Jaxon Jeremiah, STAR Defense Squad, stood on deck on the small boat. He was doing his best not to show it, but he was a bundle of nerves and fears at the moment. The island was in sight. By now, the Assault Squad would be in the base, doing as much damage as possible. With luck, they'd level everything, kill Danya and his crew, and put an end to this game once and for all. Counting on luck was a terrible strategy, though, so the Defense Squad was providing a little extra insurance, a little distraction to give the terrorists yet another worry.
Of course, their goal wasn't entirely noble. Jaxon wasn't quite sure how he felt about things. It was quite a moral dilemma. They'd talked about it again and again in the past hours, ever since receiving Brynn's communication.
Originally, a rescue hadn't even been on the cards. Danya took great measures to prevent such a thing from being possible. The actual location of the island was known only to those members of the terrorist group who were responsible for ferrying people to and from it. Secrecy was maintained fairly well, given Danya's penchant for having those who caused trouble killed on the spot. STAR had tried to find out which island was being used. They'd figured out that the operation was based out of an area near Alaska, in the same general vicinity as the terrorists' current HQ. They'd had no luck getting anything more specific, though, until one group of students had fed them the exact latitude and longitude.
The other big problem had been the collars. Danya was not the sort who enjoyed losing. The STAR planners had been pretty sure he would blow every collar on the island rather than let anyone escape. That, too, had been resolved, though. A girl on the island had done something to her collar, forcing adaptation of the system. Now, a signal was sent preventing the collars from exploding. Brynn had sent them the details on that signal, and they had gear on the boat to reproduce it and override anything from base. As long as STAR was around, collars wouldn't explode unless they were yanked off. Garnett and Grossi had given them some tips on removing them, too. The design had changed, but not that much. Not enough to stop them from removing the collars using Brynn's inside information.
They were going to grab as many students as they could, knock their collars off, and then run. Give Danya a big old black eye, assuming he survived the attack. True, there would be patrol boats coming soon. They'd been diverted earlier, though, back to base to deal with the attack. The estimate was that they had three hours for this operation.
It was plenty of time to get some students. Not all of them.
But then, not all of them were welcome anyways.
This was the part of the plan that had caused the most debate.
The goal of STAR, first and foremost, was to put an end to the Survival of the Fittest program. To that end, sometimes sacrifices had to be made. There was a chance that Danya would blow all the collars somehow. They had decided that that was a risk worth taking. It was one extra death, in return for striking a huge blow against the game.
That same reason was what led them to decide to exclude players from the rescue.
Jaxon looked at the list in his hands, at the faces next to the names, at the indexes of crimes committed. In the end, he believed they were all innocent. He didn't think you could hold kids accountable for things they did under threat of death. After all, hadn't he nearly done the same?
But the argument made all too much sense.
People played because they wanted to live. It was the only reason to do it. Remove that reason, and you left no motivation to play, no justification for killing. STAR had chosen to leave the players behind as a statement to the kids next season, assuming that they would fail to utterly destroy the program. The message was simple: By playing, you are actively reducing your chances of survival, because we won't come save you.
It was indirect warfare. A psychological trick. Jaxon wasn't sure he liked it at all. They'd all agreed in the end, though. If it worked, if it led to future classes refusing to play, it would all be worthwhile. If it even slowed things down and damaged the program, it would be worth it. He kept telling himself that.
Besides, some of these people, to blame or not, had done positively horrible things to their classmates.
Jaxon still didn't feel very good about it, but he wasn't going to mess things up. They would present a unified front.
The boat closed in. It was a small vehicle, capable of getting very close to the shore. They had a small raft to ferry the students from island to escape vessel. As the boat came to a stop, Jaxon glanced over the materials, triple-checking that everything was in order. It was. They had the tools to disable the collars. They had a megaphone hooked up to a powerful amp and a small portable generator. They had four members of STAR, armed with assault rifles and wearing armor. Their equipment wasn't as good as what the terrorists had. They were a ragtag militia, but they had drive. They'd thrown everything they had, and a great deal they'd been forced to beg, borrow, or steal, into this mission. It was the moment of truth.
Jaxon hopped into the raft with his four armed friends and another boy, the one who would be working the tricky technology.
The entire ride over felt tense. Sweat was pooling in Jaxon's armpits. He was going back to an island. There would be bodies on this beach, bodies of students killed by their peers. He was a part of the horror once more.
He'd beat it again, though. He had to. They had to.
He hadn't heard any news of any parts of their plan going wrong. They had to assume it was all working. They had to try.
They landed and set everything up. Jaxon shifted nervously. He was running this side of things. There was another boat elsewhere on the island, grabbing other students, but they weren't in contact. Safer that way. Better. It spread out their coverage and increased both the numbers of students that could be retrieved and the odds of at least one boat actually getting away. From here, it would be a very tense ride to the rendezvous, on another nearby island, where a few helicopters had been stored.
Jaxon shook his hair out, forcing himself to focus. It was time. The part of the beach he was standing on was totally empty. He looked up at the sky for a moment, then picked up the megaphone. He made sure the speaker was pointed away from him. This was going to be loud.
"Hello, students of Bayview Secondary School," he said. "My name is Jaxon Jeremiah. I'm here with a group of people who can get your collars off and take you home, on one condition: that you have not been murdering your classmates over the past week. If that describes you, and you want a lift, come to the beach as quickly as you can. We won't be here for long.
"If you've been playing, I'm sorry, but you're too much of a risk. We're armed, and we will not hesitate to open fire and send you away. All I can suggest is that you hold out and hope we tear this game to the ground. Should that occur, we will come back for you too."
The Cavalry Arrives
See Midmonths
((Jackie Myrie, continued from So Give Me Something to Believe.))
She ran, a beaming smile on her face.
Was it true?
Jackie didn't think to doubt it as she ran down the beach, thorns and assorted shrubbery caught on her everything from her astoundingly brilliant idea of running straight down what amounted to a hill of thornbushes. She stung all over, she was pretty sure there was blood trickling down her legs, but that didn't matter. That was secondary. Jacqueline Myrie was getting off the island. That was her new goal. That one glimmer of hope that she'd stuck to throughout the whole game had finally paid off.
More fool you, other bitches. Jackie never gave up hope. Ever.
That was secondary. Jacqueline Myrie was getting off the island. That was her contribution to the game, then. She was getting out. She wasn't one of the psycho players, not like Reiko or that Liam guy she'd met like twice or the rest of those guys. She was getting out.
Yes, she'd killed- if you could call it that, it was something of an accident, if she remembered right- one person by accident. So at least she'd come down as "justified" on their records or something, hopefully. Not that she'd just outright say that she'd killed someone to them, of course, but she'd tell the truth if she was asked, right? No use trying to hide it and getting shot for not telling them. That just wasn't a smart strategy.
She ran up, a tiny flustered mess, waving her arms around and screaming for anyone there to notice her.
"I'M HERE, I'M HERE!" She screamed, running towards the boat, panting, close to doubling over from exhaustion. But she was safe now, right? She could get the collar off, leave, and go home. She'd won. "I'm... here."
The last one was just for dramatic effect as she approached the boats, hands in the air to show she was unarmed. Was she the first one there? She wasn't entirely sure if she was the first. She also wasn't entirely sure if she cared.
G125, Jacqueline "Jackie" Myrie: ELIMINATED
She ran, a beaming smile on her face.
Was it true?
Jackie didn't think to doubt it as she ran down the beach, thorns and assorted shrubbery caught on her everything from her astoundingly brilliant idea of running straight down what amounted to a hill of thornbushes. She stung all over, she was pretty sure there was blood trickling down her legs, but that didn't matter. That was secondary. Jacqueline Myrie was getting off the island. That was her new goal. That one glimmer of hope that she'd stuck to throughout the whole game had finally paid off.
More fool you, other bitches. Jackie never gave up hope. Ever.
That was secondary. Jacqueline Myrie was getting off the island. That was her contribution to the game, then. She was getting out. She wasn't one of the psycho players, not like Reiko or that Liam guy she'd met like twice or the rest of those guys. She was getting out.
Yes, she'd killed- if you could call it that, it was something of an accident, if she remembered right- one person by accident. So at least she'd come down as "justified" on their records or something, hopefully. Not that she'd just outright say that she'd killed someone to them, of course, but she'd tell the truth if she was asked, right? No use trying to hide it and getting shot for not telling them. That just wasn't a smart strategy.
She ran up, a tiny flustered mess, waving her arms around and screaming for anyone there to notice her.
"I'M HERE, I'M HERE!" She screamed, running towards the boat, panting, close to doubling over from exhaustion. But she was safe now, right? She could get the collar off, leave, and go home. She'd won. "I'm... here."
The last one was just for dramatic effect as she approached the boats, hands in the air to show she was unarmed. Was she the first one there? She wasn't entirely sure if she was the first. She also wasn't entirely sure if she cared.
G125, Jacqueline "Jackie" Myrie: ELIMINATED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Badb.
((Samantha Ridley continued from The Kindness of Strangers))
Tired, confused, and with an ankle that was still a little sore, but mostly better, a girl set foot on the beach and, approaching the group that was there, announced herself, "I'm Samantha Ridley, and if I'm on your list, then please put a bullet in me."
