(B036-Chris Davidson start)
"Wha?" the effeminate voice spoke out, groggily as Chris sat up, holding his head. The religious kid rubbed his eyes, as he tried to figure out where he was. Last thing he remembered was being on a bus, trying to say hi to some people when....then it was lost. Something else had happened.
Suddenly Chris' eyes flashed open, he remembered he was part of some game where he had to kill his fellow students. "No, that's insane" Chris said as he shook his head, blonde locks shaking as he did. Chris stood, he was on a beach of some sort. He could tell that much, which meant something was wrong. There weren't any beaches at the camp as far as he could remember.
Chris started to walk when he tripped over a couple of duffel bags on the ground. One he recognized as his, the white cross he had sewn into it was a dead giveaway, but the other one was new. "Must be the daypacks....with my..." Chris stopped, he couldn't imagine using a weapon to kill one of his classmates.
Chris dropped to his knees as he clasped his hands together as he started to pray. "God..."
Testing Faith....1...2..3
THREAD CLOSED
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gambit508†
- Posts: 90
- Joined: Mon Sep 03, 2018 5:25 am
Testing Faith....1...2..3
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler gambit508.
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JamesRenard†
- Posts: 238
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
B121: Allen Birkman - Start
Allen Birkman was sitting by a river, watching the water flow by and splash over the rocks while taking a bite from a sandwich he'd prepared earlier. It was a beautiful day, the sun beating down on his back and reflecting off the shimmering surface of the river. Allen couldn't ask for anything better.
There was a sudden rumbling sound and the ground began shaking. Allen looked around wildly as the sun disappeared behind a gigantic black storm cloud, illuminated by the odd bolt of lightning. He went to get up and leave, but before he could get to his feet, the entire bank he was sitting on collapsed into the river, dragging him in with it.
The river was deeper than it looked and Allen was struggling to stay afloat. He clawed at anything he could get his hands on to pull himself to safety. A tuft of grass, an exposed tree root, but they slipped out of his hands like wet soap. The water carried him further, transporting him to some rapids that hadn't been there a second ago. The water became rougher and his body was being thrashed about by the extremely strong currents.
And then he was under. He furiously kicked his legs, but it was no use. The harder he tried to swim, the further and further away the surface seemed. His lungs burned, pleading for oxygen that he was unable to deliver. It was getting darker, and colder too.
Something latched onto his ankle. He looked down and gave out a watery scream at the sight, what little air he had remaining leaving his body in a surge of bubbles. A ten-year old boy was hanging onto his foot, looking up to the young adult and pulling him deeper. Allen gave one final thought before the darkness completely enveloped him. 'Iain...'
Allen woke up with a start, noisily coughing his lungs out and expelling a disgusting mass of sand, saliva and mucus from his mouth. He gasped for breath, feeing his heart pound in his ribs. 'What a nightmare,' he thought, pushing himself up by his hands into a kneeling position. He closed his mouth and looked up, greeted by the dawn sky instead of the cabin ceiling he thought he'd been sleeping under, or his own ceiling for that matter. Beneath him lay damp sand that clung to his clothes and his left cheek where it had been laying against it.
'This isn't right, what the hell's going on here?' he thought, looking ahead and seeing a bunch of rocks a short distance ahead of him. And behind those, there looked to be... buildings?
It was then that the memories of the previous day flooded back into his mind. The coach trip that should've taken them to Badlands. Waking up in some huge room with several other people in his grade. Seeing some of his teachers mercilessly gunned down right in front of his eyes. That man, who announced what was going on.
Survival of the Fittest.
'Wha-oh no, nononono! Shit! Please tell me this isn't real! Someone, anyone, please tell me that this is all just a sick joke! PLEASE! Oh God, no, I'm gonna die! I don't wanna die!'
He couldn't hold it in any longer. His body jerked as tears starting to stream from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and dropping onto his checked shirt. "M-mom, dad, Jennifer. I-I'm never g-gonna to see you again, am I?" he bawled between sobs.
Above the sound of his crying, Allen could hear the gentle rhythmic sound of waves splashing against the shore. He slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder and saw water as far as the eye could see. It was then he realised that he was on a beach.
Allen's face went pale and he tried scrambling away from the water, made difficult by his feet digging into the sand. He grabbed both bags that were nearby; had he not been preoccupied in trying to get away from the large expanse of water, he may have noticed that he'd never seen one of the duffel bags before in his life, or that there was someone else on the beach as well.
Allen had no idea how he got on the beach in the first place, but whatever the circumstances were, someone somewhere had a real sick sense of humour. Within seconds, he reached the rocks at the top of the beach and sat with his back against them, panting loudly with each bag on either side of him. There was sand in his tennis shoes and even in his jeans, but he didn't care. He was a safe enough distance from the sea.
As he glanced away from the water and up at the brightening sky, he wanted to believe that things couldn't get any worse than they were already. Deep down, however, he knew that they would.
Allen Birkman was sitting by a river, watching the water flow by and splash over the rocks while taking a bite from a sandwich he'd prepared earlier. It was a beautiful day, the sun beating down on his back and reflecting off the shimmering surface of the river. Allen couldn't ask for anything better.
There was a sudden rumbling sound and the ground began shaking. Allen looked around wildly as the sun disappeared behind a gigantic black storm cloud, illuminated by the odd bolt of lightning. He went to get up and leave, but before he could get to his feet, the entire bank he was sitting on collapsed into the river, dragging him in with it.
The river was deeper than it looked and Allen was struggling to stay afloat. He clawed at anything he could get his hands on to pull himself to safety. A tuft of grass, an exposed tree root, but they slipped out of his hands like wet soap. The water carried him further, transporting him to some rapids that hadn't been there a second ago. The water became rougher and his body was being thrashed about by the extremely strong currents.
And then he was under. He furiously kicked his legs, but it was no use. The harder he tried to swim, the further and further away the surface seemed. His lungs burned, pleading for oxygen that he was unable to deliver. It was getting darker, and colder too.
Something latched onto his ankle. He looked down and gave out a watery scream at the sight, what little air he had remaining leaving his body in a surge of bubbles. A ten-year old boy was hanging onto his foot, looking up to the young adult and pulling him deeper. Allen gave one final thought before the darkness completely enveloped him. 'Iain...'
Allen woke up with a start, noisily coughing his lungs out and expelling a disgusting mass of sand, saliva and mucus from his mouth. He gasped for breath, feeing his heart pound in his ribs. 'What a nightmare,' he thought, pushing himself up by his hands into a kneeling position. He closed his mouth and looked up, greeted by the dawn sky instead of the cabin ceiling he thought he'd been sleeping under, or his own ceiling for that matter. Beneath him lay damp sand that clung to his clothes and his left cheek where it had been laying against it.
