((G001 Bridget Connolly Start))
"Ms. Connolly, could you please give us your presentation now?"
Bridget stood up nervously, cue cards in hand. She had been preparing for this moment for the last month or more, but regardless the butterflies in her stomach wouldn't give in. It wasn't like it was the first time she ever did a speech. The topic wasn't even that hard.
"Good morning, my name is Bridget Connolly. If I may, I would like to take you back in time, to the 1940's. Imagine yourself, a young man freshly recruited into the military. Basic training was complete and utter hell, but you know that the worst is yet to come. You have been on active duty for no more than a couple months. Then the day comes. June 6, 1944. What would be known around the world as D-Day.
"Your in one of the lead landing crafts. Your commanding officer is yelling final instructions over the roar of the engine and the pounding water on the side of the vessel. You can see the beach in front of you. All is quiet, until finally the hellish sound of gun fire erupts from the cliffs ahead. You're ordered out of your landing craft into the water..."
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Bridget Connolly woke with a start, her arm soaked by the water. She was lying face down on a beach, the sun slowly crawling up the horizon. The waves slowly lapped up the coast, each wave bringing the water farther away from the red haired girl. With a groan, she rolled away from the water, bringing herself into an upright position.
Her head hurt like a bitch, which was probably the last lingering effects of the multiple gassings over the short period of time. Flashes of what had occurred popped into her mind. The bus, chatting about god knows what with her best friend Raina, the dark room with the menacing people, the voice on the PA system. She had felt the urge to cry when their teachers were brutally and heartlessly slaughtered, but she had manage to keep her composure.
Bridget had always thought Survival of the Fittest was fake. Her sister Megan was in love with the show, although Bridget had always just rolled her eyes when it was on the TV. She didn't see the appeal of watching innocent people ruthlessly slaughtering each other. Now that she was here however, everything she saw was held in a different light. She silently hoped that Megan had grown out of that phase, thought she highly doubted it.
The redhead looked at her surroundings. There wasn't much to see, just sand, water, and a couple packs close by. One she recognized as her messenger bag, where she kept some spare clothes and toiletries. The other was foreign to her, a large duffel bag with "G001" stitched on the side. How did the saying go again? First is the worst? Of course, numbers mean shit in the end. It was just a way for the people running this... game to keep track of them. With a sigh, Bridget grabbed the pack, unzipping it and rummaging through it's contents.
There wasn't much in the bag, just some food which wouldn't last very long, along with a sparse supply of water, a basic first aid kit, a book titled "Danya's Guide to Survival", which Bridget promptly threw into the ocean, and what she presumed was her weapon. Pulling out the object by one end, she looked at the nunchaku. In the hands of someone who was trained in the weapon, it would be highly effective. Bridget was not that person. She decided to keep it anyways, tucking it into the belt of her pants.
This was just fucked up. There was no two ways to put it. As much as she didn't want to believe that no one would willingly kill another person, there was already three seasons of this fucked up game to prove otherwise. Bridget was prepared to do what it took to defend herself, but she was going to follow the creed of her dojo. Only fight when necessary, flight when it was possible. She just didn't know how long she would be able to stick to that. Only time would tell.
D-Day
D-Day
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MurderWeasel
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((Enter Kimberly Nguyen))
Kimberly's head hurt. A lot. But, more than that, she was confused. SOTF? No way. No way. Repeat it, like a mantra. No way. Yet here she was.
Well. This sucked.
She was lying on a beach. She hadn't been dressed properly for the trip. Tall boots. Skinny black jeans with just a few jingling chains. A old, ratty, bulky sweater. Her favorite fedora. She had other clothes in her bag. None were better. Well. That was an issue.
At least she had a toothbrush. Couldn't go on a trip without a toothbrush. Also, two packs of cigarettes. Should've been enough to last her a week. Matches. Also, one duffel bag behind her, one that wasn't her own. On the side, it read "G059". G059? Was that, like, her new identity? Everything that was Kimberly Nguyen, condensed to the number fifty nine?
Well, it could've been worse. Could've been sixty nine.
And, sand? Sand everywhere. She pulled herself up. Shook her head. Dragged the bags over. Started looking through them. A length of rope, tied to a grappling hook, immediately caught her eye. Well. Was this her weapon? Was this her defense? It couldn't kill anyone, but that was okay. Death wasn't on Kimberly's agenda. She could use the rope as a tool, tie someone up or something. Yes.
In a strange way, Kimberly wasn't so upset. She hadn't even begun to realize what this meant. All she was thinking was that, in its own way, this was a little bit like the Vietnam War. Innocent kids get drafted, sent off to wherever, and killed. Well, 'kay, could've been a horror novel too. Kimberly liked horror novels.
She liked them until they got too bloody, that is.
She quickly looked around. She was alone, so—wait, what? She wasn't alone. Not at all. There, down the beach, was a figure. A figure up and moving. Was this it? Would she have to fight for her life? Wait, no, it was one of her classmates. Kimberly chuckled. One of her classmates. They were going to become killers? Fat chance. The people in charge had fucked up when they picked Bayview Secondary School. It was the most boring school there could be. Nothing crazy. No insane people.
So Kimberly didn't hesitate at all, and just called out, "Hey, over here!"
Kimberly's head hurt. A lot. But, more than that, she was confused. SOTF? No way. No way. Repeat it, like a mantra. No way. Yet here she was.
Well. This sucked.
She was lying on a beach. She hadn't been dressed properly for the trip. Tall boots. Skinny black jeans with just a few jingling chains. A old, ratty, bulky sweater. Her favorite fedora. She had other clothes in her bag. None were better. Well. That was an issue.