She was serious, too. She didn't think she could put up with the shit that happened on the island for another day, and she was gonna get off of the island today whether it be by boat or by body bag.
Tired, confused, and with an ankle that was still a little sore, but mostly better, a girl set foot on the beach and, approaching the group that was there, announced herself, "I'm Samantha Ridley, and if I'm on your list, then please put a bullet in me."
She was serious, too. She didn't think she could put up with the shit that happened on the island for another day, and she was gonna get off of the island today whether it be by boat or by body bag.
It wasn't long before a girl turned up, panting, out of breath, but real and alive. Jaxon hadn't been sure anyone would come. He'd had this horrible suspicion that they would think it a trap, would stay away. Would die.
But a girl was here, one he didn't recognize from his list of faces and names. It didn't mean she was entirely innocent. Jaxon didn't care. Leave the tough love to the others; he'd take anyone he could get his hands on, so long as he hadn't promised not to. So he gestured to one of the people manning the equipment, who scurried over to the girl and got to work. The collars were complicated, as always, but they had more than enough inside information, thanks to Brynn.
Another girl had turned up, asking for death or salvation. Jaxon recognized this one. They'd discussed her. A real borderline case, but, in the end, nothing she'd done could be considered murder. Highly questionable assisted suicide, but not murder. So he just nodded at her, smiled, and said, "No bullets today. Get in line and make sure to hand over any weapons, and you're in the clear."
There was a beep as the first girl's collar released.
But a girl was here, one he didn't recognize from his list of faces and names. It didn't mean she was entirely innocent. Jaxon didn't care. Leave the tough love to the others; he'd take anyone he could get his hands on, so long as he hadn't promised not to. So he gestured to one of the people manning the equipment, who scurried over to the girl and got to work. The collars were complicated, as always, but they had more than enough inside information, thanks to Brynn.
Another girl had turned up, asking for death or salvation. Jaxon recognized this one. They'd discussed her. A real borderline case, but, in the end, nothing she'd done could be considered murder. Highly questionable assisted suicide, but not murder. So he just nodded at her, smiled, and said, "No bullets today. Get in line and make sure to hand over any weapons, and you're in the clear."
There was a beep as the first girl's collar released.
Sam knelt down for a moment, letting the information wash over her. She had barely believed it to be true in the first place, but to see that it wasn't some trap... and to hear that she wasn't on the list to be left behind... it was... she was...
She wasn't as relieved as she thought she'd be. It's not like she wanted to die there, but... well... She didn't know what she wanted, but she could figure that out with her family... and with those friends that were still both alive and talking to her.
That's right she could see her family again, she could see her friends again, she could... she could go home.
Drying her eyes, she put her bag on the ground and unzipped it partway. Then she reached in and pulled out a water bottle, her last, and put it in the pouch of her hoodie. From that same pocket she pulled out a gun, Adrian's gun, and put it into her bag.
After zipping up the bag, she stood again and approached the man with it held in front of her. "Here, all my weapons are in this."
G047, Samantha Ridley: ELIMINATED
She wasn't as relieved as she thought she'd be. It's not like she wanted to die there, but... well... She didn't know what she wanted, but she could figure that out with her family... and with those friends that were still both alive and talking to her.
That's right she could see her family again, she could see her friends again, she could... she could go home.
Drying her eyes, she put her bag on the ground and unzipped it partway. Then she reached in and pulled out a water bottle, her last, and put it in the pouch of her hoodie. From that same pocket she pulled out a gun, Adrian's gun, and put it into her bag.
After zipping up the bag, she stood again and approached the man with it held in front of her. "Here, all my weapons are in this."
G047, Samantha Ridley: ELIMINATED
Jaxon took the bag from the girl in front of him, nodding at her. He turned to one of the armed STAR members and handed the bag over.
"Toss it into the raft," he said. No point leaving guns lying on the beach to be picked up and used in the ongoing slaughter. No need to give the remaining players any help at all. The girl he'd handed it to nodded and moved to follow his instructions, while at the same time the boy handling the gear moved to tend to the latest arrival's collar.
A few seconds later, there came another beep, as the collar released. So far, so good. Jaxon had been a bit worried that something would manage to go wrong despite their preparations, that the readouts would be incorrect and the collars would actually explode. It seemed everything was fine, though. As long as the HQ assault didn't get messed up, as long as the terrorists didn't get the time needed to fix things from their side, everything would be fine.
"Toss it into the raft," he said. No point leaving guns lying on the beach to be picked up and used in the ongoing slaughter. No need to give the remaining players any help at all. The girl he'd handed it to nodded and moved to follow his instructions, while at the same time the boy handling the gear moved to tend to the latest arrival's collar.
A few seconds later, there came another beep, as the collar released. So far, so good. Jaxon had been a bit worried that something would manage to go wrong despite their preparations, that the readouts would be incorrect and the collars would actually explode. It seemed everything was fine, though. As long as the HQ assault didn't get messed up, as long as the terrorists didn't get the time needed to fix things from their side, everything would be fine.
((George Leidman continued from Lonely American Nights))
George wasn't sure how long it'd been since he'd run this quickly, and for this distance. He'd been at Dustins burial place, depositing Tims bag, when he heard the announcement. He'd hesitated for half a second, before running as fast as he could through the swamp water, the announcement still playing. It mentioned something about "No murderers allowed" or something, but George kept running, still trying to make himself believe he was innocent.
He was trying not to get his hopes up. If it was a trick, if it was some other student playing a horrible joke on everyone, he didn't think he would be able to take it without breaking down even further. If it was all real, and he wasn't allowed on the boat...
Stop thinking that. I'm not... well... okay, fine, I am a murderer. But... I'm not like Lombardi. Surely they'll be able to see that.
So he stopped thinking, and kept running.
---------------------------------------------------------
He'd arrived. Out of breath and covered in swamp water, true, but he had arrived. He was at the beach, staring at the boat at the coastline, hardly believing it was truly there. It wasn't over yet, though. There was still the chance he wouldn't be accepted. But he wasn't like Lombardi, or Brook, or some other notorious murderer. Surely they'd accept him?
Taking a deep breath, George walked towards the boat, heart pounding, before stopping a few metres away. He tried to keep the stutter out of his voice, but he was too excited and nervous.
"H-hey." He said, simply. "Uh... My name's... George Leidman. Am I, uh... Do I have permission to leave?"
George wasn't sure how long it'd been since he'd run this quickly, and for this distance. He'd been at Dustins burial place, depositing Tims bag, when he heard the announcement. He'd hesitated for half a second, before running as fast as he could through the swamp water, the announcement still playing. It mentioned something about "No murderers allowed" or something, but George kept running, still trying to make himself believe he was innocent.
He was trying not to get his hopes up. If it was a trick, if it was some other student playing a horrible joke on everyone, he didn't think he would be able to take it without breaking down even further. If it was all real, and he wasn't allowed on the boat...
Stop thinking that. I'm not... well... okay, fine, I am a murderer. But... I'm not like Lombardi. Surely they'll be able to see that.
So he stopped thinking, and kept running.
---------------------------------------------------------
He'd arrived. Out of breath and covered in swamp water, true, but he had arrived. He was at the beach, staring at the boat at the coastline, hardly believing it was truly there. It wasn't over yet, though. There was still the chance he wouldn't be accepted. But he wasn't like Lombardi, or Brook, or some other notorious murderer. Surely they'd accept him?
Taking a deep breath, George walked towards the boat, heart pounding, before stopping a few metres away. He tried to keep the stutter out of his voice, but he was too excited and nervous.
"H-hey." He said, simply. "Uh... My name's... George Leidman. Am I, uh... Do I have permission to leave?"
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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Sister Grimm†
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
((Alice Blake and Bounce continued from Confessional))
It seemed too good to be true. More then once on the forced march/jog toward the beach, Alice wondered if this would be a trap. Maybe some brilliant plan by a creative player. Maybe even Danya and his group. The former was more likely, she thought. After all, why would Danya's lot need to get involved directly? Especially when other students were all too happy to do the work for them. No, a trap by some enterprising student was more likely. Not very likely, in the grand scheme of things, but more likely than Danya.
Of course, that was all supposition, wild speculation. Probably, hopefully, far off the mark. She knew that, she knew. But it was either wild but harmless speculation or letting her thoughts drift. Drifting now would be...bad. Even worse now that they had a real chance of going home. Now she need to focus, focus and get Bounce to safety. Because at the very least Bounce was getting away safely. Everything else, she was playing by ear.
They had all but ran from the hospital. Alice carried the bags, heavy gas tank included. There were strong arguments toward dumping it, but some stubborn part of her insisted that she keep it. It was clunky and heavy, and she was stupid for keeping it, but she couldn't bring herself to toss it. She could still set the pace for the two of them, so it wasn't that much of a hindrance. Besides, it was Bounce, if anyone, that was slowing them down. Out of breath and gasping for air, Alice stopped more then once to urge her onward, giving her that little push to start her moving again. Because they were not going through all this trouble just to be five minutes and fatally late.