'This isn't right, what the hell's going on here?' he thought, looking ahead and seeing a bunch of rocks a short distance ahead of him. And behind those, there looked to be... buildings?
It was then that the memories of the previous day flooded back into his mind. The coach trip that should've taken them to Badlands. Waking up in some huge room with several other people in his grade. Seeing some of his teachers mercilessly gunned down right in front of his eyes. That man, who announced what was going on.
Survival of the Fittest.
'Wha-oh no, nononono! Shit! Please tell me this isn't real! Someone, anyone, please tell me that this is all just a sick joke! PLEASE! Oh God, no, I'm gonna die! I don't wanna die!'
He couldn't hold it in any longer. His body jerked as tears starting to stream from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and dropping onto his checked shirt. "M-mom, dad, Jennifer. I-I'm never g-gonna to see you again, am I?" he bawled between sobs.
Above the sound of his crying, Allen could hear the gentle rhythmic sound of waves splashing against the shore. He slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder and saw water as far as the eye could see. It was then he realised that he was on a beach.
Allen's face went pale and he tried scrambling away from the water, made difficult by his feet digging into the sand. He grabbed both bags that were nearby; had he not been preoccupied in trying to get away from the large expanse of water, he may have noticed that he'd never seen one of the duffel bags before in his life, or that there was someone else on the beach as well.
Allen had no idea how he got on the beach in the first place, but whatever the circumstances were, someone somewhere had a real sick sense of humour. Within seconds, he reached the rocks at the top of the beach and sat with his back against them, panting loudly with each bag on either side of him. There was sand in his tennis shoes and even in his jeans, but he didn't care. He was a safe enough distance from the sea.
As he glanced away from the water and up at the brightening sky, he wanted to believe that things couldn't get any worse than they were already. Deep down, however, he knew that they would.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler JamesRenard. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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gambit508†
- Posts: 90
- Joined: Mon Sep 03, 2018 5:25 am
Chris opened his eyes as he finished his prayer noticed that he had company, the young kid freaking out for some reason. Chris reached into one of the duffel bags to grab his phone when he realized that he had something metallic in the pack, lifting it out, Chris realized it was a gun, a big one like the kind cowboys used. Chris tossed it aside into the sand. He wasn't going to play, he was sure of it, in fact he was going to leave the other pack where it was, no reason to keep it if he wasn't going to use it.
Chris slowly walked toward the new kid. "Hiya, I'm Chris! I go to your school, don't worry I'm not playing, though if you are, that's really bad and stuff, please don't kill me" Chris started sobbing as he dropped to his knees. "It's not fair, I was having fun, meeting new people after the move, everything was good and now it's all messed up again. Why did it have to be us? Why haven't the goverment stopped this, isn't that their job" Chris said as he shuddered, wiping away his tears.
"It's not fair" Chris sobbed again
Chris slowly walked toward the new kid. "Hiya, I'm Chris! I go to your school, don't worry I'm not playing, though if you are, that's really bad and stuff, please don't kill me" Chris started sobbing as he dropped to his knees. "It's not fair, I was having fun, meeting new people after the move, everything was good and now it's all messed up again. Why did it have to be us? Why haven't the goverment stopped this, isn't that their job" Chris said as he shuddered, wiping away his tears.
"It's not fair" Chris sobbed again
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler gambit508.
B-042: Brendan Wallace - START!
So why are you here?
Well, because I felt I needed to be here.
Why was that?
Well...I haven't been in the right mind for a while.
How long has that been going on?
Ever since I moved here.
How long ago was that?
Since July. Last year.
Okay. Can you tell me why you need to be here then?
...
When Brendan Wallace, from then on to be known as Boy No.42 decided to wake up, it was as though he was emerging from a coma, or an equally deep sleep. His senses were foggy and muddled, he could barely move, and he knew fully well where he was.
He could remember, far better than everyone else, the events that had taken place in that auditorium. He was tied up to one of the many chairs, and he had to be one of the people furthest away from the front. He was panicking, he couldn't feel his arms. It was as though only a few moments ago, he was listening to Chase chat to the bus driver. He was glad that he had such a great friend in her. But then...everything seemed like a blur. He would have remembered it if he had the ability, but...now, he saw the screen, the clip. The Rizzolo kid, killing that girl. He...no, he couldn't have been. At the time, he told himself he wasn't. If the government actually cared about their people, they would have taken precautions to stop stuff like this from happening a fourth time. But...it was his reality.
He knew he couldn't be here, it wasn't possible. They had taken precautions, hadn't they? Well, Brendan should have known better than to actually try and trust the American Government. They were responsible for bringing this whole thing down upon themselves, and he and all these people were caught up in it. Him, Erik, Chase, Dawne...what did they ever do?
Brendan scolded himself as he lay there, watching the sky, with only a bleak awareness of what was going on around him. He knew better than to think like that. Terrorists always targeted civilians. It was only natural that he was caught up in it.
Only natural.
Survival of the Fittest was plenty natural.
When Brendan realised he could move his legs, he started to grogily get up. He found himself surrounded on all sides by nature. Sea, woods, rocks, sand...and then he realised how out in the open he was.
He knew enough about cover to know that he was dead meat if he didn't have any. Under the distinct inpression that SOTF always worked in the end, whether he wanted to or not, he regained his groggy composure and found his footing. Spotting a dune some way away, he, staying low, sprinted over with his bag, and found himself in his own enclosed space.
So....this is some pretty screwed up shit you've got yourself into, eh Brendan? So what are we going to do?
All Brendan could do was sit there, stopping himself from doing something he could regret and trying to take it out on the next passerbyer. He was smart, wasn't he? He could do something for himself, instead of just wandering around? He was a master planner for gods sake! He was Brendan Wallace!
Okay, so the first thing was first. He knew that the moment he gave in, it was all over. There was always a slimmer of hope, like a passing navy vessel, or a mounted rescue effort, or a large revolt by the terrorists. Anything was possible.
Second thing he had on mind was that he had to know everything he had intimately. Emptying his khaki labelled bag under the dune he took a tally of everything he now owned. Okay, so food. A map (Crap, he hated maps. They never worked for him. He once drove his extended family throught the Kusiosko Mountains on a wrong turn back home). Compass. That was even worse. A Flashlight. A Box of somekind. Some book. Another book with the words "Mr. Danya" taking his glance. And his very own bag. He guessed that everything even remotely resembling a weapon would have been confiscated. So much for using his writing kit then.