At least she had a toothbrush. Couldn't go on a trip without a toothbrush. Also, two packs of cigarettes. Should've been enough to last her a week. Matches. Also, one duffel bag behind her, one that wasn't her own. On the side, it read "G059". G059? Was that, like, her new identity? Everything that was Kimberly Nguyen, condensed to the number fifty nine?
Well, it could've been worse. Could've been sixty nine.
And, sand? Sand everywhere. She pulled herself up. Shook her head. Dragged the bags over. Started looking through them. A length of rope, tied to a grappling hook, immediately caught her eye. Well. Was this her weapon? Was this her defense? It couldn't kill anyone, but that was okay. Death wasn't on Kimberly's agenda. She could use the rope as a tool, tie someone up or something. Yes.
In a strange way, Kimberly wasn't so upset. She hadn't even begun to realize what this meant. All she was thinking was that, in its own way, this was a little bit like the Vietnam War. Innocent kids get drafted, sent off to wherever, and killed. Well, 'kay, could've been a horror novel too. Kimberly liked horror novels.
She liked them until they got too bloody, that is.
She quickly looked around. She was alone, so—wait, what? She wasn't alone. Not at all. There, down the beach, was a figure. A figure up and moving. Was this it? Would she have to fight for her life? Wait, no, it was one of her classmates. Kimberly chuckled. One of her classmates. They were going to become killers? Fat chance. The people in charge had fucked up when they picked Bayview Secondary School. It was the most boring school there could be. Nothing crazy. No insane people.
So Kimberly didn't hesitate at all, and just called out, "Hey, over here!"
Bridget's head snapped when she heard someone calling out to her. She had recognized the voice, and her body relaxed somewhat. She had taken a few classes with Kimberly in the past, most recently in History. The redhead smiled and waved at the other girl, picking up her bags and breaking into a light jog towards her. Stopping just in front of Kimberly, she resisted the urge to hug her. She didn't want to unintentionally spook her.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she found it ironic that Kimberly was the first one she met with on the island. Both of their families had moved to the States to avoid conflict, Kimberly's from Vietnam, Bridget's from Ireland. Yet here they were, thrown into a situation where the only way to survive was to fight, or die. She didn't have any intention of doing that though. Kimberly was safe, she could be trusted. At least she hoped.
"Good morning." Bridget said somewhat ironically. "This is a bit of an interesting situation huh?"
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she found it ironic that Kimberly was the first one she met with on the island. Both of their families had moved to the States to avoid conflict, Kimberly's from Vietnam, Bridget's from Ireland. Yet here they were, thrown into a situation where the only way to survive was to fight, or die. She didn't have any intention of doing that though. Kimberly was safe, she could be trusted. At least she hoped.
"Good morning." Bridget said somewhat ironically. "This is a bit of an interesting situation huh?"
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MurderWeasel
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Bridget. The girl was Bridget. Kimberly had been in class with her, seen her around. Now she was running over, normal as could be. Kimberly smiled and stretched a bit. Adjusted her hat. Well, this wasn't so fucking terrible. They were here, but, like she'd expected, nobody was actually going to participate. It was pretty simple. When nobody died, they'd have to give up and let the Bayview seniors go home. Well, that or actually blow them all up. She nervously prodded her neck. Collar. Just like they'd said. Fuck, this was real. Wherever Stephen King was, he had to be mortified. After all, hadn't he done the exploding collars first? He was damn lucky he'd been using a pseudonym on that one.
Then Bridget was right there. She looked pleased to see Kimberly. See? Everything was normal. Everything was fine. They'd be okay. They couldn't actually blow everyone up. Well, they could, but so what? Who came off worse if that happened? One person. One person who might be better off dead anyways. It was hardly a big deal, and, man, it would fuck them over something wonderful if nobody killed. Heh. This was going to be great.
And so, with that thought process, Kimberly chuckled at Bridget's statement, and replied, "Yup. Interesting indeed. Kidnapped by terrorists, given weapons, tossed who-knows-where, and told to fight to the death. Too bad we're gonna be one fucking boring show. I mean, hell, Bayview? Couldn't they have found, like, some remedial school for troubled youth from inner-city Chicago or something?"
Whatever. Kimberly wasn't too worried. All those other schools had been full of psychos, right? She'd seen a picture online. Some boy with a mask or something. Creeps. Killers. Weirdos.
Nobody at Bayview could ever end up like that.
Then Bridget was right there. She looked pleased to see Kimberly. See? Everything was normal. Everything was fine. They'd be okay. They couldn't actually blow everyone up. Well, they could, but so what? Who came off worse if that happened? One person. One person who might be better off dead anyways. It was hardly a big deal, and, man, it would fuck them over something wonderful if nobody killed. Heh. This was going to be great.
And so, with that thought process, Kimberly chuckled at Bridget's statement, and replied, "Yup. Interesting indeed. Kidnapped by terrorists, given weapons, tossed who-knows-where, and told to fight to the death. Too bad we're gonna be one fucking boring show. I mean, hell, Bayview? Couldn't they have found, like, some remedial school for troubled youth from inner-city Chicago or something?"
Whatever. Kimberly wasn't too worried. All those other schools had been full of psychos, right? She'd seen a picture online. Some boy with a mask or something. Creeps. Killers. Weirdos.
Nobody at Bayview could ever end up like that.
Bridget let out a small laugh as Kimberly talked. It was a forced one, but she felt the need to do so, to keep the atmosphere light. Bayview was a peaceful school, for the most part, and while Bridget honestly hoped that Kimberly was right, and that no one would kill each other, she had her doubts. People get scared. Accidents happen. The scariest thought however, was that people can change. When put into a high stress situation, the pressure could be too much for some of them to handle. Some of them might gleefully kill others. It was hard to see into someone's mind.