That was assuming they would let her go along. She was, technically, a killer. Not like Kris Hartmann or Maxwell Lombardi, or even Raidon. But she had killed Ash. In self-defense, sure, but all the same. She guessed that she'd find out soon.
There was still that quiet part of her that wondered if it would be so bad to stay behind. Sure, it would most likely result in a painful death, but it might offer a chance at, let's face it, revenge. She owed that to Vic. The best thing that ever happened to her, damn straight she owed it to Vic. To make up for letting her down, to make up for not being there, to make up for what had happened in the hospital. Yeah, maybe she should stay behind. Sure, she'd die, but what was waiting for her at home? An empty apartment? A life in shambles? The grand sum of fuck and all.
No, she was being selfish. She had Bounce to think of. Here and back home. How would Bounce feel if she went home to safety while her best friend stayed behind to die? There was something back home, even if it was just memories of a better time.
Vic wouldn't want her to stay behind. She'd want her to go home, be happy. Survive. Alice could do at least one of those things.
As the pair reached the beach, she stopped in front of Bounce, holding a hand out behind her, in front of the other girl. If this was a trap set by a student, well, bravo. Another student was already here, standing ahead of them. Alice moved closer slowly, cautiously, still expecting some sort of trap but hoping that she was wrong. Closer now, she waited until the other boy had stopped speaking before volunteering their own names. "Yelizaveta Volkova and Alice Blake. I know my friend is clear, but am I?"
It seemed too good to be true. More then once on the forced march/jog toward the beach, Alice wondered if this would be a trap. Maybe some brilliant plan by a creative player. Maybe even Danya and his group. The former was more likely, she thought. After all, why would Danya's lot need to get involved directly? Especially when other students were all too happy to do the work for them. No, a trap by some enterprising student was more likely. Not very likely, in the grand scheme of things, but more likely than Danya.
Of course, that was all supposition, wild speculation. Probably, hopefully, far off the mark. She knew that, she knew. But it was either wild but harmless speculation or letting her thoughts drift. Drifting now would be...bad. Even worse now that they had a real chance of going home. Now she need to focus, focus and get Bounce to safety. Because at the very least Bounce was getting away safely. Everything else, she was playing by ear.
They had all but ran from the hospital. Alice carried the bags, heavy gas tank included. There were strong arguments toward dumping it, but some stubborn part of her insisted that she keep it. It was clunky and heavy, and she was stupid for keeping it, but she couldn't bring herself to toss it. She could still set the pace for the two of them, so it wasn't that much of a hindrance. Besides, it was Bounce, if anyone, that was slowing them down. Out of breath and gasping for air, Alice stopped more then once to urge her onward, giving her that little push to start her moving again. Because they were not going through all this trouble just to be five minutes and fatally late.
That was assuming they would let her go along. She was, technically, a killer. Not like Kris Hartmann or Maxwell Lombardi, or even Raidon. But she had killed Ash. In self-defense, sure, but all the same. She guessed that she'd find out soon.
There was still that quiet part of her that wondered if it would be so bad to stay behind. Sure, it would most likely result in a painful death, but it might offer a chance at, let's face it, revenge. She owed that to Vic. The best thing that ever happened to her, damn straight she owed it to Vic. To make up for letting her down, to make up for not being there, to make up for what had happened in the hospital. Yeah, maybe she should stay behind. Sure, she'd die, but what was waiting for her at home? An empty apartment? A life in shambles? The grand sum of fuck and all.
No, she was being selfish. She had Bounce to think of. Here and back home. How would Bounce feel if she went home to safety while her best friend stayed behind to die? There was something back home, even if it was just memories of a better time.
Vic wouldn't want her to stay behind. She'd want her to go home, be happy. Survive. Alice could do at least one of those things.
As the pair reached the beach, she stopped in front of Bounce, holding a hand out behind her, in front of the other girl. If this was a trap set by a student, well, bravo. Another student was already here, standing ahead of them. Alice moved closer slowly, cautiously, still expecting some sort of trap but hoping that she was wrong. Closer now, she waited until the other boy had stopped speaking before volunteering their own names. "Yelizaveta Volkova and Alice Blake. I know my friend is clear, but am I?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Sister Grimm.
((Jason Harris, Nathan Choultard and Maf Tuigamala continued from Beast of Burden))
((GMing of STAR verified and approved - gone so long without having to do that heh.
))
Jason staggered as the trio of boys crested the last rise before the glistening sand of the beach. Every joint aching Jason looked over the windblown dunes of the edge of the island. In that moment it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The trip here had almost ruined the boy. Long ago the light and sounds of the island had died away, leaving nothing but the slow rhythmic padding of the footsteps and the dull thumping of his heart beating in his chest. The walk had been slow going and without reprieve. The weight of Maf and the incessant aches of his muscles yelling at him to stop were pushed time and time again from his mind by the need to get to those boats, the only way to truly escape this wretched prison. They had slowed down more than once, and more than once Jason has stumbled, Nathan catching him before he fell. Now, at the edge of the beach he could pause, but not for long. Brook was still out there alone and probably scared out of his mind. Jason didn't even have enough energy to grimace as he imagined the likely scenario of Brook curled up in a fetal ball hiding in some tiny nook or cranny.
Still, they were here now and they needed to get Maf to that boat. Already the surf teemed with students making their way to the boats, the STAR members quickly and efficiently removing collars and herding the teenagers on to the awaiting craft. Jason looked and Nathan and forced a smile. "We're here mate, we made it. You did it, you bloody champ." His feet sank in to the sand and he felt his knees buckled as he pushed ever closer to the shore Maf's body weighing down on the two, his arms slung over the shoulders of the two smaller teenagers. A thin trail of sand followed in their wake as Maf's feet dragged across the pebbly sand of the windswept coastline.
The low background noise of the waves crashing and the constant chatter of other students seemed to give the place a sense of community and safety, one which had been sorely missed by Jason since waking up alone on the island. Mustering what air he could Jason called out to the STAR members at the beachhead. "Hey we need some help here!"
He felt his knees buckled once more as one of the STAR members rushed over to grab Maf. The weight now taken off his shoulders Jason let out a sigh of relief. As the man lowered Maf down to the sand and began checking his vitals Jason tried to explain pausing to catch his breath and taking a swig of water from his bottle before beginning. "He's unconscious but still breathing. He needs medical attention though. He's cut up pretty bad." Putting his hands on his hips he looked around, noting the lack of collars on Sam and the strange device held in Jaxton's hands.
They can unlock the collars!
A surge of hope ran through Jason's body as he turned to the STAR member still checking Maf's pulse. "Hey mate, get this thing off me! I have to go back, my mate's still out there." The man just shook his head. Jason furious, he couldn't understand. "What? What do you mean?! We don't have time for this. I have to get him back here.
The man's response was measured and flat. "You might be a player. If you want the collar off get in line kid."
Jason's eyes widened in disbelief for a moment, the words sinking in to his mind. "That's bloody ridiculous."
There was no further explanation forthcoming.
He didn't have time for this. He had to get back, find Brook. Nathan and Maf were safe now, he just needed to get Brook back. Make everything alright. He struggled to get up. Every muscle pulled at him, every joint aching but he had to get Brook. He promised. He had promised him.
"Hell of a day mate, I owe you one" The echo's of the past sprang unheeded in to Jason's mind.
He owed Brook that much. Jason got to his feet shakily, his body straining against the movement. He had reached his limit on the way here and every inch of him was now reminding him of that fact. He snarled at the STAR member as he looked back inland. "Well fuck you too mate. You best be here when I get back, cause I'm not abandoning my friends." As he brushed the sand off and threw away the now empty bottle of water on to the sand Jason couldn't help but feel a deep pit in his gut, a feeling of terror, as if fate was giving him a warning of terrible things to come. If Jason Harris had ever believed in fate he might of turned back that instant and prevented the course of events that would unfold in the coming days.
Jason Harris didn't.
As he took his first step he felt a hand clasp on his back.
((GMing of STAR verified and approved - gone so long without having to do that heh.
))Jason staggered as the trio of boys crested the last rise before the glistening sand of the beach. Every joint aching Jason looked over the windblown dunes of the edge of the island. In that moment it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The trip here had almost ruined the boy. Long ago the light and sounds of the island had died away, leaving nothing but the slow rhythmic padding of the footsteps and the dull thumping of his heart beating in his chest. The walk had been slow going and without reprieve. The weight of Maf and the incessant aches of his muscles yelling at him to stop were pushed time and time again from his mind by the need to get to those boats, the only way to truly escape this wretched prison. They had slowed down more than once, and more than once Jason has stumbled, Nathan catching him before he fell. Now, at the edge of the beach he could pause, but not for long. Brook was still out there alone and probably scared out of his mind. Jason didn't even have enough energy to grimace as he imagined the likely scenario of Brook curled up in a fetal ball hiding in some tiny nook or cranny.
Still, they were here now and they needed to get Maf to that boat. Already the surf teemed with students making their way to the boats, the STAR members quickly and efficiently removing collars and herding the teenagers on to the awaiting craft. Jason looked and Nathan and forced a smile. "We're here mate, we made it. You did it, you bloody champ." His feet sank in to the sand and he felt his knees buckled as he pushed ever closer to the shore Maf's body weighing down on the two, his arms slung over the shoulders of the two smaller teenagers. A thin trail of sand followed in their wake as Maf's feet dragged across the pebbly sand of the windswept coastline.