Deciding to take a look at the box, opening the seal showed him a surprise.
Inside was a highly decorated box showing off what could only be anatomically impossible manouvers with the human body. Through the seethrough plastic he could see the somewhat alluring, somewhat repulsive face of a Chinese Blow-Up Sex Doll. Staring at it for a few seconds, he felt a small piece of paper beneath his fingers on the side. Turning it over, he found the writing that was meant for his eyes only.
Boy 42 - Brendan Wallace. Assigned Weapon: Blow-Up Doll.
The look on his face could be perfectly summed up with two captital T's and an underscore to seperate them.
THIS was what he was supposed to defend himself with?
Sick fucking bastards. They really know how to put the fun in fundamentally insane, don't they?
((Clio Gabriella continued from Masterpiece ))
Clio always loved the way sand felt beneath her shoes. She didn't care for it in her shoes, too wet and soggy for that. Just the knowledge it was beneath her, that she could feel the sand under her high-priced shoes, was enough to remind her that she was still human.
Despite what she was about to do.
It had been a while since she had seen anybody, and she knew that once she did, her game would start for real. She wasn't out here to make sure anyone survived, that anyone could wrap up their bullshit little stories and the way they thought they should die. She was going to make sure that she got off this godforsaken island, whether or not it had to be through a mountain of bodies what completely up to...well, her, she supposed.
Clio took this time to read her gun manual: her gun, according to the book, was a Walther PPK. She was familiar with the name and brand, since she could point out the make and model of a few guns on movies here and there: this was James Bond's gun, albeit without a silencer. Not that it would matter. Well, it didn't matter to her anyway, since silencers did crap all in reality.
Coming up the beach, she came across various bits of driftwood, high and tall enough to block her from view. And that was enough for her, since she came across her first two victims anyway. Well, she supposed they might as well be hers, and not some guy trying to be a hero, or someone going crazy.
With a closer look, she saw it was the one guy in the year that she knew and truly hated. Chris Davidson. He was the kind of kid who probably had bibles shoved down his throat at an early age. Seriously, he gave all Christians a bad name, and she was surpised he wasn't beaten up more often at school.
Well, this can be the perfect opportunity to show how annoying he really is
...what? What are you thinking? You can't just KILL him just because he's annoying! That's just insane!
I don't need myself lecturing me at this time. Besides, he'd probably just be tortured by someone anyway.
What? Not everyone is as sick-minded as you think they are you kno-
I don't care. He's dead meat anyway. What's the harm in bumping him off a little early?
...you really are insane, you know that?
Taking aim from behind the driftwood, Clio arched her fingers around the gun trigger, and, slipping back into the mood she had when she was only 14 years old, compressed....
...and it felt like someone had glassed her hand, because the moment she tried to kill Chris, the fragile nerves in her hands sparked up, causing her to yell out in pain, and let the shot go wild.
Crap! That fucking hurts! What the...
Of course, since the yound Italian girl hadn't had the chance or reason to excercise her hands in such a long while, that her hands reacted most unusually to the movements that once graced her hands.
It was going to be a long ride.
*
Tossing the sex-doll aside in disgust, mainly over the fact it was large, and cumbersome, would probably only defend him from the people who wanted something to screw, he heard some people on the beach behind him.
Then, a loud noise, which rung through his ears for several seconds after it had already happened.
That was a gunshot.
Oh, God. It's started already.
So why are you here?
Well, because I felt I needed to be here.
Why was that?
Well...I haven't been in the right mind for a while.
How long has that been going on?
Ever since I moved here.
How long ago was that?
Since July. Last year.
Okay. Can you tell me why you need to be here then?
...
When Brendan Wallace, from then on to be known as Boy No.42 decided to wake up, it was as though he was emerging from a coma, or an equally deep sleep. His senses were foggy and muddled, he could barely move, and he knew fully well where he was.
He could remember, far better than everyone else, the events that had taken place in that auditorium. He was tied up to one of the many chairs, and he had to be one of the people furthest away from the front. He was panicking, he couldn't feel his arms. It was as though only a few moments ago, he was listening to Chase chat to the bus driver. He was glad that he had such a great friend in her. But then...everything seemed like a blur. He would have remembered it if he had the ability, but...now, he saw the screen, the clip. The Rizzolo kid, killing that girl. He...no, he couldn't have been. At the time, he told himself he wasn't. If the government actually cared about their people, they would have taken precautions to stop stuff like this from happening a fourth time. But...it was his reality.
He knew he couldn't be here, it wasn't possible. They had taken precautions, hadn't they? Well, Brendan should have known better than to actually try and trust the American Government. They were responsible for bringing this whole thing down upon themselves, and he and all these people were caught up in it. Him, Erik, Chase, Dawne...what did they ever do?
Brendan scolded himself as he lay there, watching the sky, with only a bleak awareness of what was going on around him. He knew better than to think like that. Terrorists always targeted civilians. It was only natural that he was caught up in it.
Only natural.
Survival of the Fittest was plenty natural.
When Brendan realised he could move his legs, he started to grogily get up. He found himself surrounded on all sides by nature. Sea, woods, rocks, sand...and then he realised how out in the open he was.
He knew enough about cover to know that he was dead meat if he didn't have any. Under the distinct inpression that SOTF always worked in the end, whether he wanted to or not, he regained his groggy composure and found his footing. Spotting a dune some way away, he, staying low, sprinted over with his bag, and found himself in his own enclosed space.
So....this is some pretty screwed up shit you've got yourself into, eh Brendan? So what are we going to do?
All Brendan could do was sit there, stopping himself from doing something he could regret and trying to take it out on the next passerbyer. He was smart, wasn't he? He could do something for himself, instead of just wandering around? He was a master planner for gods sake! He was Brendan Wallace!
Okay, so the first thing was first. He knew that the moment he gave in, it was all over. There was always a slimmer of hope, like a passing navy vessel, or a mounted rescue effort, or a large revolt by the terrorists. Anything was possible.
Second thing he had on mind was that he had to know everything he had intimately. Emptying his khaki labelled bag under the dune he took a tally of everything he now owned. Okay, so food. A map (Crap, he hated maps. They never worked for him. He once drove his extended family throught the Kusiosko Mountains on a wrong turn back home). Compass. That was even worse. A Flashlight. A Box of somekind. Some book. Another book with the words "Mr. Danya" taking his glance. And his very own bag. He guessed that everything even remotely resembling a weapon would have been confiscated. So much for using his writing kit then.