She didn't share any of these thoughts with Kimberly. Kimberly seemed to have convinced herself that everything was going to be okay, and Bridget didn't want to ruin that for her. A breeze picked up, sending a shiver up the redhead's arm, reminding her that it was wet. She should probably take care of that. She placed her bags on the ground.
For a brief second, Bridget hesitated before removing her tops, revealing a plain white bra underneath, peeling the red t-shirt from the longer black shirt. She worked quickly, but there was a long enough interval that Kimberly would probably see the various scars she had on her body from her parkour. Quickly she put the t-shirt back on, leaving her arms exposed. Tossing the black shirt into the duffel bag, she shouldered her bags again.
"Sorry," she said to Kimberly. "Probably should have warned you I was going to do that."
She didn't share any of these thoughts with Kimberly. Kimberly seemed to have convinced herself that everything was going to be okay, and Bridget didn't want to ruin that for her. A breeze picked up, sending a shiver up the redhead's arm, reminding her that it was wet. She should probably take care of that. She placed her bags on the ground.
For a brief second, Bridget hesitated before removing her tops, revealing a plain white bra underneath, peeling the red t-shirt from the longer black shirt. She worked quickly, but there was a long enough interval that Kimberly would probably see the various scars she had on her body from her parkour. Quickly she put the t-shirt back on, leaving her arms exposed. Tossing the black shirt into the duffel bag, she shouldered her bags again.
"Sorry," she said to Kimberly. "Probably should have warned you I was going to do that."
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MurderWeasel
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Well, everything seemed greatish. Great enough. Bridget was still Bridget. Granted, she was acting a little strangely now, stripping her shirt off. Probably the dampness. Kimberly couldn't help noticing the scars on the other girl's body. Strange. It seemed like everyone was set on stripping in front of Kimberly lately. It couldn't have been two weeks since that awkward photo shoot thing... Kimberly was almost starting to wonder whether cosmic forces were attempting to tempt her into bisexuality. Not that it'd work.
"Don't worry about it," she responded to Bridget. It didn't mean anything. Bridget wasn't insane, just comfortable with herself. Kimberly was, however, a little worried about those scars. Where had they come from? She wasn't worried about her companion freaking out, just... Just what? What could it be? What could she possibly be anxious about?
It had to just be the situation. Life and death, even though she doubted it would come to that. She was starting to have another worry, though. Where was everyone else? What was the lay of the land? Where should she be going?
Kimberly was willing to trust that her classmates wouldn't start killing, but she wasn't about to believe that she was entirely safe. All it would take was for night to fall and be colder than she thought, or some horrible bug to poison her, and she'd be fucked without medical care. Hell, somebody was almost sure to get killed in this situation, even if nobody was attacking. One misstep, one unknown allergy, would be all it took.
Kimberly retrieved the map from her bag, saying, "Just a sec," to Bridget, and looked it over. It was quite a large area they were in. It looked like there should be plenty of cover, though, if it came to that. After a few seconds of pondering, she turned back to Bridget, a grin on her face.
"So," she said, "we're here. What the fuck do we do now?"
"Don't worry about it," she responded to Bridget. It didn't mean anything. Bridget wasn't insane, just comfortable with herself. Kimberly was, however, a little worried about those scars. Where had they come from? She wasn't worried about her companion freaking out, just... Just what? What could it be? What could she possibly be anxious about?
It had to just be the situation. Life and death, even though she doubted it would come to that. She was starting to have another worry, though. Where was everyone else? What was the lay of the land? Where should she be going?
Kimberly was willing to trust that her classmates wouldn't start killing, but she wasn't about to believe that she was entirely safe. All it would take was for night to fall and be colder than she thought, or some horrible bug to poison her, and she'd be fucked without medical care. Hell, somebody was almost sure to get killed in this situation, even if nobody was attacking. One misstep, one unknown allergy, would be all it took.
Kimberly retrieved the map from her bag, saying, "Just a sec," to Bridget, and looked it over. It was quite a large area they were in. It looked like there should be plenty of cover, though, if it came to that. After a few seconds of pondering, she turned back to Bridget, a grin on her face.
"So," she said, "we're here. What the fuck do we do now?"
B153 - Steve Barnes Start
Steve was really not in a good mood. There's honestly no better way of putting it, without getting crude. But at least he was comfortable as he awoke, laying flat on his back, atop a rather soft patch of sand, on a nice stretch of beach; hardly the worst way to wake up, even if it is on the island you've got about a 300 to 1 chance of surviving on.
He lifted his body slowly, resting upon his elbows, and set about surveying the area further. Apparently the beach spread out for a good distance, and there were two girls with him. How they'd woken up first was beyond the young man, perhaps they'd managed to inhale less of the sedative, or something like that? Not that it really mattered, or was worth dwelling on. What was more important at that moment, to Steve himself at least, was the strange pressure he could feel on his abdomen. It didn't take him long to identify his daypack, and from that, decide to feel for the metal collar about his neck, and realise just where he was. For, although Steve himself wasn't much of a fan, many of his friends on the baseball team had been avid SotF viewers, and he knew enough from their conversations to realise that this was not a good thing.
And so, climbing to his feet and choosing to let his company remain unaware of his presence, the boy started to search through the pack. "Guide to Survival?" he mused, pushing the paper in question aside "Someone's got a cynical sense of humour..". It didn't take Steve long to realise that his situation wasn't the only thing that wasn't good, for as soon as he came across his False Moustache Kit, he grimaced and decided "Alrighty then, I'm done for."
With that unwelcome knowledge in mind, Boy 153 decided to try his hand at diplomacy, figuring that if one of the two girls had something useful, the three of them might just stand a chance together. He collected his equipment together, even the stupid joke of a "weapon", slung his pack over his right shoulder, and strode the short distance to where Bridget and Kimberly were talking. For a moment, he wondered if wearing one of the fake moustaches would have made a good ice-breaker, but it was a little too late for that, and he opted for the cautious semi-joke "You wouldn't believe the journey I just had..."
