside one of the structures, he pushed the front door open, slammed it shut behind him and collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily to gather the oxygen his body so desperately needed. He was so desperate he didn't stop to think if there was someone already inside the building. All he could care about was finding a place hide out in and lie low for a while. Fortunately for Allen, the place appeared to be deserted. He'd generated quite the racket when entering the premises, and if there the building was already occupied, he would have heard someone, or met with their weapons.
'What... what is this place anyway?' Allen wondered, tilting his head back. Since he was lying on his back, everything looked upside down, making it hard for him to discern the objects around him. 'That won't work, gotta fix that.' He rolled over onto his front and saw he was in an abandoned pub. Tables and chairs were positioned all over the wooden floor, and the bar was right ahead of him with barstools lining the front of it. Getting on all fours and shakily pushing himself back onto his feet, Allen approached the bar and slipped behind it, ducking out of sight with both bags by his sides.
'That's the hiding place sorted, now I need to check my weapon,' Allen thought, grabbing the duffel bag and moved his hands to the zip. Then he noticed the marks.
There were small splashes of a very dark red-brown colour on the back of his hands. Dried blood. Splatters of Chris Davidson's blood from where he was shot, to be precise. 'N-no... I don't want to think about it!' he mentally ordered himself. It wasn't working. Try as he might, his mind just kept replaying the past events over and over again. Chris laying dead on the sand, Clio standing over him with the gun pointed at him, Iain pulling him down into the depths...
"NO!" Allen shouted, sitting straight in an instant. How did he think that? The last event hadn't happened, it had just been a nightmare, a figment of his imagination. Feeling the tears building up in his eyes, he hastily unzipped the bag and rummaged around inside. His hand met a small spherical object, and gripping his palm around it tightly, he pulled the item out to take a look at it.
'I got... a grenade?' he thought, peering back into the duffel bag. On closer inspection, he could see three more, nestled together in his bag like eggs in a nest. Explosive eggs that were meant for one thing and one thing only; killing.
Letting the handheld weapon safey slip back into the bag to join the others, all Allen could do was cry.
Shelter From the Storm
NOW CLOSED
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JamesRenard†
- Posts: 238
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
Shelter From the Storm
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler JamesRenard. 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.
((G111 Start- Carla Conners))
Slowly pulling herself away from the edge of the toilet bowl, Carla pushed back the hair from her face, the burn on the back of her throat and her eyes streaming as the tears rolled down her face. Sniffling back globules of snot that threatened to fall down with the tears, the brunette drew her feet into her stomach and tried not to make too much noise in case anybody heard her. Even as she had awoken on the pub floor, the duffel bag a stark reminder of what she was there for, Carla still couldn't believe it. Only when she had stumbled into the toilets at the back of the pub, the stall door squeaking as she pushed through it, the cheerleader had caught a glimpse of her neck, the dark red and black ornate collar did the situation truly sink in and with that realisation had come with the remains of that mornings breakfast.
Even when she had been sitting back and laughing with some of the girls on the bus, wondering if she would be caught with the hip flask of vodka that she slowly kept topping up her coke with, the girl had no clue of what was to happen, even when she had become so tired all of a sudden and couldn't keep her eyes open. Sitting throughout the talk from the so called mastermind of it all, Danya, Carla had been almost frozen, unable to comprehend what was going on, even that it was real.
Of course she had seen Survival Of The Fittest on the television, the news stories and had caught glimpses of it online, but it always seemed so far away, not that it would ever happen to her. But the collar on her neck, the one she wanted to rip off (but she didn't dare, everyone knew what came of that) had been a stark reminder of what she had been set up for. Her handbag was gone, her cellphone with it and all of her luxuries gone. Even the trashy Jackie Collins novel she had brought along that she could have pretended to be interested in had vanished and so she was left with only that small bag, her name and the code G111 left on it. Was that all she was now, a tag to be remembered by when it was posted online?
Her thoughts of the bag and what Carla had left suddenly came into focus as she heard the door open in the front of the pub and someone enter. Rising her feet off the ground and clambering onto the vomit stained seat with her pumps, the bag heavily hanging from her clasped hand, she listened intently, fear coursing through her body as thoughts ran through her head. Could it be one of the terrorists who had made them watch the videos at gunpoint and shot down the people who had tried to run? Or another student, here to hide? To hunt? To die?
Suddenly, the sounds of footsteps stopped and there was silence, like the person had vanished. Slowly clambering down from the seat, her pumps hitting the floor with thuds she felt the entire world would hear, Carla slowly opened up the door, seeing no-one in the small bathroom she had taken refuge in, the daylight coming in through the dirty window. As quietly as she could, the dark haired girl opened up her bag, glimpsing what was inside. A few pieces of fruit and some bread, a small packet of rice and canned tuna, a small first aid kit, what looked like a torch, a compass and a folded up piece of paper. But amongst all of those was what gave Carla a little bit more confidence. There was a gun, like the ones cops used in the movies, its silver and black apperance giving the girl a small burst of confidence. At least she wouldn't be trying to fight off people with something like that sex-toy they were shown.
Grasping the weapon in one hand, Carla slunk to the door, trying not to cry in fear, the handgun reassuringly heavy in her hand. Pushing the door open as quietly as she could, she gave a quick glance over the room. It was empty, no-one there that she could see, but then she heard it, quiet sobs from behind the bar. Someone was crying, maybe they were hurt?
Her mind raced, should she make a break for it? Should she go back and hope they didn't hear her, maybe it was a trap or a trick, or maybe someone needed some help. Holding the Smith & Wesson in her hand aimed directly in front of her, Carla approached the bar, the cold fear grasping her stomach in an iron grip, the bile rising yet again in the back of her throat.
"Are.. you hurt down there?" she asked to the figure on the floor, his back to her, still holding the gun and praying she wouldn't have to shoot it.
Please let him be safe not a psycho.....
Slowly pulling herself away from the edge of the toilet bowl, Carla pushed back the hair from her face, the burn on the back of her throat and her eyes streaming as the tears rolled down her face. Sniffling back globules of snot that threatened to fall down with the tears, the brunette drew her feet into her stomach and tried not to make too much noise in case anybody heard her. Even as she had awoken on the pub floor, the duffel bag a stark reminder of what she was there for, Carla still couldn't believe it. Only when she had stumbled into the toilets at the back of the pub, the stall door squeaking as she pushed through it, the cheerleader had caught a glimpse of her neck, the dark red and black ornate collar did the situation truly sink in and with that realisation had come with the remains of that mornings breakfast.
Even when she had been sitting back and laughing with some of the girls on the bus, wondering if she would be caught with the hip flask of vodka that she slowly kept topping up her coke with, the girl had no clue of what was to happen, even when she had become so tired all of a sudden and couldn't keep her eyes open. Sitting throughout the talk from the so called mastermind of it all, Danya, Carla had been almost frozen, unable to comprehend what was going on, even that it was real.
Of course she had seen Survival Of The Fittest on the television, the news stories and had caught glimpses of it online, but it always seemed so far away, not that it would ever happen to her. But the collar on her neck, the one she wanted to rip off (but she didn't dare, everyone knew what came of that) had been a stark reminder of what she had been set up for. Her handbag was gone, her cellphone with it and all of her luxuries gone. Even the trashy Jackie Collins novel she had brought along that she could have pretended to be interested in had vanished and so she was left with only that small bag, her name and the code G111 left on it. Was that all she was now, a tag to be remembered by when it was posted online?
Her thoughts of the bag and what Carla had left suddenly came into focus as she heard the door open in the front of the pub and someone enter. Rising her feet off the ground and clambering onto the vomit stained seat with her pumps, the bag heavily hanging from her clasped hand, she listened intently, fear coursing through her body as thoughts ran through her head. Could it be one of the terrorists who had made them watch the videos at gunpoint and shot down the people who had tried to run? Or another student, here to hide? To hunt? To die?
Suddenly, the sounds of footsteps stopped and there was silence, like the person had vanished. Slowly clambering down from the seat, her pumps hitting the floor with thuds she felt the entire world would hear, Carla slowly opened up the door, seeing no-one in the small bathroom she had taken refuge in, the daylight coming in through the dirty window. As quietly as she could, the dark haired girl opened up her bag, glimpsing what was inside. A few pieces of fruit and some bread, a small packet of rice and canned tuna, a small first aid kit, what looked like a torch, a compass and a folded up piece of paper. But amongst all of those was what gave Carla a little bit more confidence. There was a gun, like the ones cops used in the movies, its silver and black apperance giving the girl a small burst of confidence. At least she wouldn't be trying to fight off people with something like that sex-toy they were shown.
Grasping the weapon in one hand, Carla slunk to the door, trying not to cry in fear, the handgun reassuringly heavy in her hand. Pushing the door open as quietly as she could, she gave a quick glance over the room. It was empty, no-one there that she could see, but then she heard it, quiet sobs from behind the bar. Someone was crying, maybe they were hurt?
Her mind raced, should she make a break for it? Should she go back and hope they didn't hear her, maybe it was a trap or a trick, or maybe someone needed some help. Holding the Smith & Wesson in her hand aimed directly in front of her, Carla approached the bar, the cold fear grasping her stomach in an iron grip, the bile rising yet again in the back of her throat.
"Are.. you hurt down there?" she asked to the figure on the floor, his back to her, still holding the gun and praying she wouldn't have to shoot it.
Please let him be safe not a psycho.....
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Lexi. 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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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
((Jennifer Perez continued from Stay Sane Inside Insanity))
The walk from the docks to the residential district had been exactly what Jennifer needed. It had cleared her mind a little bit more, calmed her down. Oh, sure, she was still scared out of her mind, but her resolve had crystallized and solidified. She could do this. She now knew, simply knew, that she could beat this game. Not in any conventional sense of resistance, of course. No, she was going to die. But she was not going to let this game change her, not going to let it destroy everything about herself that she'd liked, or even those things she had hated (and there were many of them, of course). She felt like she was ready, now, to face the next few days. She had total confidence that she would be fine until she saw a fight, or a body, or got attacked. When any of those things happened, she had no idea how she'd react.