The low background noise of the waves crashing and the constant chatter of other students seemed to give the place a sense of community and safety, one which had been sorely missed by Jason since waking up alone on the island. Mustering what air he could Jason called out to the STAR members at the beachhead. "Hey we need some help here!"
He felt his knees buckled once more as one of the STAR members rushed over to grab Maf. The weight now taken off his shoulders Jason let out a sigh of relief. As the man lowered Maf down to the sand and began checking his vitals Jason tried to explain pausing to catch his breath and taking a swig of water from his bottle before beginning. "He's unconscious but still breathing. He needs medical attention though. He's cut up pretty bad." Putting his hands on his hips he looked around, noting the lack of collars on Sam and the strange device held in Jaxton's hands.
They can unlock the collars!
A surge of hope ran through Jason's body as he turned to the STAR member still checking Maf's pulse. "Hey mate, get this thing off me! I have to go back, my mate's still out there." The man just shook his head. Jason furious, he couldn't understand. "What? What do you mean?! We don't have time for this. I have to get him back here.
The man's response was measured and flat. "You might be a player. If you want the collar off get in line kid."
Jason's eyes widened in disbelief for a moment, the words sinking in to his mind. "That's bloody ridiculous."
There was no further explanation forthcoming.
He didn't have time for this. He had to get back, find Brook. Nathan and Maf were safe now, he just needed to get Brook back. Make everything alright. He struggled to get up. Every muscle pulled at him, every joint aching but he had to get Brook. He promised. He had promised him.
"Hell of a day mate, I owe you one" The echo's of the past sprang unheeded in to Jason's mind.
He owed Brook that much. Jason got to his feet shakily, his body straining against the movement. He had reached his limit on the way here and every inch of him was now reminding him of that fact. He snarled at the STAR member as he looked back inland. "Well fuck you too mate. You best be here when I get back, cause I'm not abandoning my friends." As he brushed the sand off and threw away the now empty bottle of water on to the sand Jason couldn't help but feel a deep pit in his gut, a feeling of terror, as if fate was giving him a warning of terrible things to come. If Jason Harris had ever believed in fate he might of turned back that instant and prevented the course of events that would unfold in the coming days.
Jason Harris didn't.
As he took his first step he felt a hand clasp on his back.
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Whirlpool531†
- Posts: 45
- Joined: Tue Sep 04, 2018 4:14 am
((Joss Joiner continued from You Are On a Rock Floating Through Space))
Jojo couldn't believe it, after constant nights of dreading whether Jay would be dead or that a crazed classmate would attack while he was on night watch, he was going to escape. As they got to the beach and the boat was in sight, he let out a sigh of relief before turning to face his companions, Saul for possibly the last time.
"Well you guys, I've prayed for this day to come and I'm not going to miss this chance. Saul, you've been a great pal on this hellish journey so I'm giving you my sledgehammer. May it bring you as much luck as it did for me," he said while handing the sledgehammer over to the mascot. "Sarah, here's your bag," he continued while placing the bag on a nearby rock, "when you're done with what you need to do, I'll see you again on board."
------
As they finished their goodbyes, Jojo walked towards the boat with a wide grin on his face. He noticed Jason walking past but just chalked it up to another friend looking for a friend. I hope he finds whoever he needs to find and they get out ok. He was a pretty good soccer player.
With that out of his mind, he stopped and called out to the STAR members on board, "Boy 128 Joss "Jojo" Joiner requesting to board!"
B128, Joss "Jojo" Joiner" ELIMINATED
Jojo couldn't believe it, after constant nights of dreading whether Jay would be dead or that a crazed classmate would attack while he was on night watch, he was going to escape. As they got to the beach and the boat was in sight, he let out a sigh of relief before turning to face his companions, Saul for possibly the last time.
"Well you guys, I've prayed for this day to come and I'm not going to miss this chance. Saul, you've been a great pal on this hellish journey so I'm giving you my sledgehammer. May it bring you as much luck as it did for me," he said while handing the sledgehammer over to the mascot. "Sarah, here's your bag," he continued while placing the bag on a nearby rock, "when you're done with what you need to do, I'll see you again on board."
------
As they finished their goodbyes, Jojo walked towards the boat with a wide grin on his face. He noticed Jason walking past but just chalked it up to another friend looking for a friend. I hope he finds whoever he needs to find and they get out ok. He was a pretty good soccer player.
With that out of his mind, he stopped and called out to the STAR members on board, "Boy 128 Joss "Jojo" Joiner requesting to board!"
B128, Joss "Jojo" Joiner" ELIMINATED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Whirlpool531. 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.
New people arrived. It was exactly the situation Jaxon had hoped to avoid. Not people turning up, of course, but rather the identity of one of the newcomers. George Leidman. He'd identified himself with complete candor. He seemed a reasonable enough boy. He was responsible for at least two unprovoked murders, two cold-blooded killings of innocent classmates. He had strangled a boy in the swamp.
He was on the list. Of course he was on the list, and of course Jaxon was going to obey the list. Anything else would be a disaster. Anything else would render the entire point of the list moot. More than that, it would render pointless the deaths of all the killers who stayed away because of his initial announcement, of all the killers closer to Nate's boat. Sparing this one boy, despite his earnest appeal, would be spitting in the face of the deaths of so many others. It would be sabotaging their own point, removing their justification. It would do nothing but open the floodgates next game.
He deserved to hear it straight, though. Wishy-washy speech had its place, but not when pronouncing a death sentence.
"I'm sorry, George," he said. "You killed three people, two of them flat out murder. I'm going to have to ask you to leave the area."
One of the other STAR members who was not preoccupied with the collar-removal gear leveled his assault rifle at George. Had George been wounded to the point of incapacitation, it would have been different, of course. Jaxon would have made sure he got to leave on his own terms. Right now, though, George was a serious threat. He could be armed, could react violently to his denial. They had to be ready for that.
Jaxon left George's expulsion from the area to his friend, turning to the two new girls who had arrived. Alice and Yeliza-something. Neither on his list. Good enough.
"You're both clear," he said. "As long as you're leaving, we can get your collars off in a jiffy. Just get in line over there." He gestured to the boy who had just finished with Samantha's collar.
One of his other helpers had intercepted a crew of boys in the meantime. Jaxon groaned internally. This was going to be trouble. This particular member of his team would have been better off with Nate. He was all too ready to bounce the killers, all too unaware of what that actually meant for their futures. He was hassling the newcomers, even while tending to the unconscious boy the other students had been carrying. Jaxon would have intervened, but another boy turned up. They were getting quite the crowd, and every new face he saw that didn't match his list raised Jaxon's spirits a bit further.
"Good to see you, Jojo," he replied when the boy introduced himself. "Get in line, and we'll have you sprung just as quickly as we can."
He was on the list. Of course he was on the list, and of course Jaxon was going to obey the list. Anything else would be a disaster. Anything else would render the entire point of the list moot. More than that, it would render pointless the deaths of all the killers who stayed away because of his initial announcement, of all the killers closer to Nate's boat. Sparing this one boy, despite his earnest appeal, would be spitting in the face of the deaths of so many others. It would be sabotaging their own point, removing their justification. It would do nothing but open the floodgates next game.
He deserved to hear it straight, though. Wishy-washy speech had its place, but not when pronouncing a death sentence.
"I'm sorry, George," he said. "You killed three people, two of them flat out murder. I'm going to have to ask you to leave the area."
One of the other STAR members who was not preoccupied with the collar-removal gear leveled his assault rifle at George. Had George been wounded to the point of incapacitation, it would have been different, of course. Jaxon would have made sure he got to leave on his own terms. Right now, though, George was a serious threat. He could be armed, could react violently to his denial. They had to be ready for that.
Jaxon left George's expulsion from the area to his friend, turning to the two new girls who had arrived. Alice and Yeliza-something. Neither on his list. Good enough.
"You're both clear," he said. "As long as you're leaving, we can get your collars off in a jiffy. Just get in line over there." He gestured to the boy who had just finished with Samantha's collar.
One of his other helpers had intercepted a crew of boys in the meantime. Jaxon groaned internally. This was going to be trouble. This particular member of his team would have been better off with Nate. He was all too ready to bounce the killers, all too unaware of what that actually meant for their futures. He was hassling the newcomers, even while tending to the unconscious boy the other students had been carrying. Jaxon would have intervened, but another boy turned up. They were getting quite the crowd, and every new face he saw that didn't match his list raised Jaxon's spirits a bit further.
"Good to see you, Jojo," he replied when the boy introduced himself. "Get in line, and we'll have you sprung just as quickly as we can."
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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
(Mizore Soryu and Naoko Raidon continued from Riddles Of Monsters)
He told her he wasn't going to talk to the guards, when they got to the boats.
He told her they'd probably shoot him.
She told him that they wouldn't shoot him, and that it was okay.
He was weak, now. Perhaps he was unconscious, when they talked. Perhaps he was merely silent.
