Timothy Questiare was floating. He was floating between the boundary of sleep and awake. In one half of his mind, he was dreaming. And if you're dreaming, you must be asleep. He recalled dreaming about being on a bus and dreaming about the deaths of his teachers. He recalled being tied to a chair and forced to watch some strange video. It was a very weird dream, but one that filled him with a very strange sense of uneasiness. But... if he could recall what he was dreaming, then he must be awake. How could one be awake and asleep? Tim decided that he wasn't really asleep and forced himself to rise to attention and face the day. But upon opening his eyes, he was met with a lot of questions.
For starters, his memory felt very blurred. It often did after a good night's rest, but... he couldn't even remember going to sleep last night. What time was it? Why was he lying down in the darkness? And it wasn't just darkness. Wherever he was was cold and dusty. He could hear an echoing sound bounce off the walls of his mysterious location.
Tim sat up and searched for a lamp. He found nothing but cold walls and a cold floor. There was a voice at the back of his head that reminded him that those dreams were not just mere dreams, as much as he wished. And so, at that exact moment, Tim realized that this really was Survival of the Fittest. He really was a contestant, and it really wasn't just a radical dream. There would be no more college or video games or anything... Hell, he might not even see some of his friends again! But why had he awoken in such a dark location? Standing up, Tim felt around for something of distinction in this dark area.
He had only made it a few steps until he nearly tripped on something at his feet. It was bulky, yet soft. Tim knelt down and let his hands trail across the mysterious object. It appeared to be... a bag of some sort. After some more blind-searching, he located a zipper and pulled it down. Who knew what was in this bag? It could be some sort of body... Or, you know, the things that were supposed to be in there. Tim remembered the contents of this bag being explained back at that auditorium. And, if he remembered right, there should be a flashlight within the pack! While digging through the contents of his bag, he could have sworn that his hands brushed across something small and metallic. He ignored that for the moment and finally located the flashlight. Picking up the weighted light, he fiddled with the object for a moment before locating the switch. With a 'click' a light turned on, and the tunnel was illuminated.
In the artificial light that Tim was directing around the tunnel, he realized that there was a sleeping body ahead. At least, he hoped it was asleep. Zipping up his daypack and throwing it onto his shoulder, Tim approached the figure and knelt down beside it. He shook the body and stared at the face, trying to piece together who this was. He seemed vaguely familiar. "Hey.. Hey, wake up." That's when he realized that this was Colin Falcone, his new friend from the cafe. Thank goodness! Someone he knew and liked!
And so, Tim waited for his friend to wake up and face the same reality that he himself had faced just minutes prior.
Tunnel Vision
Thread Closed
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ZombiexCreame†
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Tunnel Vision
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((B018 - Colin Falcone Start))
Colin's memories were naught but a jumble. He groggily fluttered his eyes open, sighing as he attempted to see. There was some sort of bright spotlight shining directly in his face. Where the hell was he? Other than this light from the heavens however, the rest of the area appeared dark. Beneath his battered hands was nothing but stone and dirt. He didn't know where he was or why, but something in his mind told him to get the hell up. And so he did. Every muscle in his body was stiff, every bone was sore. He fumbled in the artificial light, locating a small green canvas bag with the number "B018" embroidered in large, bold letters to the front. "Wha..."
A final push and he was on his rear. He had never been an eager riser, and the 'sleep aids' had done nothing to help this particular trait. Half a minute had passed since the cogs in his mind began to whir, attempting to process what was happening. First though, he needed to see. Dark was preferred to the light shining on him. An enfeebled arm swatted up at the source, a grumble making it's way from his throat. "..Outta my face..." was all he could process as he rubbed his eyes. The dirt on the back of his hands was irritating, but it did wipe the sleep from his eyelids. "Where the hell..." He glanced up, and now that the light was out of his eyes, he noticed a familiar face slowly coming into view. "Tim? What are you doing here?"
A quick shake of his head. Something about people dying... Something about a game... Something about... Wait. That couldn't be right. That could NOT be right. His sleep and drug addled mind tried to slowly come to some conclusion other than the fact that he was a very unwilling participant on Survival of the Fittest. "Tim... Please tell me we're not where I think we are... Please dude, tell me we're camping." He held his face in his palms, reality finally beginning to set. "No... Please, no..." He let out a soft sob, his hand flying down to meet the ground. "Why us? Why us?!?"
It felt like forever as he let pure emotion lay waste to his senses. A wave of pure sadness flowing through his mind and body; heart and soul. His friends were going to die. He would never see his mom again. There was no way he would survive this... He was a calm, peaceful eighteen year old boy. He could never harm someone. He didn't want to hurt anyone.
But what about his friends? Would he kill someone to save his friends? Who else but Tim was on this God forsaken island that he remotely cared about? No one that came to mind. He held back another sob, simply sniffling the mucus that had decided to join the rest of nature back into his nose. "W..What are we going to do?" He truly had no answer. He just wanted to hear that it would all be alright, whether or not it would be. Just that reassurance... He wanted a hug. He wanted to cry on someone's shoulder. He wanted to just let it all out, and not feel alone. He didn't care what was in that bag. That could come later, when he needed it. He didn't care about his backpack, or his guitar, as expensive and beautiful as it was. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to be back in St. Paul, singing with his friends, sitting at the Cafe, sipping a cup of coffee, something calming. His eyes turned skyward as he softly whispered a set of lyrics that he felt fit. His voice wavered with every note, his back shaking with every sob that punctuated the words.
"Here on These Cliffs of Dover... So... High... You can't see over..." And yet again he broke down into sobs. He couldn't be so negative. He needed to be strong if he wanted to live...
No, he wouldn't live... He wouldn't attack anyone. The best he could hope for is a one way heart to heart with his friends and family back home from a camera. His eyes closed as he buried his face into his knees. At least he had been given his chance to say his goodbyes, even if he couldn't ever hear them in return. Was it truly weak to cry for one's mother at a time like this? The amount that the poor boy cared had dropped to zero in under ten minutes.
"Mom..." Tears continued to roll down his face like a waterfall as he looked to his only friend that was in hell with him for reassurance.
Colin's memories were naught but a jumble. He groggily fluttered his eyes open, sighing as he attempted to see. There was some sort of bright spotlight shining directly in his face. Where the hell was he? Other than this light from the heavens however, the rest of the area appeared dark. Beneath his battered hands was nothing but stone and dirt. He didn't know where he was or why, but something in his mind told him to get the hell up. And so he did. Every muscle in his body was stiff, every bone was sore. He fumbled in the artificial light, locating a small green canvas bag with the number "B018" embroidered in large, bold letters to the front. "Wha..."
A final push and he was on his rear. He had never been an eager riser, and the 'sleep aids' had done nothing to help this particular trait. Half a minute had passed since the cogs in his mind began to whir, attempting to process what was happening. First though, he needed to see. Dark was preferred to the light shining on him. An enfeebled arm swatted up at the source, a grumble making it's way from his throat. "..Outta my face..." was all he could process as he rubbed his eyes. The dirt on the back of his hands was irritating, but it did wipe the sleep from his eyelids. "Where the hell..." He glanced up, and now that the light was out of his eyes, he noticed a familiar face slowly coming into view. "Tim? What are you doing here?"
A quick shake of his head. Something about people dying... Something about a game... Something about... Wait. That couldn't be right. That could NOT be right. His sleep and drug addled mind tried to slowly come to some conclusion other than the fact that he was a very unwilling participant on Survival of the Fittest. "Tim... Please tell me we're not where I think we are... Please dude, tell me we're camping." He held his face in his palms, reality finally beginning to set. "No... Please, no..." He let out a soft sob, his hand flying down to meet the ground. "Why us? Why us?!?"
It felt like forever as he let pure emotion lay waste to his senses. A wave of pure sadness flowing through his mind and body; heart and soul. His friends were going to die. He would never see his mom again. There was no way he would survive this... He was a calm, peaceful eighteen year old boy. He could never harm someone. He didn't want to hurt anyone.
But what about his friends? Would he kill someone to save his friends? Who else but Tim was on this God forsaken island that he remotely cared about? No one that came to mind. He held back another sob, simply sniffling the mucus that had decided to join the rest of nature back into his nose. "W..What are we going to do?" He truly had no answer. He just wanted to hear that it would all be alright, whether or not it would be. Just that reassurance... He wanted a hug. He wanted to cry on someone's shoulder. He wanted to just let it all out, and not feel alone. He didn't care what was in that bag. That could come later, when he needed it. He didn't care about his backpack, or his guitar, as expensive and beautiful as it was. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to be back in St. Paul, singing with his friends, sitting at the Cafe, sipping a cup of coffee, something calming. His eyes turned skyward as he softly whispered a set of lyrics that he felt fit. His voice wavered with every note, his back shaking with every sob that punctuated the words.
"Here on These Cliffs of Dover... So... High... You can't see over..." And yet again he broke down into sobs. He couldn't be so negative. He needed to be strong if he wanted to live...
No, he wouldn't live... He wouldn't attack anyone. The best he could hope for is a one way heart to heart with his friends and family back home from a camera. His eyes closed as he buried his face into his knees. At least he had been given his chance to say his goodbyes, even if he couldn't ever hear them in return. Was it truly weak to cry for one's mother at a time like this? The amount that the poor boy cared had dropped to zero in under ten minutes.
"Mom..." Tears continued to roll down his face like a waterfall as he looked to his only friend that was in hell with him for reassurance.
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ZombiexCreame†
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Tim sat on his knees and waited for Colin to come to his senses. His friend seemed groggy and half-awake as he rubbed at his eyes and looked around in a disoriented manner. It reminded Tim of himself just moments ago when he was trying to discern dreams from reality. And unlucky for him, there were no dreams; it was all reality.
Colin swatted at Tim's flashlight, and Tim immediately pulled it away and shined the beam of light in another direction. "Sorry about that," he apologized quickly. He should have known better than to shine a light directly into Colin's face. A few moments passed, and the boy finally seemed to become aware of Tim's presence. Tim wanted to smile and make casual conversation, but... he had other things on his mind, obviously. The stress of the game was causing a very frightening look to appear on Tim's face. His eyebrows were curved inward, and his mouth was pulled into a very straight, unamused line. "I.. I'm.. We're.." he stuttered to Colin, but he couldn't find the right things to say. They were contestants in Survival of the Fittest. What more to say? Colin would figure it out himself in just a few short moments.
And figure it out he did. Tim felt utterly helpless as he watched Colin react so strongly. "I.. I'm sorry.. We're definitely not camping." He was sure that nothing he could say could make Colin feel better. There just wasn't much to say! He could only listen and stare into the darkness, a very slight lining of tears appearing at the edges of his eyes. Tim never cried, but hearing Colin react like this... It sort of made him a bit emotional.
But he didn't want to cry. Upon waking up here in these dank tunnels, Tim was filled with a sense that was neither sadness or anger. Just... grudging acceptance. He wasn't sure why; perhaps he was in shock? Or perhaps he knew that his uneventful life would soon be interrupted by something anyway... He deeply sighed and rubbed the corners of his eye. Colin was right. What were they going to do? He wish he had the golden answer, but he just didn't know. He wanted to curl up here and wait for death to come, quickly and painlessly. He didn't want to face his classmates and get brutally murdered in the process. But perhaps that was negative thinking? Was his classmates really buying into this sick game? He had no idea.
Turning his attention back to Colin, he realized that his friend was whispering something very softly. He was about to ask Colin what he was saying, but he proceeded to cry. Tim's heart wrenched in pain. He felt so horrible... "Don't cry, Colin. We'll make it through this.." he began, knowing how empty his promise sound.
Tim held out his hand and awkwardly patted Colin on the shoulder. He wanted to give his friend a hug, but... that would probably come out as awkward too. A shoulder-pat would have to suffice for now. "Look, we can do this. We'll stay together and... If anyone needs help, we can help them. We should probably get out of these tunnels, the visibility is horrible. Come on, Colin.. We'll be okay," Tim said in as comforting-sounding of a voice that he could muster.