Didn't matter. There'd be time to worry about that when it came. Instead, Jennifer had to focus on her other goals. She had a person she was looking for. She also was weighing a few things in her mind, trying to figure out whether or not it was worth it to say anything to her friends and family through the camera systems. Probably not. Jennifer wasn't ready to be anyone's entertainment. She wasn't going to explain what she was doing, not unless she felt she had to tell one of her classmates. There would be no heartfelt speech for the vultures on the internet to discuss. For the moment, her thoughts were hers alone, and it was important to her that she stayed that way.
The district she found herself in now was almost normal enough to be suburb back home, and Jennifer found herself crying again at that. Home. She would never see it again. Never get to browse the overpriced mall department stores, never get to sip a cup of hot chocolate in a little cafe in the morning, never sit in the park under the stars, watching the world go by, never again. How could she possibly keep up hope in this environment? What was stopping her from slipping, from losing herself and participating in this game, from whipping the icepick from the back of her skirt and attacking everyone?
She couldn't think of an answer, but she knew one was there. That had to be good enough. She was still herself, and she would never, ever attack somebody.
She looked around again. The row of houses, small things, each run down a bit. A few stores. A pub. A figure.
Jennifer blinked to clear her eyes. Yes, that was a figure. A figure that was running. A boy, she thought. He looked scared, desperate, but she was too far away to see much. But he was in trouble. Should she follow him? Would there be any reason to, or would she just be putting herself in danger? What if he was being pursued, by some insane killer with a shotgun or an axe or something even worse?
If that was the case, standing out here, not hidden, wasn't going to make her any less dead. And besides, the boy was clearly in trouble. Unless he was setting a trap or something, but she didn't think so. No, he needed help, support, kindness. She was already walking that way before she could talk herself out of it. It was simply who she was.
Of course, she wasn't stupid. She made her approach slow, and as cautious as it could be in a bright yellow, ankle-length skirt and a blazing red top. None of the clothing in her bag was more practical. Not one item. She'd never been the sort to wear muted colors, so she'd rarely used them in her creations. At least she had good shoes. They were her favorite sneakers, old, worn down, beat up, but tough, and still with some good traction. So what if they weren't fashionable in the slightest? Jennifer always needed to be prepared to go on a walk.
The boy had ducked into the bar. She was getting close, now. She paused, took a brief look around. Took in the sky, the sun, the other buildings. Because, despite everything, this could be a trap. This could be the last time Jennifer ever saw the outside. What she viewed was no ideal picture, but it was good enough. She tried to burn it into her memory, store it forever, but it was fading from her mind already as she reached the door. She'd never been good at holding onto images.
You can do this.
Problem was, she didn't have to. Nothing was making her go in and check on things.
Nothing except her conscience, but that was more than enough.
Maybe it would be safe inside. Safe, warm, kind. A little place where they could ride this out together, find shelter and safety and security and forget everything. Be alone. Be away from the madness.
Just do it.
She opened the door. The bar wasn't nice. Wasn't new, clean, inviting. It was a grubby, rundown place, with cracks in the windows and scratches on the floors. The furniture looked wobbly and tarnished. It was perfect. Well, except for that girl there, Carla, Jennifer thought her name was, standing and looking at something behind the bar. Was it the boy? Had Carla killed him and stashed his body? Jennifer felt herself tense, felt her hand yearning for the icepick, but she forced her arm to remain at her side. She could not lose herself. No. Talk it out.
The door swung shut behind her with a bang. Damn.
"Um... Hello, Carla" she said. "What's, uh, going on?"
The walk from the docks to the residential district had been exactly what Jennifer needed. It had cleared her mind a little bit more, calmed her down. Oh, sure, she was still scared out of her mind, but her resolve had crystallized and solidified. She could do this. She now knew, simply knew, that she could beat this game. Not in any conventional sense of resistance, of course. No, she was going to die. But she was not going to let this game change her, not going to let it destroy everything about herself that she'd liked, or even those things she had hated (and there were many of them, of course). She felt like she was ready, now, to face the next few days. She had total confidence that she would be fine until she saw a fight, or a body, or got attacked. When any of those things happened, she had no idea how she'd react.
Didn't matter. There'd be time to worry about that when it came. Instead, Jennifer had to focus on her other goals. She had a person she was looking for. She also was weighing a few things in her mind, trying to figure out whether or not it was worth it to say anything to her friends and family through the camera systems. Probably not. Jennifer wasn't ready to be anyone's entertainment. She wasn't going to explain what she was doing, not unless she felt she had to tell one of her classmates. There would be no heartfelt speech for the vultures on the internet to discuss. For the moment, her thoughts were hers alone, and it was important to her that she stayed that way.
The district she found herself in now was almost normal enough to be suburb back home, and Jennifer found herself crying again at that. Home. She would never see it again. Never get to browse the overpriced mall department stores, never get to sip a cup of hot chocolate in a little cafe in the morning, never sit in the park under the stars, watching the world go by, never again. How could she possibly keep up hope in this environment? What was stopping her from slipping, from losing herself and participating in this game, from whipping the icepick from the back of her skirt and attacking everyone?
She couldn't think of an answer, but she knew one was there. That had to be good enough. She was still herself, and she would never, ever attack somebody.
She looked around again. The row of houses, small things, each run down a bit. A few stores. A pub. A figure.
Jennifer blinked to clear her eyes. Yes, that was a figure. A figure that was running. A boy, she thought. He looked scared, desperate, but she was too far away to see much. But he was in trouble. Should she follow him? Would there be any reason to, or would she just be putting herself in danger? What if he was being pursued, by some insane killer with a shotgun or an axe or something even worse?
If that was the case, standing out here, not hidden, wasn't going to make her any less dead. And besides, the boy was clearly in trouble. Unless he was setting a trap or something, but she didn't think so. No, he needed help, support, kindness. She was already walking that way before she could talk herself out of it. It was simply who she was.
Of course, she wasn't stupid. She made her approach slow, and as cautious as it could be in a bright yellow, ankle-length skirt and a blazing red top. None of the clothing in her bag was more practical. Not one item. She'd never been the sort to wear muted colors, so she'd rarely used them in her creations. At least she had good shoes. They were her favorite sneakers, old, worn down, beat up, but tough, and still with some good traction. So what if they weren't fashionable in the slightest? Jennifer always needed to be prepared to go on a walk.
The boy had ducked into the bar. She was getting close, now. She paused, took a brief look around. Took in the sky, the sun, the other buildings. Because, despite everything, this could be a trap. This could be the last time Jennifer ever saw the outside. What she viewed was no ideal picture, but it was good enough. She tried to burn it into her memory, store it forever, but it was fading from her mind already as she reached the door. She'd never been good at holding onto images.
You can do this.
Problem was, she didn't have to. Nothing was making her go in and check on things.
Nothing except her conscience, but that was more than enough.
Maybe it would be safe inside. Safe, warm, kind. A little place where they could ride this out together, find shelter and safety and security and forget everything. Be alone. Be away from the madness.
Just do it.
She opened the door. The bar wasn't nice. Wasn't new, clean, inviting. It was a grubby, rundown place, with cracks in the windows and scratches on the floors. The furniture looked wobbly and tarnished. It was perfect. Well, except for that girl there, Carla, Jennifer thought her name was, standing and looking at something behind the bar. Was it the boy? Had Carla killed him and stashed his body? Jennifer felt herself tense, felt her hand yearning for the icepick, but she forced her arm to remain at her side. She could not lose herself. No. Talk it out.
The door swung shut behind her with a bang. Damn.
"Um... Hello, Carla" she said. "What's, uh, going on?"
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GameMaker†
- Posts: 81
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 5:35 am
(B065 Mike Jeffries- start)
Mike's first thought, upon waking, was to thank God that he hadn't woken up with morning wood. That would have been rather awkward if any people had walked by and seen that, most particularly those people of the attractive female persuasion. As his memories came back to him, he realized where he was, and what was going on. Yeah, he had to admit, it was a pretty bad situation. His former teachers were almost certainly dead, the chances of him being killed in the next week or two by one of his classmates was drastically high, and he had forgotten to charge his iPod. But, on the bright side, at least a girl hadn't gone crazy and cut off his dick while he was still unconscious. That would have really sucked.
Mike stood up, stretched, and yawned. No time to dwell on the negative right now- he'd have to check his resources, find some of his friends, and make the best of this he could. Try to find some way to get this collar off, and get off this shit hole island. That guy- Danya- had said that escape was impossible, and that people had tried before and failed. Mike was sure that him and his buddies have given the task of making escape impossible the good old college try, but he was still inclined to take the fat man's words with a grain of salt. Really, what was he supposed to say? "Escape is possible, just very hard- try it, please do. Nothing would warm my heart more than to see you young boys and girls escape the island without a scratch on you." No, that would go against the whole ultra grim futile atmosphere he'd been trying to establish in the bus. And God knows no self respecting sadistic international terrorist could do that.
Mike also highly doubted his comment that he'd blow the collars of those who'd try to escape. Mike didn't know much about Survival Of The Fittest, but he knew that the survivor of the first version, Adam Dodd, had tried to escape, and obviously he hadn't had his collar detonated. Mike also remembered the tone of Danya's voice- it had been very cocky, and had projected the whole 'sadistic studio exec' persona. That meant two things, basically. One, that Danya was very confident that he could keep the students on the island. Two, that he wanted 'entertainment'. And basic knowledge of dramatic storytelling told Mike that it would be much more entertaining to watch the heartfelt struggle of a group of students to escape the island fail by their own classmates hands, rather than by some hasty anticlimatic collar detonations.
So, no, Mike was fairly certain that as long as he kept away from the cameras and didn't do anything too rash, he would not be stopped from formulating an escape plan. And although it would be very hard, and possibly impossible to come up with one that would work, it was Mike's best option. The idea of playing by the game's normal method and killing to survive... well, it wasn't unthinkable, of course not, Danya's whole speech had been meant to put it in their heads- but of course Mike wasn't going to do it. On a strictly moral basis, it wasn't something Mike could ever come close to doing- shit, he felt bad when he fouled someone in a game of basketball. And even from a purely pragmatic standpoint, it was a bad idea. Those who killed got their names on Danya's daily announcements- Mike knew that much. And getting on those announcements just made you a huge target for the rest of the students. So... an escape plan was the only real option.