---------
She supported him, when they got to the beach. It might have been a clever manipulation--to make him look weak, as harmless as possible--but it wasn't. She was actually supporting him, with his shoulder in pain, her knee stiffly bandaged and almost walkable again. With a dead-branch cane, she was some approximation of fine.
They were sending someone away. George-somebody. He'd killed three people. They had said it, on the loudspeakers, that they were sending away killers, and she'd pretended not to hear.
There's a way in which it makes sense. They haven't got room for everyone. They'll send more boats back later. But the killers won't have first priority.
You keep thinking that, Mizore.
But they will give him priority. He's wounded.
You don't leave wounded people on beaches.
She scanned the beach.
And if they would, I'll argue them out of it. I'll find the right thing to say.
Arm more comfortably around Raidon, she stumbled down to the beach. The boat guard asked her to hold. She held.
"Is there a problem, officer?"
He wasn't a police officer. But it barely made a difference.
The man who stopped them had calluses Mizore could see from a distance. "That guy's killed, like, half a dozen people. We're only grabbing non-mass murderers."
Only grabbing?
And Mizore's eyes widened. Maybe manipulation. Maybe not. "But he's injured. If you--if we leave him here, he'll die."
"We're sorry, but if we take him, if we loosen up, then if this game ever happens again, a lot more people are likely to die."
And it's not manipulation when her eyes narrow. "Do you not understand? He's going to die. I know he's likely going to federal prison when he gets home, but if you leave him here because of some--" her voice starts raising, and she forces her mouth shut.
Waits a couple of beats.
Starts talking again.
Softer, and stumbling.
"If we keep him here, he will die. I don't want him to die. If this is a matter of not-enough-seats, I will gladly give my seat for him. I don't--I don't know who you are, but don't--" she's less good with words now, when she's trying to hold her anger in, "--don't act like--you have--the legal jurisdiction--or moral authority to--to kill someone. Especially since it's--what you seem to mind."
She pauses a bit. And breathes. And looks at the man again, the boat guard, hopeful. The idea that her life is less valuable than his--that she'd give up her life for his--it holds traction, for some people. And he wants to live. He's so scared. She's not scared.
But the guard is not convinced.
"Look. I'm sorry. I really am. This... is not my first choice for how we do this, but it's important. This is a case of long term goals. We're--we know about this game. All about it. We know what you've been through. But we're trying to make sure nothing like this happens again. that next time, people think twice before they pick up a gun and shoot their friends."
He waits a beat, and frowns. "It's not about seats. It's about making sure that people understand what they give up when they take lives."
And Mizore now, Mizore is thinking, trying to figure out what this means. Because it's not about seats, and it's not about players are dangerous, and it's not merely about prioritizing the good 'uns over the bad apples. It's about something else entirely.
And then she gets it, and she thinks she might be sick. And she probably looks it too, but maybe queasy and disgusted look different, on some people's faces. All she knows is she doesn't bother to keep her voice down.
"And you'd KILL people to teach them this lesson?"
Her voice is surprisingly loud, ringing, for someone who hasn't drunk anything other than tepid water in a week.
The guard looks taken aback, and Mizore is glad. When he speaks, he sounds unsure of his words.
"We... we'd kill people to save more people. We'd let the guilty die to protect the innocent. If... if we can know that there won't be another incident like this, then... we'll come back for everyone. But I won't lie to you. It's highly unlikely."
She arches her eyebrow. "Another incident like this?"
"Another version. Season. Whatever you want to call it."
She nods. "And it's highly unlikely that you'll...come back for the people you don't take now?"
The man hesitates.
"I don't think we'll have the opportunity. If we do, then we'll..." He shakes his head. "...but I doubt it."
So perhaps these aren't the army, aren't the government at all. They aren't nearly so well-prepared. If the US government had found the terrorist headquarters, the terrorists would be gone by now.
And Mizore's eyes widen and widen and widen, and the hand she's using to hold Raidon up goes white.
"Then you have to take him. If you don't know when the next rescue is coming...I don't know if you understand, but he will die. Goddamnit, I don't care--" She looks frantic for a second, then shuts up, lowers her voice, "Smuggle him on. Say he's--say he's anybody. Say he's me, or--or Rekka Saionji, or someone. Do some bullshit--cover his face with a pillowcase if you have to. Just get him on. Let him live."
She tries, but the frantic look is not quite gone. She looks haunted.
And the man sighs. He looks like he's trying to marshal up anger, but goes with resignation instead.
"We can't. What about the... what, five, six people he killed? What about every other murderer on this island? If we're going to bend the rules, they're meaningless. If we're going to make a statement only to subvert it, why bother at all?"
A beat.
And she's whispering now, because she's trying not to scream.
"Then screw your statement! It's not humane! Aren't you people supposed to be, what--supposed to be the good guys? You can't--" she gasps, and there goes a sob, "--you can't kill people just to make a goddamn statement! That's what he does!"
And she jabs her finger towards the loudspeakers.
"He wants to live--he wanted to--let him live!"
Until now, Mizore Soryu has always prided herself on her cool head. But there are tears falling out of her eyes, and they won't fucking stop.
The man, the guard on the beach, matches her intensity if not her tone. "And those people he killed, they didn't want to live? The people next season, the ones who will die because someone else wants to live just a little too much, they're worth less somehow? Of course he wants to live. Everyone does. We're showing them that killing is not how you accomplish that end!"
"But you won't be able to pick him up!" She's truly crying now, but she's not letting it affect her voice so much as her eyes, which are scrunched up. "If you won't be able to pick him up, you have to take him now! You have room--you said you have room--how can you possibly--possibly not take a person when you could, when you have the choice, when--" Sniffle sob stops her, and she hardens her mouth, and her voice gets choppy and harsh again.
"He's going to go to prison--we both know it. Federal prison's a bitch. It seems like--it seems like, if you have enough room to take everyone who can get to this beach--that's just as good a goddamn message, that killing doesn't help. It's not like you're only rescuing the killers. The ones you're taking now, the ones who didn't kill? They're no more dead. And they're not going to be spending time in the lockdown. You've got room for him, and you're not the goddamn criminal justice system. Let them pass their justice. That's their job. Not yours."
"You're the rescuers."
She wipes her eyes.
"Right?"
Another man is hollering for this particular boat guard, but he's not listening. And Mizore is grateful.
But then he speaks.
"I... wish it was that simple. But, do you know what happened to John Rizzolo? The sick bastard from last season?"
Sick bastard? Mizore hasn't watched SOTF. She shakes her head.
"Nothing. He got off. He got off with torture and murder. And then, finally, someone went and put a bullet in his head. But he spent a year living like a king. The criminal justice system doesn't much give a damn, it seems."
And Raidon doesn't torture, Raidon just murders. But it hardly matters now, she knows, so she spits.
"Bullshit! It's different this time. There's not one--sick--winner--everybody knows--and besides--fuck it all--even if you think the criminal justice system is shitty--you're not the goddamn police. You people--you're against Survival of the Fittest, right? And you're really going to practice vigilante justice? That's--that's shitty."
She's not very good at keeping her composure. She's gasping.
"Just--" Wipes her nose sloppily. "Just take him! You have room. I can--I can tie him up if you want. Look, I'm an artist. I'm all for statements, yeah? But this is somebody's--" Beat, pause not to gasp. "--somebody's fucking life. It's not the medium to make statements out of. Not here. Not now. Not when we've just been here, where we've just seen everybody forever treat life so fucking cheaply."
And she wants to spit again, but there's not enough breath in her lungs.
The man, to his credit, looks a bit uncomfortable. But he keeps composed.
"I understand your point. Really, I do. We can't compromise here, though. You have to understand, statements can have effects. If people hadn't been so trigger-happy, if people like your friend hadn't been so willing to kill, then maybe we'd be pulling out a lot more people today. My goal is to see that happen next time. We can't take him. I really am sorry, but we can't."
He's awake now, he's been awake, but he hasn't said anything the whole time. He knew it was helpless. And she's trying to show him it's not, show him that humans aren't a shot in the dark, and she's frantic.
"But you're not going to come back! You said you weren't going to come back! You're just going to kill him to make your precious, precious statement?"
And she's not so frantic that her eyes don't narrow cooly at the last piece of what she says.
Look me in the eyes, you bastard.
"I... guess, well..." He looks distinctly uncomfortable, but makes eye contact."I wish we weren't going to, but... probably, yes. Maybe he'll make it. He knows what he's doing."
And he doesn't break eye contact, and she feels distinctly ill. Because like them, like her, these people know the moral implications of what they're doing, and telling this guy, this boat-guard that he's a murderer isn't going to do a damn thing.
But there's anger, still, and the strength of desperation, and Mizore, Mizore is petty and mad, and she just can't let this go.
"At least you have the guts to say it out loud," she says, but the speaking is really only a cover for what she's doing, which is slapping him full in the face, nails out, like every goddamn catfight, because he's disgusting, and she hates him, and she can't think of anything she wants to do in life more than hurt him.
And what stops her, of course, is that he doesn't stop her.
He could. It would be easy. Her wrists are shaky and thin. He's a soldier, and she hasn't eaten well in a week.