Colin swatted at Tim's flashlight, and Tim immediately pulled it away and shined the beam of light in another direction. "Sorry about that," he apologized quickly. He should have known better than to shine a light directly into Colin's face. A few moments passed, and the boy finally seemed to become aware of Tim's presence. Tim wanted to smile and make casual conversation, but... he had other things on his mind, obviously. The stress of the game was causing a very frightening look to appear on Tim's face. His eyebrows were curved inward, and his mouth was pulled into a very straight, unamused line. "I.. I'm.. We're.." he stuttered to Colin, but he couldn't find the right things to say. They were contestants in Survival of the Fittest. What more to say? Colin would figure it out himself in just a few short moments.
And figure it out he did. Tim felt utterly helpless as he watched Colin react so strongly. "I.. I'm sorry.. We're definitely not camping." He was sure that nothing he could say could make Colin feel better. There just wasn't much to say! He could only listen and stare into the darkness, a very slight lining of tears appearing at the edges of his eyes. Tim never cried, but hearing Colin react like this... It sort of made him a bit emotional.
But he didn't want to cry. Upon waking up here in these dank tunnels, Tim was filled with a sense that was neither sadness or anger. Just... grudging acceptance. He wasn't sure why; perhaps he was in shock? Or perhaps he knew that his uneventful life would soon be interrupted by something anyway... He deeply sighed and rubbed the corners of his eye. Colin was right. What were they going to do? He wish he had the golden answer, but he just didn't know. He wanted to curl up here and wait for death to come, quickly and painlessly. He didn't want to face his classmates and get brutally murdered in the process. But perhaps that was negative thinking? Was his classmates really buying into this sick game? He had no idea.
Turning his attention back to Colin, he realized that his friend was whispering something very softly. He was about to ask Colin what he was saying, but he proceeded to cry. Tim's heart wrenched in pain. He felt so horrible... "Don't cry, Colin. We'll make it through this.." he began, knowing how empty his promise sound.
Tim held out his hand and awkwardly patted Colin on the shoulder. He wanted to give his friend a hug, but... that would probably come out as awkward too. A shoulder-pat would have to suffice for now. "Look, we can do this. We'll stay together and... If anyone needs help, we can help them. We should probably get out of these tunnels, the visibility is horrible. Come on, Colin.. We'll be okay," Tim said in as comforting-sounding of a voice that he could muster.
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Unfortunately for Colin, Tim's reassuring words weren't quite enough. He would need time to try to come to terms with almost certain death. His mind was addled with a mess of ideas and thoughts, mostly centering on the morbid. How will I die? Will I die? How is mom holding up? What about Tim? How many of my friends will I watch slowly die here? If I survive, will I ever be the same? Will I actually kill someone?
That last thought rang on Colin's tongue for a moment. He took a deep breath, his insurmountable depression forcing the air flowing into his lungs to even waver. He for the first time observed his surroundings, attempting to find something peaceful, something serene to focus on in an attempt to calm down. Dank, dark stone walls; dank, dark dirt floor. No natural light in sight in any direction. He was in some kind of tunnel. His forehead met his palms as he closed his eyes, all of his willpower just wishing the entire island away. And there he sat, trying to rationalize.
After a short while, another single sniff punctuated the silence that the cave in which they currently sat held. He couldn't just sit there like this. They would die today if he did. He needed to stop feeling sorry for himself. Easier said than done. Internal struggle racked the poor boy. Should I get up and move? Should I stay here, tell Tim to run, and lay down to die? It would be so much easier... But then what about Tim? He shook his head. "Hey, Tim..." He attempted to keep his voice strong, a mediocre attempt at best. "W..Weren't we given rations or something?" He knew exactly what he was asking for. Tim, where's the bag we gave so I can at least see my weapon. He couldn't bring himself to say it though. Admitting he had a weapon almost felt like admitting that he would kill.
Thankfully he didn't even need to ask where it was. A small green day pack sat directly next to his beat up blue one that he brought on the camping trip. His guitar case seemed to be nowhere in sight; The terrorists probably took it. Oh well, that should really be the least of his concerns. However for some reason, the lack of seeing this familiar object in his vicinity sent another pang of pain through his chest.
Upon pressing his glasses needlessly back to the bridge of his nose, Colin rolled on his behind to reach the bags successfully without having to give the strength needed to stand up. His frail, callused hand wrapped around both handles and pulled the pair closer. "B018" adorned the side of the foreign bag. Probably some form of classification. He shook his head at the mercilessness of the game. Nothing but a number... Either way, he beckoned for the light, unzipping the new bag. He at least had an idea what would be in the other bag, and not too much of it was necessarily useful right now. The first thing he fished around for was his own flashlight, which thankfully for him appeared to be directly on top of the pile. A quick flick, and now two cones illuminated the depressing surroundings in which they sat. Rather than look at Tim (he already knew his friend probably looked as distraught as he did), instead looked through the rest of his bag. A few loaves of bread, some bottles of water, a compass, a map... The map appeared to bulge however in the strangest fashion. A quick rustle of the piece of paper revealed something metallic which shone back his beam directly into his glasses, and he recoiled from the sudden brightness. However a second, more careful search revealed a small hand Axe. This had to be his weapon, it was the only thing that didn't seem to fit.
He gingerly lifted the cutting implement by two fingers and examined it with the light in his free hand. "Do they really expect me to... use... this? I could never..." He trailed off, thinking of the implications of that statement. Even through his pained mind, what little pieces of normalcy remained were falling from his mind. He clicked off the flashlight and inserted it haphazardly into his jean pocket, turning the item carefully in both hands, observing as the glint from the polished blade created a reflection from Tim's light on the cavern wall. A mixture of shock, awe, and disgust rolled through him as he just contemplated the single, normally innocuous item that he now held, and what it now stood for.
That last thought rang on Colin's tongue for a moment. He took a deep breath, his insurmountable depression forcing the air flowing into his lungs to even waver. He for the first time observed his surroundings, attempting to find something peaceful, something serene to focus on in an attempt to calm down. Dank, dark stone walls; dank, dark dirt floor. No natural light in sight in any direction. He was in some kind of tunnel. His forehead met his palms as he closed his eyes, all of his willpower just wishing the entire island away. And there he sat, trying to rationalize.
After a short while, another single sniff punctuated the silence that the cave in which they currently sat held. He couldn't just sit there like this. They would die today if he did. He needed to stop feeling sorry for himself. Easier said than done. Internal struggle racked the poor boy. Should I get up and move? Should I stay here, tell Tim to run, and lay down to die? It would be so much easier... But then what about Tim? He shook his head. "Hey, Tim..." He attempted to keep his voice strong, a mediocre attempt at best. "W..Weren't we given rations or something?" He knew exactly what he was asking for. Tim, where's the bag we gave so I can at least see my weapon. He couldn't bring himself to say it though. Admitting he had a weapon almost felt like admitting that he would kill.
Thankfully he didn't even need to ask where it was. A small green day pack sat directly next to his beat up blue one that he brought on the camping trip. His guitar case seemed to be nowhere in sight; The terrorists probably took it. Oh well, that should really be the least of his concerns. However for some reason, the lack of seeing this familiar object in his vicinity sent another pang of pain through his chest.
Upon pressing his glasses needlessly back to the bridge of his nose, Colin rolled on his behind to reach the bags successfully without having to give the strength needed to stand up. His frail, callused hand wrapped around both handles and pulled the pair closer. "B018" adorned the side of the foreign bag. Probably some form of classification. He shook his head at the mercilessness of the game. Nothing but a number... Either way, he beckoned for the light, unzipping the new bag. He at least had an idea what would be in the other bag, and not too much of it was necessarily useful right now. The first thing he fished around for was his own flashlight, which thankfully for him appeared to be directly on top of the pile. A quick flick, and now two cones illuminated the depressing surroundings in which they sat. Rather than look at Tim (he already knew his friend probably looked as distraught as he did), instead looked through the rest of his bag. A few loaves of bread, some bottles of water, a compass, a map... The map appeared to bulge however in the strangest fashion. A quick rustle of the piece of paper revealed something metallic which shone back his beam directly into his glasses, and he recoiled from the sudden brightness. However a second, more careful search revealed a small hand Axe. This had to be his weapon, it was the only thing that didn't seem to fit.
He gingerly lifted the cutting implement by two fingers and examined it with the light in his free hand. "Do they really expect me to... use... this? I could never..." He trailed off, thinking of the implications of that statement. Even through his pained mind, what little pieces of normalcy remained were falling from his mind. He clicked off the flashlight and inserted it haphazardly into his jean pocket, turning the item carefully in both hands, observing as the glint from the polished blade created a reflection from Tim's light on the cavern wall. A mixture of shock, awe, and disgust rolled through him as he just contemplated the single, normally innocuous item that he now held, and what it now stood for.
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ZombiexCreame†
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Tim sighed and shook his head, crawling over to the wall of the tunnel and resting his back against it. He kept his flashlight poised in such a way that provided enough light for the two boys to see. Tim sat and waited for Colin to talk, or... do anything. At the present moment, he was just sitting here, his head in his hands. He must have been thinking. Tim would have been thinking too, except he continually told himself that this would be a bad idea.
Tim's thoughts ran away with him sometimes. He thought about things far too deeply... took things out of context. If he thought too much about his situation and how death was most certainly imminent, he would surely panic. He could not panic right now. Now was the time to stay strong and keep cool. Tim breathed in deeply through his nose, but the dust irritated his nasal passage, causing him to sneeze. He couldn't even take deep, relaxing breaths here!
When Colin asked Tim a question, he immediately snapped his head in the direction of the boy. "Oh, rations? Y-Yeah, I do believe we were... A first-aid kit and food and stuff..." "And a weapon to kill with." He didn't dare say that last part aloud. He didn't want to scare Colin. Colin grabbed his provided daypack and began fishing inside it. Tim shone his flashlight in the direction of Colin's bag to give him some light and watched as his friend, known as 'B018' to the people who kidnapped them, dug through his bag and located his weapon: A hand axe. That seemed quite useful; it seemed rather intimidating, at least. With Tim's luck, he didn't suppose that he would get anything good.
"I suppose they do.." Tim muttered, looking at the axe with pursed lips. "At least you got something decent. I don't think it's a good idea to run around unarmed." There was a pause, and Tim realized that he had yet to discover his designated weapon. But... he remembered something. It was a brief memory from just moments earlier. A brush of his fingers in the darkness... his fingers brushing against something cool and metallic... Perhaps he had a shovel or something? But... could it be...
Locating his daypack to the left of him, Tim pulled it closer and dug his hands inside. There was the usual stuff, rations, water, a map, a first-aid kit, and then that familiar brush of metal. With wide eyes and a slack jaw, Tim wrapped his fingers around the tiny Savage Model 1907. It was so little! Not that he was displeased, no, not at all! It was just merely an observation. His very own gun...
Tim couldn't deny that he wanted a gun badly as a child. Maybe not a real gun, but he always wanted a BB gun or an airsoft gun or something. Even if it was in these twisted circumstances, Tim now had his very own gun. It came with its own guidebook, but he didn't bother with that now. He was too busy examining the gun and running his hand across the smooth exterior. "Wow..." he muttered. "I, uh, I got a.. gun.." he told Colin with an unreadable expression on his face. He was both excited and horrified... Excited because he could protect himself and Colin with this. He could protect them easily! But... horrified because he could also easily kill people with this as well. He shivered and double-checked that the safety was on. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot himself in the foot.
Tim's thoughts ran away with him sometimes. He thought about things far too deeply... took things out of context. If he thought too much about his situation and how death was most certainly imminent, he would surely panic. He could not panic right now. Now was the time to stay strong and keep cool. Tim breathed in deeply through his nose, but the dust irritated his nasal passage, causing him to sneeze. He couldn't even take deep, relaxing breaths here!
When Colin asked Tim a question, he immediately snapped his head in the direction of the boy. "Oh, rations? Y-Yeah, I do believe we were... A first-aid kit and food and stuff..." "And a weapon to kill with." He didn't dare say that last part aloud. He didn't want to scare Colin. Colin grabbed his provided daypack and began fishing inside it. Tim shone his flashlight in the direction of Colin's bag to give him some light and watched as his friend, known as 'B018' to the people who kidnapped them, dug through his bag and located his weapon: A hand axe. That seemed quite useful; it seemed rather intimidating, at least. With Tim's luck, he didn't suppose that he would get anything good.