Steve was really not in a good mood. There's honestly no better way of putting it, without getting crude. But at least he was comfortable as he awoke, laying flat on his back, atop a rather soft patch of sand, on a nice stretch of beach; hardly the worst way to wake up, even if it is on the island you've got about a 300 to 1 chance of surviving on.
He lifted his body slowly, resting upon his elbows, and set about surveying the area further. Apparently the beach spread out for a good distance, and there were two girls with him. How they'd woken up first was beyond the young man, perhaps they'd managed to inhale less of the sedative, or something like that? Not that it really mattered, or was worth dwelling on. What was more important at that moment, to Steve himself at least, was the strange pressure he could feel on his abdomen. It didn't take him long to identify his daypack, and from that, decide to feel for the metal collar about his neck, and realise just where he was. For, although Steve himself wasn't much of a fan, many of his friends on the baseball team had been avid SotF viewers, and he knew enough from their conversations to realise that this was not a good thing.
And so, climbing to his feet and choosing to let his company remain unaware of his presence, the boy started to search through the pack. "Guide to Survival?" he mused, pushing the paper in question aside "Someone's got a cynical sense of humour..". It didn't take Steve long to realise that his situation wasn't the only thing that wasn't good, for as soon as he came across his False Moustache Kit, he grimaced and decided "Alrighty then, I'm done for."
With that unwelcome knowledge in mind, Boy 153 decided to try his hand at diplomacy, figuring that if one of the two girls had something useful, the three of them might just stand a chance together. He collected his equipment together, even the stupid joke of a "weapon", slung his pack over his right shoulder, and strode the short distance to where Bridget and Kimberly were talking. For a moment, he wondered if wearing one of the fake moustaches would have made a good ice-breaker, but it was a little too late for that, and he opted for the cautious semi-joke "You wouldn't believe the journey I just had..."
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Bridget was glad that Kimberly didn't freak out or something when she had removed her top. The last thing she needed was to freak out a potential ally, although someone who got weirded out by something so trivial probably wouldn't be one you'd want to stick around with anyways. Bridget waited patiently for the Vietnamese girl to look at the map, probably trying to figure out where they should go next.
The redheaded girl was about to answer Kimberly's question, but was interrupted by another boy in their class cracking a cynical joke. Bridget once again forced a laugh, admiring the boy's courage for just walking up on two (kind of) armed people and cracking a joke.
"Oh? I bet it was a riot." Bridget countered, cracking a genuine smile. She was so glad that everyone she was meeting was so... normal. No one was acting like anything was wrong. No gun wielding maniacs in site. Just her, Kimberly, Wise-cracking... what was his name? "I'm going to sound like an idiot for this, cause I know I've seen you around, but what's your name again?"
The redheaded girl was about to answer Kimberly's question, but was interrupted by another boy in their class cracking a cynical joke. Bridget once again forced a laugh, admiring the boy's courage for just walking up on two (kind of) armed people and cracking a joke.
"Oh? I bet it was a riot." Bridget countered, cracking a genuine smile. She was so glad that everyone she was meeting was so... normal. No one was acting like anything was wrong. No gun wielding maniacs in site. Just her, Kimberly, Wise-cracking... what was his name? "I'm going to sound like an idiot for this, cause I know I've seen you around, but what's your name again?"
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MurderWeasel
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Well, here came someone else. Kimberly had seen him around, but she'd be damned if she could remember his name. It was something boring and normal, like David. Hell, maybe it was David. Didn't matter. He was still under control, still joking around just like she was. They could have a little party here. No killing, just a fucking beach barbecue, maybe rig a volleyball net and frolic in the waves in swimsuits. It didn't sound half bad.
Better still, Bridget didn't have his name either, so she asked. Everything was going so well. Kimberly figured they should all be on even footing, so she chimed in, "I'm Kimberly, by the way. Kimberly Nguyen." There. Now he wouldn't be guessing.
"So," she continued, "what do we do now? I mean, I'm sure nobody's gonna kill anyone. They'd have to be fucking crazy. So do we just, like, chill out or something? Or should we go search for a boat to take us away? Or do we just wait until the terrorists get bored and let us off?"
She kinda thought that last option was the best, but she didn't like it much. Kimberly was not a girl for whom inactivity and passivity came naturally. She was starting to get a bit fidgety, was almost ready to just pick a direction towards some shelter and start walking. The map had shown a mansion. Maybe they should go there. Kick back in comfort or something. Or perhaps go to the docks, see if there was a boat. This whole thing could just be a dumb joke. Maybe that was all SOTF was. Some kids get kidnapped, they fake the teachers' deaths, then they really just pay everyone to act it out or some shit. Kimberly was pretty sure the teachers' killing had been faked. The blood splashes had just been too perfect, flying everywhere on the front row. So campy.
She'd built herself a nice little castle of denial, and subconsciously planned to hold out against the siege of reality for as long as possible.
Better still, Bridget didn't have his name either, so she asked. Everything was going so well. Kimberly figured they should all be on even footing, so she chimed in, "I'm Kimberly, by the way. Kimberly Nguyen." There. Now he wouldn't be guessing.
"So," she continued, "what do we do now? I mean, I'm sure nobody's gonna kill anyone. They'd have to be fucking crazy. So do we just, like, chill out or something? Or should we go search for a boat to take us away? Or do we just wait until the terrorists get bored and let us off?"