Deciding to take a look at the box, opening the seal showed him a surprise.
Inside was a highly decorated box showing off what could only be anatomically impossible manouvers with the human body. Through the seethrough plastic he could see the somewhat alluring, somewhat repulsive face of a Chinese Blow-Up Sex Doll. Staring at it for a few seconds, he felt a small piece of paper beneath his fingers on the side. Turning it over, he found the writing that was meant for his eyes only.
Boy 42 - Brendan Wallace. Assigned Weapon: Blow-Up Doll.
The look on his face could be perfectly summed up with two captital T's and an underscore to seperate them.
THIS was what he was supposed to defend himself with?
Sick fucking bastards. They really know how to put the fun in fundamentally insane, don't they?
((Clio Gabriella continued from Masterpiece ))
Clio always loved the way sand felt beneath her shoes. She didn't care for it in her shoes, too wet and soggy for that. Just the knowledge it was beneath her, that she could feel the sand under her high-priced shoes, was enough to remind her that she was still human.
Despite what she was about to do.
It had been a while since she had seen anybody, and she knew that once she did, her game would start for real. She wasn't out here to make sure anyone survived, that anyone could wrap up their bullshit little stories and the way they thought they should die. She was going to make sure that she got off this godforsaken island, whether or not it had to be through a mountain of bodies what completely up to...well, her, she supposed.
Clio took this time to read her gun manual: her gun, according to the book, was a Walther PPK. She was familiar with the name and brand, since she could point out the make and model of a few guns on movies here and there: this was James Bond's gun, albeit without a silencer. Not that it would matter. Well, it didn't matter to her anyway, since silencers did crap all in reality.
Coming up the beach, she came across various bits of driftwood, high and tall enough to block her from view. And that was enough for her, since she came across her first two victims anyway. Well, she supposed they might as well be hers, and not some guy trying to be a hero, or someone going crazy.
With a closer look, she saw it was the one guy in the year that she knew and truly hated. Chris Davidson. He was the kind of kid who probably had bibles shoved down his throat at an early age. Seriously, he gave all Christians a bad name, and she was surpised he wasn't beaten up more often at school.
Well, this can be the perfect opportunity to show how annoying he really is
...what? What are you thinking? You can't just KILL him just because he's annoying! That's just insane!
I don't need myself lecturing me at this time. Besides, he'd probably just be tortured by someone anyway.
What? Not everyone is as sick-minded as you think they are you kno-
I don't care. He's dead meat anyway. What's the harm in bumping him off a little early?
...you really are insane, you know that?
Taking aim from behind the driftwood, Clio arched her fingers around the gun trigger, and, slipping back into the mood she had when she was only 14 years old, compressed....
...and it felt like someone had glassed her hand, because the moment she tried to kill Chris, the fragile nerves in her hands sparked up, causing her to yell out in pain, and let the shot go wild.
Crap! That fucking hurts! What the...
Of course, since the yound Italian girl hadn't had the chance or reason to excercise her hands in such a long while, that her hands reacted most unusually to the movements that once graced her hands.
It was going to be a long ride.
*
Tossing the sex-doll aside in disgust, mainly over the fact it was large, and cumbersome, would probably only defend him from the people who wanted something to screw, he heard some people on the beach behind him.
Then, a loud noise, which rung through his ears for several seconds after it had already happened.
That was a gunshot.
Oh, God. It's started already.
-
JamesRenard†
- Posts: 238
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
Allen was startled when he saw the other boy come over to greet him, and for a second he was afraid that he was going to be one of the first ones to meet their maker. Fortunately, the other guy, Chris as he introduced himself, didn't have any ill wishes towards him, and was in much of a state as he was.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you," Allen spoke, still breathing heavily. "I'm not playing either, I don't even know what my weapon is. I'm Allen by the way, it's good to see a friendly face at least."
'Hmm, I better check what weapon I got, just so I kno-'
That was when he heard the booming gunshot.
Allen was just about to unzip and rummage through the duffel bag that had B121 stitched onto it, but instead cried out at the extremely loud noise.
'Wh-what just happened...?' he wondered as his mind tried to make sense of what was going on. Then it clicked. The gunshot noise, which was incredibly loud, so it had to be very close. Very very close. It all meant... "Oh SHIT!"
'Someone's shooting at me, someone's actually shooting at me!'
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you," Allen spoke, still breathing heavily. "I'm not playing either, I don't even know what my weapon is. I'm Allen by the way, it's good to see a friendly face at least."
'Hmm, I better check what weapon I got, just so I kno-'
That was when he heard the booming gunshot.
Allen was just about to unzip and rummage through the duffel bag that had B121 stitched onto it, but instead cried out at the extremely loud noise.
'Wh-what just happened...?' he wondered as his mind tried to make sense of what was going on. Then it clicked. The gunshot noise, which was incredibly loud, so it had to be very close. Very very close. It all meant... "Oh SHIT!"
'Someone's shooting at me, someone's actually shooting at me!'
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler JamesRenard. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
gambit508†
- Posts: 90
- Joined: Mon Sep 03, 2018 5:25 am
Chris continued sobbing as the other guy spoke and tried to make him feel better. The small christian had only cried like this twice before, the first time was when he broke his leg when he was three, the second was his mom.....Chris paused, if he died, his dad would be all alone. Nobody to be there with him. Chris sighed as he stood, when a loud bang caught his ears and pain shot through his body. He fell to his knees as he felt the lower left side of his face, a deep hole from what Chris now realized had been a gunshot.
Someone had shot him.
Chris's eyes glanced fearfully around as the beach started to fade from sight. He tried to speak to no avail, only giving some gargling noises as his last words. The boy fell back onto the beach, his blood soaking into the sand as Chris Davidson's eyes fluttered close
"I'm coming, Mom"
STUDENT B36-CHRIS DAVIDSON-DECEASED
Someone had shot him.
Chris's eyes glanced fearfully around as the beach started to fade from sight. He tried to speak to no avail, only giving some gargling noises as his last words. The boy fell back onto the beach, his blood soaking into the sand as Chris Davidson's eyes fluttered close
"I'm coming, Mom"
STUDENT B36-CHRIS DAVIDSON-DECEASED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler gambit508.
Brendan decided to finally look out from his little hiding spot to see everything that was happening. That was definitely a gunshot, no doubt about that, and the two people that stood there on the beach just became one as the second figure with the long hair collapsed. The result of the gunshot.
Clasping his hand over his mouth, he started to panic.