"I suppose they do.." Tim muttered, looking at the axe with pursed lips. "At least you got something decent. I don't think it's a good idea to run around unarmed." There was a pause, and Tim realized that he had yet to discover his designated weapon. But... he remembered something. It was a brief memory from just moments earlier. A brush of his fingers in the darkness... his fingers brushing against something cool and metallic... Perhaps he had a shovel or something? But... could it be...
Locating his daypack to the left of him, Tim pulled it closer and dug his hands inside. There was the usual stuff, rations, water, a map, a first-aid kit, and then that familiar brush of metal. With wide eyes and a slack jaw, Tim wrapped his fingers around the tiny Savage Model 1907. It was so little! Not that he was displeased, no, not at all! It was just merely an observation. His very own gun...
Tim couldn't deny that he wanted a gun badly as a child. Maybe not a real gun, but he always wanted a BB gun or an airsoft gun or something. Even if it was in these twisted circumstances, Tim now had his very own gun. It came with its own guidebook, but he didn't bother with that now. He was too busy examining the gun and running his hand across the smooth exterior. "Wow..." he muttered. "I, uh, I got a.. gun.." he told Colin with an unreadable expression on his face. He was both excited and horrified... Excited because he could protect himself and Colin with this. He could protect them easily! But... horrified because he could also easily kill people with this as well. He shivered and double-checked that the safety was on. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot himself in the foot.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ZombiexCreame. 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.
Tony was pissed.
He had just wanted to take a little break from the restaurant. Ma and Pa had been getting a lot more strict about his studies and Tony hadn't been able to get as much time to spend helping out. The senior trip would be some time away from home to blow off steam. But of course, things just had to go bad for him. Getting kidnapped and forced into Survival of the Fittest was not any definition of relaxing weekend: it wasn't relaxing to have to stalk around an island avoiding death, and it certainly wasn't going to only last a weekend.
He was going to spend most of the weekend hanging out with his buddies from the team. It would be the last time he'd be able to see most of them, besides graduation. Not that graduation mattered anymore. What mattered was that he was going to die if he didn't do something about this game. He needed to find allies, find some place safe, and avoid the killers. Tony wasn't in this to kill. He just wanted to make all this go away so he could go home.
Tony had woken up near the mouth of a tunnel that stretched into the nearby mountain, with nobody else in sight. His duffel was nearby, and nothing had been taken from it. Not that it mattered, since Tony had mostly packed clothes with a few snacks and drinks. The assigned daypack was another matter. Tony could feel the weight in it when he hefted it up. It seemed like he had quite the weapon, not that he was going to use it to kill anyone. But a good weapon would scare other people away, so that he wouldn't have to worry about killing.
Of course, it had to have been an iron. Fucking useless piece of crap, it would be useless for intimidating anyone. So he smashed it against the rock face of the mountain.
So, yeah. Tony Russo, now Boy 115, was pissed.
He had taken his stuff and gone into the tunnels. After all, it would probably be safer there than wandering the woods. Of course, the map that he had been given didn't do a good job of showing how the tunnels were laid out, so after about 15 minutes of walking around, Tony felt totally lost. Is there even anyone else on this island?
A few more minutes of walking in the dark tunnels, and Tony finally got his first hint that someone was nearby. Voices echoing through the tunnel from in front of him. Not voices he recognized though. At least I'm not imagining the whole thing about Survival of the Fittest.
Tony slowed his step, taking extra care as he moved toward the source of the sounds. He didn't know who was there, and they might not be nice. Tony wasn't sure who he would trust now. Probably Teo, or Ricky, or a few others from the team. Anyone else, Tony would need to be cautious of. He'd heard a little about what Survival of the Fittest was like in the past. Tony didn't want to become just another dead student, and the only way to make sure that happened was to be safe.
As the voices crept closer, Tony extinguished his flashlight. No sense in announcing to everyone in the darkness where he was. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was just a hint of light ahead, probably from the people who were talking. That gave him just enough vision to not walk into the walls. He could hear the voices more clearly now too, but he still couldn't recognize who it was. A few more steps closer, with his duffel carried carefully so as to not make any excessive sound. Words were starting to become clear now, and then Tony heard something that made his blood freeze.
Fuck my life, they have a gun. But Tony also caught the nervousness tainting the excited voice talking about the gun. Whoever this kid was, he didn't have the balls to shoot it.
At least not yet. It was only a matter of time before he got comfortable with the idea. Then people would be shot, and be killed. It was stupid. Whoever this kid was, had gotten a weapon that would be misused. He should have gotten something that was better for him, like that stupid iron that was in Tony's own pack. And then Tony would get killed because the kid didn't know how to use the gun for a good purpose. If Tony had the gun, then there wouldn't be a problem. He'd use it to make sure nobody tried to hurt other people. And once everyone was safe, he'd throw it away. If I had it... people would be safe. It would be better.
A plan began to form in his head. From what he could tell, there were only two people up ahead, and only that one kid had a gun. He could take on two guys; he'd done it before on the field. As long as he was fast enough, he could take them down long enough to get the gun. That was all he was going to do: get the gun. No matter how angry he was at Danya, it wouldn't be fair to take it out on these kids.
There was a slight turn before where the lights ahead seemed to come from. Tony edged up to it, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Then, he quickly poked his head out to get a quick look. He recognized one of them, the one with the gun: Tim Questiare. They had been in some classes together back in his freshman year at Bayview. He was pretty good in PE class, but never joined any teams. Tony didn't recognize the other guy with Tim. The two were spaced farther apart than Tony had supposed. It wouldn't be easy to take them both down at the same time. Tim was the one holding the gun; he'd be the first target.
Tony took a breath and counted to three in his head.
He broke into a run around the corner toward both boys. He was lucky there weren't many little rocks to get in the way and trip him up as he ran; Tim and Colin's flashlights gave some visibility, but the light only gave Tony an idea of where he was going. As his thundering footsteps drew him closer to the two boys, Tony made sure to keep his duffel close and up in front of him to shield from gunfire, while keeping a close eye on their position. One wrong step and everything would end wrong.
When the distance between them was closed, which took all of several seconds, Tony launched his plan into action. With a great push, he lobbed his duffel toward the boy he hadn't recognized. The fourty pounds of clothes, sleeping bag, and miscellaneous sports equipment hit the surprised boy with a thud, bringing him to the ground like a sack of bricks.
With the momentum granted by throwing the bag, Tony launched himself at Tim. After almost four years of playing football, tackling was pretty much second nature to Tony. He tucked in his head and hit Tim with his shoulder, backed by the momentum of his short sprint. The impact knocked the gun and daypack out of Tim's hands, sending them skittering across the stone floor of the tunnel. Tim himself was thrown onto his back several feet away.
The flashlights had been knocked out of their holders' hands and were now lying on the ground, illuminating far less of the cavern as before. Tony took a quick look around and found the gun had landed not too far away. He quickly ran over and snatched it up. Tony didn't know too much about guns, beyond what he had seen in movies. It looked loaded, and Tony easily located the safety and switched it off. Then he turned and trained the gun on Tim's fallen form. He didn't want to have to use it, but he needed to be sure he was safe.
"Okay," Tony said, the adrenaline adding an edge to his voice, "If you guys don't do anything funny, you'll get out alright." Tony slowly began stepping over to where he remembered throwing his duffel, continually keeping the gun on Tim. He just needed to get to his bag, and then grab it and run.
All according to plan.
((GMing of Colin and Tim have been allowed by their handlers))
He had just wanted to take a little break from the restaurant. Ma and Pa had been getting a lot more strict about his studies and Tony hadn't been able to get as much time to spend helping out. The senior trip would be some time away from home to blow off steam. But of course, things just had to go bad for him. Getting kidnapped and forced into Survival of the Fittest was not any definition of relaxing weekend: it wasn't relaxing to have to stalk around an island avoiding death, and it certainly wasn't going to only last a weekend.
He was going to spend most of the weekend hanging out with his buddies from the team. It would be the last time he'd be able to see most of them, besides graduation. Not that graduation mattered anymore. What mattered was that he was going to die if he didn't do something about this game. He needed to find allies, find some place safe, and avoid the killers. Tony wasn't in this to kill. He just wanted to make all this go away so he could go home.
Tony had woken up near the mouth of a tunnel that stretched into the nearby mountain, with nobody else in sight. His duffel was nearby, and nothing had been taken from it. Not that it mattered, since Tony had mostly packed clothes with a few snacks and drinks. The assigned daypack was another matter. Tony could feel the weight in it when he hefted it up. It seemed like he had quite the weapon, not that he was going to use it to kill anyone. But a good weapon would scare other people away, so that he wouldn't have to worry about killing.
Of course, it had to have been an iron. Fucking useless piece of crap, it would be useless for intimidating anyone. So he smashed it against the rock face of the mountain.
So, yeah. Tony Russo, now Boy 115, was pissed.
He had taken his stuff and gone into the tunnels. After all, it would probably be safer there than wandering the woods. Of course, the map that he had been given didn't do a good job of showing how the tunnels were laid out, so after about 15 minutes of walking around, Tony felt totally lost. Is there even anyone else on this island?
A few more minutes of walking in the dark tunnels, and Tony finally got his first hint that someone was nearby. Voices echoing through the tunnel from in front of him. Not voices he recognized though. At least I'm not imagining the whole thing about Survival of the Fittest.
Tony slowed his step, taking extra care as he moved toward the source of the sounds. He didn't know who was there, and they might not be nice. Tony wasn't sure who he would trust now. Probably Teo, or Ricky, or a few others from the team. Anyone else, Tony would need to be cautious of. He'd heard a little about what Survival of the Fittest was like in the past. Tony didn't want to become just another dead student, and the only way to make sure that happened was to be safe.
As the voices crept closer, Tony extinguished his flashlight. No sense in announcing to everyone in the darkness where he was. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was just a hint of light ahead, probably from the people who were talking. That gave him just enough vision to not walk into the walls. He could hear the voices more clearly now too, but he still couldn't recognize who it was. A few more steps closer, with his duffel carried carefully so as to not make any excessive sound. Words were starting to become clear now, and then Tony heard something that made his blood freeze.
Fuck my life, they have a gun. But Tony also caught the nervousness tainting the excited voice talking about the gun. Whoever this kid was, he didn't have the balls to shoot it.
At least not yet. It was only a matter of time before he got comfortable with the idea. Then people would be shot, and be killed. It was stupid. Whoever this kid was, had gotten a weapon that would be misused. He should have gotten something that was better for him, like that stupid iron that was in Tony's own pack. And then Tony would get killed because the kid didn't know how to use the gun for a good purpose. If Tony had the gun, then there wouldn't be a problem. He'd use it to make sure nobody tried to hurt other people. And once everyone was safe, he'd throw it away. If I had it... people would be safe. It would be better.
A plan began to form in his head. From what he could tell, there were only two people up ahead, and only that one kid had a gun. He could take on two guys; he'd done it before on the field. As long as he was fast enough, he could take them down long enough to get the gun. That was all he was going to do: get the gun. No matter how angry he was at Danya, it wouldn't be fair to take it out on these kids.
There was a slight turn before where the lights ahead seemed to come from. Tony edged up to it, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Then, he quickly poked his head out to get a quick look. He recognized one of them, the one with the gun: Tim Questiare. They had been in some classes together back in his freshman year at Bayview. He was pretty good in PE class, but never joined any teams. Tony didn't recognize the other guy with Tim. The two were spaced farther apart than Tony had supposed. It wouldn't be easy to take them both down at the same time. Tim was the one holding the gun; he'd be the first target.
Tony took a breath and counted to three in his head.
He broke into a run around the corner toward both boys. He was lucky there weren't many little rocks to get in the way and trip him up as he ran; Tim and Colin's flashlights gave some visibility, but the light only gave Tony an idea of where he was going. As his thundering footsteps drew him closer to the two boys, Tony made sure to keep his duffel close and up in front of him to shield from gunfire, while keeping a close eye on their position. One wrong step and everything would end wrong.
When the distance between them was closed, which took all of several seconds, Tony launched his plan into action. With a great push, he lobbed his duffel toward the boy he hadn't recognized. The fourty pounds of clothes, sleeping bag, and miscellaneous sports equipment hit the surprised boy with a thud, bringing him to the ground like a sack of bricks.
With the momentum granted by throwing the bag, Tony launched himself at Tim. After almost four years of playing football, tackling was pretty much second nature to Tony. He tucked in his head and hit Tim with his shoulder, backed by the momentum of his short sprint. The impact knocked the gun and daypack out of Tim's hands, sending them skittering across the stone floor of the tunnel. Tim himself was thrown onto his back several feet away.