Mike looked around, and saw a black duffel bag sitting next to him, very normal asides from the fact that it had "B065" and his name emblazoned on it. He unzipped it, and looked through it, seeing that it was basically just the contents for survival. Some limited rations, a map, a compass, a first aid kit, a katana... wait, what the fuck? A katana? That's what he got for his weapon? Awesome, a katana was badass! Mike most likely wouldn't be using it often if at all, but... still. It's a katana. It was basically ingrained into the male brain that you do not fuck around with someone carrying a katana.
There was something else at the bottom, too, a little pamphlet. Mike pulled it out, and read the title- "Mr. Danya's Guide To Survival". He flipped through it, seeing if there was anything useful inside. The only useful part of it was the information about the danger zones, certain areas of the map that Danya would announce where people couldn't go or their collars would blow. The rest of it was just the same crap Danya had been feeding them in the bus. That they should all kill, that they can't trust their friends because they'll kill them, that they shouldn't try to escape... AKA bullshit. Mike tossed it.
Then, he looked over, and saw another duffel bag on the ground, the one he had packed for a trip. He looked through it, and found that the only thing the terrorists had removed was his swiss army knife. His clothes were still packed in there, along with a box of pens and his notebook, a bottle of Southern Comfort (the booze), another bottle of Tropicana Orange Juice (the chaser), and a plastic bag full of Honey Nut Cheerios (the ultimate cure for the drunchies, the drunk munchies, in Mike's honest opinion). And his condoms. Good to know that Mr. Danya, no matter how much of a prick he was, at least endorsed safe sex.
And, now only one other problem was left to take care of. In the open air, under the watchful eyes of one of the largest viewing audiences in the world, Mike Jeffries undid his belt, unzipped his jeans, and began to piss like a racehorse. It was long, but it was relieving. Aside from sex, letting your bladder go after holding it in for awhile was probably the most pleasing thing a man could do. Mike waited for himself to stop, and then rebuckled and rezipped.
He took a look around him now... where should he go? Examining the area around him carefully, his next destination quickly became obvious to him. There was a pub only a short distance away from him- dilapidated, yes, run down, yes, but still quite clearly a pub. Mike slung one dufflebag over each shoulder, and began to walk towards the pub. There might be somebody in there already, he'd have to be careful. So, Mike put his hand on the door, slowly opened it...
And he saw Jennifer Perez and Carla Conners, currently staring at each other. The tension was thick in the air, and Mike could tell from a quick glance at both of their faces that both of them were panicked and highly paranoid at the moment. They were both upset, and they were both scared. He knew them both from school, and they were both nice, friendly girls, but at this moment, he didn't know what to do. He'd have to improvise- something bold, something daring. The answer... awkward sexual humor.
"Oh, uh, hello girls." Mike spoke in a calm, even voice, giving them both a little wave. "Umm... would either of you be up for a quickie? I think you're both rather sexy, and these terrorists did let me keep my condoms..." Mike said these last things in a deliberately over the top sensual, flirty way, and with a wide grin across his face. Sure, it would most likely get him slapped, and at the very least yelled at for doing this stuff at what was almost certainly a highly inappropriate time. But at least for a moment, it would distract them from the horror of the island, and it might just end up calming them down a little.
Or at least Mike hoped. Otherwise it would make him seem like at best a creep, at worst a perverted potential rapist, and if either of them had a gun, he could end up dead. But that was the bold, daring part of it, wasn't it?
Mike's first thought, upon waking, was to thank God that he hadn't woken up with morning wood. That would have been rather awkward if any people had walked by and seen that, most particularly those people of the attractive female persuasion. As his memories came back to him, he realized where he was, and what was going on. Yeah, he had to admit, it was a pretty bad situation. His former teachers were almost certainly dead, the chances of him being killed in the next week or two by one of his classmates was drastically high, and he had forgotten to charge his iPod. But, on the bright side, at least a girl hadn't gone crazy and cut off his dick while he was still unconscious. That would have really sucked.
Mike stood up, stretched, and yawned. No time to dwell on the negative right now- he'd have to check his resources, find some of his friends, and make the best of this he could. Try to find some way to get this collar off, and get off this shit hole island. That guy- Danya- had said that escape was impossible, and that people had tried before and failed. Mike was sure that him and his buddies have given the task of making escape impossible the good old college try, but he was still inclined to take the fat man's words with a grain of salt. Really, what was he supposed to say? "Escape is possible, just very hard- try it, please do. Nothing would warm my heart more than to see you young boys and girls escape the island without a scratch on you." No, that would go against the whole ultra grim futile atmosphere he'd been trying to establish in the bus. And God knows no self respecting sadistic international terrorist could do that.
Mike also highly doubted his comment that he'd blow the collars of those who'd try to escape. Mike didn't know much about Survival Of The Fittest, but he knew that the survivor of the first version, Adam Dodd, had tried to escape, and obviously he hadn't had his collar detonated. Mike also remembered the tone of Danya's voice- it had been very cocky, and had projected the whole 'sadistic studio exec' persona. That meant two things, basically. One, that Danya was very confident that he could keep the students on the island. Two, that he wanted 'entertainment'. And basic knowledge of dramatic storytelling told Mike that it would be much more entertaining to watch the heartfelt struggle of a group of students to escape the island fail by their own classmates hands, rather than by some hasty anticlimatic collar detonations.
So, no, Mike was fairly certain that as long as he kept away from the cameras and didn't do anything too rash, he would not be stopped from formulating an escape plan. And although it would be very hard, and possibly impossible to come up with one that would work, it was Mike's best option. The idea of playing by the game's normal method and killing to survive... well, it wasn't unthinkable, of course not, Danya's whole speech had been meant to put it in their heads- but of course Mike wasn't going to do it. On a strictly moral basis, it wasn't something Mike could ever come close to doing- shit, he felt bad when he fouled someone in a game of basketball. And even from a purely pragmatic standpoint, it was a bad idea. Those who killed got their names on Danya's daily announcements- Mike knew that much. And getting on those announcements just made you a huge target for the rest of the students. So... an escape plan was the only real option.
Mike looked around, and saw a black duffel bag sitting next to him, very normal asides from the fact that it had "B065" and his name emblazoned on it. He unzipped it, and looked through it, seeing that it was basically just the contents for survival. Some limited rations, a map, a compass, a first aid kit, a katana... wait, what the fuck? A katana? That's what he got for his weapon? Awesome, a katana was badass! Mike most likely wouldn't be using it often if at all, but... still. It's a katana. It was basically ingrained into the male brain that you do not fuck around with someone carrying a katana.
There was something else at the bottom, too, a little pamphlet. Mike pulled it out, and read the title- "Mr. Danya's Guide To Survival". He flipped through it, seeing if there was anything useful inside. The only useful part of it was the information about the danger zones, certain areas of the map that Danya would announce where people couldn't go or their collars would blow. The rest of it was just the same crap Danya had been feeding them in the bus. That they should all kill, that they can't trust their friends because they'll kill them, that they shouldn't try to escape... AKA bullshit. Mike tossed it.
Then, he looked over, and saw another duffel bag on the ground, the one he had packed for a trip. He looked through it, and found that the only thing the terrorists had removed was his swiss army knife. His clothes were still packed in there, along with a box of pens and his notebook, a bottle of Southern Comfort (the booze), another bottle of Tropicana Orange Juice (the chaser), and a plastic bag full of Honey Nut Cheerios (the ultimate cure for the drunchies, the drunk munchies, in Mike's honest opinion). And his condoms. Good to know that Mr. Danya, no matter how much of a prick he was, at least endorsed safe sex.
And, now only one other problem was left to take care of. In the open air, under the watchful eyes of one of the largest viewing audiences in the world, Mike Jeffries undid his belt, unzipped his jeans, and began to piss like a racehorse. It was long, but it was relieving. Aside from sex, letting your bladder go after holding it in for awhile was probably the most pleasing thing a man could do. Mike waited for himself to stop, and then rebuckled and rezipped.
He took a look around him now... where should he go? Examining the area around him carefully, his next destination quickly became obvious to him. There was a pub only a short distance away from him- dilapidated, yes, run down, yes, but still quite clearly a pub. Mike slung one dufflebag over each shoulder, and began to walk towards the pub. There might be somebody in there already, he'd have to be careful. So, Mike put his hand on the door, slowly opened it...
And he saw Jennifer Perez and Carla Conners, currently staring at each other. The tension was thick in the air, and Mike could tell from a quick glance at both of their faces that both of them were panicked and highly paranoid at the moment. They were both upset, and they were both scared. He knew them both from school, and they were both nice, friendly girls, but at this moment, he didn't know what to do. He'd have to improvise- something bold, something daring. The answer... awkward sexual humor.
"Oh, uh, hello girls." Mike spoke in a calm, even voice, giving them both a little wave. "Umm... would either of you be up for a quickie? I think you're both rather sexy, and these terrorists did let me keep my condoms..." Mike said these last things in a deliberately over the top sensual, flirty way, and with a wide grin across his face. Sure, it would most likely get him slapped, and at the very least yelled at for doing this stuff at what was almost certainly a highly inappropriate time. But at least for a moment, it would distract them from the horror of the island, and it might just end up calming them down a little.
Or at least Mike hoped. Otherwise it would make him seem like at best a creep, at worst a perverted potential rapist, and if either of them had a gun, he could end up dead. But that was the bold, daring part of it, wasn't it?
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JamesRenard†
- Posts: 238
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
A moderate thud from somewhere in the building. Allen gasped and he looked around him, feeling his heart pound louder and his breath catch in his lungs. 'Oh no... don't tell me... someone was here the whole time?!'
Allen tried to halt his sobbing, but the panic and the fear churning inside of him made it impossible, in fact it was starting to make him cry harder. 'Stop it, they'll hear!,' he mentally commanded, but his eyes and lungs ignored his brain.