She kinda thought that last option was the best, but she didn't like it much. Kimberly was not a girl for whom inactivity and passivity came naturally. She was starting to get a bit fidgety, was almost ready to just pick a direction towards some shelter and start walking. The map had shown a mansion. Maybe they should go there. Kick back in comfort or something. Or perhaps go to the docks, see if there was a boat. This whole thing could just be a dumb joke. Maybe that was all SOTF was. Some kids get kidnapped, they fake the teachers' deaths, then they really just pay everyone to act it out or some shit. Kimberly was pretty sure the teachers' killing had been faked. The blood splashes had just been too perfect, flying everywhere on the front row. So campy.
She'd built herself a nice little castle of denial, and subconsciously planned to hold out against the siege of reality for as long as possible.
"I'm going to sound like an idiot for this, cause I know I've seen you around, but what's your name again?". Unsurprising, really. Steve was used to being "that one guy", the one that nobody could quite remember. He had plenty of acquaintances but few actual friends, and most people could remember him for some reason or other despite not knowing his name or where they'd seen him. So, brushing greasy brown locks aside from his eyes, he answered "Steve, Steve Barnes. Don't worry, I don't remember you either."
Well, at least one of them decided to show the courtesy they wanted from him. Steve found his mind wandering for a second, wondering if 'Kimberly' was a normal given name to go with 'Nguyen'. In all honesty, he didn't know much about foreign culture, particularly not Asian. Hell, he couldn't even place the name as Vietnamese.
But as seemed to be happening to so many people, his thoughts were cut short by a pertinent question; "So... What do we do now?". Kimberly had a good point, too. Steve was certainly quite sure that he Shalt Not Kill, and didn't see why either of the two girls would want to start murdering people either. Waiting it out seemed like a bad idea, for if what he'd heard of previous airings, Steve knew that the terrorists didn't just "get bored", because there was always at least one person that caved and started playing... and if not, there was some "we'll blow you all up" clause or other.
But searching for a boat, that did seem like a good plan. It was a long shot trying to escape on one, because any idiot could guess that the collars would automatically go off past a certain radius, or be detonated manually once Danya noticed. However, turning one into an offshore base could work - they had a fair amount of water, they could probably fish, and if the boat were of any significant size, it should be easy to defend. "Yeah, I like the boat idea. We probably can't escape, but at least it's transport and shelter, right?"
Well, at least one of them decided to show the courtesy they wanted from him. Steve found his mind wandering for a second, wondering if 'Kimberly' was a normal given name to go with 'Nguyen'. In all honesty, he didn't know much about foreign culture, particularly not Asian. Hell, he couldn't even place the name as Vietnamese.
But as seemed to be happening to so many people, his thoughts were cut short by a pertinent question; "So... What do we do now?". Kimberly had a good point, too. Steve was certainly quite sure that he Shalt Not Kill, and didn't see why either of the two girls would want to start murdering people either. Waiting it out seemed like a bad idea, for if what he'd heard of previous airings, Steve knew that the terrorists didn't just "get bored", because there was always at least one person that caved and started playing... and if not, there was some "we'll blow you all up" clause or other.
But searching for a boat, that did seem like a good plan. It was a long shot trying to escape on one, because any idiot could guess that the collars would automatically go off past a certain radius, or be detonated manually once Danya noticed. However, turning one into an offshore base could work - they had a fair amount of water, they could probably fish, and if the boat were of any significant size, it should be easy to defend. "Yeah, I like the boat idea. We probably can't escape, but at least it's transport and shelter, right?"
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((Kris continued from Flicker))
Kris ran a long way. Further, maybe, than she needed to. Losing Etain hadn't been hard in the depths of the swamp, heck she wasn't even sure if he'd come after her or just watched her go. Kris thought she'd heard him call out to her as she'd taken off, but perhaps that was just her imagination.
Half of the time, Kris hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention to where she was going. She'd passed through woods, that she knew, a hell of a lot of them, had she seen a mansion house, too? That seemed about right. In any case, the distance was immaterial. Physically, she'd escaped Etain and the swamp, even Reika's body. But she couldn't run from the reality, the truth of what she'd done. It clung to her like a noxious leech, teeth sank deep into her. Gnawing, festering. Biting down in a place she couldn't reach, could never reach.
Needless to say, a mad dash halfway across the island had left Kris gasping for breath and now she slowed, putting her hands on her knees and sucking in great gulps of air, her (Reika's) daypack hanging loosely from one shoulder. She was in shape, but not for this kind of thing. Not on foot. Kris couldn't recall travelling so far without being on wheels in years.
That still tore at her. Not as much, something else had taken a slight precedence in Kris' worries over the board, but it hurt. She'd had that skateboard since she was five years old. Five. It'd needed repairs, patching up over time, new deck tape and wheels, but it'd come through in the end. Every damn time. It was like part of her family. More than that, part of her damn body.
Roll forward, confident, calm. Down the halfpipe, at speed. Up, then down, up, then down. Enough speed and... go. Spinning. Flying. Happy. A sick realisation. She messed up. This won't be pretty. Godawful landing, right on the ankle. Sprain. Board's broken. Two wheels clean off. Kris cries. Concerned faces - does it hurt? Not the pain. Poor board.
Kris sniffed slightly, then rubbed her eyes fiercely with the back of her arm before straightening up and actually looking at her surroundings. She was at the bottom of a mid-sized sand dune, beyond which she could only assume was a beach (she could certainly hear the sea). Behind her, the sand slowly gave way back to grass. That didn't go a long way to help her figure out where she was, but then, Kris hadn't even stopped to look at her map yet, so that would have been a hell of a feat in itself.
She was struck with the desire, all of a sudden, to look at the ocean, as if that would somehow help sooth her nerves, put some of her troubles to rest. Kris started up the dune at a steady pace, feeling no need to run any longer. She'd eluded, if not everything she wanted to get away from, everything that it was possible for her to escape. It wasn't long before Kris reached the top of the dune and found herself looking down on the beach proper.