The flashlights had been knocked out of their holders' hands and were now lying on the ground, illuminating far less of the cavern as before. Tony took a quick look around and found the gun had landed not too far away. He quickly ran over and snatched it up. Tony didn't know too much about guns, beyond what he had seen in movies. It looked loaded, and Tony easily located the safety and switched it off. Then he turned and trained the gun on Tim's fallen form. He didn't want to have to use it, but he needed to be sure he was safe.
"Okay," Tony said, the adrenaline adding an edge to his voice, "If you guys don't do anything funny, you'll get out alright." Tony slowly began stepping over to where he remembered throwing his duffel, continually keeping the gun on Tim. He just needed to get to his bag, and then grab it and run.
All according to plan.
((GMing of Colin and Tim have been allowed by their handlers))
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Colin was still almost utterly focused on his weapon, barely registering what Tim had said about his own. This was just surreal. This was the epitome of surreal. There was no way this could be happening. They were seriously expected to kill. That was just something he would never get over. Well, for as long as he was on the island... As long as he was alive. Which probably wouldn't actually be long.
The meek boy's train of thought, his attempt to re-grasp reality was quickly shattered by a duffel hitting him square in the glasses, dropping him directly to the ground. An involuntary scream shot from his lungs as he fell, the physical shock of his skull bouncing on dirt and stone sending a searing pain through his head. "AAAGH!" His arms swung wide as his reaction was to brake his fall, the axe still clung to tightly by his instinct for self preservation. His entire mind was disconnecting from itself, each piece becoming more and more prominent in the boy's thought without him realizing it. His arms momentarily flailed as he struggled with the duffle sitting squarely on his face. The bag reeked of sweat and mildew, however this was the least of Colin's worrys.
There was a skitter. A slam. A thud. Light caught the corner of B018's eye as the flashlight just held by tim flew across the tunnel. A voice, one he didn't recognize. "Okay, If you guys don't do anything funny, you'll get out alright." A click.
And this is the exact moment that the thinking stopped, his mind finally detaching from itself. Time seemed to slow as Colin just felt along for the ride, his eyes dialating in almost an instant. Everything that occured after felt like a TV show, and he was sitting behind the screen, rooting the hero on. Complete detachment. Pure instinct overtook the once meek folk artist as self preservation became top priority in him. His free hand reached for the duffel, throwing it from his face, adrenaline seeming to turn the fourty pounds of sweat into naught but a feather. He rolled forward, landing on his feet. The throbbing in the back of his head washed away, leaving an almost soothing pulsation without pain, reverberating through his entire body. If his mind had been in a better state, it would have reminded him a bit about the warm shiver that generally accompanies a swig of scotch.
Not a single word emerged from his mouth. Things needed to be done. The Axe clenched firmly in his hand, Colin took a stationary swing, the sharp corner of the blade sinking into the perpetrator's shoulder blades sans a warning. A soft splash as a drop of blood fell to the earth. The sweat on the broken boy's brow. The axe felt light in his hands as he pulled it from it's stone, a downtrodden man's excalibur. A swift kick, delivered directly to his attacker's hips, and Colin watched in slow motion as the offender buckled. A finger moving for the trigger. The axe fell through the air as legs moved on their own. Flat of the axe connecting to flesh. Gun skittering to the ground. Flat of the axe connecting to Tony's face. Heavy breathing. Screaming.
Colin panted heavily under his own sudden exertion, taking a step back and placing his foot on the gun, his Axe pointed directly at the foe standing before him. He wasn't himself. He was something viscious, something carnal. Something with something to protect. Someone with something to care about.
The meek boy's train of thought, his attempt to re-grasp reality was quickly shattered by a duffel hitting him square in the glasses, dropping him directly to the ground. An involuntary scream shot from his lungs as he fell, the physical shock of his skull bouncing on dirt and stone sending a searing pain through his head. "AAAGH!" His arms swung wide as his reaction was to brake his fall, the axe still clung to tightly by his instinct for self preservation. His entire mind was disconnecting from itself, each piece becoming more and more prominent in the boy's thought without him realizing it. His arms momentarily flailed as he struggled with the duffle sitting squarely on his face. The bag reeked of sweat and mildew, however this was the least of Colin's worrys.
There was a skitter. A slam. A thud. Light caught the corner of B018's eye as the flashlight just held by tim flew across the tunnel. A voice, one he didn't recognize. "Okay, If you guys don't do anything funny, you'll get out alright." A click.
And this is the exact moment that the thinking stopped, his mind finally detaching from itself. Time seemed to slow as Colin just felt along for the ride, his eyes dialating in almost an instant. Everything that occured after felt like a TV show, and he was sitting behind the screen, rooting the hero on. Complete detachment. Pure instinct overtook the once meek folk artist as self preservation became top priority in him. His free hand reached for the duffel, throwing it from his face, adrenaline seeming to turn the fourty pounds of sweat into naught but a feather. He rolled forward, landing on his feet. The throbbing in the back of his head washed away, leaving an almost soothing pulsation without pain, reverberating through his entire body. If his mind had been in a better state, it would have reminded him a bit about the warm shiver that generally accompanies a swig of scotch.
Not a single word emerged from his mouth. Things needed to be done. The Axe clenched firmly in his hand, Colin took a stationary swing, the sharp corner of the blade sinking into the perpetrator's shoulder blades sans a warning. A soft splash as a drop of blood fell to the earth. The sweat on the broken boy's brow. The axe felt light in his hands as he pulled it from it's stone, a downtrodden man's excalibur. A swift kick, delivered directly to his attacker's hips, and Colin watched in slow motion as the offender buckled. A finger moving for the trigger. The axe fell through the air as legs moved on their own. Flat of the axe connecting to flesh. Gun skittering to the ground. Flat of the axe connecting to Tony's face. Heavy breathing. Screaming.
Colin panted heavily under his own sudden exertion, taking a step back and placing his foot on the gun, his Axe pointed directly at the foe standing before him. He wasn't himself. He was something viscious, something carnal. Something with something to protect. Someone with something to care about.
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ZombiexCreame†
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:29 am
Tim had always read in books that when something frightening or scary was occurring, it always happened in either slow or fast motion. The hero of the novel would either spring into action and beat the attacker with swift and graceful defensive attacks, or the hero would get kicked to the wayside by the attack and... fail; or, in worst cases, die. But what was occurring now seemed different to Tim. This stranger (who was vaguely recognizable) wasn't moving slowly at all. He was moving very fast, with his duffelbag close to his body. He was running towards the two boys with some intent in mind...
Tim honestly had no idea what was going on. He felt confused and frozen. The situation wasn't passing quickly or slowly, it was just passing with a great degree of annoyance from Tim. He felt like his mind was running too slowly, or he just couldn't bring himself to do anything. He was shocked! He hadn't expected this at all... He had been planning to escape the tunnels with Colin and make it out into the light of the day. He had planned to meet up with some other friends, make a strategy, compare weapons... He honestly had not expected to get attacked mere minutes after the duo had woken up!
They might not even make it out of this, as Tim realized. His heart was clenched, his lungs constricted. He could only watch in horror as this boy, was it Tony?, threw his bag directly at Colin's face; Colin fell over. There was some little voice nagging at Tim to USE WHAT WAS GIVEN TO HIM, but it just didn't click. He... he couldn't summon the strength to put this death-weapon at a fellow classmate and pull the trigger. Just moments ago, he imagined how much strength he possessed... How easily it would be to kill when the situation called for it! But no. His gun was no more useful than a damn blade of grass if he could not summon up the courage to use this arm... "Do it, do it."
Too late. Tony launched himself at Tim, and it wasn't just the strength of someone who was giving their friend a casual hug... It felt like a wrecking ball had plowed into his shoulder, and out of shock, he dropped both his gun and his pack. With a sickening realization, he could hear the metallic gun sliding away from him. He himself was on his back, pain radiating from his shoulder. Everything was going dark, but Tim wasn't sure if that was because he was inches from passing out or because he dropped his flashlight in the midst of the tackle.
With a bit of effort and an explosion of pain from his left shoulder, Tim sat up and came face to face with Tony holding Tim's gun. No, no, no, NO! It wasn't supposed to happen like this! "Th.. That's mine.." he weakly argued, too afraid to make any sudden moves. But it appeared that Tony wasn't planning on killing them. He just wanted Tim's gun. But this wasn't fair! Tim had only held his precious designated weapon for like, thirty seconds! He couldn't have it stolen like this!
He felt like his precious kitten was being stolen by some... kitten-snatcher. Well, Tim never really liked cats, and a gun wasn't really comparable to a kitten, but he really liked that little gun! The comfort that it provided, the defense that he could use to help others... This honestly wasn't fair! But... it was better than dying. Tim glanced over at Colin to note that he had thrown the duffel off of his face and stood up. "What is Colin doing?" he asked himself, but didn't dare say anything... He didn't want to provoke Tony into shooting or anything.
But what happened next shocked Tim beyond belief. His jaw fell slack as he watched his new friend, who was just crying moments ago, spring into action. He watched in pure shock as the axe connected with Tony's shoulder, a kick met Tony's hips. Tim was positive that Colin would be shot at this rate! All over Tim's weapon! "N-No, Colin, don't!" he cried, fearing for his safety. In between the sounds of screaming, panting, and Colin's axe hitting Tony, Tim could hear his gun hit the ground with that same metallic 'thunk!' Colin stepped on it, and Tim waited, sweat pouring down his brow. What should he do?! Tim felt useless in this situation... He had the gun now (or.. sort of), but he knew he couldn't shoot. He looked over at Tony who was no longer in such great shape... Oh lord. "Give me strength," he quickly prayed, although Tim rarely ever prayed. He felt silly after doing so, as here was the last place that he should worry about religion or God! In such a place where murder ran free, there was no God. There was only Colin who took matters into his own hands by using that axe and securing Tim's gun.
Tim should have felt thankful, but he mostly felt... horrified. He wanted to beg Colin to stop but couldn't find the words... They couldn't be in danger anymore. Tony was unarmed and rightfully injured. "C-Colin.." Tim began, staring at the axe-wielding boy. Tim dragged himself forward and carefully pried his gun from under Colin's foot. He held it tightly, his thoughts swimming frantically in his head. It was like a whirlpool.
Tim honestly had no idea what was going on. He felt confused and frozen. The situation wasn't passing quickly or slowly, it was just passing with a great degree of annoyance from Tim. He felt like his mind was running too slowly, or he just couldn't bring himself to do anything. He was shocked! He hadn't expected this at all... He had been planning to escape the tunnels with Colin and make it out into the light of the day. He had planned to meet up with some other friends, make a strategy, compare weapons... He honestly had not expected to get attacked mere minutes after the duo had woken up!
They might not even make it out of this, as Tim realized. His heart was clenched, his lungs constricted. He could only watch in horror as this boy, was it Tony?, threw his bag directly at Colin's face; Colin fell over. There was some little voice nagging at Tim to USE WHAT WAS GIVEN TO HIM, but it just didn't click. He... he couldn't summon the strength to put this death-weapon at a fellow classmate and pull the trigger. Just moments ago, he imagined how much strength he possessed... How easily it would be to kill when the situation called for it! But no. His gun was no more useful than a damn blade of grass if he could not summon up the courage to use this arm... "Do it, do it."
Too late. Tony launched himself at Tim, and it wasn't just the strength of someone who was giving their friend a casual hug... It felt like a wrecking ball had plowed into his shoulder, and out of shock, he dropped both his gun and his pack. With a sickening realization, he could hear the metallic gun sliding away from him. He himself was on his back, pain radiating from his shoulder. Everything was going dark, but Tim wasn't sure if that was because he was inches from passing out or because he dropped his flashlight in the midst of the tackle.
With a bit of effort and an explosion of pain from his left shoulder, Tim sat up and came face to face with Tony holding Tim's gun. No, no, no, NO! It wasn't supposed to happen like this! "Th.. That's mine.." he weakly argued, too afraid to make any sudden moves. But it appeared that Tony wasn't planning on killing them. He just wanted Tim's gun. But this wasn't fair! Tim had only held his precious designated weapon for like, thirty seconds! He couldn't have it stolen like this!