A door behind him opened. 'Go away, I'm not here!' Allen thought, trying to curl up into a ball of sorts, wishing he could just vanish or turn invisble. Then he heard a voice behind him, a girl was asking if he was hurt. Allen's first thought was that Clio Gabriella had tracked him down again, but no, the voice didn't belong to her at all. It wasn't even in a mocking tone, it sounded... sincere. Nevertheless, Allen ignored her question. 'Please go away, please go away! I just want to be left alone!' he thought, suddenly hiccuping.
Then he heard the front door open, and jumped with a quiet yelp when it slammed shut right after. 'Did she leave?' he thought, hoping it was the case. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't. Another girl had arrived, asking the other girl (who Allen now knew was Carla) what was happening. 'This can't get any worse,' he thought, instantly regretting thinking those words.
He was right to do so, for the door opened once more. Someone else had just arrived, making it four (unless there were even more people hiding) in the building. 'Jesus Christ, why is everyone here? Did they all follow me or some-what the hell did he just say?!'
The newcomer had just asked the two girls if they were up for sex, plain and simple. No formal introduction, no how-do-you-do's, just flat out asked for doing it. 'Dude, what is wrong with that person?'
Bracing himself, he slowly turned around and poked his head above the counter to take a look at the three people, even though his vision was just a distorted blur of colours. Though he couldn't see it himself, he had small specks of dried blood over his face that matched up perfectly with his hands and arms, and his eyes were already red from the crying he'd been doing. "I-I really don't think this is t-the time or place for that kind of stuff," Allen spoke to the male, stuttering from his nerves, his bawling and the odd hiccup. "S-sorry if I'm sounding k-kind of on edge right now, b-but I've been on the run ever since someone standing next to me was shot and killed right in front of m-m-my eyes."
Allen tried to halt his sobbing, but the panic and the fear churning inside of him made it impossible, in fact it was starting to make him cry harder. 'Stop it, they'll hear!,' he mentally commanded, but his eyes and lungs ignored his brain.
A door behind him opened. 'Go away, I'm not here!' Allen thought, trying to curl up into a ball of sorts, wishing he could just vanish or turn invisble. Then he heard a voice behind him, a girl was asking if he was hurt. Allen's first thought was that Clio Gabriella had tracked him down again, but no, the voice didn't belong to her at all. It wasn't even in a mocking tone, it sounded... sincere. Nevertheless, Allen ignored her question. 'Please go away, please go away! I just want to be left alone!' he thought, suddenly hiccuping.
Then he heard the front door open, and jumped with a quiet yelp when it slammed shut right after. 'Did she leave?' he thought, hoping it was the case. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't. Another girl had arrived, asking the other girl (who Allen now knew was Carla) what was happening. 'This can't get any worse,' he thought, instantly regretting thinking those words.
He was right to do so, for the door opened once more. Someone else had just arrived, making it four (unless there were even more people hiding) in the building. 'Jesus Christ, why is everyone here? Did they all follow me or some-what the hell did he just say?!'
The newcomer had just asked the two girls if they were up for sex, plain and simple. No formal introduction, no how-do-you-do's, just flat out asked for doing it. 'Dude, what is wrong with that person?'
Bracing himself, he slowly turned around and poked his head above the counter to take a look at the three people, even though his vision was just a distorted blur of colours. Though he couldn't see it himself, he had small specks of dried blood over his face that matched up perfectly with his hands and arms, and his eyes were already red from the crying he'd been doing. "I-I really don't think this is t-the time or place for that kind of stuff," Allen spoke to the male, stuttering from his nerves, his bawling and the odd hiccup. "S-sorry if I'm sounding k-kind of on edge right now, b-but I've been on the run ever since someone standing next to me was shot and killed right in front of m-m-my eyes."
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Even with his back to her, Carla still felt scared out of her mind when the boy didn't react. Had he gone catonic or something like that from this all? Not that it would matter much what state of mind you were in, everyone on this island would die on this island. Just because she wasn't an A-Grade student didn't make Carla an idiot. If you were dumped on an island and told to fight till the last man standing, there wasn't anyway that you were going to make it out alive. Sure, even if you were that one, who would be able to say that they wouldn't kill you as soon as you finished?
After all, everyone knew what had happened to Adam Dodd, made it off the island, only to be chucked back onto it a few years later and made to repeat it all over again. It was like they were being trained to become child soldiers, killing machines. What else is there better to kill innocence in a soul than to force it to slaughter people who you cared about?
The sudden slamming of the door made the brunette jump in surprise and she swung around, the handgun still held high at the person who had entered the building. Yelping in surprise, it took her a moment to even register who had entered. Of course, Carla knew who Jennifer was, having to sit behind her in Biology and sometimes seeing her down at the fabric store where they both brought supplies, but it was strange seeing someone that you knew in this strange situation. Carla couldn't even call themselves friends, after all she barely knew anything about the girl. But she knew her and that was enough to stop her from pulling the trigger.
"Jenn.... I don't know whats going on, I wish I did. I was hiding in here and this guy came in and is hiding behind the bar and I thought that he might be coming in here to kill me...." she replied, holding back sobs as she tried in vain to stop the tears rolling down her face. Still clinging tightly onto the gun, Carla leaned her other hand against the bar, only to see a black leather handle under one of the dust covered bar stools. So they had left her handbag with her afterall, Carla thought, a small part of home here at least. Even that didn't stop the tall girls tears from falling and she wiped her black cardigan sleeve against her face to wipe off the tears. But all the time, she kept her eyes fixed on Jennifer, trying to gauge if the girl would attack her or something like that. Was she here to kill them, herself and the mystery boy behind the bar.
Suddenly the squeaking of the door alerted her to someone else coming in, Mike. Carla had always thought he had been pretty cute, in that dumb jock sort of a way and had it been a different situation, she would have probably responded with a come back to his random come-on comment. Instead she swung around and aimed the gun at him instead for a moment as he entered, before lowering it and letting out a sob as she fell down against the bar, legs bending underneath her as she started laughing hard as the tears kept streaming. What the fuck did the guy think they were doing? Planning an orgy to celebrate being in a fucking war against each other? Why the hell couldn't she just be at Cheerleading Practice, a few weeks ago, practising tucks and throws, a million miles away from here.
"Mike, what the fuck...!" she shouted, half serious half hysterical. Carla had no clue what was going on and she was laughing at that. She was in an abandoned bar with armed people who may be here to kill her, carrying a Smith and Wesson pistol and she was laughing at a pick-up line. The whole thing was insane, absolutely crazy. However, Allens reply made her stop cold, the laughs going as fast as they had arrived, like a cold slap in the face.
"Oh my god, people have already started killing? Who was it?"
After all, everyone knew what had happened to Adam Dodd, made it off the island, only to be chucked back onto it a few years later and made to repeat it all over again. It was like they were being trained to become child soldiers, killing machines. What else is there better to kill innocence in a soul than to force it to slaughter people who you cared about?
The sudden slamming of the door made the brunette jump in surprise and she swung around, the handgun still held high at the person who had entered the building. Yelping in surprise, it took her a moment to even register who had entered. Of course, Carla knew who Jennifer was, having to sit behind her in Biology and sometimes seeing her down at the fabric store where they both brought supplies, but it was strange seeing someone that you knew in this strange situation. Carla couldn't even call themselves friends, after all she barely knew anything about the girl. But she knew her and that was enough to stop her from pulling the trigger.
"Jenn.... I don't know whats going on, I wish I did. I was hiding in here and this guy came in and is hiding behind the bar and I thought that he might be coming in here to kill me...." she replied, holding back sobs as she tried in vain to stop the tears rolling down her face. Still clinging tightly onto the gun, Carla leaned her other hand against the bar, only to see a black leather handle under one of the dust covered bar stools. So they had left her handbag with her afterall, Carla thought, a small part of home here at least. Even that didn't stop the tall girls tears from falling and she wiped her black cardigan sleeve against her face to wipe off the tears. But all the time, she kept her eyes fixed on Jennifer, trying to gauge if the girl would attack her or something like that. Was she here to kill them, herself and the mystery boy behind the bar.
Suddenly the squeaking of the door alerted her to someone else coming in, Mike. Carla had always thought he had been pretty cute, in that dumb jock sort of a way and had it been a different situation, she would have probably responded with a come back to his random come-on comment. Instead she swung around and aimed the gun at him instead for a moment as he entered, before lowering it and letting out a sob as she fell down against the bar, legs bending underneath her as she started laughing hard as the tears kept streaming. What the fuck did the guy think they were doing? Planning an orgy to celebrate being in a fucking war against each other? Why the hell couldn't she just be at Cheerleading Practice, a few weeks ago, practising tucks and throws, a million miles away from here.
"Mike, what the fuck...!" she shouted, half serious half hysterical. Carla had no clue what was going on and she was laughing at that. She was in an abandoned bar with armed people who may be here to kill her, carrying a Smith and Wesson pistol and she was laughing at a pick-up line. The whole thing was insane, absolutely crazy. However, Allens reply made her stop cold, the laughs going as fast as they had arrived, like a cold slap in the face.
"Oh my god, people have already started killing? Who was it?"
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Carla started talking, explaining that there was someone else there, hiding behind the bar. Who? Someone she apparently didn't know. Someone Jennifer could see. Hiding implied a desire for stealth. Why? To kill? To avoid being killed? Had to be the latter, if he hadn't gunned Carla down by now. Could it have been the boy Jennifer had seen running in here? The one who looked like he needed help? That seemed the most likely option.
The door opened again, and Jennifer lurched forward a little, getting out of the way. A voice spoke behind her, and she turned, for a second terrified that the newcomer (a boy) was going to grab the icepick from the back of her skirt and drive it through her skull. That didn't happen, though. The boy had just decided to hit on her and Carla, rather crudely at that. Was that supposed to be humor? The boy was Mike, Mike Jeffries. One of the school's jocks. What team was he on again? Jennifer had never really payed much attention to the sports teams, only going to events because her friends cared. She was pretty sure he wasn't a football player, though.
She was also pretty sure he didn't mean any harm. He just had a fucking terrible sense of humor. Maybe some underlying issues. Jennifer could deal with him while he was here, with the others, but she decided that she would avoid being left alone with him at all costs. Just to be safe. Oh, what Jennifer would have given to be with someone she really trusted. Especially when she noticed the gun. How the fuck had she been dumb enough to miss that? Carla was holding it, pointing it at Mike, but just for a second. A gun. A real gun. Like in the movies, kind of. It was weird, seeing an unholstered gun. Surreal, especially in the hands of her classmate.