He's...he's DEAD! Someone actually went through with playing the game! Oh shit shit shit this isn't going to be easy getting out of here...
*
Clio's face lit up as one of them hit the sand, despite her shot being a little off centre. She wanted to see if she could hit both of them, save a bullet. That's what she was always taught in school. Kill two birds with one stone, as it was.
Okay Clio, time to hold your bluff. He doesn't know you can't fire this, so just try and...do...something...
Walking out from behind the driftwood towards the now probably scared shitless teenager, Clio finally managed to catch a glimpse of his face. And years of practice taught her not to show what she actually felt.
Chris's face had a hole in it, to put it bluntly. Below the jawline and just left of the chin was the impact of her making. She realised what had happened to him. He...his face was wet not just from the blood, but from the tears in his face. This kid...this wasn't the same guy she knew at Bayview, who spurt the bible and tried to be friends with everyone, no matter how fleetingly his stay there would have been there. He was scared. He was lonely. He...was just like her.
Clio didn't dare show it in her face, she still had to maintain her bluff. She eventually got closer to the other guy, and finally recognized him.
"Hey! I know you! You were in my chemistry class!"
You killed him Clio.
"Fancy seeing you here with him!"
You killed him Clio
*
Brendan watched the entire scene unfold from his little bank in the sand. The girl with purple hair walked over to the other guy, who he barely recognized, which was not saying much. He barely knew that many people at Bayview, so this wasn't anything special. But...that crazy girl had a gun! She was playing! That girl, whose name he just remembered as Clio, just killed somebody!
And all Brendan could do was watch from his bank.
But then Clio blocked out Allen from view.
Brendan's attention peaked again. Her back was facing him now, so she couldn't see him. This would give him a perfect opportunity to run!
No.
But...he couldn't. This boy had died, and though nothing was going to change that, he could do something.
He could save the other guy's life.
Come on, come on, what do I do?
*
"You know, from the moment I stepped onto the bus, I knew that something was going to come of this trip. I could finally make some friends again, and stop lying to every single person I know and telling them that I do have friends. But then...this happened!
That boy is dead Clio. You killed him.
"You know, I've been a stepping mat for everyone at Bayview? No wait, not just Bayview, my whole fucking LIFE! Do you know how much stuff I read on the bathroom walls, all with my phone number scratched into the paint? Was it MY fault that I could never trust again after Nathaniel?"
God doesn't forgive killers. It's like fucking your brother. You'll go to hel-
Almost in synchronicity with her thoughts, trying to block them out, Clio started to speak even louder.
"Oh what? You don't care who Nathaniel is? WELL THAT'S GREAT! BECAUSE MY PARENTS DIDN'T CARE EITHER! THEY JUST PICKED ME UP FROM THE POLICE STATION AND GROUNDED ME FOR MONTHS! DIDN'T ASK WHY I DID IT! DIDN'T EVEN LISTEN TO ME! THEY TREAT ME AS THOUGH I WAS JUST A FUCKING PET TO THEM!!!"
Clio didn't know who she was screaming to. It was all to stop the thoughts inside her head from becoming real. She killed someone. She was going to face the consequences whether she wanted to or not.
*
Fuck, she's going nuts! Come on Brendan! DO SOMETHING CONSTRUCTIVE FOR ONCE!!!
There was no doubt about it. The girl had gone completely loco. If Allen spotted him, gave him away, he had nothing. Nothing but a blow-up doll, his bag and...
...himself.
Brendan, you're not going to are you?
Taking in breathes, trying to relax himself before he did what he needed to do, he turned towards the nearest camera, hidden somewhere in the trees.
"...here goes nothing, I suppose."
With the silence of a snake in the undergrowth, Brendan darted out from the cover of the bank, and, using every skill in his arsenal to a) Keep it stealthy, and b) not trip over something in plain sight, ran towards the girl.
No one here was going to die today.
*
"So now, what should I do with you, huh? I could probably just take your weapon and go...but then you'd tell people. Clio fucking Gabriella has gone loop-de-doop insane! Killed someone, huh? Is that what you'd do? Well maybe I should kill you now! Then you won't tell any-"
Clio's rant was interupted by a blow to the back. Brendan Wallace, all 170 or so pounds of him, had just rammed into the girl and grabbed ahold of her gun arm and forced her, and her bag, onto the damp sand. A shot went wild, as the writhing, screaming Italian girl started to thrash about, trying to get him off.
"...I'd run if I were you, this isn't getting good!" Brendan shouted out over Clio's screams. He wasn't going to let another person die today, especially not someone like Allen.
"RUN!"
Clasping his hand over his mouth, he started to panic.
He's...he's DEAD! Someone actually went through with playing the game! Oh shit shit shit this isn't going to be easy getting out of here...
*
Clio's face lit up as one of them hit the sand, despite her shot being a little off centre. She wanted to see if she could hit both of them, save a bullet. That's what she was always taught in school. Kill two birds with one stone, as it was.
Okay Clio, time to hold your bluff. He doesn't know you can't fire this, so just try and...do...something...
Walking out from behind the driftwood towards the now probably scared shitless teenager, Clio finally managed to catch a glimpse of his face. And years of practice taught her not to show what she actually felt.
Chris's face had a hole in it, to put it bluntly. Below the jawline and just left of the chin was the impact of her making. She realised what had happened to him. He...his face was wet not just from the blood, but from the tears in his face. This kid...this wasn't the same guy she knew at Bayview, who spurt the bible and tried to be friends with everyone, no matter how fleetingly his stay there would have been there. He was scared. He was lonely. He...was just like her.
Clio didn't dare show it in her face, she still had to maintain her bluff. She eventually got closer to the other guy, and finally recognized him.
"Hey! I know you! You were in my chemistry class!"
You killed him Clio.
"Fancy seeing you here with him!"
You killed him Clio
*
Brendan watched the entire scene unfold from his little bank in the sand. The girl with purple hair walked over to the other guy, who he barely recognized, which was not saying much. He barely knew that many people at Bayview, so this wasn't anything special. But...that crazy girl had a gun! She was playing! That girl, whose name he just remembered as Clio, just killed somebody!
And all Brendan could do was watch from his bank.
But then Clio blocked out Allen from view.
Brendan's attention peaked again. Her back was facing him now, so she couldn't see him. This would give him a perfect opportunity to run!
No.
But...he couldn't. This boy had died, and though nothing was going to change that, he could do something.
He could save the other guy's life.
Come on, come on, what do I do?
*
"You know, from the moment I stepped onto the bus, I knew that something was going to come of this trip. I could finally make some friends again, and stop lying to every single person I know and telling them that I do have friends. But then...this happened!