He felt like his precious kitten was being stolen by some... kitten-snatcher. Well, Tim never really liked cats, and a gun wasn't really comparable to a kitten, but he really liked that little gun! The comfort that it provided, the defense that he could use to help others... This honestly wasn't fair! But... it was better than dying. Tim glanced over at Colin to note that he had thrown the duffel off of his face and stood up. "What is Colin doing?" he asked himself, but didn't dare say anything... He didn't want to provoke Tony into shooting or anything.
But what happened next shocked Tim beyond belief. His jaw fell slack as he watched his new friend, who was just crying moments ago, spring into action. He watched in pure shock as the axe connected with Tony's shoulder, a kick met Tony's hips. Tim was positive that Colin would be shot at this rate! All over Tim's weapon! "N-No, Colin, don't!" he cried, fearing for his safety. In between the sounds of screaming, panting, and Colin's axe hitting Tony, Tim could hear his gun hit the ground with that same metallic 'thunk!' Colin stepped on it, and Tim waited, sweat pouring down his brow. What should he do?! Tim felt useless in this situation... He had the gun now (or.. sort of), but he knew he couldn't shoot. He looked over at Tony who was no longer in such great shape... Oh lord. "Give me strength," he quickly prayed, although Tim rarely ever prayed. He felt silly after doing so, as here was the last place that he should worry about religion or God! In such a place where murder ran free, there was no God. There was only Colin who took matters into his own hands by using that axe and securing Tim's gun.
Tim should have felt thankful, but he mostly felt... horrified. He wanted to beg Colin to stop but couldn't find the words... They couldn't be in danger anymore. Tony was unarmed and rightfully injured. "C-Colin.." Tim began, staring at the axe-wielding boy. Tim dragged himself forward and carefully pried his gun from under Colin's foot. He held it tightly, his thoughts swimming frantically in his head. It was like a whirlpool.
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Fire exploded all up Tony's right arm. He tried to whip his arm around, to point the gun at the offender, but it refused to move the way he wanted it to. Instead, it fell to his side like it was made of jelly. Tony roared as he spun the other way, bringing his free arm up to strike. He took a kidney shot for his troubles. The blow sent another wave of pain through his body, forcing it to submit to the onslaught.
To add insult to injury, as Tony fell, a heavy metal object collided cleanly with the side of his face. The blow rattled through his skull and he could taste blood as he fell to the ground.
Tony landed on his back, sending another lance of hot pain down his arm and shoulder. The gun clattered away from his grasp, bouncing a few feet away. He could feel a wet warmth trickling down his back. Not good. He'd been hit hard. He wanted to push himself back up to his feet, but it seemed his arm could no longer support the weight of a heavyset offensive guard.
Tony looked up to see the shadowy form of his attacker. There wasn't enough light to see any faces, now that the flashlights were scattered around on the ground, but Tony could guess who it was. He hadn't expected things to end up this bad. It was supposed to be a quick in and out, get the gun and nobody would get hurt. Sure tackling people wasn't the most diplomatic way of doing things, but the gun was dangerous. But clearly not as dangerous as the boy leveling the axe at Tony's face.
He hadn't wanted anyone to get hurt. He had failed in that.
Motion and noise from the side, as Timothy crawled up to the other boy and pried the gun from where it lay underfoot. The attacker, who was called Colin according to Timothy, seemed to hesitate at this interruption. Tony couldn't ponder this much as he was more acutely aware of the pain radiating from his back and the wetness that had now soaked most of his shirt.
"You gonna-" There was too much blood in Tony's mouth, as well as a tooth that had gotten knocked free from that last hit. He turned his head to the side to spit out the now useless tooth. He looked again up, not at Colin but at the head of the axe, and opened his mouth to continue speaking.
The brief pause had given him enough time to put the pieces together. Now was not the time to taunt his attacker.
"I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt anyone." Tony's voice was low, but it echoed in the narrow cavern. He lowered his eyes to the ground. How could he face up to the two boys he had just attacked? He had made stupid impulsive decisions and now all of them were going to pay for it. "I just thought that... that gun would be... be safer if we got rid of it." It sounded so much more stupid now that he'd given it voice. Tim and Colin probably wouldn't even believe him. At least Tony could trust his hot head to not think things through for that one last time.
The effect of the adrenaline was lessening, and the pain increasing to match. Tony could make an estimate on how bad the damage had been. His right arm was mostly useless from the attack. Blood was still seeping from the wound, though all Tony could feel was the unnatural wetness that soaked his entire shirt's back. He probably would die from blood loss in an hour. Even if they did manage to patch him up now, Tony couldn't foresee surviving much longer with a gaping shoulder wound.
But the pain continued to creep through his body. Either way, it was going to be long and painful. Tony was no stranger to the pain of getting cleanly tackled on the field, but this was nothing like it. It was like a fire lit up on his back and having knives stuck in every inch of his arm. Tony wasn't trained to endure this kind of pain.
"Colin," Tony said, trying to lend strength to his voice, "I'm sorry but I need a favor. Finish the job." It felt so unfair to be doing this now, but Tony couldn't do it himself. He probably couldn't have done it even if he had the gun himself. How could he expect someone else to oblige?
Because he'll need to learn to survive.
This whole game was unfair. The big able footballer had gotten a joke weapon while the two smaller kids had gotten far more lethal gear. Being fair was no longer important. All that mattered was getting the job done.
"You got me pretty good. I don't think I'll make it much longer, and it fucking hurts like you wouldn't know." Tony chuckled, but the laugh just sent more pain wracking through his body. "Just make it quick. I don't want to sit around with the hurting for too much longer."
Tony looked up toward Colin's eyes. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep ragged breath. Pain burned through every fiber of his upper body. "I'm sorry for asking this, but please." There was no way to hide the pain from his faltering voice any more. Please make it stop.
To add insult to injury, as Tony fell, a heavy metal object collided cleanly with the side of his face. The blow rattled through his skull and he could taste blood as he fell to the ground.
Tony landed on his back, sending another lance of hot pain down his arm and shoulder. The gun clattered away from his grasp, bouncing a few feet away. He could feel a wet warmth trickling down his back. Not good. He'd been hit hard. He wanted to push himself back up to his feet, but it seemed his arm could no longer support the weight of a heavyset offensive guard.
Tony looked up to see the shadowy form of his attacker. There wasn't enough light to see any faces, now that the flashlights were scattered around on the ground, but Tony could guess who it was. He hadn't expected things to end up this bad. It was supposed to be a quick in and out, get the gun and nobody would get hurt. Sure tackling people wasn't the most diplomatic way of doing things, but the gun was dangerous. But clearly not as dangerous as the boy leveling the axe at Tony's face.
He hadn't wanted anyone to get hurt. He had failed in that.
Motion and noise from the side, as Timothy crawled up to the other boy and pried the gun from where it lay underfoot. The attacker, who was called Colin according to Timothy, seemed to hesitate at this interruption. Tony couldn't ponder this much as he was more acutely aware of the pain radiating from his back and the wetness that had now soaked most of his shirt.
"You gonna-" There was too much blood in Tony's mouth, as well as a tooth that had gotten knocked free from that last hit. He turned his head to the side to spit out the now useless tooth. He looked again up, not at Colin but at the head of the axe, and opened his mouth to continue speaking.
The brief pause had given him enough time to put the pieces together. Now was not the time to taunt his attacker.
"I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt anyone." Tony's voice was low, but it echoed in the narrow cavern. He lowered his eyes to the ground. How could he face up to the two boys he had just attacked? He had made stupid impulsive decisions and now all of them were going to pay for it. "I just thought that... that gun would be... be safer if we got rid of it." It sounded so much more stupid now that he'd given it voice. Tim and Colin probably wouldn't even believe him. At least Tony could trust his hot head to not think things through for that one last time.
The effect of the adrenaline was lessening, and the pain increasing to match. Tony could make an estimate on how bad the damage had been. His right arm was mostly useless from the attack. Blood was still seeping from the wound, though all Tony could feel was the unnatural wetness that soaked his entire shirt's back. He probably would die from blood loss in an hour. Even if they did manage to patch him up now, Tony couldn't foresee surviving much longer with a gaping shoulder wound.
But the pain continued to creep through his body. Either way, it was going to be long and painful. Tony was no stranger to the pain of getting cleanly tackled on the field, but this was nothing like it. It was like a fire lit up on his back and having knives stuck in every inch of his arm. Tony wasn't trained to endure this kind of pain.
"Colin," Tony said, trying to lend strength to his voice, "I'm sorry but I need a favor. Finish the job." It felt so unfair to be doing this now, but Tony couldn't do it himself. He probably couldn't have done it even if he had the gun himself. How could he expect someone else to oblige?
Because he'll need to learn to survive.
This whole game was unfair. The big able footballer had gotten a joke weapon while the two smaller kids had gotten far more lethal gear. Being fair was no longer important. All that mattered was getting the job done.
"You got me pretty good. I don't think I'll make it much longer, and it fucking hurts like you wouldn't know." Tony chuckled, but the laugh just sent more pain wracking through his body. "Just make it quick. I don't want to sit around with the hurting for too much longer."
Tony looked up toward Colin's eyes. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep ragged breath. Pain burned through every fiber of his upper body. "I'm sorry for asking this, but please." There was no way to hide the pain from his faltering voice any more. Please make it stop.
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Realization began to wash back over the boy. His senses came back to him as his conscious mind re-attached itself to it's actions. He felt a warm liquid dripping off of his face. He felt the ache of the muscles in his arm, from swinging the axe with all of his might. And as the seconds wore on, he began to feel worry. Regret. Heartache. Disbelief. Disgust with himself. Each in different measure, yet each mixing into a volatile cocktail of sorrow.
He hadn't even noticed that it had happened. He didn't remember exactly how he got to where he was standing, he just knew that he had ravaged this poor boy. A scared, lonely high school student just like himself.
"You gonna-"
Colin couldn't see a thing but the silhouette of their wounded peer. A soft 'ptoo', followed by a wet plop, and the sound of a hard object bouncing across the stone. Tony's head turned back to meet Colin's gaz- no. Tony almost seemed to look right through him, even though the damned tunnel made actually determining this literally impossible.
"I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
Of course he didn't... How could anyone want to play the game on this Island. Didn't Colin say that naught a minute ago? Tony's voice was getting softer, and lower. Anguish oozed from the speech just like the blood that oozed from his shoulder.
"I just thought that... that gun would be... be safer if we got rid of it."
His teeth clenched as his grip around the axe tightened. He wasn't preparing for another attack. No, he was gripping to the axe as if he was gripping to his composure in kind. Despite the herculean effort, a sniffle snaked it's way from his throat. Silent tears began to fall, the only indication being the occasional wet patter emanating from Colin's side of the standoff. "T..." He took a deep, pained breath, the air itself marred with death and pain. "Then why didn't... you just come talk to us..." His composure broke as tears began to fall in earnest. The wet sobs and choked cries more and more powerful as the realization of what he had just done continued to slowly, laboriously settled into his fragile, broken super-ego.
However his wallowing in a swamp of self pity was quickly broken by a forceful, unexpected word.
"Colin."
A soft whimper, almost posed as a question involuntarily coming from Colin's mouth.
"I'm sorry but I need a favor. Finish the job."
And those vivid green eyes shot wider in shock than they ever had before. "You wa- want me to..." His attentions turned, the new tears stopped rolling as every part of his conscious mind attempted to grapple with what had just been proposed to him.
"You got me pretty good. I don't think I'll make it much longer, and it fucking hurts like you wouldn't know."
And Tony chuckled. Not a sadistic chuckle, nor a fake chuckle. But a chuckle, just like the Trio had always been good friends. Like they had known each other for their entire lives, and he was just asking his pals to borrow the keys to the car for a night or something.
"Just make it quick. I don't want to sit around with the hurting for too much longer."
Colin had to do it... Right? He had just mutilated his fellow man... It was his responsibility to end the suffering. But on that hand, he would become a murderer. No, no he wouldn't. The damage was already done. Whether Colin left him here to die or not, he was a murderer.
"I'm sorry for asking this, but please."
Not that he had to like it though. Tears fell yet again from the frail boy's cheeks as he steeled himself for what he knew he had to do.
"T-Tim..." He choked out. He had to be strong, at least for now. A deep breath drown out everything else. "I want you to leave, but wait for me. Go to the end of the tunnel. Behind us."