But he doesn't stop her, and she leaves his face bloody and skinned and a vicious purplish-red, and then she doesn't fight him anymore because she's so stunned he didn't stop her.
And another soldier looks over and asks what's going on, and this man, this boat guard, turns to the other soldier and says that everything is fine.
And Mizore still wants to hurt him, but she's not going to hurt a man who won't fight back. Not here. Not now. Not with who she's trying to be.
"You people are disgusting," she says. And she tries to say it with disgust, with the appropriate emotion, but instead it comes out hopeless, flat, nearly dead.
Her next words sound like all the air has been ripped from her lungs. "I'll make my own statement then."
And maybe her voice is shaky, but there's something like pride in there, something fluttering and broken.
"I'll stay."
And now Raidon's arms have tensed around her shoulder, and she shifts her weight to carry him, and she doesn't want to talk to this guard anymore.
He nods to her. "Good luck, then."
He looks like he's going to say more for a second, but doesn't.
"Thanks." She says, and it's barely a whisper, but there's a flicker of dryness, a flicker of smile on her face.
And she turns, and she's gone.
(Mizore Soryu and Naoko Raidon continued in Boats and Birds)
(All GMing staff-approved)
He told her he wasn't going to talk to the guards, when they got to the boats.
He told her they'd probably shoot him.
She told him that they wouldn't shoot him, and that it was okay.
He was weak, now. Perhaps he was unconscious, when they talked. Perhaps he was merely silent.
---------
She supported him, when they got to the beach. It might have been a clever manipulation--to make him look weak, as harmless as possible--but it wasn't. She was actually supporting him, with his shoulder in pain, her knee stiffly bandaged and almost walkable again. With a dead-branch cane, she was some approximation of fine.
They were sending someone away. George-somebody. He'd killed three people. They had said it, on the loudspeakers, that they were sending away killers, and she'd pretended not to hear.
There's a way in which it makes sense. They haven't got room for everyone. They'll send more boats back later. But the killers won't have first priority.
You keep thinking that, Mizore.
But they will give him priority. He's wounded.
You don't leave wounded people on beaches.
She scanned the beach.
And if they would, I'll argue them out of it. I'll find the right thing to say.
Arm more comfortably around Raidon, she stumbled down to the beach. The boat guard asked her to hold. She held.
"Is there a problem, officer?"
He wasn't a police officer. But it barely made a difference.
The man who stopped them had calluses Mizore could see from a distance. "That guy's killed, like, half a dozen people. We're only grabbing non-mass murderers."
Only grabbing?
And Mizore's eyes widened. Maybe manipulation. Maybe not. "But he's injured. If you--if we leave him here, he'll die."
"We're sorry, but if we take him, if we loosen up, then if this game ever happens again, a lot more people are likely to die."
And it's not manipulation when her eyes narrow. "Do you not understand? He's going to die. I know he's likely going to federal prison when he gets home, but if you leave him here because of some--" her voice starts raising, and she forces her mouth shut.
Waits a couple of beats.
Starts talking again.
Softer, and stumbling.
"If we keep him here, he will die. I don't want him to die. If this is a matter of not-enough-seats, I will gladly give my seat for him. I don't--I don't know who you are, but don't--" she's less good with words now, when she's trying to hold her anger in, "--don't act like--you have--the legal jurisdiction--or moral authority to--to kill someone. Especially since it's--what you seem to mind."
She pauses a bit. And breathes. And looks at the man again, the boat guard, hopeful. The idea that her life is less valuable than his--that she'd give up her life for his--it holds traction, for some people. And he wants to live. He's so scared. She's not scared.
But the guard is not convinced.
"Look. I'm sorry. I really am. This... is not my first choice for how we do this, but it's important. This is a case of long term goals. We're--we know about this game. All about it. We know what you've been through. But we're trying to make sure nothing like this happens again. that next time, people think twice before they pick up a gun and shoot their friends."
He waits a beat, and frowns. "It's not about seats. It's about making sure that people understand what they give up when they take lives."
And Mizore now, Mizore is thinking, trying to figure out what this means. Because it's not about seats, and it's not about players are dangerous, and it's not merely about prioritizing the good 'uns over the bad apples. It's about something else entirely.
And then she gets it, and she thinks she might be sick. And she probably looks it too, but maybe queasy and disgusted look different, on some people's faces. All she knows is she doesn't bother to keep her voice down.
"And you'd KILL people to teach them this lesson?"
Her voice is surprisingly loud, ringing, for someone who hasn't drunk anything other than tepid water in a week.
The guard looks taken aback, and Mizore is glad. When he speaks, he sounds unsure of his words.
"We... we'd kill people to save more people. We'd let the guilty die to protect the innocent. If... if we can know that there won't be another incident like this, then... we'll come back for everyone. But I won't lie to you. It's highly unlikely."
She arches her eyebrow. "Another incident like this?"
"Another version. Season. Whatever you want to call it."
She nods. "And it's highly unlikely that you'll...come back for the people you don't take now?"
The man hesitates.
"I don't think we'll have the opportunity. If we do, then we'll..." He shakes his head. "...but I doubt it."
So perhaps these aren't the army, aren't the government at all. They aren't nearly so well-prepared. If the US government had found the terrorist headquarters, the terrorists would be gone by now.
And Mizore's eyes widen and widen and widen, and the hand she's using to hold Raidon up goes white.
"Then you have to take him. If you don't know when the next rescue is coming...I don't know if you understand, but he will die. Goddamnit, I don't care--" She looks frantic for a second, then shuts up, lowers her voice, "Smuggle him on. Say he's--say he's anybody. Say he's me, or--or Rekka Saionji, or someone. Do some bullshit--cover his face with a pillowcase if you have to. Just get him on. Let him live."
She tries, but the frantic look is not quite gone. She looks haunted.
And the man sighs. He looks like he's trying to marshal up anger, but goes with resignation instead.
"We can't. What about the... what, five, six people he killed? What about every other murderer on this island? If we're going to bend the rules, they're meaningless. If we're going to make a statement only to subvert it, why bother at all?"
A beat.
And she's whispering now, because she's trying not to scream.
"Then screw your statement! It's not humane! Aren't you people supposed to be, what--supposed to be the good guys? You can't--" she gasps, and there goes a sob, "--you can't kill people just to make a goddamn statement! That's what he does!"
And she jabs her finger towards the loudspeakers.
"He wants to live--he wanted to--let him live!"
Until now, Mizore Soryu has always prided herself on her cool head. But there are tears falling out of her eyes, and they won't fucking stop.
The man, the guard on the beach, matches her intensity if not her tone. "And those people he killed, they didn't want to live? The people next season, the ones who will die because someone else wants to live just a little too much, they're worth less somehow? Of course he wants to live. Everyone does. We're showing them that killing is not how you accomplish that end!"
"But you won't be able to pick him up!" She's truly crying now, but she's not letting it affect her voice so much as her eyes, which are scrunched up. "If you won't be able to pick him up, you have to take him now! You have room--you said you have room--how can you possibly--possibly not take a person when you could, when you have the choice, when--" Sniffle sob stops her, and she hardens her mouth, and her voice gets choppy and harsh again.
"He's going to go to prison--we both know it. Federal prison's a bitch. It seems like--it seems like, if you have enough room to take everyone who can get to this beach--that's just as good a goddamn message, that killing doesn't help. It's not like you're only rescuing the killers. The ones you're taking now, the ones who didn't kill? They're no more dead. And they're not going to be spending time in the lockdown. You've got room for him, and you're not the goddamn criminal justice system. Let them pass their justice. That's their job. Not yours."
"You're the rescuers."
She wipes her eyes.
"Right?"
Another man is hollering for this particular boat guard, but he's not listening. And Mizore is grateful.
But then he speaks.
"I... wish it was that simple. But, do you know what happened to John Rizzolo? The sick bastard from last season?"
Sick bastard? Mizore hasn't watched SOTF. She shakes her head.
"Nothing. He got off. He got off with torture and murder. And then, finally, someone went and put a bullet in his head. But he spent a year living like a king. The criminal justice system doesn't much give a damn, it seems."
And Raidon doesn't torture, Raidon just murders. But it hardly matters now, she knows, so she spits.
"Bullshit! It's different this time. There's not one--sick--winner--everybody knows--and besides--fuck it all--even if you think the criminal justice system is shitty--you're not the goddamn police. You people--you're against Survival of the Fittest, right? And you're really going to practice vigilante justice? That's--that's shitty."
She's not very good at keeping her composure. She's gasping.
"Just--" Wipes her nose sloppily. "Just take him! You have room. I can--I can tie him up if you want. Look, I'm an artist. I'm all for statements, yeah? But this is somebody's--" Beat, pause not to gasp. "--somebody's fucking life. It's not the medium to make statements out of. Not here. Not now. Not when we've just been here, where we've just seen everybody forever treat life so fucking cheaply."
And she wants to spit again, but there's not enough breath in her lungs.
The man, to his credit, looks a bit uncomfortable. But he keeps composed.