That boy is dead Clio. You killed him.
"You know, I've been a stepping mat for everyone at Bayview? No wait, not just Bayview, my whole fucking LIFE! Do you know how much stuff I read on the bathroom walls, all with my phone number scratched into the paint? Was it MY fault that I could never trust again after Nathaniel?"
God doesn't forgive killers. It's like fucking your brother. You'll go to hel-
Almost in synchronicity with her thoughts, trying to block them out, Clio started to speak even louder.
"Oh what? You don't care who Nathaniel is? WELL THAT'S GREAT! BECAUSE MY PARENTS DIDN'T CARE EITHER! THEY JUST PICKED ME UP FROM THE POLICE STATION AND GROUNDED ME FOR MONTHS! DIDN'T ASK WHY I DID IT! DIDN'T EVEN LISTEN TO ME! THEY TREAT ME AS THOUGH I WAS JUST A FUCKING PET TO THEM!!!"
Clio didn't know who she was screaming to. It was all to stop the thoughts inside her head from becoming real. She killed someone. She was going to face the consequences whether she wanted to or not.
*
Fuck, she's going nuts! Come on Brendan! DO SOMETHING CONSTRUCTIVE FOR ONCE!!!
There was no doubt about it. The girl had gone completely loco. If Allen spotted him, gave him away, he had nothing. Nothing but a blow-up doll, his bag and...
...himself.
Brendan, you're not going to are you?
Taking in breathes, trying to relax himself before he did what he needed to do, he turned towards the nearest camera, hidden somewhere in the trees.
"...here goes nothing, I suppose."
With the silence of a snake in the undergrowth, Brendan darted out from the cover of the bank, and, using every skill in his arsenal to a) Keep it stealthy, and b) not trip over something in plain sight, ran towards the girl.
No one here was going to die today.
*
"So now, what should I do with you, huh? I could probably just take your weapon and go...but then you'd tell people. Clio fucking Gabriella has gone loop-de-doop insane! Killed someone, huh? Is that what you'd do? Well maybe I should kill you now! Then you won't tell any-"
Clio's rant was interupted by a blow to the back. Brendan Wallace, all 170 or so pounds of him, had just rammed into the girl and grabbed ahold of her gun arm and forced her, and her bag, onto the damp sand. A shot went wild, as the writhing, screaming Italian girl started to thrash about, trying to get him off.
"...I'd run if I were you, this isn't getting good!" Brendan shouted out over Clio's screams. He wasn't going to let another person die today, especially not someone like Allen.
"RUN!"
-
JamesRenard†
- Posts: 238
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
Allen couldn't talk, he couldn't even scream, a pitiful whimper was the only sound his larynx could create. One moment, Chris had been next to him on his knees. The next, he was sprawled out dead on his back, a bloody gunshot wound in his face. 'Oh my God, they shot him, they killed him. He's dead, JesusChristhe'sDEAD!'
Try as he might, Allen couldn't shift his eyes away from the dead teenagers face. It was like a train wreck; as sickening as the sight was, he couldn't look away from the boy who just a minute ago had been alive. 'Why?! He was right there, talking to me!' he thought as a fresh wave of tears started to cascade down his face. He was so preoccupied in staring at Chris's dead face that he didn't notice the purple-haired girl walk out from her hiding place and calmly walk up to him. It was only when she started talking to him that he registered her presence.
"C-C-Clio?!" he stuttered, looking her way. "Y-you did this?!" It was hard for him to wrap his head around. A girl from his own class had just killed someone else in cold blood. Clio suddenly went on a rant, getting louder and seemingly angrier as she went. Allen wanted to get away from her, but his arms and legs wouldn't budge an inch.
'She's gone mad. She's gone fucking mad, she has a gun, killed someone with it, and now she's standing right in front of me with it. What the hell do I do?!'
Then Clio stated the idea of killing him. The blood in Allen's veins turned ice cold at that statement. "NO! Please! Don't kill-!" Before he could finish his plea for mercy, Clio was knocked down onto the sand by an unseen force. "What the-?!"
The gun was fired again and Allen yelped out, but fortunately the bullet didn't hit him. The boy who'd just tackled Clio to the ground started yelling at Allen to get out of there. Allen didn't know if to do as he said, or to try and help him. The boy shouted at him to run again.
'He's doing this to give me the chance to escape, I can't waste it,' Allen thought, grabbing both bags and starting to run down the beach, passing the late Chris Davidson as he went. 'Chris... I'm sorry dude. Rest in peace,' he sadly thought as he hightailed it away from the altercation. 'Whoever you are, thank you, and good luck.'
((Allen Birkman continued in Shelter From the Storm))
Try as he might, Allen couldn't shift his eyes away from the dead teenagers face. It was like a train wreck; as sickening as the sight was, he couldn't look away from the boy who just a minute ago had been alive. 'Why?! He was right there, talking to me!' he thought as a fresh wave of tears started to cascade down his face. He was so preoccupied in staring at Chris's dead face that he didn't notice the purple-haired girl walk out from her hiding place and calmly walk up to him. It was only when she started talking to him that he registered her presence.
"C-C-Clio?!" he stuttered, looking her way. "Y-you did this?!" It was hard for him to wrap his head around. A girl from his own class had just killed someone else in cold blood. Clio suddenly went on a rant, getting louder and seemingly angrier as she went. Allen wanted to get away from her, but his arms and legs wouldn't budge an inch.
'She's gone mad. She's gone fucking mad, she has a gun, killed someone with it, and now she's standing right in front of me with it. What the hell do I do?!'
Then Clio stated the idea of killing him. The blood in Allen's veins turned ice cold at that statement. "NO! Please! Don't kill-!" Before he could finish his plea for mercy, Clio was knocked down onto the sand by an unseen force. "What the-?!"
The gun was fired again and Allen yelped out, but fortunately the bullet didn't hit him. The boy who'd just tackled Clio to the ground started yelling at Allen to get out of there. Allen didn't know if to do as he said, or to try and help him. The boy shouted at him to run again.
'He's doing this to give me the chance to escape, I can't waste it,' Allen thought, grabbing both bags and starting to run down the beach, passing the late Chris Davidson as he went. 'Chris... I'm sorry dude. Rest in peace,' he sadly thought as he hightailed it away from the altercation. 'Whoever you are, thank you, and good luck.'