Luckily, it seemed like nobody was going to be gunned down. Everything would turn out alright. They'd just talk. That is, that was her thought until the boy behind the bar spoke up. He'd popped up into view. Jennifer recognized him, now. Unfortunately, for some crazy reason, she could only call his last name (Birkman) to mind. That was awkward. What he said pushed the fear of a social faux pas away, though, to be replaced with the fear of immanent death. He'd seen someone killed. He'd been running. It didn't take much to put the situation together. He'd been chased, and now, there was a killer maybe on their way. This was about to get horrible. Jennifer reached behind her back, checked the icepick. Still there. Where would it have gone? She'd pull it out, wait by the door, and... she couldn't think it. Couldn't think it, sure as fuck couldn't do it. Killer or no, there was no way Jennifer would be able to smash a pointy metal stick into someone's skull.
Carla asked who it was that had killed. Things were about to get interesting. Jennifer had been quiet this whole time, letting the others take the lead, but now the tension was too much. She had to defuse things. The easiest way to do that was to force everyone to calm down a little, and the easiest way to do that was through body language. So Jennifer pulled one of the rickety chairs away from the a table near the bar, gestured to it, and said to Mike, Carla, and the boy, "Um, you want to sit down?" Then she sat in a different chair nearby, and watched them. She realized she'd never responded to Mike's dumb joke, but hoped that was response enough. She shifted a little, shuffled her feet around on the floor, kicking up some dust. The chair creaked. The icepick thumped against the back of it. Jennifer felt her eyes tearing up again. Someone had done it. Killed. It was bound to happen, but now it really had. Someone had killed, and they might be on their way here right now.
The door opened again, and Jennifer lurched forward a little, getting out of the way. A voice spoke behind her, and she turned, for a second terrified that the newcomer (a boy) was going to grab the icepick from the back of her skirt and drive it through her skull. That didn't happen, though. The boy had just decided to hit on her and Carla, rather crudely at that. Was that supposed to be humor? The boy was Mike, Mike Jeffries. One of the school's jocks. What team was he on again? Jennifer had never really payed much attention to the sports teams, only going to events because her friends cared. She was pretty sure he wasn't a football player, though.
She was also pretty sure he didn't mean any harm. He just had a fucking terrible sense of humor. Maybe some underlying issues. Jennifer could deal with him while he was here, with the others, but she decided that she would avoid being left alone with him at all costs. Just to be safe. Oh, what Jennifer would have given to be with someone she really trusted. Especially when she noticed the gun. How the fuck had she been dumb enough to miss that? Carla was holding it, pointing it at Mike, but just for a second. A gun. A real gun. Like in the movies, kind of. It was weird, seeing an unholstered gun. Surreal, especially in the hands of her classmate.
Luckily, it seemed like nobody was going to be gunned down. Everything would turn out alright. They'd just talk. That is, that was her thought until the boy behind the bar spoke up. He'd popped up into view. Jennifer recognized him, now. Unfortunately, for some crazy reason, she could only call his last name (Birkman) to mind. That was awkward. What he said pushed the fear of a social faux pas away, though, to be replaced with the fear of immanent death. He'd seen someone killed. He'd been running. It didn't take much to put the situation together. He'd been chased, and now, there was a killer maybe on their way. This was about to get horrible. Jennifer reached behind her back, checked the icepick. Still there. Where would it have gone? She'd pull it out, wait by the door, and... she couldn't think it. Couldn't think it, sure as fuck couldn't do it. Killer or no, there was no way Jennifer would be able to smash a pointy metal stick into someone's skull.
Carla asked who it was that had killed. Things were about to get interesting. Jennifer had been quiet this whole time, letting the others take the lead, but now the tension was too much. She had to defuse things. The easiest way to do that was to force everyone to calm down a little, and the easiest way to do that was through body language. So Jennifer pulled one of the rickety chairs away from the a table near the bar, gestured to it, and said to Mike, Carla, and the boy, "Um, you want to sit down?" Then she sat in a different chair nearby, and watched them. She realized she'd never responded to Mike's dumb joke, but hoped that was response enough. She shifted a little, shuffled her feet around on the floor, kicking up some dust. The chair creaked. The icepick thumped against the back of it. Jennifer felt her eyes tearing up again. Someone had done it. Killed. It was bound to happen, but now it really had. Someone had killed, and they might be on their way here right now.
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armeggedonCounselor†
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
((B120 Start!))
Robert rolled over and woke up, nearly biting his tongue from pain, as he ended laying on his right arm. He sat up quickly, wincing and moving his arm to a more comfortable position. Blearily, he looked around and slowly began to realize he wasn't in a tent, nor was he at home. It appeared he was in some sort of alley, being as he was surrounded on two sides by buildings. He could see his duffle just up the alleyway, with an unidentified bag sitting next to it. And he felt like something was choking him, pressing against his windpipe in an extraordinarily uncomfortable way. He reached up and felt metal, and the events of the past caught up with him. Immediately, his stomach churned and tried to force it's contents upward. Robert didn't vomit, but he did gag, and bile rose in his throat. Oh God. All those teachers.... Oh God. He was screwed, he realized suddenly. Even if he had been fortunate enough to get a gun, his arm was a huge liability.
Carefully, Robert stood and walked over to the two duffles, and his heart sank even lower. Nestled between the two bags, hidden from his view, sat a... chainsaw. If he were anybody else, it would be an incredibly dangerous weapon, but it was a weapon which required two strong arms. Carefully, Robert knelt down and lifted the saw. His arm ached as he hefted the weapon. To add to the downsides, it was obviously designed to be supported primarily by the right arm, which was an obvious problem. It could be supported with the left, but it would be nearly impossible to start the machine with his right arm, but with some fiddling, Robert did find a way to get a grip on the starter cord. He considered starting it, but before he could pull the cord, he heard voices coming from nearby. Female voices, male voices.... Friendly enough. Robert would be loathe to admit it, but he was scared shitless by all of this SoTF shit. A group of people would be nice to have around him. Safety in numbers, right?
Carefully, Robert picked up his bags and placed them on his shoulders. The chainsaw hung loosely in his left hand as he approached the voices, which were coming out of the bar. It appeared they were trying to be quiet, but mostly failing at it. Robert came closer and cleared his throat loudly.
"Hello the bar! Um... can I come in? I won't lie, I'm armed, but I don't think I'll be much of a threat to anyone," he said loudly, keeping his hands (and the chainsaw) visible to anyone who might look out.
Robert rolled over and woke up, nearly biting his tongue from pain, as he ended laying on his right arm. He sat up quickly, wincing and moving his arm to a more comfortable position. Blearily, he looked around and slowly began to realize he wasn't in a tent, nor was he at home. It appeared he was in some sort of alley, being as he was surrounded on two sides by buildings. He could see his duffle just up the alleyway, with an unidentified bag sitting next to it. And he felt like something was choking him, pressing against his windpipe in an extraordinarily uncomfortable way. He reached up and felt metal, and the events of the past caught up with him. Immediately, his stomach churned and tried to force it's contents upward. Robert didn't vomit, but he did gag, and bile rose in his throat. Oh God. All those teachers.... Oh God. He was screwed, he realized suddenly. Even if he had been fortunate enough to get a gun, his arm was a huge liability.
Carefully, Robert stood and walked over to the two duffles, and his heart sank even lower. Nestled between the two bags, hidden from his view, sat a... chainsaw. If he were anybody else, it would be an incredibly dangerous weapon, but it was a weapon which required two strong arms. Carefully, Robert knelt down and lifted the saw. His arm ached as he hefted the weapon. To add to the downsides, it was obviously designed to be supported primarily by the right arm, which was an obvious problem. It could be supported with the left, but it would be nearly impossible to start the machine with his right arm, but with some fiddling, Robert did find a way to get a grip on the starter cord. He considered starting it, but before he could pull the cord, he heard voices coming from nearby. Female voices, male voices.... Friendly enough. Robert would be loathe to admit it, but he was scared shitless by all of this SoTF shit. A group of people would be nice to have around him. Safety in numbers, right?
Carefully, Robert picked up his bags and placed them on his shoulders. The chainsaw hung loosely in his left hand as he approached the voices, which were coming out of the bar. It appeared they were trying to be quiet, but mostly failing at it. Robert came closer and cleared his throat loudly.
"Hello the bar! Um... can I come in? I won't lie, I'm armed, but I don't think I'll be much of a threat to anyone," he said loudly, keeping his hands (and the chainsaw) visible to anyone who might look out.
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JamesRenard†
- Posts: 238
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
((OOC: Skipping Game Maker because of him not posting in over a week))
"It... it was Clio, Clio Gabriella" Allen replied to Carla's question, his legs shaking from nerves and the earlier exertion he'd put on them. "She... she just went insane and shot him. Chris, that's who she killed. She shot him... and he hadn't even done anything wrong! I hadn't done anything and she wanted to kill me next. If it hadn't been for someone, can't remember his name very well. He had Australian accent, I think it might have been Brandon, or Brendan. Whatever, if he didn't distract her, I'd be dead!"
Allen stopped and took a deep breath. Throughout the explanation, he'd felt the anger building up inside of him, caused by the unfairness of it all. It was unfair for someone innocent like Chris Davidson to just be casually killed like that. It was unfair for all of them to be put in this kind of situation to begin with. It was all unfair, and that made him cross.
'Calm down, it's all in the past now, you can't do anything about it,' Allen thought, though a worrying thought suddenly crossed his mind; 'Oh no, what if Clio killed that other guy, and then followed me here?!'
The thought indeed scared him, but it couldn't possibly be true. If Clio really had been on his tail since he got away from the beach, she'd have already discovered his hiding place, which didn't appear to be the case. 'And if she just so happens to burst through the door right that second, we can easily take her down. I got grenades, the girls have a gun and some kind of blade... wait a minute, did I really just think that?'