I can't let Tim see this...
"Please, wait for me. Please, go..."
And as he waited, he took a look down at Tony. Physically battered, broken, never to leave this spot again. Colin could only imagine the things going through the head of a man who knew for a fact that he was sitting on his final resting spot. Was he silently praying to God? Or was he just making his mental peace? So many questions he had, but the longer he waited, the more that he made this other human being suffer.
But just how long had he just been distracted for? Tim was long gone, and Colin hadn't noticed it. At least his best friend didn't have to watch this. "W-Whoever you are. I'm so... so sorry." The axe lowered for a moment as Colin sank to his knees. In true form of complete compassion, he wrapped his arms around his victim, being careful to avoid the afflicted shoulder. A soft whisper. "I'm so sorry... Is there anything you want to say or do before you go?"
And he waited for the boy to say his final words. Colin did his best to stay composed as he listened. And then he nodded. ((I'll edit this to meet Tony's death speech when it's posted.))
"Had this been another time... Another place... We could have been friends." Choked sobs were beginning to break through and his will was wavering. He had to do this fast. "I'm sorry..." And those would be the last words that Tony would ever hear. Colin's head whipped to the side to avoid watching what he was about to do. The Axe swung, and the second in between the launch of the attach and the connection was quite literally the longest second of Colin's life. It seemed to hang, the momentary transition between naive folk singer and world weary killer clinging to reality for as long as it could. But alas, one can not cherish a moment forever. The blade connected.
He hadn't even noticed that it had happened. He didn't remember exactly how he got to where he was standing, he just knew that he had ravaged this poor boy. A scared, lonely high school student just like himself.
"You gonna-"
Colin couldn't see a thing but the silhouette of their wounded peer. A soft 'ptoo', followed by a wet plop, and the sound of a hard object bouncing across the stone. Tony's head turned back to meet Colin's gaz- no. Tony almost seemed to look right through him, even though the damned tunnel made actually determining this literally impossible.
"I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
Of course he didn't... How could anyone want to play the game on this Island. Didn't Colin say that naught a minute ago? Tony's voice was getting softer, and lower. Anguish oozed from the speech just like the blood that oozed from his shoulder.
"I just thought that... that gun would be... be safer if we got rid of it."
His teeth clenched as his grip around the axe tightened. He wasn't preparing for another attack. No, he was gripping to the axe as if he was gripping to his composure in kind. Despite the herculean effort, a sniffle snaked it's way from his throat. Silent tears began to fall, the only indication being the occasional wet patter emanating from Colin's side of the standoff. "T..." He took a deep, pained breath, the air itself marred with death and pain. "Then why didn't... you just come talk to us..." His composure broke as tears began to fall in earnest. The wet sobs and choked cries more and more powerful as the realization of what he had just done continued to slowly, laboriously settled into his fragile, broken super-ego.
However his wallowing in a swamp of self pity was quickly broken by a forceful, unexpected word.
"Colin."
A soft whimper, almost posed as a question involuntarily coming from Colin's mouth.
"I'm sorry but I need a favor. Finish the job."
And those vivid green eyes shot wider in shock than they ever had before. "You wa- want me to..." His attentions turned, the new tears stopped rolling as every part of his conscious mind attempted to grapple with what had just been proposed to him.
"You got me pretty good. I don't think I'll make it much longer, and it fucking hurts like you wouldn't know."
And Tony chuckled. Not a sadistic chuckle, nor a fake chuckle. But a chuckle, just like the Trio had always been good friends. Like they had known each other for their entire lives, and he was just asking his pals to borrow the keys to the car for a night or something.
"Just make it quick. I don't want to sit around with the hurting for too much longer."
Colin had to do it... Right? He had just mutilated his fellow man... It was his responsibility to end the suffering. But on that hand, he would become a murderer. No, no he wouldn't. The damage was already done. Whether Colin left him here to die or not, he was a murderer.
"I'm sorry for asking this, but please."
Not that he had to like it though. Tears fell yet again from the frail boy's cheeks as he steeled himself for what he knew he had to do.
"T-Tim..." He choked out. He had to be strong, at least for now. A deep breath drown out everything else. "I want you to leave, but wait for me. Go to the end of the tunnel. Behind us."
I can't let Tim see this...
"Please, wait for me. Please, go..."
And as he waited, he took a look down at Tony. Physically battered, broken, never to leave this spot again. Colin could only imagine the things going through the head of a man who knew for a fact that he was sitting on his final resting spot. Was he silently praying to God? Or was he just making his mental peace? So many questions he had, but the longer he waited, the more that he made this other human being suffer.
But just how long had he just been distracted for? Tim was long gone, and Colin hadn't noticed it. At least his best friend didn't have to watch this. "W-Whoever you are. I'm so... so sorry." The axe lowered for a moment as Colin sank to his knees. In true form of complete compassion, he wrapped his arms around his victim, being careful to avoid the afflicted shoulder. A soft whisper. "I'm so sorry... Is there anything you want to say or do before you go?"
And he waited for the boy to say his final words. Colin did his best to stay composed as he listened. And then he nodded. ((I'll edit this to meet Tony's death speech when it's posted.))
"Had this been another time... Another place... We could have been friends." Choked sobs were beginning to break through and his will was wavering. He had to do this fast. "I'm sorry..." And those would be the last words that Tony would ever hear. Colin's head whipped to the side to avoid watching what he was about to do. The Axe swung, and the second in between the launch of the attach and the connection was quite literally the longest second of Colin's life. It seemed to hang, the momentary transition between naive folk singer and world weary killer clinging to reality for as long as it could. But alas, one can not cherish a moment forever. The blade connected.
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ZombiexCreame†
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:29 am
Tim stared in shock at the clearly injured form of Tony. He didn't want to see any more violence, and he definitely didn't want to see anyone die this early in; especially not someone that was killed by a very good friend of his. It sent shivers up his spine, a chill that he couldn't shake away. What would happen? Would Tony make it out okay? Would Colin put the axe down and apologize? Would they all stop and talk through their problems? It sounded stupid, but the optimist inside of Tim was working in overdrive. He wanted to be positive; he wanted everything to go okay... Yet, here he was, just minutes into the game, and a fellow classmate stood in front of them with bad wounds. It was obvious that he was close to death.
Tim listened to Tony as he spoke, his blue eyes watching as his lips moved. He opened his own mouth to reply, but his voice came out as a dry gurgle. He needed water; he needed time to think about what to say to Tony, but nothing would adequately suffice. Tim felt evil in thinking such a thing, but it really was a 'serves you right' moment, as sick as that sounded. If Tony really hadn't meant to hurt anyone, he wouldn't have tackled Tim. If Tony had really thought that Tim should just get rid of his gun, he should have approached the boys in a friendly way and talked to them about it. He didn't have to attack them! Of course they would fight fire with fire!
But that was just the guilt talking. Tim knew that he had no real reason to feel guilty, this was all Colin's doing, but... there was still an emotion that Tim felt. A mix between guilt, regret, and a longing for the past. Even if he could go back in time by five minutes, that would be okay. If Tim just had five minutes, he could make things right... Tony wouldn't be sitting here, inches away from Death's door. "Why did I have to wave my gun around and flaunt it? Why didn't I just keep it inside my bag? I'm so stupid!" Once again, blaming himself and not Colin. It was just his nature.
Tony asked a request of Colin, and Tim's heart immediately grew heavy. He hadn't expected this... I mean, he knew that Tony would eventually die somehow, but... Tony asking Colin to 'finish the job'? That was so official, so final. Tim put a hand over his mouth and bowed his head, eyes shut. This was so messed up. Teenagers shouldn't have to deal with something so deep, so mentally harmful... Why?! Tim's hardest decision was choosing between which college would better suit his needs, but this? This just couldn't compare. No doubt would this be one of Colin's harder decisions... whether or not he could muster the strength to murder a fellow classmate.
Tim was moments away from breaking down and sobbing like Colin, but he heard his friend's voice, choked and full of sorrow. At Colin's request, Tim didn't refuse or question his friend. He didn't want to add any more unnecessary stress to the situation. And so with a shocked face and empty eyes, Tim merely nodded and slung his bag over one shoulder, collected his gun, and switched on his flashlight, heading down the dark and empty tunnel. As he walked, all sounds melted away. Colin and Tony were far back by now, and any sounds of struggle failed to reach Tim's ears.
He just kept walking and walking through the endless black. Sometimes, Tim wondered if the darkness would ever cease. He grew tired and was tempted to sit down and rest, but after a few more minutes of tunnel-hiking, Tim finally saw a thin steam of light. The white light grew larger as he approached it, and Tim tried to ignore the whole 'light at the end of the tunnel' vibe that this was totally giving off.
The white light enveloped him, and he was outside. The light stung his eyes and dropping his things, Tim sunk to his knees and rubbed his eyes. He kept his gun at close distance as he sat here with his hands over his eyes, his mouth pulled into a taut line. Colin told him to wait, so he should wait.
But a small part of him wanted to run and run fast. Run far, far away. Run away from his own good friend... And yet, Tim remained seated. He couldn't leave Colin. Colin wasn't a scary murderer; he was a good person. It wasn't like he wanted to kill Tony... It was all a mistake; all in self-defense. If Tim ran away now, it would just prove that Tim was a shoddy friend, and no one would be there to comfort him... And so Tim remained seated. He wouldn't leave this spot, not until Colin was beside him. And Tim would never judge him.
Tim listened to Tony as he spoke, his blue eyes watching as his lips moved. He opened his own mouth to reply, but his voice came out as a dry gurgle. He needed water; he needed time to think about what to say to Tony, but nothing would adequately suffice. Tim felt evil in thinking such a thing, but it really was a 'serves you right' moment, as sick as that sounded. If Tony really hadn't meant to hurt anyone, he wouldn't have tackled Tim. If Tony had really thought that Tim should just get rid of his gun, he should have approached the boys in a friendly way and talked to them about it. He didn't have to attack them! Of course they would fight fire with fire!
But that was just the guilt talking. Tim knew that he had no real reason to feel guilty, this was all Colin's doing, but... there was still an emotion that Tim felt. A mix between guilt, regret, and a longing for the past. Even if he could go back in time by five minutes, that would be okay. If Tim just had five minutes, he could make things right... Tony wouldn't be sitting here, inches away from Death's door. "Why did I have to wave my gun around and flaunt it? Why didn't I just keep it inside my bag? I'm so stupid!" Once again, blaming himself and not Colin. It was just his nature.
Tony asked a request of Colin, and Tim's heart immediately grew heavy. He hadn't expected this... I mean, he knew that Tony would eventually die somehow, but... Tony asking Colin to 'finish the job'? That was so official, so final. Tim put a hand over his mouth and bowed his head, eyes shut. This was so messed up. Teenagers shouldn't have to deal with something so deep, so mentally harmful... Why?! Tim's hardest decision was choosing between which college would better suit his needs, but this? This just couldn't compare. No doubt would this be one of Colin's harder decisions... whether or not he could muster the strength to murder a fellow classmate.
Tim was moments away from breaking down and sobbing like Colin, but he heard his friend's voice, choked and full of sorrow. At Colin's request, Tim didn't refuse or question his friend. He didn't want to add any more unnecessary stress to the situation. And so with a shocked face and empty eyes, Tim merely nodded and slung his bag over one shoulder, collected his gun, and switched on his flashlight, heading down the dark and empty tunnel. As he walked, all sounds melted away. Colin and Tony were far back by now, and any sounds of struggle failed to reach Tim's ears.
He just kept walking and walking through the endless black. Sometimes, Tim wondered if the darkness would ever cease. He grew tired and was tempted to sit down and rest, but after a few more minutes of tunnel-hiking, Tim finally saw a thin steam of light. The white light grew larger as he approached it, and Tim tried to ignore the whole 'light at the end of the tunnel' vibe that this was totally giving off.
The white light enveloped him, and he was outside. The light stung his eyes and dropping his things, Tim sunk to his knees and rubbed his eyes. He kept his gun at close distance as he sat here with his hands over his eyes, his mouth pulled into a taut line. Colin told him to wait, so he should wait.