((Allen Birkman continued in Shelter From the Storm))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler JamesRenard. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((OOC: Okay, this'll be edited a bit later, since I lost the final copy of this post. Computers and their inability to keep stuff DX))
Clio needed to get out of this person's grasp. This person, who felt like he weighed a ton, had just stopped her from killing the other guy. Her hand was on fire again, as something beneath the sand had wedged itself into her knuckles when she was pinned down. Though it was no longer in that position, her hand was throbbing, and she needed to keep it out of danger so she could fight it out.
"Okay....okay, you are going to CALM THE HELL DOWN NOW!" yelled Brendan, trying to stop her from getting her gun, which had just skidded across the sand a few metres away from her. He knew yelling wasn't that good for use in this situation, but he needed to recall every therapy session he had to try and keep her from doing something. Maybe she would stop, who knew?
"Okay...okay...okay...look, I can tell you're like everyone else on this island here. You're a scared little girl inside. You want to go home. You miss your paren-"
"FUCK YOU! MY PARENTS ARE DEAD ASSHOLE!"
"-okay, not what I needed to hear right now, but okay."
Clio's hand started to feel less like a timpani and more like a bass drum. She started to wedge it out from under her, just so he wouldn't feel it.
"Okay, so...look, they've made it off here before haven't they?" Brendan asked rhetorically, lying through his teeth. He never watch SOTF, he had no idea of the going ons of the island. For all he knew no-one could have died at all, like an excellent Doctor Who episode.
Her hand was now out from under her body, but was rocketing around her nervous system in pain. Almost okay now...
"So why don't we just think this over? We can sit down, have something to eat..."
Brendan stared blankly at the optimistic bullcrap that came out of his mouth.
"Okay, just ignore I said tha-"
Brendan didn't have time to apologize, as Clio's hand was now ready. It struck like a viper, hitting him square in the groin.
He keeled over in pain, clutching his privates like they had just been ripped off by Jason's machete or something.
Clio scrambled towards her gun, only a few metres away, feeling it in her grasp.
Brendan, realising the hugely immense danger he was in, tried to reach out and crawl away. His hand, instead of touching sand and shells, found himself with something in his grasp.
The familiar touch of grip and metal molded with her fingers and, smile across her face, whipped around to find her target.
The unfamiliar touch of shiny metal and grip fell straight into his fingers, and he realised what this was. He swung his arm around to face his foe.
Clio's smile flickered away when she realised she had one of the hugest revolvers on the island staring her in the face. Chris Davidson's Taurus Raging Bull.
Brendan's face remained blank and, still, scared as ever, found Clio's gun in his face.
*
The two teenagers, both still lying on the sand, had each not moved a muscle. They knew they were facing potentially dangerous threats in the form of large revolvers and an expert marksman, but they dare not make a move.
Brendan finally decided to break the silence.
"So I take it you don't plan on getting out of this alive?"
"Fuck you."
"Alright, I suppose through some string of logic, I deserved that."
"Shut up, you're gonna die today."
"Okay, look. I'm no science student, but I remember one thing from that class when I was back home: humans have some of the fastest reaction times ever recorded. Do you really want to bet that you can shoot me, or I can shoot you, faster that we have the time to react?"
"Don't lecture me, I'm a fucking scientists wet dream. I know more about physics than could fit in your entire brain."
"Again with the swearing?" Look, I have a proposal. If we stay like this, we aren't getting out alive. Either we kill each other, or someone who really intends on winning comes along and picks us off. I wouldn't put it past anyone I don't know to do that."
"..."
"So how about this? Next time you meet me, you try and kill me then. By then you'd have probably killed off, what, 5, 6, more people? You seem...capable."
"You can really talk out of your ass, can't you?"
"...you might say that. Although I suppose you don't plan on killing me by sunburn, do you? You know if you pull that trigger, we're both dead, right?"
"..."
Not taking her eyes off Brendan, Clio got up, and with her gun pointed at him all the way, backing off with her belongings. She got as far as she could across the beach, and once she finally reach the rocks that lined the border separating land from the path to the sea, she ran into the forest.
Ran to her heart's content.
((Clio Gabriella carries on...))
And Brendan could not believe his luck!
He just talked his way out of being killed by a crazy, insane, totally inconsolable (he wasn't even sure if that was a word or not, or if it fit the situation) Italian girl. Using his free hand, he opened the Taurus's chamber.
Zero rounds.
Letting all the air he'd been holding in his lungs out, he just realised how much garbage and lies he had just spurted out to get her to not kill him! He could just have easily been a politician, if he didn't have morals!
With the will to move finally reaching his legs again, Brendan got up, and examined the scene around him.
Crap, he had a lot of stuff to do.
*
After a few more minutes of shuffling, moving, and cramming, he finally emptied Chris's bag of all his stuff. Every redeemable item was now his...except for his personal belongings. It would just be like urinating on his body to take his worldly possessions.
Making the body more respectable as far as corpses go was easy. Brendan turned the body onto his back, and could not believe he was actually this close to a dead person. He had seen it all before on movies, the foreign movie marathon he shared with Chase a few days after exams, but this...this came close to the most disturbing thing he had seen in his life.
How could someone just take a life like this?
Brendan moved his fingers to Chris's open, shocked eyes, and closed them.
Just as he was squatting down to do this, he noticed that something had fallen out of his pocket. A wallet. Curiosity got the better of Brendan, and he took a look inside.
Where one's drivers liscence should be was a photo. Not just a single photo, now that Brendan checked properly, it was a number of photos stacked inside the one compartment. There was one of a smiling young boy with two adults who could only be his parents.
The same boy at 13.
15.
16.
17.
But the final one was different. Instead of being with both of his parents, there was only two people in the photo: the boy laying below him, and...his father.
Brendan flipped the photo around, and found messy writing covering the back.
Missing you always, Mom.
Chris
That hurt, a lot harder than when he saw the body. This boy...this father...he was all he had. And all he had was just killed in front of millions of people.
He just let his killer go free in front of millions of people.
Brendan felt like he had to say something. Hell, if someone like Chris, this bewildering, always friendly bible-kid had found him dead, he would have.
He didn't get down on his knees or anything. Brendan simply dropped the photo onto his body, his figure protecting it from the breeze, and it stayed there, with his wallet and his bag, a figure in the sand.
"...I'm sorry."
It was all he could say.
Brendan knew that people like Clio couldn't make it off the island. People who killed meaninglessly, looked upon each death as an advantage to themselves. People who didn't care about the lives of others.
He made himself a promise.
I will never be like these people.
With nothing else to do, with a Taurus in his hand, he walked along the beach, until the body was out of sight and out of his mind.
...