Allen was slightly alarmed at how... simple it was for him to think about killing one of his classmates. 'No. It's only because it's Clio,' he concluded, justifying his thoughts. 'She already killed someone in cold blood, she would just as easily kill us as well if she got the chance. It'll be self defense, not murder, we wouldn't be doing anything as bad as her, right?'
Allen looked across the derelict room at the others. Carla was hidden from his view, having slid down in front of the bar in hysterics, while Mike, one of the fairly popular guys with an apparently tasteless sense of humour, stood not far from the entrance. The other girl, Jennifer (the main reason he knew her name was because she shared it with his sister) hadn't said much, but she suddenly took one of the chairs and offered them all a seat. It seemed odd to Allen that she was doing this, but he guessed she was only trying to be friendly and calm everyone down a touch. He could seriously do with some calming down right about now, especially after what he'd witnessed not too long ago.
"Yeah, sure, I'll take a seat," Allen said, picking up his duffel bags and carrying them over towards the Hispanic girl, the straps dragging behind him on the dusty floorboards. He'd only taken a handful of slightly shaky steps from behind the bar when a new voice rang out from outside. Allen nearly froze on the spot, whipping his head round towards where the noise came from.
'Someone else?! It's not Clio, that much I can be thankful about. And at least this person has the courtesy to announce his presence to us instead of just bursting in,' Allen thought. 'That means this person's not going to harm us, right? He says he's armed, best find out what he has first, though.'
"W-what weapon do you have?" Allen called loudly to the unknown person, attempting to sound as brave as possible, though his voice cracked at some points. "And d-don't think about doing anything stupid, we're armed in here as well," he warned.
"It... it was Clio, Clio Gabriella" Allen replied to Carla's question, his legs shaking from nerves and the earlier exertion he'd put on them. "She... she just went insane and shot him. Chris, that's who she killed. She shot him... and he hadn't even done anything wrong! I hadn't done anything and she wanted to kill me next. If it hadn't been for someone, can't remember his name very well. He had Australian accent, I think it might have been Brandon, or Brendan. Whatever, if he didn't distract her, I'd be dead!"
Allen stopped and took a deep breath. Throughout the explanation, he'd felt the anger building up inside of him, caused by the unfairness of it all. It was unfair for someone innocent like Chris Davidson to just be casually killed like that. It was unfair for all of them to be put in this kind of situation to begin with. It was all unfair, and that made him cross.
'Calm down, it's all in the past now, you can't do anything about it,' Allen thought, though a worrying thought suddenly crossed his mind; 'Oh no, what if Clio killed that other guy, and then followed me here?!'
The thought indeed scared him, but it couldn't possibly be true. If Clio really had been on his tail since he got away from the beach, she'd have already discovered his hiding place, which didn't appear to be the case. 'And if she just so happens to burst through the door right that second, we can easily take her down. I got grenades, the girls have a gun and some kind of blade... wait a minute, did I really just think that?'
Allen was slightly alarmed at how... simple it was for him to think about killing one of his classmates. 'No. It's only because it's Clio,' he concluded, justifying his thoughts. 'She already killed someone in cold blood, she would just as easily kill us as well if she got the chance. It'll be self defense, not murder, we wouldn't be doing anything as bad as her, right?'
Allen looked across the derelict room at the others. Carla was hidden from his view, having slid down in front of the bar in hysterics, while Mike, one of the fairly popular guys with an apparently tasteless sense of humour, stood not far from the entrance. The other girl, Jennifer (the main reason he knew her name was because she shared it with his sister) hadn't said much, but she suddenly took one of the chairs and offered them all a seat. It seemed odd to Allen that she was doing this, but he guessed she was only trying to be friendly and calm everyone down a touch. He could seriously do with some calming down right about now, especially after what he'd witnessed not too long ago.
"Yeah, sure, I'll take a seat," Allen said, picking up his duffel bags and carrying them over towards the Hispanic girl, the straps dragging behind him on the dusty floorboards. He'd only taken a handful of slightly shaky steps from behind the bar when a new voice rang out from outside. Allen nearly froze on the spot, whipping his head round towards where the noise came from.
'Someone else?! It's not Clio, that much I can be thankful about. And at least this person has the courtesy to announce his presence to us instead of just bursting in,' Allen thought. 'That means this person's not going to harm us, right? He says he's armed, best find out what he has first, though.'
"W-what weapon do you have?" Allen called loudly to the unknown person, attempting to sound as brave as possible, though his voice cracked at some points. "And d-don't think about doing anything stupid, we're armed in here as well," he warned.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler JamesRenard. 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.
With the shock that some people had already started to turn on each other and kill one another, Carla mind continued its sober ascent into fear and paranoia from the mild hysteria that it had just escaped from. But what was it to say that this boy wasn't telling the truth about the matter? What if he had killed someone and now was lying about it, covering up and blaming someone for all Carla knew, could already be dead? Yeah, it was a pretty twisted joke if that was true, all of them taking the word from this boy that someone had died but not by his hand and then he turned on them, maybe shooting or blowing them up or even slitting their throats if they fell asleep. What was to stop any of them doing that........... or even herself doing it?
After all, only the last person alive got off the island and to safety, everyone knew that. But who would be able to do that, murder people in cold blood? After all, these people on this island were all just like her, young scared and afraid. But Carla's eyes swang around, looking at the newcomer Mike and Jennifer, wondering if either of them would kill her if they got the chance. Was it a risk she wanted to take?
But as she pulled herself from the bar to look at the other boy, turning and picking up her small bag as she did, Carla realised that she did recognise the boy, Allen something. Was it Bearman? But now that she knew who he was, she calmed a little, her tight grip on the gun relaxing somewhat, her finger pulling away from the trigger. Right, there was a name to the voice and that made her feel a little safer, knowing who was around. It was better than being around strangers, that was for sure. Would it be easier to deal with this if she didn't know who they were. Would it be easier to kill a complete stranger though? No connections, less guilt? Because the people on this island, she had grown with them, knew their families and friends, dated and even slept with a few of them. But if they were going to turn on her, maybe it was better she turned on them first.
Clio, that pretty girl? The religious one, Carla remembered and for some reason the thought of the religious people turning on each other made the thoughts even worse. After all, weren't they supposed to be all peaceful and love God and go to church on Sunday to pray, not shooting people dead on an island. And the other guy, that was gay Brendan wasn't it, the redheaded one. Maybe Clio had been aiming for him on some kind of crazy religious rampage as well. Hell, maybe she was going on a shooting spree right now!
Then Jennifer did something unexpected, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Something so ordinary, yet to Carla it seemed so surreal that someone would do something like that. Strange it was, but Carla didn't even know why she found it so odd. Making her way to find a chair herself, suddenly there was a sound from outside, something that was distracting for her, an new voice, a new person, a new threat? Suddenly Carla was all to aware that there was far too many people here, too many threats. Four people in one room, one outside, so that means there would be four people who could attack her, kill her. Maybe Jennifer or Mike were with the guy outside, laying a trap for her or the other boy.
Suddenly Carla felt the urge to run, but not out of the front door, where the new person is. She had seen another door, out of the back of the bar, maybe that would be unlocked. Making a sudden movement, Carla took off in a sprint, grabbing her duffle bag off the bar counter and sprinting towards the back door, gun still held tightly in one hand, two bags in the other, her flats slamming on the floor as she pushed through the door and kept running, ignoring what was going on behind her. If it was rude, or made the others scared, she didn't care. She was not hanging around there to be part of a massacre when she could find somewhere safer. But now in the sun, all she cared about was running, as fast and as far as she could away from there.
((Continued at Time Is Not On Our Side))
After all, only the last person alive got off the island and to safety, everyone knew that. But who would be able to do that, murder people in cold blood? After all, these people on this island were all just like her, young scared and afraid. But Carla's eyes swang around, looking at the newcomer Mike and Jennifer, wondering if either of them would kill her if they got the chance. Was it a risk she wanted to take?
But as she pulled herself from the bar to look at the other boy, turning and picking up her small bag as she did, Carla realised that she did recognise the boy, Allen something. Was it Bearman? But now that she knew who he was, she calmed a little, her tight grip on the gun relaxing somewhat, her finger pulling away from the trigger. Right, there was a name to the voice and that made her feel a little safer, knowing who was around. It was better than being around strangers, that was for sure. Would it be easier to deal with this if she didn't know who they were. Would it be easier to kill a complete stranger though? No connections, less guilt? Because the people on this island, she had grown with them, knew their families and friends, dated and even slept with a few of them. But if they were going to turn on her, maybe it was better she turned on them first.
Clio, that pretty girl? The religious one, Carla remembered and for some reason the thought of the religious people turning on each other made the thoughts even worse. After all, weren't they supposed to be all peaceful and love God and go to church on Sunday to pray, not shooting people dead on an island. And the other guy, that was gay Brendan wasn't it, the redheaded one. Maybe Clio had been aiming for him on some kind of crazy religious rampage as well. Hell, maybe she was going on a shooting spree right now!
Then Jennifer did something unexpected, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Something so ordinary, yet to Carla it seemed so surreal that someone would do something like that. Strange it was, but Carla didn't even know why she found it so odd. Making her way to find a chair herself, suddenly there was a sound from outside, something that was distracting for her, an new voice, a new person, a new threat? Suddenly Carla was all to aware that there was far too many people here, too many threats. Four people in one room, one outside, so that means there would be four people who could attack her, kill her. Maybe Jennifer or Mike were with the guy outside, laying a trap for her or the other boy.
Suddenly Carla felt the urge to run, but not out of the front door, where the new person is. She had seen another door, out of the back of the bar, maybe that would be unlocked. Making a sudden movement, Carla took off in a sprint, grabbing her duffle bag off the bar counter and sprinting towards the back door, gun still held tightly in one hand, two bags in the other, her flats slamming on the floor as she pushed through the door and kept running, ignoring what was going on behind her. If it was rude, or made the others scared, she didn't care. She was not hanging around there to be part of a massacre when she could find somewhere safer. But now in the sun, all she cared about was running, as fast and as far as she could away from there.
((Continued at Time Is Not On Our Side))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Lexi. 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.
