In the House, In a Heartbeat

[Fiori]

((Maxwell Lombardi continued from No Crying Allowed))

Well now, I wonder who that handsome man in the mirror with a gun could possibly be?

It had been a good dozen or so hours since he'd ruthlessly gunned down Duncan McMahon, and Maxwell Lombardi had never felt better.


For starters, barely minutes after he had shot Duncan the young Brit happened across another appropriately sized house to serve as shelter for the night. After quickly making sure that the house was indeed empty this time, and that there weren't anyone hiding in the cupboards or something ridiculous like that, the young man made swift work of barricading the entrances and making sure all the windows were shut. However, despite his precautions, Maxwell had learnt by now to not take things for granted so easily. A blocked door wouldn't stop someone desperate from braking a window now, would it?

So, despite his desire to sleep on the comfort of a soft mattress once more, as an extra safety precaution Maxwell had decided that it would be best to sleep in the attic instead.

To be fair though, as far as dark dusty attics went, it wasn't that bad. For one, the trap door leading into the attic actually had a lock on it, so Maxwell didn't have to worry about some stranger sneaking up on him during his sleep. It seemed as though whoever had once lived there decided to use it as something along the lines of a storage room, hence the numerous empty boxes that lay about the area. The wooden floorboard seemed steady enough, despite the odd uncomfortable creaking sound they made whenever Maxwell trod on them. Most interesting of all was the tall mirror that lay against the wall in the corner, on the opposite side of the attic from the trap door. Nevertheless, despite it's faults the attic made for a good enough shelter for Maxwell's needs, and after grabbing a pair of duvets and a couple of pillows from the level bellow, all Maxwell had to do was remove his shirt and jacket and he was already fast asleep within minutes....

After waking up from a... Peculiar dream which was similar to the one he had the other day, only with nine mysterious shades rather than five, Maxwell checked his watch to find that he had spent almost an entire day asleep. Guessing that he only had an hour or two before the next announcement, the young killer had decided to have a quick breakfast and use the rare moment of peace to go through another ammo check. Thankfully, as he'd searched the house the Maxwell had managed to come across a handful of candles which he'd set up on several boxes in the room, giving him more than enough light to count what little ammunition he had left. Two pistol magazines from the looks of things, but sadly no more magazines for the submachine gun. Typical... Oh well, nothing I can really do about it now is there? Besides, now you'll definitely be more careful before wasting ammunition again...

Hmm, according to the instruction manual, each magazine holds ten bullets each. How many times did I shoot whatshisname with this gun? I'm guessing four, maybe three times. That'll leave me with around 6-ish bullets left on this thing. Which, along with the other two magazines, leaves me with 26 bullets in total. 26 bullets in which to win this game. And considering the fact that there's still a hundred or so fellow players out there...

Hmm, I have a funny feeling that one pistol isn't enough firepower I need to win this...

The young killer yawned loudly, stretching his arms out as he looked about the attic he had taken refuge within. It was at that point that he realised just how atmospheric it was with the candles illumination the area in a manner which gave off the feel of an old fashioned horror movie. His gaze drifted amongst the boxes, paying deep attention on the various packages and logo's that covered them, until his eyes fell upon the mirror in the corner of the room.

...Sure, why not.

On that note, the Englishman stood up and walked slowly towards the mirror, clutching his pistol tightly. He looked at himself in the mirror, still naked from the waste up. He could still see the bruises on his chest from the various conflicts he had been in since his stay on the island. There was an especially large one in the centre of his chest where Reiko had struck him on the chest head-on with that thick skull of her's, not to mention the various scrapes he'd gained from his fight with Daniel Blessing. All reminders of his past battles. All reminders of what he'd been through to get here...

....All reminders of his past victories.

He couldn't help but smile as he raised the gun, pointing it in the direction of the mirror as he stood sideways. So, this was the last sight that so many people would have of him? A dashing young man pointing a pistol at their face. Well, lucky them...