"I understand your point. Really, I do. We can't compromise here, though. You have to understand, statements can have effects. If people hadn't been so trigger-happy, if people like your friend hadn't been so willing to kill, then maybe we'd be pulling out a lot more people today. My goal is to see that happen next time. We can't take him. I really am sorry, but we can't."
He's awake now, he's been awake, but he hasn't said anything the whole time. He knew it was helpless. And she's trying to show him it's not, show him that humans aren't a shot in the dark, and she's frantic.
"But you're not going to come back! You said you weren't going to come back! You're just going to kill him to make your precious, precious statement?"
And she's not so frantic that her eyes don't narrow cooly at the last piece of what she says.
Look me in the eyes, you bastard.
"I... guess, well..." He looks distinctly uncomfortable, but makes eye contact."I wish we weren't going to, but... probably, yes. Maybe he'll make it. He knows what he's doing."
And he doesn't break eye contact, and she feels distinctly ill. Because like them, like her, these people know the moral implications of what they're doing, and telling this guy, this boat-guard that he's a murderer isn't going to do a damn thing.
But there's anger, still, and the strength of desperation, and Mizore, Mizore is petty and mad, and she just can't let this go.
"At least you have the guts to say it out loud," she says, but the speaking is really only a cover for what she's doing, which is slapping him full in the face, nails out, like every goddamn catfight, because he's disgusting, and she hates him, and she can't think of anything she wants to do in life more than hurt him.
And what stops her, of course, is that he doesn't stop her.
He could. It would be easy. Her wrists are shaky and thin. He's a soldier, and she hasn't eaten well in a week.
But he doesn't stop her, and she leaves his face bloody and skinned and a vicious purplish-red, and then she doesn't fight him anymore because she's so stunned he didn't stop her.
And another soldier looks over and asks what's going on, and this man, this boat guard, turns to the other soldier and says that everything is fine.
And Mizore still wants to hurt him, but she's not going to hurt a man who won't fight back. Not here. Not now. Not with who she's trying to be.
"You people are disgusting," she says. And she tries to say it with disgust, with the appropriate emotion, but instead it comes out hopeless, flat, nearly dead.
Her next words sound like all the air has been ripped from her lungs. "I'll make my own statement then."
And maybe her voice is shaky, but there's something like pride in there, something fluttering and broken.
"I'll stay."
And now Raidon's arms have tensed around her shoulder, and she shifts her weight to carry him, and she doesn't want to talk to this guard anymore.
He nods to her. "Good luck, then."
He looks like he's going to say more for a second, but doesn't.
"Thanks." She says, and it's barely a whisper, but there's a flicker of dryness, a flicker of smile on her face.
And she turns, and she's gone.
(Mizore Soryu and Naoko Raidon continued in Boats and Birds)
(All GMing staff-approved)
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xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
((Helen Wilson continued from Surgical Interventions))
Bent double, she might not have even done the surgery, her gait was exactly the same. Only this time, the pain was worse. The local anaesthetic and adrenaline had worn off a hour ago, and ever since then, she had been in agony. Clutching at the bleeding sutures, she kept struggling forwards. If you get to the boat, then you will live. Her head swam with the pain, it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Helen had spent her entire life trying to avoid pain, and here she was, staggering through woodland and scrub bleeding from a cut that she had done to herself. Going north, keeping on going north. She saw nobody, it was like those first three days on the island when she had wandered around the southern wasteland and not seen a soul. Only then she had been glad of it, glad for the time alone to figure out her thoughts, to accept the fact that she might not get home.
You never altered your amused belief that life was a mere monumental sham.
Now, though. Now she could really do with some help. Someone to give her a boost to the beach, help her get there alive. Once she was there, she was struck with the delusion that she was essentially home, struck with the impression that they would be able to do something to save her. They would take her home, and the qualified doctors in the well equipped hospitals would fix up everything that she had done to her insides, and she would go to Stanford in the Fall and one day repay their kindness by becoming a surgeon herself. And she would save dozens of lives, the way she had failed to while she was here.
There was a thought in her head that she wasn't allowing to surface. Every time she tried to think what it was, another part of her brain, part that she seemed to have lost cotrol over, pushed it back down like a plastic duck bobbing under the water. She knew that if the eye became visible, if it looked at her, she would have to face something that her rational brain was trying to avoid. Instead, she focussed on her surroundings.
A faint swishing. A familiar rushing sound that she'd gotten used to over the last few days, even though it was uncommon to her in her previous life. The sea. And then, a few painful steps further, and the beach. And a boat. A boat. And there were people! People getting on the boat. Collars being removed. Helen stood, swaying at the edge of the sand, watching for a few minutes, feeling an unmisteakeable swell of pride. We did this! I helped to bring these people here! They must have gotten our message! Yesyesyesyes!
She couldn't move. Her legs wobbled when she tried to take a step, and she wondered how long she had been standing there, just out of sight. It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours; she had lost all track of time and space. With a great effort, she took three steps forwards, onto the sand, into view. She raised her right hand in a wave, and a few drops of blood dripped from it in front of her. Helen looked down. Her white tee shirt stained with a gruesome mixture of blood and iodine, a pool around her feet, her jeans and shoes darkened on the right hand side. Behind her, there was a trail of blood that stretched almost the entire way back to the infirmary.
Then she saw the eye of the duck. The eye of the devil.
I'm dying. The thought didn't bother her as much as she had expected to. That was how she knew it was true. She had given up. With unusual grace, she fell into a sitting position, and then pitched herself to one side, shivering violently as deep red blood seeped out to stain the sand.
You didn't tie off the artery.
"Save them," she said in a dry, cracked voice, not sure who it was she was speaking to. If anyone.
Part of her brain tried to counter the inevitable.
No! That's not f-
God only knows what I'd be without you.
G100: HELEN WILSON - DECEASED
Bent double, she might not have even done the surgery, her gait was exactly the same. Only this time, the pain was worse. The local anaesthetic and adrenaline had worn off a hour ago, and ever since then, she had been in agony. Clutching at the bleeding sutures, she kept struggling forwards. If you get to the boat, then you will live. Her head swam with the pain, it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Helen had spent her entire life trying to avoid pain, and here she was, staggering through woodland and scrub bleeding from a cut that she had done to herself. Going north, keeping on going north. She saw nobody, it was like those first three days on the island when she had wandered around the southern wasteland and not seen a soul. Only then she had been glad of it, glad for the time alone to figure out her thoughts, to accept the fact that she might not get home.
You never altered your amused belief that life was a mere monumental sham.
Now, though. Now she could really do with some help. Someone to give her a boost to the beach, help her get there alive. Once she was there, she was struck with the delusion that she was essentially home, struck with the impression that they would be able to do something to save her. They would take her home, and the qualified doctors in the well equipped hospitals would fix up everything that she had done to her insides, and she would go to Stanford in the Fall and one day repay their kindness by becoming a surgeon herself. And she would save dozens of lives, the way she had failed to while she was here.
There was a thought in her head that she wasn't allowing to surface. Every time she tried to think what it was, another part of her brain, part that she seemed to have lost cotrol over, pushed it back down like a plastic duck bobbing under the water. She knew that if the eye became visible, if it looked at her, she would have to face something that her rational brain was trying to avoid. Instead, she focussed on her surroundings.
A faint swishing. A familiar rushing sound that she'd gotten used to over the last few days, even though it was uncommon to her in her previous life. The sea. And then, a few painful steps further, and the beach. And a boat. A boat. And there were people! People getting on the boat. Collars being removed. Helen stood, swaying at the edge of the sand, watching for a few minutes, feeling an unmisteakeable swell of pride. We did this! I helped to bring these people here! They must have gotten our message! Yesyesyesyes!
She couldn't move. Her legs wobbled when she tried to take a step, and she wondered how long she had been standing there, just out of sight. It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours; she had lost all track of time and space. With a great effort, she took three steps forwards, onto the sand, into view. She raised her right hand in a wave, and a few drops of blood dripped from it in front of her. Helen looked down. Her white tee shirt stained with a gruesome mixture of blood and iodine, a pool around her feet, her jeans and shoes darkened on the right hand side. Behind her, there was a trail of blood that stretched almost the entire way back to the infirmary.
Then she saw the eye of the duck. The eye of the devil.
I'm dying. The thought didn't bother her as much as she had expected to. That was how she knew it was true. She had given up. With unusual grace, she fell into a sitting position, and then pitched herself to one side, shivering violently as deep red blood seeped out to stain the sand.
You didn't tie off the artery.
"Save them," she said in a dry, cracked voice, not sure who it was she was speaking to. If anyone.
Part of her brain tried to counter the inevitable.
No! That's not f-
God only knows what I'd be without you.
G100: HELEN WILSON - DECEASED
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JamesRenard†
- Posts: 238
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
(GMing approved)
((Saul Fetteralf continued from You Are On a Rock Floating Through Space))
Saul could not believe in his wildest dreams that this shit was going down. There were boats on the beaches, and they didn't belong to Danya's goons. It was a rescue team, an honest to God rescue team. 'This is too good to be true, isn't it? It's all just a beautiful dream, right? Jojo, Sarah, just pinch me.'
Saul saved them the trouble by pinching himself. It hurt.