But a small part of him wanted to run and run fast. Run far, far away. Run away from his own good friend... And yet, Tim remained seated. He couldn't leave Colin. Colin wasn't a scary murderer; he was a good person. It wasn't like he wanted to kill Tony... It was all a mistake; all in self-defense. If Tim ran away now, it would just prove that Tim was a shoddy friend, and no one would be there to comfort him... And so Tim remained seated. He wouldn't leave this spot, not until Colin was beside him. And Tim would never judge him.
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Tony wanted to turn back time. He wanted to go back before he had been stupid and angry enough to get Colin and Tim and himself involved in this mess. He wanted to not be hearing Colin's soft sobs as he struggled to make his decision. A decision that Tony had forced on him. A decision that would haunt Colin for the rest of his life.
Tony wanted the pain to just go away.
No. He wanted to live.
But what was done was done. There was no way Tony could turn back time, no way to go back and fix the mistakes of the past. Colin's words had hit close to home: Tony could have just approached calmly and talked instead of rushing in impulsively. Using words, carefully thought out and planned, instead of action, headstrong and irrational.
Just like other mistakes he had made in the past.
The night had been almost magical.
Sofia was looking beautiful tonight. As much as Tony liked seeing her all dirty and greased up from monkeying around with her cars, she definitely looked fine cleaned up and in a dress. Better than just fine. Mere words were not capable of describing how beautiful she looked that night.
Tony almost had to scrape his jaw off the floor when he had gone to pick her up. The way she had her hair done, the makeup that had probably taken her hours to put on, the dress that fit perfectly and showed off all her curves in the right places, and the way she held herself as she walked made her look more like a fine lady than the girl he had grown up with.
They had spent the night doing those things that most kids do on prom night. The food wasn't something to write home about, but eating with Sofia made him forget about the improper seasoning they had used on the chicken. They spent some time talking with each other, catching up on each other's lives in the past few weeks, as well as socializing with others. And they danced.
It was time together that Tony would never give up for anything in the world. They were memories that he would keep with him forever.
So as the night came to a close, it became Tony's gentlemanly duty to bring Sofia back home. It wasn't a particularly long way to Sofia's house from the rec hall the prom was held at, but Tony drove slowly. Even then, the trip seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and Tony found himself with his arms around his prom date's waist as they exchanged their goodbyes for the night.
The two had gone to prom as friends. That at least had been the reason he had given Sofia when he asked her over a month ago. Looking at the beautiful girl that he held in his arms, he could no longer deny that it was just mere friendship they shared. Years of having known each other, of sharing stories of success and failure, of all the jokes and tears they had together, had all built up to this one moment. Tony leaned over and brushed his lips over the girl he had fallen in love with.
There was but a brief pause, and then Sofia lightly pushed him away.
If she had tried to say anything, Tony hadn't heard it. He had banked everything on this, and everything he had put into it was lost. He couldn't accept it. So he turned and walked away from the girl, unaware of anything besides his broken heart.
It had almost been a magical night. Until he went and screwed it all up.
"I'm sorry...." The words were too late to prevent any mistakes, too late to fix any damage, but they were the only words that Tony had left to use. It was too late to patch up his relationship with Sofia; he would be dead in a few hours at best, and there was no way she'd find him before then.
Tony could hear a deep breath, and directions from Colin for Tim to leave them alone. There was little indication of the power that had driven him into using that axe only moments ago. Tony couldn't imagine how difficult it would have to be for Colin to have to kill a defenseless person. All he could imagine was how much more pain it would be to wait to die from blood loss. Fire still burned up his arm and across his back.
Seconds became minutes. Long after Tim had walked away, Colin still stood there, loosely grasping the weapon that had become the instrument of death, that would become the executioner's axe. It was a heavy weight for one to carry; even heavier to be forced to raise it at another's request. Tony didn't know if there was anything he could do to make it easier for Colin. All he could do was say those words he probably had already said one too many times.
"I'm sorry..."
It brought Colin out of his stupor, if nothing else. With a few whispered words of apology, Colin sank to his knees, lowering the axe to the ground and wrapping his arms gingerly around Tony's semi-prone form. "Man," Tony coughed, "that's my line." The arms that held him felt warm. Not warm like the blood that had soaked his t-shirt, but a warmth that seemed to breathe life into Tony and ease his pain.
There was wetness in his eyes. Tony wanted to wipe away the tears before the torrent could be stopped, but his arm had ceased responding long ago. Even after everything Tony had done, everything he had inflicted on Colin and Tim, he was still being treated like a decent person. It was more than Tony could have ever expected. Colin was even asking if Tony had any last words.
He thought about it for a while. There were many things he could say. He could try to pass a message on to Sofia, or something for his family back at home. So many things, but that wouldn't be fair on Colin. Colin didn't want to be Tony's messenger boy, he was doing it because he felt obligated to do so. Except Colin didn't owe Tony anything.
"No matter what, Colin, don't blame yourself. None of this was ever your fault." Tony looked into Colin's eyes. It didn't matter how many tears were now running down his face or how pain-wracked and frightened his voice sounded. "I'm sorry for fucking everything up. I'm really, really sorry...." People said that when someone apologizes one too many times, each apology starts to carry less meaning. Maybe it was true that it became too reflexive, but Tony never thought that he was any less sincere each time he said it. "I'm sorry...."
Colin pulled himself to his feet and hefted up the executioner's weapon. Tony sighed in relief. He had held the shadow of doubt that Colin wouldn't follow through, especially after that last embrace. Colin spoke the last words of regret, that things could not have been better. Regret. Something that Tony was well familiar with.
"Antonio! What are you doing here?"
The shouting startled Tony out of his mindless chopping. The knife missed its mark on the onion and almost chopped off the tip of his finger instead. Tony muttered a curse under his breath. He shifted his attention from the chopping board to his Pa, who had just walked into the kitchen.
"I just thought I'd help out," Tony replied with a defiant shrug. He sure as hell wasn't going to let Emilio mess with the food. The last time that happened, the sauce got overcooked and was too thick. Tony could almost hear the complaints that the customers were a hair's breadth from saying. Even after that debacle, Pa was still letting him into the kitchen. It was almost a miracle that Tony had gotten to Emilio before any real damage had been done to tonight's food.
Pa Russo, on the other hand, didn't seem to be worried about this problem in the least. "You should be studying. Don't you have exams coming up?" Tony already knew where this was going to end up. Even though there was the senior trip coming up, the only thing his parents cared about were his academics. It had been like this for the past two years now. They'd just been worrying about school and not about his life.
Tony just sighed and went back to chopping onions. They still made him teary-eyed, but years of practice had taught him how to not end up sobbing all over the onions. Emilio would just stop every five seconds to wipe his eyes, which made the whole chopping process unbearably slow. Of course, even though Tony was far more handy in the kitchen, his parents would still make Emilio do the kitchen work while Tony got relegated to studying for school. On a good day, Tony might even be allowed to wait tables.
"Where's Emilio?" Pa's voice was closer now, and Tony tensed up in anticipation of his pa suddenly grabbing him from behind. Another defiant shrug, as if the ruse would work this time after weeks of failure. They knew that if Tony was in the kitchen, Emilio had likely been sent off on some mundane pointless errand. "You can't keep sending him out all the time, Antonio. He won't learn if you don't let him."
This was getting stupid. Always about Emilio. Never about Antonio. "It's already been fourteen years. If he hasn't learned by now, he won't learn anything." The last few words were punctuated by the audible slam of the knife against the chopping board. "He has no talent for this shit." Tony spun around to face his pa, now standing only a few feet away. Tony knew better than to raise his voice; there were customers eating outside. Still, fire smoldered in his words. "But I guess that doesn't matter right? As long as my life is miserable and this restaurant, that you poured your life into, loses business, as long as you can tell me what to do, that's okay right?" Tony stormed off to the door, brushing roughly past his pa on the way. Before he walked out the kitchen into the restaurant, he stopped to mutter one more thing.
"I'll show you and ma that you're wrong."
He didn't know it would be the last thing he'd say to them.
Tony couldn't go back to fix that. He couldn't go back to say goodbye to his parents or Emilio. "I'm sorry... Pa, Ma, Emilio," he whispered. They were words that would never reach, that would never mend anything. Apologies were all his life seemed to be for the last few years. Apologies and anger, which would be followed by more apologies. Just like now: rage followed by apologies. It seemed fitting that he would die with apologies on his lips.
"I'm sorry...." Tony and Colin both spoke in unison, tenor and baritone whispers resonating against each other seconds before the axe fell. It didn't slow down as it fell, like it did in the movies. It fell like a falling star, burying itself in his forehead and exploding in an inferno of pure agony. No longer was it just his shoulder on fire; it was now every part of his body. The fire burned out any other possible physical response. No screams. No thrashing. Just one single instant of pain so intense that nothing mattered.
Nothing except that Tony knew that this all could have been avoided. Nothing except regret.
And then nothing at all.
B115: Antonio Russo - DECEASED
Tony wanted the pain to just go away.
No. He wanted to live.
But what was done was done. There was no way Tony could turn back time, no way to go back and fix the mistakes of the past. Colin's words had hit close to home: Tony could have just approached calmly and talked instead of rushing in impulsively. Using words, carefully thought out and planned, instead of action, headstrong and irrational.
Just like other mistakes he had made in the past.
The night had been almost magical.
Sofia was looking beautiful tonight. As much as Tony liked seeing her all dirty and greased up from monkeying around with her cars, she definitely looked fine cleaned up and in a dress. Better than just fine. Mere words were not capable of describing how beautiful she looked that night.
Tony almost had to scrape his jaw off the floor when he had gone to pick her up. The way she had her hair done, the makeup that had probably taken her hours to put on, the dress that fit perfectly and showed off all her curves in the right places, and the way she held herself as she walked made her look more like a fine lady than the girl he had grown up with.
They had spent the night doing those things that most kids do on prom night. The food wasn't something to write home about, but eating with Sofia made him forget about the improper seasoning they had used on the chicken. They spent some time talking with each other, catching up on each other's lives in the past few weeks, as well as socializing with others. And they danced.
It was time together that Tony would never give up for anything in the world. They were memories that he would keep with him forever.
So as the night came to a close, it became Tony's gentlemanly duty to bring Sofia back home. It wasn't a particularly long way to Sofia's house from the rec hall the prom was held at, but Tony drove slowly. Even then, the trip seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and Tony found himself with his arms around his prom date's waist as they exchanged their goodbyes for the night.
The two had gone to prom as friends. That at least had been the reason he had given Sofia when he asked her over a month ago. Looking at the beautiful girl that he held in his arms, he could no longer deny that it was just mere friendship they shared. Years of having known each other, of sharing stories of success and failure, of all the jokes and tears they had together, had all built up to this one moment. Tony leaned over and brushed his lips over the girl he had fallen in love with.
There was but a brief pause, and then Sofia lightly pushed him away.
If she had tried to say anything, Tony hadn't heard it. He had banked everything on this, and everything he had put into it was lost. He couldn't accept it. So he turned and walked away from the girl, unaware of anything besides his broken heart.
It had almost been a magical night. Until he went and screwed it all up.
"I'm sorry...." The words were too late to prevent any mistakes, too late to fix any damage, but they were the only words that Tony had left to use. It was too late to patch up his relationship with Sofia; he would be dead in a few hours at best, and there was no way she'd find him before then.
Tony could hear a deep breath, and directions from Colin for Tim to leave them alone. There was little indication of the power that had driven him into using that axe only moments ago. Tony couldn't imagine how difficult it would have to be for Colin to have to kill a defenseless person. All he could imagine was how much more pain it would be to wait to die from blood loss. Fire still burned up his arm and across his back.
Seconds became minutes. Long after Tim had walked away, Colin still stood there, loosely grasping the weapon that had become the instrument of death, that would become the executioner's axe. It was a heavy weight for one to carry; even heavier to be forced to raise it at another's request. Tony didn't know if there was anything he could do to make it easier for Colin. All he could do was say those words he probably had already said one too many times.
"I'm sorry..."
It brought Colin out of his stupor, if nothing else. With a few whispered words of apology, Colin sank to his knees, lowering the axe to the ground and wrapping his arms gingerly around Tony's semi-prone form. "Man," Tony coughed, "that's my line." The arms that held him felt warm. Not warm like the blood that had soaked his t-shirt, but a warmth that seemed to breathe life into Tony and ease his pain.