((Lucy Ashmore Start))
She hadn't planned on coming on the trip at first, but her mother had pushed her to go because she was sure she'd have a great time; she wanted her daughter to make some new friends, even if the year was just about over; she just wanted to see her surrounded by friends like she had been before they had moved. Of course, in due time she would be hunched over a table, crying her eyes out after hearing the news of her daughter's whereabouts, guilt suffocating her from the inside, but this isn't the story about the mother, this is the story of her child.
It began in a room smelling strongly of lingering alcohol, the walls lined with barrels of various liquours and drinks, stacked up to the ceiling. This was the wine cellar of the pub that Allen, Robert, Mike and Jennifer were standing in, though the name was misleading as it was simply a room off to the side of the main bar, behind a door visible yet unnoticed by the other students, the door blending seamlessly into the wall behind it. A girl of average height, yet small when surrouned by others, groaned from the floor of that room; if it wasn't for the lethal collar around her neck, it might seem like she had passed out drunk.
Lucy Ashmore awoke, and her nightmare began.
Slowly, she rolled over onto her side, habitually swatting at where her alarm clock would have been had she been at home in bed on a sunny morning, instead striking nothing but the cold hard floor. Her eyes flickered open, and she looked at the bottom of the shelf opposite her, blinking hazily as her environment became clearer and clearer; as her sight came more into focus, so did her memory, and she quickly bolted upright with fear filling her body.
Even if she didn't want to, she had no trouble recalling what had happened barely hours ago: the scenes of the murders of her teachers clear in her mind and the words of the games master Danya clear in her ears. She raised her hand to her neck, her fingers touching the cold collar, giving a sensation akin to touching a thorny plant; she pulled her fingers away defensively. A moment later, she brought both hands back up, pressing her fingers against the collar. She would have tugged too, had noise not started becoming clear from outside the room, and she would've been killed there and then with a loud kaboom.
The moment the noise emanated through the door, she pushed herself away from it as if it was some hungry lion coming to swallow her whole. She quickly found herself rushing into the two bags behind her, startling her as she whipped her head around to see what she had barged into. Finding that they were simply bags, one of them hers, she turned her attention back to the voices, a lump in her throat begging to be swallowed.
Taking a deep gulp, Lucy struggled to get to her feet, hunching over as the fear of the situation weighed down on her. Terrified, she moved closer and closer to the door, slowly reaching out for the handle; she finally tightening her hand around it, gently twisting it open, just about to put herself in full view of everyone outside, when she finally noticed the keyhole underneath it.
For the first time since waking up, Lucy made a sound: "Sa-safer... I'll look through it.. it's safer.." she babbled quietly, slowly crouching down to bring her eye level with the keyhole, and she was rewarded with her first view outside the room.
Unfortunately, the door was not in a prime position to see anything of the other students, and so Lucy was left looking at the back of the bar. The stroke of bad luck broke something for Lucy, and tears welled in her eyes as reality finally hit: she was in the program. She had heard about it on the news, (who hadn't?), and now she was expected to take part in it. She was going to have to kill everyone, or die herself. She didn't want to die, she just wanted to meet some new people! That was the only reason she came on this stinking trip!
Her mind clouded with grief, she sunk to her knees and began crying. She did not cry softly, despite being such a quiet person, and her tears splashed on the ground as her wails escaped her throat and filled the air.
Her story was beginning here, and as far as she thought, it would be over soon.
She hadn't planned on coming on the trip at first, but her mother had pushed her to go because she was sure she'd have a great time; she wanted her daughter to make some new friends, even if the year was just about over; she just wanted to see her surrounded by friends like she had been before they had moved. Of course, in due time she would be hunched over a table, crying her eyes out after hearing the news of her daughter's whereabouts, guilt suffocating her from the inside, but this isn't the story about the mother, this is the story of her child.
It began in a room smelling strongly of lingering alcohol, the walls lined with barrels of various liquours and drinks, stacked up to the ceiling. This was the wine cellar of the pub that Allen, Robert, Mike and Jennifer were standing in, though the name was misleading as it was simply a room off to the side of the main bar, behind a door visible yet unnoticed by the other students, the door blending seamlessly into the wall behind it. A girl of average height, yet small when surrouned by others, groaned from the floor of that room; if it wasn't for the lethal collar around her neck, it might seem like she had passed out drunk.
Lucy Ashmore awoke, and her nightmare began.
Slowly, she rolled over onto her side, habitually swatting at where her alarm clock would have been had she been at home in bed on a sunny morning, instead striking nothing but the cold hard floor. Her eyes flickered open, and she looked at the bottom of the shelf opposite her, blinking hazily as her environment became clearer and clearer; as her sight came more into focus, so did her memory, and she quickly bolted upright with fear filling her body.
Even if she didn't want to, she had no trouble recalling what had happened barely hours ago: the scenes of the murders of her teachers clear in her mind and the words of the games master Danya clear in her ears. She raised her hand to her neck, her fingers touching the cold collar, giving a sensation akin to touching a thorny plant; she pulled her fingers away defensively. A moment later, she brought both hands back up, pressing her fingers against the collar. She would have tugged too, had noise not started becoming clear from outside the room, and she would've been killed there and then with a loud kaboom.
The moment the noise emanated through the door, she pushed herself away from it as if it was some hungry lion coming to swallow her whole. She quickly found herself rushing into the two bags behind her, startling her as she whipped her head around to see what she had barged into. Finding that they were simply bags, one of them hers, she turned her attention back to the voices, a lump in her throat begging to be swallowed.
Taking a deep gulp, Lucy struggled to get to her feet, hunching over as the fear of the situation weighed down on her. Terrified, she moved closer and closer to the door, slowly reaching out for the handle; she finally tightening her hand around it, gently twisting it open, just about to put herself in full view of everyone outside, when she finally noticed the keyhole underneath it.
For the first time since waking up, Lucy made a sound: "Sa-safer... I'll look through it.. it's safer.." she babbled quietly, slowly crouching down to bring her eye level with the keyhole, and she was rewarded with her first view outside the room.
Unfortunately, the door was not in a prime position to see anything of the other students, and so Lucy was left looking at the back of the bar. The stroke of bad luck broke something for Lucy, and tears welled in her eyes as reality finally hit: she was in the program. She had heard about it on the news, (who hadn't?), and now she was expected to take part in it. She was going to have to kill everyone, or die herself. She didn't want to die, she just wanted to meet some new people! That was the only reason she came on this stinking trip!
Her mind clouded with grief, she sunk to her knees and began crying. She did not cry softly, despite being such a quiet person, and her tears splashed on the ground as her wails escaped her throat and filled the air.
Her story was beginning here, and as far as she thought, it would be over soon.
((B110 Start))
For whatever reason, human biology being the unpredictable thing that it is, the knock-out drugs that were used acted a little more strongly on Bill Davis. As this was the case, he only woke up to the sound of people entering the Rec Center.
...where am I?
A glance around revealed unfamilar surroundings as Bill climbed off the couch he'd been placed on; but for the noise elsewhere, he'd look around for a blanket and lay back down. This was some day...
Grabbing his bags (laying on the floor by the couch), he staggers out of the room he was in and glances around before obliviously waving to the other people he sees entering what was clearly the entrance to the building.
"Hey...guys." Pause. "Uh...where are we?" His voice is a bit uneven; he doesn't know how long he's been asleep, if he's even awake yet, or anything else. All he's guessing is that there was a large enough amount of alcohol involved to put him out of not only whatever misery was involved last night, but also to put him out of the misery of the memory of it.
Reaching tentatively into his bag (his actual bag), he pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
...how'd those get in there? Great. Must've grabbed dad's bag on the way out of the house...yesterday? But wasn't I going on...
Shaking his head, he stuffs the smokes back in and shrugs off the thought.
"And what're we doing here?"
For whatever reason, human biology being the unpredictable thing that it is, the knock-out drugs that were used acted a little more strongly on Bill Davis. As this was the case, he only woke up to the sound of people entering the Rec Center.
...where am I?
A glance around revealed unfamilar surroundings as Bill climbed off the couch he'd been placed on; but for the noise elsewhere, he'd look around for a blanket and lay back down. This was some day...
Grabbing his bags (laying on the floor by the couch), he staggers out of the room he was in and glances around before obliviously waving to the other people he sees entering what was clearly the entrance to the building.
"Hey...guys." Pause. "Uh...where are we?" His voice is a bit uneven; he doesn't know how long he's been asleep, if he's even awake yet, or anything else. All he's guessing is that there was a large enough amount of alcohol involved to put him out of not only whatever misery was involved last night, but also to put him out of the misery of the memory of it.
Reaching tentatively into his bag (his actual bag), he pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
...how'd those get in there? Great. Must've grabbed dad's bag on the way out of the house...yesterday? But wasn't I going on...
Shaking his head, he stuffs the smokes back in and shrugs off the thought.
"And what're we doing here?"
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Chaos. Confusion. Panic. Immanent disaster. Jennifer watched as everything slipped one more notch towards disintegration, as the situation spiraled even further out of her control. Allen and Carla moved towards her, about to take her up on her offer of a seat, and then there was someone else at the door. Carla got spooked and ran. Everyone was talking. Nobody was really saying anything. It was too much. Just too much. They had to shut up. Just had to. Fuck them, they had to. Where the fuck did they get off causing this sort of situation, blowing their little chance for peace apart just as they arrived?
Anger surged through Jennifer. It was not an unfamiliar emotion. As well as she hid it, as well as she kept her composure and played peacekeeper, she was, by nature, a wrathful person. She just had the self control to keep it hidden, keep anyone from knowing. Everyone thought she was some perfect, happy, simpleminded girl. They thought nothing could phase her. Thought nothing could piss her off. And now, here in this worst of all possible situations, she was worried about that. Worried about how she was feeling, about what she might do. About what others might do. Not everyone had Jennifer's ability to feign happiness and avoid blowing up. Half her friends had tempers. If she was feeling like this, what would the others be doing?