And people.
Kris' right hand was halfway to the pistol at her hip before she forced it to stop and clenched it into a fist. What the fucking hell!? She saw somebody and her first instinct was to go for the freaking gun!? Not to start shooting, but to ward people off, for... protection.
Well she already knew how that ended, with Reika lying on her back, blank eyes staring at nothing and a ragged hole in her chest.
Kris actually looked at the three students standing in a group on the beach. She knew all of them - of course she knew them, she'd attended the same school for all these years. Bridget Connolly, one of the crowd of guys that did Parkour, a hobby which often wasn't too far removed from her skateboarding. They crossed paths now and then, weren't friends, but were more than just faces to one another. Steve Barnes, in her art class, almost as much of a sketcher as Kris was, had that same sort of thinking - Kris drew board designs, Steve drew album covers. Dreaming, looking to the future. Lastly, it was... Kimberly. Kris couldn't remember her surname or a whole lot about her, but hey, there was a name. Like there'd been a name and not a whole lot more to Reika.
Kris remembered at that moment that Reika had a sister, a twin sister. Reiko. She gave a little shudder and felt mildly ill, but shook it off to look back at the group. Kris must have looked weird just standing there and watching them.
The skater opened her mouth to speak and found that no words were forthcoming. A simple 'hi' or an affirmation that she wasn't playing seemed a hateful lie, something for the leech to note and feed off. So she said nothing, just stood there, hand halfway to the SIG-Sauer, staring at the trio.
Because that wasn't creepy or suspicious at all, not in the slightest. Right?
Kris ran a long way. Further, maybe, than she needed to. Losing Etain hadn't been hard in the depths of the swamp, heck she wasn't even sure if he'd come after her or just watched her go. Kris thought she'd heard him call out to her as she'd taken off, but perhaps that was just her imagination.
Half of the time, Kris hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention to where she was going. She'd passed through woods, that she knew, a hell of a lot of them, had she seen a mansion house, too? That seemed about right. In any case, the distance was immaterial. Physically, she'd escaped Etain and the swamp, even Reika's body. But she couldn't run from the reality, the truth of what she'd done. It clung to her like a noxious leech, teeth sank deep into her. Gnawing, festering. Biting down in a place she couldn't reach, could never reach.
Needless to say, a mad dash halfway across the island had left Kris gasping for breath and now she slowed, putting her hands on her knees and sucking in great gulps of air, her (Reika's) daypack hanging loosely from one shoulder. She was in shape, but not for this kind of thing. Not on foot. Kris couldn't recall travelling so far without being on wheels in years.
That still tore at her. Not as much, something else had taken a slight precedence in Kris' worries over the board, but it hurt. She'd had that skateboard since she was five years old. Five. It'd needed repairs, patching up over time, new deck tape and wheels, but it'd come through in the end. Every damn time. It was like part of her family. More than that, part of her damn body.
Roll forward, confident, calm. Down the halfpipe, at speed. Up, then down, up, then down. Enough speed and... go. Spinning. Flying. Happy. A sick realisation. She messed up. This won't be pretty. Godawful landing, right on the ankle. Sprain. Board's broken. Two wheels clean off. Kris cries. Concerned faces - does it hurt? Not the pain. Poor board.
Kris sniffed slightly, then rubbed her eyes fiercely with the back of her arm before straightening up and actually looking at her surroundings. She was at the bottom of a mid-sized sand dune, beyond which she could only assume was a beach (she could certainly hear the sea). Behind her, the sand slowly gave way back to grass. That didn't go a long way to help her figure out where she was, but then, Kris hadn't even stopped to look at her map yet, so that would have been a hell of a feat in itself.
She was struck with the desire, all of a sudden, to look at the ocean, as if that would somehow help sooth her nerves, put some of her troubles to rest. Kris started up the dune at a steady pace, feeling no need to run any longer. She'd eluded, if not everything she wanted to get away from, everything that it was possible for her to escape. It wasn't long before Kris reached the top of the dune and found herself looking down on the beach proper.
And people.
Kris' right hand was halfway to the pistol at her hip before she forced it to stop and clenched it into a fist. What the fucking hell!? She saw somebody and her first instinct was to go for the freaking gun!? Not to start shooting, but to ward people off, for... protection.
Well she already knew how that ended, with Reika lying on her back, blank eyes staring at nothing and a ragged hole in her chest.
Kris actually looked at the three students standing in a group on the beach. She knew all of them - of course she knew them, she'd attended the same school for all these years. Bridget Connolly, one of the crowd of guys that did Parkour, a hobby which often wasn't too far removed from her skateboarding. They crossed paths now and then, weren't friends, but were more than just faces to one another. Steve Barnes, in her art class, almost as much of a sketcher as Kris was, had that same sort of thinking - Kris drew board designs, Steve drew album covers. Dreaming, looking to the future. Lastly, it was... Kimberly. Kris couldn't remember her surname or a whole lot about her, but hey, there was a name. Like there'd been a name and not a whole lot more to Reika.
Kris remembered at that moment that Reika had a sister, a twin sister. Reiko. She gave a little shudder and felt mildly ill, but shook it off to look back at the group. Kris must have looked weird just standing there and watching them.
The skater opened her mouth to speak and found that no words were forthcoming. A simple 'hi' or an affirmation that she wasn't playing seemed a hateful lie, something for the leech to note and feed off. So she said nothing, just stood there, hand halfway to the SIG-Sauer, staring at the trio.
Because that wasn't creepy or suspicious at all, not in the slightest. Right?
"Oh, my name is Bridget. Connolly that is. Not that there are other Bridgets around here."