He observed the gun in his hands once more. The same gun he had liberated from Harold by that beach. It felt like forever since that day, even though it had barely been half a week since he'd was standing on that beach with that very same gun in his hands. How many lives had he taken with that weapon? It had undeniably proven to have been his most trustworthy weapon, saving his life on more then one occasion. And hopefully many more in the near future.

Funny. To think that a week ago i'd of thought that the kind of person who would kill without so much as batting an eyelid would be insane beyond comprehension. And yet here I am, still alive with several kills to my name, and i've still yet to see what all the fuss is about. I'm hardly a madman, thats for sure...

Still, I can only imagine how much i've been demonized by my fellow classmates. They'd of all probably labelled me as an irredimable monster by now, not that I can really blame them. Hell, I'd of called myself a monster if I could see what i'd become back when was young and naive. But if there's one thing this island has taught me, it'd have to be the fact that good an evil is all based on perspective. I mean, from MY perspective, I don't really have much of a choice in the matter. Death isn't an option, trying to escape is impossible so what other option do I have except play along? And so what If I happen to enjoy myself in the meantime? Should I just pretend that I don't enjoy myself and act like some massive angst-ridden prick? Just like the rest of those hypocrites out there who're claiming that they're only doing it "because they had no other choice". I bet they're all just putting on the moody regretful killer act so that they could claim to have some kind of pathetic "moral high ground". Whereas I on the other hand represent the plain and simple truth... That killers such as myself happen to have a hell of a good time in the process.

He stood there for a few moments longer, posing in front of the mirror with his weapon as if he was preparing himself for some sick-minded fashion shoot when suddenly the noise of the announcement brought him to attention. Ah, time to have the rest of the island informed of my exploits...

As Danya began to list the names of those who had died the previous day, Maxwell went about getting his clothes back on and placing his equipment back into his dufflebag. Just as he zipped the bag up, a certain name came up on the announcement that froze him on the spot.

"Someone finally managed to extract a little measure of revenge out of one of our big killers. Clio Gabriella is no more, shot by Tabitha Gweneth."

What.

He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Clio Gabriella, the SAME Clio Gabriella who barely a day ago he had just wished the best of luck, the same Clio Gabriella he had made love to in front of the entire world, had just been killed by some no-name who Maxwell didn't even recognize. He wasn't sure which was worse. The fact that she was dead, or the fact that she had been killed so off-handily as it seems by someone whom he'd never heard of before in his life.

And yet... And the same time, Maxwell was not especially angry.

He was mad, yes, that the one person on the island whom he'd grown to like had been killed by some nobody. In fact, he made a mental note to find this "Tabitha Gweneth" and make her pay dearly for killing her. And at the same time, one of his biggest rivals had been removed without him even having to lift a finger. Like he'd said to her before they went their separate ways...

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope this will be the last time we see each other. It'd be a shame after all we've done for it to end in bloodshed."

He smiled. Yes, she was dead. Yes, he'd probably see those beautiful eyes of her again. But perhaps it was better this way. They would have probably ended up killing each other anyway. That was an inevitability. No, THIS was an inevitability. So why should he be upset?

"How was that? If I get back home, I'm gonna go into acting, it's a lot easier than science studies."

"Yes, if indeed..."

As the young killer considered how he would find this Tabitha person, the announcement caught his attention again when it mentioned the residential district amongst the dangerzone.

Well, fuck. Just as I was getting comfortable too. Oh well, I'm all energized and ready for anything. Lets see what this island has to offer.

And, with that thought in his mind, Maxwell quickly unbolted the door and left attic, leaving the house through the back window and leaving the dangerzone far behind him as he ventured out back into the island.

Well, I hope this "Tabitha" person doesn't get themselves killed too soon... After all, I'd much prefer to have the honour of doing so myself.

((Maxwell Lombardi continued in Fatal Fury))