Allen had named the killer, before everything got fucked up. Clio. Clio Gabriella. Jennifer knew of her, could recognize her. Couldn't picture her as a murderer. She'd killed Chris. Chris who? Carlson? He was the only Chris Jennifer knew of. He'd always seemed like a nice boy, and now he was gone. What the fuck? How could this be real? Her hands were clenching, her fingernails, kept short for practicality, digging painfully into her palms. Stress mounting, along with the anger. That wasn't a good sign. In her few hours on the island, Jennifer was in worse mental shape than after an entire month of putting up with her friends' shit and her family's shit and the school's shit back home. She'd blown off some steam a few minutes before, only to have it return with a vengeance. She absolutely, positively needed to get away before things really went to hell.
As suddenly as she'd sat down, Jennifer popped back up. Carla had left about five or ten seconds ago. It was as good an excuse as any.
"I'm going after her. It's dangerous out there."
That was all that needed to be said, even if it was a complete lie. Carla had flipped out and ran off with a gun. Scared Jennifer, and probably the others, too. No, it was simply time for a little walk to cool down. A little walk to push back the grim reality of this situation. There was a back door. Carla had left through it. Jennifer had heard it slam. Not waiting to see if things got worse, she ducked after the other girl, winding her way to the back. It took a few seconds to open the door, but that was alright. It gave Carla a better head start. Much as she hated to admit it, Jennifer couldn't really just let her run off. She'd been planning to seconds ago, but now, she knew she couldn't follow through. She couldn't abandon someone, even a heavily-armed someone, if they were running panicked and alone. Wasn't that why she'd come to the bar in the first place, to see if Allen needed help? If Carla was already gone, though, she wouldn't be able to follow...
It was justification and self-deception, and Jennifer knew it. She didn't care anymore, though. Deep down, she was pretty sure she was a fucking awful person, just trying to fake kindness and good motivations as long as she could, when really she was just being a selfish bitch. Sure, she helped stop conflicts, but it wasn't for anyone else. She just hated conflict. Not a speck of altruism there.
Liar.
Anyways, it didn't matter. She ducked outside, took a look around. Carla was gone. The streets were empty. Perfect. Looping, avoiding the front of the building, Jennifer took off at a brisk walk, slipping through the deserted alleys. This semi-urban environment was her territory, her home turf. A place she was comfortable. Maybe she'd find a nice dumpster, just duck in there and hold out. But no, that wouldn't be the right thing. She had a goal, right? Something she'd been set on doing? It was hard to remember for the moment.
Right. Staying herself. Staying herself, worthless and helpless though she was.
And it would be awfully nice to get a chance to say one little goodbye.
So she headed for the edge of the buildings, dreading what was to come. She'd thrown away her best bets of survival twice now, in the form of a group with acquaintances and a safe place to hide. It didn't look like smart choices were in her future, either. No matter.
She kept walking, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. The icepick bumped against her back rhythmically as she walked. It had warmed up some. In fact, it felt natural enough now that she'd forgotten it completely.
((Jennifer Perez continued in Somewhere That's Green))
Anger surged through Jennifer. It was not an unfamiliar emotion. As well as she hid it, as well as she kept her composure and played peacekeeper, she was, by nature, a wrathful person. She just had the self control to keep it hidden, keep anyone from knowing. Everyone thought she was some perfect, happy, simpleminded girl. They thought nothing could phase her. Thought nothing could piss her off. And now, here in this worst of all possible situations, she was worried about that. Worried about how she was feeling, about what she might do. About what others might do. Not everyone had Jennifer's ability to feign happiness and avoid blowing up. Half her friends had tempers. If she was feeling like this, what would the others be doing?
Allen had named the killer, before everything got fucked up. Clio. Clio Gabriella. Jennifer knew of her, could recognize her. Couldn't picture her as a murderer. She'd killed Chris. Chris who? Carlson? He was the only Chris Jennifer knew of. He'd always seemed like a nice boy, and now he was gone. What the fuck? How could this be real? Her hands were clenching, her fingernails, kept short for practicality, digging painfully into her palms. Stress mounting, along with the anger. That wasn't a good sign. In her few hours on the island, Jennifer was in worse mental shape than after an entire month of putting up with her friends' shit and her family's shit and the school's shit back home. She'd blown off some steam a few minutes before, only to have it return with a vengeance. She absolutely, positively needed to get away before things really went to hell.
As suddenly as she'd sat down, Jennifer popped back up. Carla had left about five or ten seconds ago. It was as good an excuse as any.
"I'm going after her. It's dangerous out there."
That was all that needed to be said, even if it was a complete lie. Carla had flipped out and ran off with a gun. Scared Jennifer, and probably the others, too. No, it was simply time for a little walk to cool down. A little walk to push back the grim reality of this situation. There was a back door. Carla had left through it. Jennifer had heard it slam. Not waiting to see if things got worse, she ducked after the other girl, winding her way to the back. It took a few seconds to open the door, but that was alright. It gave Carla a better head start. Much as she hated to admit it, Jennifer couldn't really just let her run off. She'd been planning to seconds ago, but now, she knew she couldn't follow through. She couldn't abandon someone, even a heavily-armed someone, if they were running panicked and alone. Wasn't that why she'd come to the bar in the first place, to see if Allen needed help? If Carla was already gone, though, she wouldn't be able to follow...
It was justification and self-deception, and Jennifer knew it. She didn't care anymore, though. Deep down, she was pretty sure she was a fucking awful person, just trying to fake kindness and good motivations as long as she could, when really she was just being a selfish bitch. Sure, she helped stop conflicts, but it wasn't for anyone else. She just hated conflict. Not a speck of altruism there.
Liar.
Anyways, it didn't matter. She ducked outside, took a look around. Carla was gone. The streets were empty. Perfect. Looping, avoiding the front of the building, Jennifer took off at a brisk walk, slipping through the deserted alleys. This semi-urban environment was her territory, her home turf. A place she was comfortable. Maybe she'd find a nice dumpster, just duck in there and hold out. But no, that wouldn't be the right thing. She had a goal, right? Something she'd been set on doing? It was hard to remember for the moment.
Right. Staying herself. Staying herself, worthless and helpless though she was.
And it would be awfully nice to get a chance to say one little goodbye.
So she headed for the edge of the buildings, dreading what was to come. She'd thrown away her best bets of survival twice now, in the form of a group with acquaintances and a safe place to hide. It didn't look like smart choices were in her future, either. No matter.
She kept walking, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. The icepick bumped against her back rhythmically as she walked. It had warmed up some. In fact, it felt natural enough now that she'd forgotten it completely.
((Jennifer Perez continued in Somewhere That's Green))
"Janet, Janet are you awake... Well, I think you can hear me just fine... You're going to have to get over your fear sooner or later; and today is the day that the process begins... Not your process, that began the second you heard the news of my early demise... This is my process... You may have taught yourself to think that my death wasn't your fault... Your newly-aquired fear of the very thing that your soul has begged for may seem like enough evidence to erase any blame from your mind... But don't worry, I have a way to make the process a lot... quicker... Soon, every ounce of blame will be squeezed from your body... But for now; I leave you with Mr. Danya, he'll help you get this... exercise started..."
((Janet Victoriee-Ser start))
Janet woke up abruptly. "It was just a dream." She whispered to herself, tears creeping down her eyes. It was just the same nightmare that she had every so often. Ever since her brother had reached a watery grave. No matter how much people told her that his death wasn't her fault, somehow that dream always sent guilt flooding through her body. She took a deep breath in and told herself that she wasn't responsable for her brother's death, that he didn't want to reap an unholy revenge from beyond the grave and she wasn't... Where was she anyway.
She appeared to be laying on a dusty wooden floor, her head was throbbing and her surroundings were nearly pitch black except for a chink of light that poured through a crack in one of the walls. The light seemed to be shining on a dark coloured bag. Suddenly Janet remembered where she was. She was in the most dangerous game known to modern society; Survival of the Fittest. Janet slumped onto the floor and started to cry to herself softly.
((Janet Victoriee-Ser start))
Janet woke up abruptly. "It was just a dream." She whispered to herself, tears creeping down her eyes. It was just the same nightmare that she had every so often. Ever since her brother had reached a watery grave. No matter how much people told her that his death wasn't her fault, somehow that dream always sent guilt flooding through her body. She took a deep breath in and told herself that she wasn't responsable for her brother's death, that he didn't want to reap an unholy revenge from beyond the grave and she wasn't... Where was she anyway.
She appeared to be laying on a dusty wooden floor, her head was throbbing and her surroundings were nearly pitch black except for a chink of light that poured through a crack in one of the walls. The light seemed to be shining on a dark coloured bag. Suddenly Janet remembered where she was. She was in the most dangerous game known to modern society; Survival of the Fittest. Janet slumped onto the floor and started to cry to herself softly.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Limisios. 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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armeggedonCounselor†
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Vaguely, Robert heard the sounds of feet moving quickly and a door opening and closing twice from within the building. Apparently, someone had decided he was dangerous regardless of his earlier reassurances. His heart sank slightly. It really was terrible that people were so suspicious, although to be fair, he would be too. He sighed, looking down slightly.
"Well... I.... Y'know, this was a bad idea to begin with. Going towards the voices, I mean. I'm just... I'm just gonna leave," he said, just loud enough for the person in the building to hear. His thoughts were spinning wildly as he turned away from the building. They probably would have had a problem with him and his chainsaw anyway. A chainsaw was not a weapon you associated with not hurting people.
An object on the horizon caught his attention. Some sort of... Ferris Wheel? What the hell? The morbidly humorous part of him demanded that he go there. It just seemed so... morbid. And so, Robert set off at an easy run toward the Ferris Wheel and whatever lay near it.
((Robert Lerger continued in Break Up And Break Down))
"Well... I.... Y'know, this was a bad idea to begin with. Going towards the voices, I mean. I'm just... I'm just gonna leave," he said, just loud enough for the person in the building to hear. His thoughts were spinning wildly as he turned away from the building. They probably would have had a problem with him and his chainsaw anyway. A chainsaw was not a weapon you associated with not hurting people.
An object on the horizon caught his attention. Some sort of... Ferris Wheel? What the hell? The morbidly humorous part of him demanded that he go there. It just seemed so... morbid. And so, Robert set off at an easy run toward the Ferris Wheel and whatever lay near it.
((Robert Lerger continued in Break Up And Break Down))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler armeggedonCounselor. 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.