Bridget couldn't have been in a better mood at that moment. Everything was going without a hitch. Kimberly and Steve were chatting about where they should go next. They kept mentioning something about a boat, which they seemed really excited about. Bridget wasn't so sure it was the greatest idea. Surely there was a limit to how far they could go? Plus, she highly doubted they would have left any boats.
"Guys, I hate to rain on your parade, but I don't think there'd be any boats around." the redhead pulled out her map, opening it up and trying to figure out where they were. There were a few beaches on the island, but judging from the rising sun, they were on the east side. Speaking of the sun...
"We should probably go somewhere with shelter. I don't know about you two, but me and the sun, we ain't.... very.... friendly." Bridget had been turning around while speaking, trailing off when she noticed they were no longer by themselves. Bridget kind of knew the girl standing before them, enough to know she went by Kris. Under normal circumstances, she'd have greeted the girl with open arms, but there was one small issue this time around. Namely the position of her hand, and what it was near.
"Umm, hey Kris." Bridget said, subtly shifting her weight into a more balanced stance. She hoped nothing bad would happen, but if something did, then she would have to make sure she was ready to act in case Kris turned out to be... well not friendly. She didn't look like she was having nearly a good time as her little trio was. "Are you okay?"
Bridget couldn't have been in a better mood at that moment. Everything was going without a hitch. Kimberly and Steve were chatting about where they should go next. They kept mentioning something about a boat, which they seemed really excited about. Bridget wasn't so sure it was the greatest idea. Surely there was a limit to how far they could go? Plus, she highly doubted they would have left any boats.
"Guys, I hate to rain on your parade, but I don't think there'd be any boats around." the redhead pulled out her map, opening it up and trying to figure out where they were. There were a few beaches on the island, but judging from the rising sun, they were on the east side. Speaking of the sun...
"We should probably go somewhere with shelter. I don't know about you two, but me and the sun, we ain't.... very.... friendly." Bridget had been turning around while speaking, trailing off when she noticed they were no longer by themselves. Bridget kind of knew the girl standing before them, enough to know she went by Kris. Under normal circumstances, she'd have greeted the girl with open arms, but there was one small issue this time around. Namely the position of her hand, and what it was near.
"Umm, hey Kris." Bridget said, subtly shifting her weight into a more balanced stance. She hoped nothing bad would happen, but if something did, then she would have to make sure she was ready to act in case Kris turned out to be... well not friendly. She didn't look like she was having nearly a good time as her little trio was. "Are you okay?"
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MurderWeasel
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- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Well, Steve, as his name turned out to be, thought the boat idea was good. That was a positive thing. They could go looking for a boat, rather than just sitting on their thumbs. Sure, as Bridget pointed out, the odds of there actually being a boat were very poor. That wasn't really important. It was clear that the others did not understand Kimberly's thought process. She didn't give a fuck if there was a boat or not; she was just sick of waiting around. They needed to do something. This sort of nervous energy was probably why those idiotic sudokus and crosswords and shit existed, Kimberly realized. It was to burn off tension.
Bridget wanted to find shelter instead. Well, that was fine with Kimberly too. She probably wouldn't stay in any shelter for too long, unless she was forced to, though. Maybe she could rally some people, and they could throw a party or something. Have the fucking class celebration here. Why not? Stranger things had occurred. Like, well, being kidnapped in the first place. Yeah, that was a thought. Something to do. The shelter could be their base camp for that.
"Sounds like a good idea, Bridget," Kimberly said. "Then, maybe we can check for a boat later. Or maybe the boat can be our shelter."
Then she was distracted by the arrival of a new person on the scene. Kris Hartmann, someone Kimberly knew in passing from class. Seemed a cool enough girl. Though, what the fuck was that in her pocket? A gun? Seriously? What the hell? What was she doing with that? Oh, of course, it had to be her assigned weapon. Just like Bridget got the nunchucks and Kimberly got the grappling hook. She was just holding onto it for comfort or, well, something. She wouldn't actually shoot anyone.
"Oh, hi, Kris!" Kimberly shouted to the girl, waving. Bridget had asked if Kris was okay, but doing so as well never crossed Kimberly's mind. If Kris needed something, she'd say so. Otherwise, she could be assumed to be fine. Heck, she might even be a good addition to their group. She seemed like she'd be helpful enough.
At the back of Kimberly's mind, though, something was building. There was something here that was just not quite right. Just a tiny bit off.
Bridget wanted to find shelter instead. Well, that was fine with Kimberly too. She probably wouldn't stay in any shelter for too long, unless she was forced to, though. Maybe she could rally some people, and they could throw a party or something. Have the fucking class celebration here. Why not? Stranger things had occurred. Like, well, being kidnapped in the first place. Yeah, that was a thought. Something to do. The shelter could be their base camp for that.
"Sounds like a good idea, Bridget," Kimberly said. "Then, maybe we can check for a boat later. Or maybe the boat can be our shelter."
Then she was distracted by the arrival of a new person on the scene. Kris Hartmann, someone Kimberly knew in passing from class. Seemed a cool enough girl. Though, what the fuck was that in her pocket? A gun? Seriously? What the hell? What was she doing with that? Oh, of course, it had to be her assigned weapon. Just like Bridget got the nunchucks and Kimberly got the grappling hook. She was just holding onto it for comfort or, well, something. She wouldn't actually shoot anyone.
"Oh, hi, Kris!" Kimberly shouted to the girl, waving. Bridget had asked if Kris was okay, but doing so as well never crossed Kimberly's mind. If Kris needed something, she'd say so. Otherwise, she could be assumed to be fine. Heck, she might even be a good addition to their group. She seemed like she'd be helpful enough.
At the back of Kimberly's mind, though, something was building. There was something here that was just not quite right. Just a tiny bit off.