((Brendan Wallace continues in False Awakening))
Clio needed to get out of this person's grasp. This person, who felt like he weighed a ton, had just stopped her from killing the other guy. Her hand was on fire again, as something beneath the sand had wedged itself into her knuckles when she was pinned down. Though it was no longer in that position, her hand was throbbing, and she needed to keep it out of danger so she could fight it out.
"Okay....okay, you are going to CALM THE HELL DOWN NOW!" yelled Brendan, trying to stop her from getting her gun, which had just skidded across the sand a few metres away from her. He knew yelling wasn't that good for use in this situation, but he needed to recall every therapy session he had to try and keep her from doing something. Maybe she would stop, who knew?
"Okay...okay...okay...look, I can tell you're like everyone else on this island here. You're a scared little girl inside. You want to go home. You miss your paren-"
"FUCK YOU! MY PARENTS ARE DEAD ASSHOLE!"
"-okay, not what I needed to hear right now, but okay."
Clio's hand started to feel less like a timpani and more like a bass drum. She started to wedge it out from under her, just so he wouldn't feel it.
"Okay, so...look, they've made it off here before haven't they?" Brendan asked rhetorically, lying through his teeth. He never watch SOTF, he had no idea of the going ons of the island. For all he knew no-one could have died at all, like an excellent Doctor Who episode.
Her hand was now out from under her body, but was rocketing around her nervous system in pain. Almost okay now...
"So why don't we just think this over? We can sit down, have something to eat..."
Brendan stared blankly at the optimistic bullcrap that came out of his mouth.
"Okay, just ignore I said tha-"
Brendan didn't have time to apologize, as Clio's hand was now ready. It struck like a viper, hitting him square in the groin.
He keeled over in pain, clutching his privates like they had just been ripped off by Jason's machete or something.
Clio scrambled towards her gun, only a few metres away, feeling it in her grasp.
Brendan, realising the hugely immense danger he was in, tried to reach out and crawl away. His hand, instead of touching sand and shells, found himself with something in his grasp.
The familiar touch of grip and metal molded with her fingers and, smile across her face, whipped around to find her target.
The unfamiliar touch of shiny metal and grip fell straight into his fingers, and he realised what this was. He swung his arm around to face his foe.
Clio's smile flickered away when she realised she had one of the hugest revolvers on the island staring her in the face. Chris Davidson's Taurus Raging Bull.
Brendan's face remained blank and, still, scared as ever, found Clio's gun in his face.
*
The two teenagers, both still lying on the sand, had each not moved a muscle. They knew they were facing potentially dangerous threats in the form of large revolvers and an expert marksman, but they dare not make a move.
Brendan finally decided to break the silence.
"So I take it you don't plan on getting out of this alive?"
"Fuck you."
"Alright, I suppose through some string of logic, I deserved that."
"Shut up, you're gonna die today."
"Okay, look. I'm no science student, but I remember one thing from that class when I was back home: humans have some of the fastest reaction times ever recorded. Do you really want to bet that you can shoot me, or I can shoot you, faster that we have the time to react?"
"Don't lecture me, I'm a fucking scientists wet dream. I know more about physics than could fit in your entire brain."
"Again with the swearing?" Look, I have a proposal. If we stay like this, we aren't getting out alive. Either we kill each other, or someone who really intends on winning comes along and picks us off. I wouldn't put it past anyone I don't know to do that."
"..."
"So how about this? Next time you meet me, you try and kill me then. By then you'd have probably killed off, what, 5, 6, more people? You seem...capable."
"You can really talk out of your ass, can't you?"
"...you might say that. Although I suppose you don't plan on killing me by sunburn, do you? You know if you pull that trigger, we're both dead, right?"
"..."
Not taking her eyes off Brendan, Clio got up, and with her gun pointed at him all the way, backing off with her belongings. She got as far as she could across the beach, and once she finally reach the rocks that lined the border separating land from the path to the sea, she ran into the forest.
Ran to her heart's content.
((Clio Gabriella carries on...))
And Brendan could not believe his luck!
He just talked his way out of being killed by a crazy, insane, totally inconsolable (he wasn't even sure if that was a word or not, or if it fit the situation) Italian girl. Using his free hand, he opened the Taurus's chamber.
Zero rounds.
Letting all the air he'd been holding in his lungs out, he just realised how much garbage and lies he had just spurted out to get her to not kill him! He could just have easily been a politician, if he didn't have morals!
With the will to move finally reaching his legs again, Brendan got up, and examined the scene around him.
Crap, he had a lot of stuff to do.
*
After a few more minutes of shuffling, moving, and cramming, he finally emptied Chris's bag of all his stuff. Every redeemable item was now his...except for his personal belongings. It would just be like urinating on his body to take his worldly possessions.
Making the body more respectable as far as corpses go was easy. Brendan turned the body onto his back, and could not believe he was actually this close to a dead person. He had seen it all before on movies, the foreign movie marathon he shared with Chase a few days after exams, but this...this came close to the most disturbing thing he had seen in his life.
How could someone just take a life like this?
Brendan moved his fingers to Chris's open, shocked eyes, and closed them.
Just as he was squatting down to do this, he noticed that something had fallen out of his pocket. A wallet. Curiosity got the better of Brendan, and he took a look inside.
Where one's drivers liscence should be was a photo. Not just a single photo, now that Brendan checked properly, it was a number of photos stacked inside the one compartment. There was one of a smiling young boy with two adults who could only be his parents.
The same boy at 13.
15.
16.
17.
But the final one was different. Instead of being with both of his parents, there was only two people in the photo: the boy laying below him, and...his father.
Brendan flipped the photo around, and found messy writing covering the back.
Missing you always, Mom.
Chris
That hurt, a lot harder than when he saw the body. This boy...this father...he was all he had. And all he had was just killed in front of millions of people.
He just let his killer go free in front of millions of people.
Brendan felt like he had to say something. Hell, if someone like Chris, this bewildering, always friendly bible-kid had found him dead, he would have.
He didn't get down on his knees or anything. Brendan simply dropped the photo onto his body, his figure protecting it from the breeze, and it stayed there, with his wallet and his bag, a figure in the sand.
"...I'm sorry."
It was all he could say.
Brendan knew that people like Clio couldn't make it off the island. People who killed meaninglessly, looked upon each death as an advantage to themselves. People who didn't care about the lives of others.
He made himself a promise.
I will never be like these people.
With nothing else to do, with a Taurus in his hand, he walked along the beach, until the body was out of sight and out of his mind.
...
((Brendan Wallace continues in False Awakening))