There was wetness in his eyes. Tony wanted to wipe away the tears before the torrent could be stopped, but his arm had ceased responding long ago. Even after everything Tony had done, everything he had inflicted on Colin and Tim, he was still being treated like a decent person. It was more than Tony could have ever expected. Colin was even asking if Tony had any last words.
He thought about it for a while. There were many things he could say. He could try to pass a message on to Sofia, or something for his family back at home. So many things, but that wouldn't be fair on Colin. Colin didn't want to be Tony's messenger boy, he was doing it because he felt obligated to do so. Except Colin didn't owe Tony anything.
"No matter what, Colin, don't blame yourself. None of this was ever your fault." Tony looked into Colin's eyes. It didn't matter how many tears were now running down his face or how pain-wracked and frightened his voice sounded. "I'm sorry for fucking everything up. I'm really, really sorry...." People said that when someone apologizes one too many times, each apology starts to carry less meaning. Maybe it was true that it became too reflexive, but Tony never thought that he was any less sincere each time he said it. "I'm sorry...."
Colin pulled himself to his feet and hefted up the executioner's weapon. Tony sighed in relief. He had held the shadow of doubt that Colin wouldn't follow through, especially after that last embrace. Colin spoke the last words of regret, that things could not have been better. Regret. Something that Tony was well familiar with.
"Antonio! What are you doing here?"
The shouting startled Tony out of his mindless chopping. The knife missed its mark on the onion and almost chopped off the tip of his finger instead. Tony muttered a curse under his breath. He shifted his attention from the chopping board to his Pa, who had just walked into the kitchen.
"I just thought I'd help out," Tony replied with a defiant shrug. He sure as hell wasn't going to let Emilio mess with the food. The last time that happened, the sauce got overcooked and was too thick. Tony could almost hear the complaints that the customers were a hair's breadth from saying. Even after that debacle, Pa was still letting him into the kitchen. It was almost a miracle that Tony had gotten to Emilio before any real damage had been done to tonight's food.
Pa Russo, on the other hand, didn't seem to be worried about this problem in the least. "You should be studying. Don't you have exams coming up?" Tony already knew where this was going to end up. Even though there was the senior trip coming up, the only thing his parents cared about were his academics. It had been like this for the past two years now. They'd just been worrying about school and not about his life.
Tony just sighed and went back to chopping onions. They still made him teary-eyed, but years of practice had taught him how to not end up sobbing all over the onions. Emilio would just stop every five seconds to wipe his eyes, which made the whole chopping process unbearably slow. Of course, even though Tony was far more handy in the kitchen, his parents would still make Emilio do the kitchen work while Tony got relegated to studying for school. On a good day, Tony might even be allowed to wait tables.
"Where's Emilio?" Pa's voice was closer now, and Tony tensed up in anticipation of his pa suddenly grabbing him from behind. Another defiant shrug, as if the ruse would work this time after weeks of failure. They knew that if Tony was in the kitchen, Emilio had likely been sent off on some mundane pointless errand. "You can't keep sending him out all the time, Antonio. He won't learn if you don't let him."
This was getting stupid. Always about Emilio. Never about Antonio. "It's already been fourteen years. If he hasn't learned by now, he won't learn anything." The last few words were punctuated by the audible slam of the knife against the chopping board. "He has no talent for this shit." Tony spun around to face his pa, now standing only a few feet away. Tony knew better than to raise his voice; there were customers eating outside. Still, fire smoldered in his words. "But I guess that doesn't matter right? As long as my life is miserable and this restaurant, that you poured your life into, loses business, as long as you can tell me what to do, that's okay right?" Tony stormed off to the door, brushing roughly past his pa on the way. Before he walked out the kitchen into the restaurant, he stopped to mutter one more thing.
"I'll show you and ma that you're wrong."
He didn't know it would be the last thing he'd say to them.
Tony couldn't go back to fix that. He couldn't go back to say goodbye to his parents or Emilio. "I'm sorry... Pa, Ma, Emilio," he whispered. They were words that would never reach, that would never mend anything. Apologies were all his life seemed to be for the last few years. Apologies and anger, which would be followed by more apologies. Just like now: rage followed by apologies. It seemed fitting that he would die with apologies on his lips.
"I'm sorry...." Tony and Colin both spoke in unison, tenor and baritone whispers resonating against each other seconds before the axe fell. It didn't slow down as it fell, like it did in the movies. It fell like a falling star, burying itself in his forehead and exploding in an inferno of pure agony. No longer was it just his shoulder on fire; it was now every part of his body. The fire burned out any other possible physical response. No screams. No thrashing. Just one single instant of pain so intense that nothing mattered.
Nothing except that Tony knew that this all could have been avoided. Nothing except regret.
And then nothing at all.
B115: Antonio Russo - DECEASED
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The deed had been done. The axe connected with poor Tony's skull, and blood spurted from the wound. Not a sound came from his fallen peer's mouth as he quickly lost his life. The act had been done, and there was no going back. Colin was a killer. Maybe not a murderer per-se, but still a killer. He had swung the axe that had ended the life of Antonio Russo.
The warm blood dripping down his face would be a feeling that would follow him for the rest of his life. Something he would carry with him like a scar.
It took Colin a full minute to be willing to even open his eyes from the deed; although he knew he wouldn't be able to see the corpse. And when he finally gathered the strength to open his eyes, the only thing he could see were masked and skewed by the white hot tears that had welled up in the corners of his eyes. And Colin had no intention of wiping them away. They were a shield to the rest of the world, to the chaotic, macabre scene that had splayed out in front of him.
*Tug Tug*
Shit.
While the disbelief of all of these events made Colin numb to what had occurred, there had been a tad more force behind that swing than he had originally thought. The Axe was stuck steadfast in Tony's skull. And the absolute last thing that Colin wanted to do was use the recently deceased as leverage for such a selfish endeavor.
But at the same time, he wanted a reminder to the reality of this island. A memory of the friend that never was, so that he would never fall to that point of being a monster. Something that he could glance at and remember who he was, what he stood for... And the price that he had to pay to continue on.
I just wonder what Tony would want.
However the longer that Colin sat and thought, the more uncomfortable he felt. How long did you have to stand there before you were defiling the body? Or... Whatever people would call it. The warm tears continually streaming down his face acted to hold him to reality as he focused heavily on the feeling.
If I want the Axe, I need to take it.
He stood for a moment.
He tugged softly one more time.
And then he dropped the weapon, the body falling with it, making a loud, flat thud on the cavern's floor. His head in his hands, he scooped back up his own bag, as well as that of Tony, and made his way after Tim.
---
The light at the end of the tunnel hosted a silhouette. And while Colin was getting the same distinct vibe that Tim had prior about the light at the end of the tunnel metaphor, he made a point to shrug it off. His friend had stayed and waited for the murderer.
"T...Tim..." He managed to choke out. "I'm so sorry..."
His eyes averted to the ground as he treaded the exit of the tunnel. What should have been regarded as sweet freedom from fear instead just now manifested itself as pure cruelty, malice, hatred. He now had to go out and face the world with the blood of another on his hands.
How can I live with myself?
He shook his head, his eyes wandering everywhere but to Tim's form.
"Let's go... Somewhere far away from here. I... I need some time to think..."
That would be the understatement of the century.
And with that, Colin's hand wandered to his arm, rubbing it softly; almost like his mother would to comfort him as a child.
A scared, lost, lonely child, who had just made an honest mistake.
Colin just wanted to go home.
((Colin Falcone continued in Youth and Beauty Brigade.))
The warm blood dripping down his face would be a feeling that would follow him for the rest of his life. Something he would carry with him like a scar.
It took Colin a full minute to be willing to even open his eyes from the deed; although he knew he wouldn't be able to see the corpse. And when he finally gathered the strength to open his eyes, the only thing he could see were masked and skewed by the white hot tears that had welled up in the corners of his eyes. And Colin had no intention of wiping them away. They were a shield to the rest of the world, to the chaotic, macabre scene that had splayed out in front of him.
*Tug Tug*
Shit.
While the disbelief of all of these events made Colin numb to what had occurred, there had been a tad more force behind that swing than he had originally thought. The Axe was stuck steadfast in Tony's skull. And the absolute last thing that Colin wanted to do was use the recently deceased as leverage for such a selfish endeavor.
But at the same time, he wanted a reminder to the reality of this island. A memory of the friend that never was, so that he would never fall to that point of being a monster. Something that he could glance at and remember who he was, what he stood for... And the price that he had to pay to continue on.
I just wonder what Tony would want.
However the longer that Colin sat and thought, the more uncomfortable he felt. How long did you have to stand there before you were defiling the body? Or... Whatever people would call it. The warm tears continually streaming down his face acted to hold him to reality as he focused heavily on the feeling.
If I want the Axe, I need to take it.
He stood for a moment.
He tugged softly one more time.
And then he dropped the weapon, the body falling with it, making a loud, flat thud on the cavern's floor. His head in his hands, he scooped back up his own bag, as well as that of Tony, and made his way after Tim.
---
The light at the end of the tunnel hosted a silhouette. And while Colin was getting the same distinct vibe that Tim had prior about the light at the end of the tunnel metaphor, he made a point to shrug it off. His friend had stayed and waited for the murderer.
"T...Tim..." He managed to choke out. "I'm so sorry..."
His eyes averted to the ground as he treaded the exit of the tunnel. What should have been regarded as sweet freedom from fear instead just now manifested itself as pure cruelty, malice, hatred. He now had to go out and face the world with the blood of another on his hands.
How can I live with myself?
He shook his head, his eyes wandering everywhere but to Tim's form.
"Let's go... Somewhere far away from here. I... I need some time to think..."
That would be the understatement of the century.
And with that, Colin's hand wandered to his arm, rubbing it softly; almost like his mother would to comfort him as a child.
A scared, lost, lonely child, who had just made an honest mistake.
Colin just wanted to go home.
((Colin Falcone continued in Youth and Beauty Brigade.))
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ZombiexCreame†
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:29 am
Hearing Colin's voice behind him, Tim turned around and gave his friend a hesitant look. He wasn't sure how he should react... He didn't want to look too perky or too freaked out. He just wanted to let Colin know that it wasn't his fault and everything would be okay. ...Somehow. Standing up and dusting off his pants, he shook his head at Colin.
"You don't have to apologize to me..." He paused and tried to collect his thoughts. He didn't want to ramble and make Colin feel any worse than he probably already did, but... "It wasn't our fault, Col. I mean, he attacked us... Did he really expect that we wouldn't defend ourselves?" He rubbed his sore shoulder from when Tony tackled him.
He realized that Colin was avoiding eye contact with Tim, and Tim visibly sighed. He was at a complete loss. Colin was clearly shaken up before Tony showed up, and now... He was even worse. With a grimace, Tim realized he wasn't that great of a friend.. Maybe not even that great of a person. He had nothing comforting to say, and anything that he could think of just sounded unnaturally forced and awkward.
It was best to stay silent, he supposed.
Slipping his small gun into the pockets of his jeans (after clicking on safety), Tim shouldered his bag and nodded in agreement to Colin. "Alright. Let's head out." Tim followed behind Colin and while walking, pulled out his map to reference. He couldn't refuse getting away from those damn tunnels.
((Timothy Questiare continued in Youth and Beauty Brigade))
END OF TOPIC
"You don't have to apologize to me..." He paused and tried to collect his thoughts. He didn't want to ramble and make Colin feel any worse than he probably already did, but... "It wasn't our fault, Col. I mean, he attacked us... Did he really expect that we wouldn't defend ourselves?" He rubbed his sore shoulder from when Tony tackled him.
He realized that Colin was avoiding eye contact with Tim, and Tim visibly sighed. He was at a complete loss. Colin was clearly shaken up before Tony showed up, and now... He was even worse. With a grimace, Tim realized he wasn't that great of a friend.. Maybe not even that great of a person. He had nothing comforting to say, and anything that he could think of just sounded unnaturally forced and awkward.
It was best to stay silent, he supposed.
Slipping his small gun into the pockets of his jeans (after clicking on safety), Tim shouldered his bag and nodded in agreement to Colin. "Alright. Let's head out." Tim followed behind Colin and while walking, pulled out his map to reference. He couldn't refuse getting away from those damn tunnels.
((Timothy Questiare continued in Youth and Beauty Brigade))
END OF TOPIC
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ZombiexCreame. 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.