Jojo handed him the sledgehammer and headed off towards the craft, while Saul waited with Sarah. It was getting busy out on the beach and Saul could recognize some unsavory characters trying to get rescued, like Raidon. However, one thought just kept on crossing his mind. 'Garry...'
Saul looked and looked but his friend was nowhere to be seen. 'Does he even know about this?' Saul wondered. And then without warning he dashed forwards as fast as possible while dragging the sledgehammer behind him, waving to the guy at the front of the boat.
"Hey, hey, wait, I wanna-I wanna ask something!" Saul yelled, approaching the water and slowing down to a halt in front of the man holding a piece of paper. "I know that you probably can't do much for me, but can you let my friend on?" Saul asked him.
"I can let them on," the man replied, looking to Saul, "just as long as they didn't kill anyone."
Saul's hopes were briefly raised and then dashed as the man spoke. "That... that's the problem... he did."
The man raised an eyebrow at this fact. "What's the name?" he asked.
"Garry. Garry Villette. I'm Saul Fetteralf."
"Garry... Garry..." the man spoke, briefly scanning the list in his hand. "Nope, he's not on my list, he's good to go."
"He... he is?" Saul asked, gobsmacked. "I mean, I'm not gonna complain but, wow, really?"
"Yeah, we reviewed it and saw it was all an accident. Your friend didn't mean for anything to happen, so he's welcome."
Right now Saul was absolutely elated. Not only had he found out that his best friend wasn't a cold-blooded killer, but there was the chance of both of them getting off the island. "Do you know where he is? You know who's killed and whatnot, so you should know where he is right now, right?"
The man turned his head towards the boat and then looked back to Saul, an apologetic expression written on his face. "I'm afraid not, we don't have access to live video feed on here."
"Oh..." Well that was a real kick in the teeth.
"Look, if you're getting on board, you'd better get on quick."
Saul nodded and made a step towards the boat, but then stopped and backtracked. He looked at the boat, his ticket out of this Hell, then turned around and gazed at the island. 'He's still out there, somewhere,' Saul thought, staring at the mountain where he'd been some days ago with Sapphire and the other guys. "I-I can't, I'm not leaving without Garry."
"You do realize your friend could be anywhere on the island, and that we can come under attack at anytime."
"So you're saying that I should abandon my best friend?" Saul heatedly replied. "He's out there right now and he doesn't deserve to be on this island any longer than I do. If I left with you now and found out later he died, I could never, ever forgive myself for it. He needs to know about this!"
The man looked taken aback, most likely not expecting some of the students to refuse to be rescued. "Well, as much as I think it's an extremely dangerous and downright crazy idea, it's your choice to make, not mine. And as much as I really want you to get on board, all I can do is wish you the best of luck that you find him and come back soon."
"I will, thank you," Saul said. He turned to Jojo. "I'll be back," he said to him, waving to him and walking away from the boat, dragging the sledgehammer behind him.
It would be the last time he laid eyes on the rescue attempt.
((Saul Fetteralf continued in Livebait))
((Saul Fetteralf continued from You Are On a Rock Floating Through Space))
Saul could not believe in his wildest dreams that this shit was going down. There were boats on the beaches, and they didn't belong to Danya's goons. It was a rescue team, an honest to God rescue team. 'This is too good to be true, isn't it? It's all just a beautiful dream, right? Jojo, Sarah, just pinch me.'
Saul saved them the trouble by pinching himself. It hurt.
Jojo handed him the sledgehammer and headed off towards the craft, while Saul waited with Sarah. It was getting busy out on the beach and Saul could recognize some unsavory characters trying to get rescued, like Raidon. However, one thought just kept on crossing his mind. 'Garry...'
Saul looked and looked but his friend was nowhere to be seen. 'Does he even know about this?' Saul wondered. And then without warning he dashed forwards as fast as possible while dragging the sledgehammer behind him, waving to the guy at the front of the boat.
"Hey, hey, wait, I wanna-I wanna ask something!" Saul yelled, approaching the water and slowing down to a halt in front of the man holding a piece of paper. "I know that you probably can't do much for me, but can you let my friend on?" Saul asked him.
"I can let them on," the man replied, looking to Saul, "just as long as they didn't kill anyone."
Saul's hopes were briefly raised and then dashed as the man spoke. "That... that's the problem... he did."
The man raised an eyebrow at this fact. "What's the name?" he asked.
"Garry. Garry Villette. I'm Saul Fetteralf."
"Garry... Garry..." the man spoke, briefly scanning the list in his hand. "Nope, he's not on my list, he's good to go."
"He... he is?" Saul asked, gobsmacked. "I mean, I'm not gonna complain but, wow, really?"
"Yeah, we reviewed it and saw it was all an accident. Your friend didn't mean for anything to happen, so he's welcome."
Right now Saul was absolutely elated. Not only had he found out that his best friend wasn't a cold-blooded killer, but there was the chance of both of them getting off the island. "Do you know where he is? You know who's killed and whatnot, so you should know where he is right now, right?"
The man turned his head towards the boat and then looked back to Saul, an apologetic expression written on his face. "I'm afraid not, we don't have access to live video feed on here."
"Oh..." Well that was a real kick in the teeth.
"Look, if you're getting on board, you'd better get on quick."
Saul nodded and made a step towards the boat, but then stopped and backtracked. He looked at the boat, his ticket out of this Hell, then turned around and gazed at the island. 'He's still out there, somewhere,' Saul thought, staring at the mountain where he'd been some days ago with Sapphire and the other guys. "I-I can't, I'm not leaving without Garry."
"You do realize your friend could be anywhere on the island, and that we can come under attack at anytime."
"So you're saying that I should abandon my best friend?" Saul heatedly replied. "He's out there right now and he doesn't deserve to be on this island any longer than I do. If I left with you now and found out later he died, I could never, ever forgive myself for it. He needs to know about this!"
The man looked taken aback, most likely not expecting some of the students to refuse to be rescued. "Well, as much as I think it's an extremely dangerous and downright crazy idea, it's your choice to make, not mine. And as much as I really want you to get on board, all I can do is wish you the best of luck that you find him and come back soon."
"I will, thank you," Saul said. He turned to Jojo. "I'll be back," he said to him, waving to him and walking away from the boat, dragging the sledgehammer behind him.
It would be the last time he laid eyes on the rescue attempt.
((Saul Fetteralf continued in Livebait))
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Sister Grimm†
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
She should have felt relief. That would be the sane response to being told you were allowed to leave death island and go home. Alice, on the other hand, just felt...disappointed. Yes, disappointed sounded right. She wanted to stay, she realized that. Stay and makes things right. But she was too much of a coward to just decide to do that. A legitimate reason, something that would give her no other option then staying behind. Something that she could use to convince herself. But that wasn't going to happen. Apparently her murder wasn't quite so severe to keep her here.
Wishful thinking, she supposed. It was self-defense, after all. She hadn't tried to kill the girl, hadn't even really wanted to hurt her. But there was no other option at the time. She'd just reacted. Clearly self-defense. Clearly.
But why couldn't they see at is something else? It was just an excuse that she was looking for, something she could point at and say 'blame that, not me', something to take the decision out of her hands. She didn't want to go home. What was the point of that? She didn't deserve to go home. Because she was weak, because she was a murder. But mostly because she let the one person she should have saved, die.
No, this is where it should end. If there was any justice, anyway. But there wasn't. If there was, Vic would still be alive, everyone would still be alive. They would still be at home, happy and safe. Happy.
After the pair received confirmation, Alice tuned everything else out. They were safe, the two of them. What else mattered? The people joining them on the beach certainly didn't. Alice walked, marched, toward the line the soldier indicated like a condemned prisoner on the way to the electric chair. All the while, she kept hoping that the solider would receive some change in orders, that he would tell her that there was some change and she had to stay.
But that wouldn't happen. She would have to make peace with that, she guessed. Look on the bright side, she told herself, at least you still have Bounce. She looked down at her companion and forced a thin smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
G085, Alice Blake: ELIMINATED
Wishful thinking, she supposed. It was self-defense, after all. She hadn't tried to kill the girl, hadn't even really wanted to hurt her. But there was no other option at the time. She'd just reacted. Clearly self-defense. Clearly.
But why couldn't they see at is something else? It was just an excuse that she was looking for, something she could point at and say 'blame that, not me', something to take the decision out of her hands. She didn't want to go home. What was the point of that? She didn't deserve to go home. Because she was weak, because she was a murder. But mostly because she let the one person she should have saved, die.
No, this is where it should end. If there was any justice, anyway. But there wasn't. If there was, Vic would still be alive, everyone would still be alive. They would still be at home, happy and safe. Happy.
After the pair received confirmation, Alice tuned everything else out. They were safe, the two of them. What else mattered? The people joining them on the beach certainly didn't. Alice walked, marched, toward the line the soldier indicated like a condemned prisoner on the way to the electric chair. All the while, she kept hoping that the solider would receive some change in orders, that he would tell her that there was some change and she had to stay.
But that wouldn't happen. She would have to make peace with that, she guessed. Look on the bright side, she told herself, at least you still have Bounce. She looked down at her companion and forced a thin smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
G085, Alice Blake: ELIMINATED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Sister Grimm.