Optimism fuel running dangerously low, Steve certainly didn't need realistic criticism for his and Kimberly's plans. Sure they were dreaming, sure there probably wouldn't be anything seaworthy, but at least it was a goal, something to keep them occupied, and to keep their minds off of their collective fate. For as Steve's supply of hope dwindled, the boy became distinctly aware that he was probably going to die, and so were the two girls with him. He didn't know much about them, but fit as he was, Steve was no killer. He knew it for a fact; he could never play Danya's game without losing himself. Perhaps that was the point.
But before he could share his thoughts, and just admit that the only reason he was trying to think of something to do was to occupy his mind somewhere other than his forthcoming demise, he was cut off by a new arrival. The others seemed to recognise her. Steve did too. That skater chick, shared an art class with him, they'd spoken a few times, but not often. She had a sort of boyish name, Alex or Dani or...
"Oh, hi, Kris!"
...Kris, that was the one. But there was something imminently more important than her name. Namely her weapon, a mean looking handgun at her hip. So Steve said the first thing that came to mind, and perhaps the question on everybody else's lips - "Please tell me that's for self-defence."
Of course, there was something a little more important than that, which had eluded everybody's notice - his included - for the time being. And that was what was printed on the side of Kris' bag. The number meant nothing to Steve, but the name spoke volumes, because he was pretty sure Kris' name wasn't Reika Ishida. It didn't take long to put two and two together. Sure it could be perfectly innocuous, but common sense said that was incredibly unlikely. Common sense also told Steve to hold his tongue and not antagonise the probably-killer. Better to just be prepared, and pretend he hadn't noticed... even though his eyes refused to stop flicking back to the name.
But before he could share his thoughts, and just admit that the only reason he was trying to think of something to do was to occupy his mind somewhere other than his forthcoming demise, he was cut off by a new arrival. The others seemed to recognise her. Steve did too. That skater chick, shared an art class with him, they'd spoken a few times, but not often. She had a sort of boyish name, Alex or Dani or...
"Oh, hi, Kris!"
...Kris, that was the one. But there was something imminently more important than her name. Namely her weapon, a mean looking handgun at her hip. So Steve said the first thing that came to mind, and perhaps the question on everybody else's lips - "Please tell me that's for self-defence."
Of course, there was something a little more important than that, which had eluded everybody's notice - his included - for the time being. And that was what was printed on the side of Kris' bag. The number meant nothing to Steve, but the name spoke volumes, because he was pretty sure Kris' name wasn't Reika Ishida. It didn't take long to put two and two together. Sure it could be perfectly innocuous, but common sense said that was incredibly unlikely. Common sense also told Steve to hold his tongue and not antagonise the probably-killer. Better to just be prepared, and pretend he hadn't noticed... even though his eyes refused to stop flicking back to the name.
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All three members of the group noticed her, all three reacted quite differently, just like she'd suspected they would. Actually the surprise to Kris was that Kimberly seemed fairly pleased to see her, which pretty much showed about how much she knew. Listening to the greetings, Kris dropped her hand to her side, trying to make it look as casual as she could whilst simultaneously keeping it as far from her pistol as possible. Hovering halfway towards grabbing the gun looked a lot worse than... well, most everything that wasn't having the gun drawn, as it happened.
Bridget asked if she was okay, which although it obviously hadn't been intended as such, was a loaded question. Kris was fine, wasn't she? Nobody had hurt her or hell, even attempted to come after her at all. But ...there was still the obvious counterpoint to that. What could Kris say? Either she could lie through omission and just say that yeah, everything was all fine and dandy, gee but this situation was fucked up wasn't it? Or... I'm perfectly okay but it happens I shot somebody for no reason, so yeah.
Instead of answering the killer (apt...) question immediately, Kris took the easy option and just greeted them. "...Hey guys," dammit. It felt like she hadn't used her voice in about a million years. It sounded more like a croak than actually speaking, at least to her ears.
At first, Kris welcomed Steve's interjection. She thought it would give her a little more time to think over how she could respond to Bridget. Then it turned out to be even more of a trapdoor than the first one.
Horunge.
"I..." she hesitated, changed tack. "It's just what I got issued, alright?" Kris shifted uncomfortably, her shoulder dipping and briefly causing her daypack to swing into clearer view. She noticed Steve's eyes flickering towards it, wondered why, then...
Opened the bag, rummaging. Look at the front. Name. 'G029, Kris Hartmann'. Finding gun. Name. Later, Etain. Running. Bag. Not hers. The pack isn't hers. ...Name.
...Jävlar!
Bridget asked if she was okay, which although it obviously hadn't been intended as such, was a loaded question. Kris was fine, wasn't she? Nobody had hurt her or hell, even attempted to come after her at all. But ...there was still the obvious counterpoint to that. What could Kris say? Either she could lie through omission and just say that yeah, everything was all fine and dandy, gee but this situation was fucked up wasn't it? Or... I'm perfectly okay but it happens I shot somebody for no reason, so yeah.
Instead of answering the killer (apt...) question immediately, Kris took the easy option and just greeted them. "...Hey guys," dammit. It felt like she hadn't used her voice in about a million years. It sounded more like a croak than actually speaking, at least to her ears.
At first, Kris welcomed Steve's interjection. She thought it would give her a little more time to think over how she could respond to Bridget. Then it turned out to be even more of a trapdoor than the first one.
Horunge.
"I..." she hesitated, changed tack. "It's just what I got issued, alright?" Kris shifted uncomfortably, her shoulder dipping and briefly causing her daypack to swing into clearer view. She noticed Steve's eyes flickering towards it, wondered why, then...
Opened the bag, rummaging. Look at the front. Name. 'G029, Kris Hartmann'. Finding gun. Name. Later, Etain. Running. Bag. Not hers. The pack isn't hers. ...Name.
...Jävlar!